Chapter 20

"Give me all the pie," Dean says. "All of it."

The waitress raises her eyebrows, but says nothing. She looks at Sam.

"Just coffee, thanks," he says. "And two forks."

Dean drops his eyes to the table. "You going to have some pie, Sammy?"

"I thought I might," Sam says. Heat enters his voice, and he leans back in his chair, stretches his legs out under the table. "Since you seemed to enjoy it so much last time."

Dean snorts and stretches out, too, lifting his gaze to meet Sam's across the table. He licks his lips to wet them. "So, we're still..."

A crease appears between Sam's brows. "Do you want to stop? Now that you're okay? Now that things are going back to normal?"

"Do you?"

Sam shakes his head, a small movement, but coupled with his eyes, a kind of desperate need behind them, there's a lot of meaning there.

Dean relaxes. "So we're still..." He smiles, wets his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and then drags his teeth across it. "Good. That's good."

Pie appears on the table in front of them, four different flavors, two forks, two cups of coffee. Dean snags the pecan for himself, because he's not sharing that with anyone, not even his brother.

He pushes the cherry toward Sam, and he lifts his eyes, looking up from beneath his lashes. Watching, waiting.

Sam digs his fork into the center, and so slow it could be torture, he slides the whole bite into his mouth. He makes a sound, the same sound he makes when he's coming, but different. It's lighter, happier, and with just a touch of tease to it.

Dean realizes that he's only ever heard Sam make that sound when they both thought they were going to die, and this is different, and this thing between them is different.

Sam draws the fork out from between his lips slow, licks at it to catch every bit of flavor. He looks at Dean likes he's starving.

"Yeah, we're going to get this all to go," he says, as he shoves his chair away from the table with a harsh screech of metal on linoleum.

---

Dean lets Sam drive, eats the pecan pie on the way home, then pulls the cherry pie apart with his fingers and hand feeds it to a laughing Sam, piece by sticky piece. He moans when Sam sucks the juice off his fingers, and considers attempting road head, but figures Sam won't let him, considering it's daylight.

Next time they go out at night, though, he's so doing that.

Dean dives out of the passenger seat before Sam's even turned off the engine, meets him when he climbs out. He's still laughing as Dean unbuttons his shirt, laughs into the kiss Dean lays on him right before he sinks down to his knees on the hard concrete floor.

"Fuck, I could taste that pie, Sammy," he says, and then pushes his face into Sam's crotch. He inhales, and this is familiar, but he could taste the pie and now he wants to taste Sam.

Sam throws his head back, laughing, moaning at the same time. "The pecan, or the cherry?"

"Both." Dean tugs open the button of Sam's pants, draws down the zip, gets his hand in there. Sam's already hard, damp and sticky at the tip like he's been hard for a while. He's not the only one. Dean breathes over Sam's cock, just staring, and then he looks up.

Sam's looking down. He's not laughing anymore, but the intensity in his eyes makes Dean's heart beat just a little bit faster. Dean can't bear to drag his eyes away, but he wants to look at Sam's dick as well, and god, it's not fair.

He sinks down onto his heels, and then he's got both in his line of sight. He lets Sam's cock fall onto his lips, head pressing against them. He mouths at the underside, tongue darting out—

Sam's salty sweet flavor bursts on his tongue and he moans, eyelids fluttering as his eyes roll back in his head.

"You're killing me, Dean," Sam says. "Jesus."

Dean opens his lips and sucks Sam's dick into his mouth. Sam's hips jerk forward, and his cock hits Dean at the back of the throat. He chokes and coughs as he pulls off, but he laughs, because he has a gag reflex now, and for some reason—for all the reasons—that's a good thing.

Sam's face is priceless. He won't let Dean suck him back down, puts his palm on Dean's forehead to push him away as he tucks himself back into his pants. "Not here," he says.

Dean pushes himself to his feet. "We're going to do it in every goddamn room in the bunker, Sammy." He throws his arms around Sam's neck, tips his chin up to capture Sam's mouth in a kiss that he can actually taste. "I was going to shoot you, and I've got to say, little brother. I'm relieved."

Sam relaxes a bit, doesn't really kiss back. It's not a rejection, or anything like that, he's not trying to push Dean away, and Dean doesn't feel anything negative from him. "What?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head. "Nothing." He wraps his arms around Dean, slides a palm, fingers spread wide, up his spine, cradles the back of his head. "I don't want to stop sleeping together, Dean."

Dean frowns, confused. He instinctively tries to take a step back, but Sam won't let him go. "What?"

"I'm not talking about sex, Dean." Sam blushes, drops his eyes, bites his lip. "I don't want that to stop, either, but I don't expect it. I just need you to know that. But I like falling asleep with you. I really want to wake up and watch you sleep, actually."

"Oh," Dean says, because he'd just assumed things would stay the same. "Yeah. Yeah. I could get on board with that."

"We'll keep separate rooms, of course. If we have someone down here—"

"Oh," Dean says. "Right. Yeah. Secret. Because we're brothers. Can't have anyone finding out we're fucking."

Sam almost flinches at the expletive. Almost. "It might be a little awkward."

Dean nods. "You're right. Yeah, you're right, Sammy. I mean, this'll never not be weird, right? And you know sometimes we both need a little space—"

"I think half our problem when we need space is we couldn't admit we needed this, Dean."

Dean drops his head to hide his grin. "I didn't even know I needed this. If anyone had told me I'd want this one day, I'd have told them they were crazy." The smile slides off his face, and he looks up. "Did you know? Sam? Did you want this?"

"Maybe not consciously. But I couldn't let you go, Dean. That's not normal. You're not supposed to fight death. I couldn't ever let you go. That told me a lot."

"Huh." Dean drops his eyes again, shakes his head. "I've never been able to let you go, Sammy. Never tried to deny it, either." He looks up. "But fuck that, Sam. We got the Holy Grail now. I'm not saying we pull a stunt like Wichita again, but, if it happens, I'll do it. I'll keep doing it. I need my brother." He leans in, kisses his brother, soft and slow. "Now," he says. "Can we go inside and lose the clothes? I kind of want you to fuck me over the map table."

"Holy shit, Dean," Sam says, as he starts to walk Dean backward toward the door. "You can't say things like that to me."

Dean lets himself be steered out of the garage. "Fuck me, Sam," he says, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Fuck me, little brother."

fin