Dean doesn't have a problem.

Okay, well, maybe he does. But it's not like it's a big issue or anything. More of that he maybe, just might, on a teensy, weensy little scale, have a fixation on Sam's shirts. How he wears them rolled and tucked right above the elbow, giving such nice views of his brother's damn arms. The things were huge, leading down to skilled, calloused hands which just the very thought of made Dean's knees go weak.

It's just… Well mostly it was the button ups his little brother preferred. They certainly looked good on him, hinting just enough at the body beneath to make Dean's mind go just a little bit crazy. Sure he had seen his brother shirtless enough times, hell even naked, and those times were very enjoyable for him because hey- more fodder for the brain's great concoction of fantasies, it all really boiled down to his shirts. Those damn plaid button ups.

They were big, large enough that when Dean had to resort to wearing them when they were both too lazy to do laundry that it sagged on his figure around the shoulders, the bottom hem falling around his zipper more than his belt buckle, and if he unrolled the sleeves it went half-way over his palm. Not to mention the smell, all oaky and ancient library-ish, with this strong heady undercurrent that made Dean think Sam.

And perhaps his little… fixation exceeded just staring at them subtly all the time? At least he hoped it was subtle, Sam didn't let on to any clues that he knew his big brother checked him out a hell-a-lot of the time. Which wasn't weird right? Dean wasn't a kook for that? He was pretty sure, no scratch that, positive, that not many siblings spent their time appreciating their brothers or sisters physique a little more than they should.

So what was his deal? He shouldn't even have a deal in the first place.

Okay his 'little problem' was more of a very big problem. He might have come to terms a while ago that he was a bit messed up in the head, because come on, being raised in this business? No way in hell Dean would have come out unscathed. He just tried his best to make sure Sam did okay. Maybe he tried too hard, if his issue had anything to say for it.

From where Dean sat on the edge of his bed, chin in hand as he stared blankly at the wall ahead of him and it's crappy, smiling sunflower themed décor, he figured he was pretty much screwed. Because Sam's just as trained as Dean, and with this knowledge, it would only be a matter of time before his little brother, ever the one for chick flick moments and gushy feeling talks, would bring up the matter at hand.

That being Dean wouldn't mind being screwed by Sam while wearing one of his larger button ups. Which huh, sounded a lot more vulgar than the stuff Dean usually thought of. Even though Dean's what most would call a badass, and he would shoot you if you even hinted otherwise, he liked the softer sides of romance. Sex is great, Dean loves sex, and it's just, well. Whenever he allowed himself to think of him and Sam doing things regular, sane brother's really shouldn't be doing (but really, they aren't sane at all, are they?), he always focused on things that made him grind his teeth because he calls Sam a girl, yet here is Sam's tough as nails big brother, fantasizing about holding hands and cuddling after a good round of playful bedroom activities.

Jesus Dean really needs to get help if the fleeting thought forced him to hold back a blush.

The only good thing Dean finds out of this is that it's totally Sam's fault he feels like this. It's not like he's some sicko who was aching to get it on with his little brother when they were kids, which almost makes Dean want to puke, considering Sam seemed so much younger then. Small and fragile and still the little boy who needed his brother and father to save him.

But then Sam left for Stanford and when Dean came back to collect him four eventful years later, his little brother wasn't so little anymore. He had grown, and if Dean thought it was bad then, Sam just kept growing. It was as if the world decided gym hadn't beefed Sam up enough, that the hunting life could do even better and make the younger Winchester just sprout like a damn plant in all directions.

Sure Sam was taller when he found him, a bit broader and not so lithe and beanpole-ish, but after a year of hunting Sam just spread up and out. His shoulders widened, his chest might as well be a freaking barrel, and his arms just decided that it would be great if they added a few more inches around. With every growth spurt Sam just kept buying more clothes, Sam, who used to be baggy in Dean's clothes, now swamped Dean in his.

It was annoying at first, really it was, but something about how Sam changed not only physically but mentally really began smashing Dean's sturdy wall of things that were off limits and made Sam seem very much available, though he was not, by all accounts, available to Dean. Sam became his own person while he had been gone, became something of a man and damn it all to hell and back that Dean wasn't any more interested than the pretty blonde Sam actually went out with tonight, and still hasn't returned from.

He should be proud that his brother is getting back in the game, really he should, but he couldn't help the pit of jealousy weigh him down as he sagged upwards and gave bored stares around the room. Couldn't even help if he stared prolonging at Sam's bed, rucked from their rushed morning to interview witnesses and still unmade.

Checking his watch reading near midnight Dean decided fuck it, the doors locked, and if Sam isn't back now, he shouldn't expect him any time soon.

Despite the fact he was by all means utterly alone he still gave wary glances about the room before heading over to Sam's duffel and shedding his over coat and t-shirt. His hand slowly neared the main zipper, nerves running frantic and heart pounding in his ears before his fingertips grazed the surface of the little hold and unzipped the bag just enough to reach in and pull out one of Sam's button ups. He jumped away from the bag the moment he had it firmly in his grasp, holding it close and breathing out in relief when the apocalypse hadn't started and hellfire didn't begin raining from the sky.

He made quick work of zipping the bag back up and tossing his clothes aside lazily in his own, jittery with anticipation. Once finished with setting things back in place he inspected the shirt he had… commandeered for however long Sam would be gone. It was deep green, assortment of the shade crisscrossing at intersections and buttons a solid oak brown. Though he personally preferred the blue ones, he had already acquired this one and it would have to make due, going back a second time would just be asking for a heart attack.

Raising it slowly to his nose he breathed in deeply, eyes closing as Sam's scent flushed his senses momentarily. This wasn't so bad, right? As long as Sam never finds out, this wasn't that bad. That made perfect sense, because everyone has secrets and it's not anyone's business that his secret just so happened to be that he had a raging hard on for his brother. No one had a right to judge him, not if they spent their days not saving people's lives.

Right? Right.

A few more breaths and Dean felt himself growing half-hard, one more and he would have to get this show on the road, no telling how long he has left. One last look shot to the door, checking it was locked, Dean quickly shrugged into the shirt, face heating in arousal as per usual the button up hung around his mid palm, the bottom hem falling half way down his jeans zipper. If he could, he's positive he would be purring with how absolutely blissful it felt to wear Sam's shirt.

Now the distant scent fell on his skin, almost as if Sam was holding him close and Dean's breath hitched at that, nearly stumbling as he moved towards his brother's bed, shucking his pants as he did so. Springs creaked in distress when Dean plopped down, rolling onto his back and pulling the blankets close, Sam's smell somehow strong although he had only rested in it for a day. Dean closed his eyes, inhaling deeply while he dragged one hand slowly up his chest, swirling his left nipple before tracing the shape of his throat up to his lips.

He had been told enough times he had good lips. Great lips in fact, and if he ignored the other obnoxious comments on them they didn't bother him too much, despite the fact most of the girls he's with managed to slide in a remark of how they wished they had ones like his. All soft and pink and sometimes it was annoying, sometimes it wasn't. But times like these? He only wondered what Sam would think of them, would he say they were pretty like a girls? Tell Dean they would feel so good around his cock? Only guesses, but each thought made his breath hitch, the idea of going down on Sam like so many girls had before painfully hot.

Thoughts of what Sam would do flittered through, there and gone in a flash. Pictures of Sam leaning back and letting Dean worship him with slow licks and gentle nips, switching immediately to Sam holding his head in place as he fucked into his mouth, barely giving Dean time to adjust and relax his throat. But Dean was a fast learner, he would fight his gag reflex easy and let Sam take what he wanted, let Sam take everything.

By now Dean's head was pushed back into the pillow, one hand fisted and covering his mouth, the other palming himself roughly through his briefs. He liked taking his time with moments like these, rarely ever finding the time to do so. Not to say he didn't find quality time with righty now and then, it's just the rare special occasions where he can don Sam's shirt and roll in pleasure on his bed, encased in his scent and thoughts of every dirty fantasy flashing bright. These were far and few, and as much as he was unjustly upset over Sam and some blonde girl who couldn't be that good in bed, he didn't want to waste such an golden opportunity.

His back bowed and his legs drew close and open, hand dipping into his shorts and gripping lightly the base of his dick. He gasped softly, eyes shutting while his other hand moved from his mouth to pinch and pull at his nipples. All the while he imaged Sam caging him, surrounding him. Sam, powerful and immovable, holding him down as he played Dean's body, stringing notes and tunes from Dean before pushing into him, slow and careful with the promise of fast and hard once things got going.

Sam would be gentle at first, soft kisses and questions, always asking Dean if he wanted this, making sure it was all consensual and Dean would just quip back and bop his head if he wouldn't shut up and get on with it. His baby brother would make sure Dean was completely ready, going further until his fingers dancing inside Dean's ass would be torture and maybe he would want Dean to beg for it, beg to be fucked and enter him in one smooth glide once he said the right words, asked broken enough. The pace would be unbearably slow at first, getting Dean used to this feeling of being so full you felt you would burst, find his older brother's sweet spot then speed up, began really giving it to him. Make sure Dean would remember who was in him, owning him, and Dean would lap it up, would go to his stomach and beg for more.

Would Sam bite and mark? Dean imagines he would, imagines waking up sore and covered in bruises shaped like fingers on his thighs, teeth marks etched into his neck and chest and perhaps even his ass, his hole aching with the phantom memory of Sam's cock opening him wider than anything had ever done before. His legs and body would hurt, but in the good way so the bitching would be kept to a minimal. The pain would be worth it, because he'd wake up next to Sam's uncertain smile, like Dean was about to get up and just leave, but then he would reassure his dumb little brother with a demand for food because hey, the kids ass isn't hurting none. Sam would laugh and maybe kiss him before leaving to pick up some shitty breakfast at the diner they passed by on the way into town.

They would then sit at the ratty table and laugh and joke and eat, Sam making faces at Dean's choice of food while he picks at his rabbit meal, lettuce and fruits and these weird little nuts Dean hardly cares for. Dean would tell him and Sam would just roll his eyes, make comments on how Dean won't live past forty with how he eats and they would both get a little silent. Everything would brighten when Dean thinks of some witty comment and they're both laughing again, Sam leaning forward to kiss him and Dean meets him halfway and fucking Christ he's in love with his brother.

Dean cried out, back curving as he released into his hand, tissues conveniently sitting on the nightstand between their beds used to clean his mess and lazily tossed at the trashcan, making it by just a hair. He lay in ecstasy, chest heaving for breath as his face heated upon realizing his thoughts drifted from rough and dirty to sweet and gentle and nothing sexy at all but still so appealing. Jesus Dean was in love with his baby brother. One hundred percent until death do we part love and the realization made his stomach fill with butterflies that fell like stones, weighing him down with the wrongness of everything.

"Fuck… I'm so fucking screwed." He whispered, voice hoarse and cracked. With this revelation he didn't know what to do, nearly laughing because this all started with a shirt kink of all things. Outside something of feet scuffling pavement at a quick pace could be heard, muffled voices and Dean went from not so silent panic to high alert.

Grumbling out nonsense he rolled onto his side, eyes zoning in on the doors cracked exterior, ears straining to hear what he thought was shuffled movements outside. His hand slowly crept up to under his pillow, feigning weariness just in case they could see inside the room somehow while his fingers clasped the grip of Sam's handgun, thumb deftly flicking the safety off. He waited in silence, breathing soft and careful, noiseless as he lay poised to strike if need be, eyes scanning the defenses and ensuring they were still perfectly in place.

The noise of the outsider drifted away, carrying off into the distance and Dean figured it must have been another patron of the Smiling Flowers Motel. Locking the gun back on safety he closed his eyes and heaved outwards, sigh long and low and whittling between his teeth. Pulling the sleeve up on his left arm, taking a moment to appreciate the shirt before his eyes skimmed the time on his watch. It was a good two hours past midnight and Sam should've been back now. Though glad he wasn't, it was upsetting to know Sam was taking so long with this chick.

Jealous and upset over his newfound love and the fact Sam was out with a girl Dean really couldn't find it in himself to change, or move off of Sam's bed for that matter. Glaring daggers into the wall and the stupid flowers grinning brightly he sighed through his nose, pulling the blanket up around his midsection and closing his eyes resentfully. Already he was formulating excuses for his apparel, that after he got back he was too lazy to undress and no Sam he was wearing this shirt all day long you're just going blind, and that he just fell into the first bed he saw. He figured that would work, his brother would just shake it off as him being weird and quickly found pseudo peace in sleep, surrounded by Sam's scent.

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So Sam has a problem. It's a fairly big one, the kind of big that makes you stagger back with the realization that you were just handed the shittiest draw you could possibly get. The worst part being that Sam doesn't know if he should take it as a godsend or one giant hellsend. Considering the problem ties into one little –he scoffs at little, because that's one word for it- issue he's been dealing with for some time now, Sam's not sure what to think. Maybe it's just the magnitude of what he just heard that's really messing with him, but he is seriously lost right now.

It could've meant nothing. Probably just another Sam, right? They were plenty of girls named that, so really he's just making a big deal over nothing. Still though, he couldn't help the small flutter of hope skip around in his chest, making room where it really, really shouldn't. Dean had raised him, was more of a father than John was, was the brother anyone could want aside from the few quirks that Dean couldn't help. Still though, he had raised him, so that little, itty bitty tiny hope should squash itself before it festers. It was wrong and sick and Sam had already dealt with the guilt that coincided with it years ago, he didn't need those engines revving up again with a whole new reason fueling them.

He was already dealing with one infestation for far too long, didn't need another. Gravel scraped his shoes as he barely lifted them, feet dragging as he carried himself as fast as he could towards the Impala, figuring a night spent there wouldn't kill him. Especially after what he just heard. Oh god what did he just hear.

With what he had perceived through the door a picture painted itself so clear, so perfect, and it made his nails bite into his palms and his head spin. He could see the back arching, the legs drawn up and open and just fuck the noises. The breathy, barely there gasps and hiccups of what could be his name and Jesus Christ he never knew Dean could sound like that. So fragile and needy, so unlike Dean, broken as he called out for Sam –or not, he could have misheard, must have misheard- to touch him, fill him up and Sam needed to stop this train of thought right now or else it's going to be the death of him.

Deep, even inhales as he shut his eyes tight, leaning against the hood of the Impala and one hand balled and pressed into his forehead. His head was pounding and his blood rushed south, mouth drying as he tried his best to calm himself. Soft calls beckoned him to the motel's doors, to where Dean was undoubtedly resting, and despite the headache beginning to pulsate throughout his skull his body was rearing to go, ready to finally be allowed to bite the fruit of sin he's denied himself for so long. He had to reign this in now, because there's still the chance this is all just one big misunderstanding and Sam has it all wrong and he could permanently damage, if not sever, their bond.

He just has to get himself under control, take what he knows and what he's heard, and logically tackle the situation. Yeah, that's better than mindlessly rutting into the driver's seat door in the stinging cold of the outside air thinking of Dean pretty and spread out beneath him. He could definitely get on board with that idea.

Pulling away with a small groan he bit hard into his lower lip, the pain stinging and sharp and bringing clear conscious to mind as he fumbled in his pockets for the spare key. It wouldn't drive the car, but it was perfectly fitted to opening the doors and trunk in case Dean or Sam couldn't find the actual ones in case of emergency. Car door slamming shut just as fast as it had opened Sam now sat in the warm, comforting embrace of the Impala's leather interior. She was nostalgic and familiar, and the feel of being surrounded by her brought more clarity to Sam as he shifted about, getting comfortable before the gears in his mind got to work on the problem at hand.

He started first with his own emotions, the hope mixing with fear which was performing the cha-cha with his long time standing friend want. Very, very, repressed want. Want that started long before he even knew what his dick was for. He figured it really cropped up around the time he was ten, a year after his real training against the supernatural began and he saw just how whittle they all were, how easily they could be killed. Every precaution and move he learned, every weapon he became proficient and so on with, it only helped water the seedling that stuck its roots where it had no right being. Because for once he saw clear the world Dean did, the dangers and haunting memories that stuck to one's thoughts like ancient insects to amber, solidified and heavy as its weight pushed you to sleep for escape, only to meet you with its cold, calculating eyes once consciousness left you.

Dean had to deal with this since four, since before Sam could even formulate a thought, and it bared down heavily on his young mind. His dear elder brother had feigned so much to keep him safe, to keep him well and happy and it enraged him as he got older, that Dean had to suffer so much. Starting first as the innocent thought to hug Dean close so he would be okay, like sometimes Dean had done for him when he had nightmares of a screaming woman and heat that scorched the very air he breathed. Hugs always made him feel better, he figured it would do the same.

Years flew and such innocence became corrupted, by thirteen hugging became kissing; fifteen it was touching. Seventeen he wanted to spread open his brother and push in, make home for himself where Dean seemed so small, soft and helpless, hold him until it became clear to Dean he was safe, protected and could finally let go and lower his guard. Let someone else take care of him for once. Of course he never let it slip once he wanted to screw his brother silly, which would just be a death wish really. He was smart about it, letting himself sate the hunger with fleeting touches that seemed accidental enough, and poor, poor Dean never caught on once.

He left for Stanford to live his own life and to escape the clutches of his painful, horrible, very wrong-bad-no attraction to his older brother. It worked for the most part, he had room to grow around something that wasn't centered on killing and hunting and taking down monsters, he could focus on parts of life that wasn't death. But in the nights when he lay next to Jess he was hounded by thoughts of Dean. He missed him more than assumed he would, missed his smiles that could light up a room –and the undergarments of practically anybody, missed the way his eyes sparkled whenever he got his research right or was about to do something potentially life threatening, hell, even missed the snarky comments thrown his way about every time Sam spoke. It got to the point he would have conversations with Dean in his head while doing practically anything his older brother deemed girly or mundane.

It was bad, he knew. Nonetheless he had thought it was well contained, only to have it flush him full force like a flash flood the moment he had Dean pinned beneath him, laughing crazily about something while all Sam could do was mutter his brother's name indignantly. These wonderfully annoying cravings just festered over the year they've now traveled together, and though he was saddened by Jessica's death, still loved and would always miss her deeply, he had fallen for his brother first, and couldn't help it if his affections flourished the more time he spent in close courters with Dean. He was older now and more clear headed, and somehow that made it all worse, because he was a man now, they both were, and they both lived fucked up lives, what business did others have in their life affairs? Kept locked down, that trail of thought, ensured he wouldn't just give in to the idea that it didn't really matter because they already give so much to the world, was it really so wrong if they chose to find pleasure in one another?

But the entire idea of ignoring his own feelings so he could keep traveling with Dean was thrown out the window the moment he happened to stumble back from a rather regrettable night and right into the arms of future fantasy fuel. Really, it was pretty much everything he ever thought of, and there it was, right behind a door, and he being perhaps the world's biggest pansy turned tail and run. For good reason of course. If Dean did share Sam's… Uncalled for attraction Sam didn't think he would take too kindly to his brother barging in and practically molesting him on the spot, no questions asked. Even if Dean was calling out for him, it's not like he expected Sam toanswer. So Sam did the respectful, mature, sane thing and walked away for dear life. He wasn't being a coward because there were still variables that needed to be squared out.

As in what the hell was he supposed to do now?

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Dean woke softly to the sounds of the motel's door jiggling open, Sam stumbling through blearily with two styrofoam cups in hand, steam rising in sinuous curls. Coffee, most likely, and the heavy scent pulled Dean from the allure of sleep and out of bed. Forgetting his garb he stretched his arms far above his head, yawning wide and scrunching his nose at his morning breath. With a groan he made his way to the bathroom where Sam was standing, eyes closed as he lazily scrubbed his teeth clean. He knew brushing now would make his coffee taste like shit, but he was also positive his morning breath would be just as bad mixing with the dark brew, and that the drink was already shit, being that of a motel's machine.

Sam, barely sparing a glance at Dean walked right past him, eyes cracked and red as he moved to the small ratty table where he placed their drinks. Dean paid him no heed, focusing with what little brain cells were awake on brushing his teeth and getting some caffeine in his system. Minutes passed and he gargled and spat, wiping his mouth with the scratchy towel before turning to get his own coffee. His brother still hadn't really looked at him, and maybe it was because they were both bone dead tired, but they weren't too keen on inspecting a few things that were out of place. For instance, it took Sam all night to come back looking like he was just told his puppy died, and second; Dean rolled out of Sam's bed only wearing one of his large flannels, save for his black briefs.

They placed no focus on the details, merely downing their coffee in shared silence. It wasn't until Dean pulled away to give one last yawn and a good stretch did Sam nearly choke on his drink, sputtering the brown liquid everywhere as his eyes widened. Dean didn't understand what was up with his brother, scratching his lower abdomen as he shrugged and quirked an eyebrow, a silent asking of what before sauntering off to their bags to get himself some clothes. The case was simple, a salt and burn which would be dealt with later tonight once everything was packed and ready to go. First things first however, was breakfast.

He pulled out one of his favorite tees and shrugged into last night's jeans before turning to still find Sam gawking at him, face tinged pink, and now he had Dean's unwarranted attention.

"Dude, what? I know I'm hot and all but could you tone down the staring?" He said with less snark than usual, too tired to pull his usual tricks and actually getting a bit ticked at the whole thing. He didn't want to deal with whatever Sam's issue was, especially if it included him. Mouth snapping shut, Sam turned away, a hand sweeping through his unkempt hair before turning back to Dean.

"Uhm." Was the great response Sam managed and Dean chuffed a breath, unbuttoning his shirt and turning his back to Sam. Minutes ticked in awkward silence and Dean kept fumbling on untucking the middle button when it finally hit him.

"Jesus fucking A Christ." He spat furiously under his breath, hands flying away from the shirt and quickly covering his mini panic by lacing together and pressing to the back of his head. Okay, stay calm Dean, you can explain this easy, yeah? Easy peasy.

"Uh, yeah." Sam mumbled miserably, voice dying off as Dean resolutely refused to turn to him.

"I was tired." Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam responded.

"Real fucking tired."

"Got'cha."

Sam coughed quietly, a shuffle of feet.

"Good." And that was that. Dean finished undressing and no one mentioned him stuffing Sam's shirt into his bag, or that Sam's bed was the only one rumpled from sleep. Dean didn't talk and Sam tried not to stare much. They packed efficiently and quietly, and if they happened to skim each other one too many times, no one's business but their own.

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Things weren't bad. But they weren't exactly good either. More of tense, quiet, like the calm before the storm. Dean became snappy and fumbled their pool games, irate at practically anything that looked his way and Sam supposed he wasn't much better. He was being just as moody, not pulling his usual sympathetic listener routine with their witnesses and after a few days of pissy pointless fights they finished up their newest case and headed off to maybe take a break at some pointless motel. He would leave it up to Dean, and if the way the eldest brother was swerving his turns a tad more rough than he had right too, Sam was correct in the assumption they needed a break to figure a few things out.

Sam didn't plan to let this thing stew so long, but it's as if his balls decided to take a break and fly to Fiji without him, leaving him stranded with a Dean who seems to be panicking in his own way at the situation. It's not as if he didn't try and talk about it, maybe even bring up that he heard a few things but at every turn Dean shut him down with cold glares and one time a literal 'shut up', no jokes or quips, straight out flat up shut it and it stung just a little. Perhaps he also let Dean's foul mood ruin his and might have let it all escalate further than it should but hey, it wasn't every day you tackle incestuous gay love involving yourself and your brother who basically raised you.

Hell, that thought sounded ludicrous no matter how Sam placed it.

Dazing in and out of consciousness, Sam leaned into the passenger seats window, not focusing much on his surroundings aside from sparse trees and fields of green. His mind fluttered about, thoughts like sand paper grating him and he stirred restlessly where he sat. Barely able to pay much attention to even closing his eyes he crossed his arms, knees creaking as he side gazed Dean. His brothers jaw was set, eyes hard on the road before him and lips pouted which Dean really shouldn't do ever, they were already plush, he didn't have to make it worse on Sam.

Sam let himself trace the shape of Dean's profile, appreciating every detail, his long lashes, the vibrant green eyes, landing longingly at his mouth. The pink bow of his lips made Sam want to just throw caution to the wind and just show Dean how dumb they were being about everything. It's not as if Dean sleeping in his shirt showed Sam that he was interested in Sam more than a brother should be, it was the fact it was them that Dean knew Sam knew. It was an annoyingly painful trail of thought and Sam spared no expense on lavishing Dean's face into his mind to make due. If his brother noticed his staring, he made no comment.

Hours flew by and eventually they were driving on the back roads, rare for them but nonetheless pleasing. Sam made a game of counting all the road kill, morbid as he waited patiently for something aside from bumpy roads and brooding Dean to happen. He opened his mouth every so often, an idea to speak quickly squashed by nerves. The rest of the day passed in crappy convenience store snacks and five more road side hit animals.

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By nightfall they pulled into Dozy Doe's Motel, Sam blinking to after hearing the cars door open and slam shut, the warmth of the car quickly evaporating as the engine shut down. Groaning out unintelligibly, Sam pulled himself out of the car, breath puffing out in soft clouds as he rubbed his hands together. The stars were bright, peering out through the crop of trees and exploding into thousands above the small parking lot. He took a moment to stare up at the twinkling dots, watching as they each blinked and shifted depending on where he looked before looking back to his feet. A pebble flew after he scuffed his toe, shuffling where he stood before looking up to where Dean was, standing behind the counter and impatiently bopping the small ringer, waiting for the manager.

Huffing out once, he let his fingers brush the extra set of keys in his pocket before opening the trunk, pulling out their two packed bags and leaving the weapons where they lay. The air stung as he closed the back, slinging one bag on each shoulder and waiting by the hood of the car. As Dean spoke to the late manager Sam looked about himself, noting the three cars that scattered about different parking spots and the large, rather obnoxious doe sign that proudly stated the name of the motel. Its eyes were an obnoxious bright blue, lidded in what Sam supposed was it being tired but appeared more carnivorous with its large, twisting grin. The deer's left eye blinked in and out, boring down on Sam who shuddered, looking back to the office and sighed in relief upon seeing Dean exit, twirling the key in one hand.

He silently followed Dean, who merely quirked his head to Sam before opening their door. Sam stood a respectful distance back, ignoring the want to stand close and huddle his brother into the door, to set his hands on his hips and breath into the back of his neck while waiting. The door clicked open just as Sam found himself veering closer to Dean, blinking rapidly before walking in after his brother.

"Dude that's just wrong." Dean said, speaking for the first time in what felt like forever as he glared at the décor. Dean was right, the motel going overboard with the whole 'deer' theme.

The lamps sitting on each nightstand by the two queens were made of faux antlers, the carpet an ugly green and the walls a molted brown. The pictures on the wall were of multitudes of deer's, the beds covers leaves and doe designed. But what really got to them was the specially painted on Dozy Doe that glowered at them from the ceiling, lopsidedly drawn and yet given the green light to stay. Oh God, it was wrong. So very, very wrong, and Sam instantly regretted commenting a few hours ago about wanting to pull over.

Sam dropped their stuff in the far corner, adamantly avoiding eye contact with the monstrosity on the ceiling. Dean did the same, shrugging out of his jacket and leaving it on one of the chairs, which of course were also fashioned of fake antlers and deer skin. Doing the same Sam tossed his jacket on the bed closest to the door, silently claiming it as his before Dean could. His brother chuffed out a laugh at his actions, leaving to the bathroom and shutting the door quietly behind himself. Sam almost followed him, relenting only on the quiet promise he would take care of this problem between them soon enough.

The beds hinges creaked when Sam plopped down on the edge of his, resting his elbows on his knees and looking about the low lit room. The only light on being the kitchenettes and despite how bad the interior was, this room was far nicer than their regular ones. It was a good change of pace, so Sam had chosen not to comment. Instead, he flung the rest of his body down, arms lying listlessly by his side whilst he fazes out, the sounds of the starting shower becoming nondistinct and the glaring deer upon the ceiling dissipating into a blur.

Time ticked and a strange sort of pressure began to build in Sam's chest, bubbling from the depths of his gut and filling every cavern his body provided.

Steam curled from the underneath of the bathroom door, Dean being in long enough to take up all the hot water. If Sam was more awake perhaps he would've mustered enough annoyance to be angry at the obvious pick at him, but at the time he felt exhausted, too full of boundless nothing. More so by his emotions than anything physical. He heard the soft click and the water abruptly stopping, Dean shuffling about inside the presumed small stall. A few minutes passed and his brother exited, dressed in sweatpants and one of his tees and Sam couldn't help but laugh after noticing, the notion of Dean dressing in the bathroom instead of out funny as hell because what did Dean expect him to do?

"What?" Dean said, arms crossing his chest self-consciously. Sam died off into chuckles, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose while he sat up. Dean had the gall to scoot back an inch, still close to the open bathroom which no longer steamed heat.

"You're dressed." Sam said, settling his hands on his thighs while looking up at Dean. His brother refused to make eye contact, looking instead at the distasteful framed photo of the damned Dozy Doe sitting on the nightstand farthest from them.

"Yeah, so?" Dean asked, all snark as he quirked an eyebrow.

"You dressed in the bathroom." Sam restated, face blank but eyes alight with amusement. To this Dean finally looked flustered, jaw gritting as his face flushed a soft pink, barely noticeable.

"Well, uh, duh? Kind of the point after showering Sam."

"In the bathroom." Sam enunciated each word, as if Dean was slow and taking a bit longer to get Sam's point. Sam knew that Dean understood what he meant, but he was upset and tired and Dean's hair was damp and curled from his shower, a few rogue drops sliding down his neck and wetting the collar of his shirt. It was all painfully distracting and maybe his brother was becoming awkward under his hungry stare and not his statement. Sam wasn't being as careful about his staring any longer, appreciating his brother adamantly since that night at Smiling Flower's in hopes to show clear his intentions. Dean noticed well enough and might have sharked looks of his own, but that didn't make crossing the boundary any easier. Perhaps that's what set them on edge.

"Just drop it." Dean said, voice creeping into his 'I'm the big brother so listen to me' tone. Sam didn't care much that it only sent an excited shiver through him. He wanted to break that voice, make it hoarse from screaming. He wanted to hold Dean down, touch and stroke and fill, make him realize this is all okay, that they could make it work. They've done crazier things.

"Sam?" Dean's voice said, uncertainty staining his words and Sam just then realized he had stood, eyes dark as he appraised his brother. His heart pounded against his ribs, the pressure from before breaking forth and Sam figured he had enough of this.

"Dean." Sam said in turn, one word which held the precipice of all their problems, the tipping point and Sam was falling with open arms. Dean caught on with Sam's plan, feet carrying him backwards towards the bathroom but Sam was quicker, rushing with a speed he didn't know he had and reaching behind Dean with one long arm and slamming the door shut, caging his brother close.

"Sam." Dean said, voice high in warning as he pressed his palms flat against the door behind himself. Sam relaxed forward, arms bracing around Dean's head and foreheads close enough they nearly touched. He leaned closer, breath ghosting over Dean's lips and they were so close, just another inch and he would get to taste something he only dreamed of.

"Sam no." Dean spoke again, more stern even though fine trembles shook his frame, hands clenching into fists. Sam barely registered his words, moving closer to rest his nose in his brother's hair, breathing deeply. He shuddered as Dean's scent flushed him, pure and clean and right there. Beneath him a small sound escaped Dean, something of a whimper, more of a gasp, and all it did was fan the flame burning beneath Sam's flesh.

"No." Dean said with more force, and though he spoke denial, he made no move to push his brother away. Sam pushed further, moving to mouth along Dean's ear and take delight in the sweet noises that fell from Dean. He let his arms fall from around his older brother's head, hands scorching a trail down Dean's sides until they landed the sharp hipbones. Dean held still through it all, save the shakes his body gave as Sam shied his hands under the shirt, letting them sit at Dean's waist. He let his thumbs rub circles into his brother's skin, looking desperately at Dean's face although Dean refused to meet his eyes. He needed Dean to look at him, needed to know that he wasn't doing anything Dean didn't want him to.

"Please." Sam whispered into Dean's hair, fingers digging prints into his brother's flesh, Dean pushing into the contact. The older Winchester crumbled under Sam's plea, eyes closing as he searched for something, anything that made sense. He opened them to meet the pleading hazel gaze of Sam, who looked so uncertain and lost that Dean's big brother instincts kicked in. He wanted to wipe away his fears, soothe Sam until his smiles that could light up any room came back, until his cheeks dimpled and his eyes shone clear, the realization they've both been dicks about this smacking him in the face.

A sigh escaped him once, his nervousness and worries dropping to the floor like his breath before he softened his gaze, letting his hands fall away from the door and up Sam's chest, resting open palm on his brother's broad shoulders.

"It's okay." Dean said gently, repeating it while he tilted his head up, angling in as he covered the last few inches that separated them, chastely pressing his lips to Sam. Nothing happened for a few seconds, the only noise their breathing shared, Sam's mind blanking out at the delicate feel of his brother's lips against his own.

It wasn't until Dean began to press more urgently against Sam, hands clenching where they grasped his younger brother that Sam's brain kick started. He growled into the kiss, forcing Dean back hard against the door and pressing a thigh between those damn bow legs, relishing in Dean's squirming and soft mewls. His leg met a hard cock and he pushed harder, hands sliding down to massage circles into Dean's perfect ass. Dean in turn made a hungry sound, insistently pushing back into Sam's touches whilst his hands slid up to tug and pull at his younger brother's hair, eliciting deep groans from Sam.

Sam could hardly believe this was happening, that below him was Dean, hard and hot and unyielding in his affections. It was glorious, maddening, and driving Sam down into a dark pit of untouched desire he doesn't think he can ever escape from, or ever want to. The past few days of tense, hardened looks and untold secrets shed from him like a second skin, every lick and tug from Dean pulling Sam further and further into his brother. Twining them closer together, filling every nook and cranny until Sam felt solid for the first time in ever, strong and able to withstand the most ferocious of waves.

When Dean begun practically humping his leg Sam shifted his grip, giving a grunt as he lifted Dean up and prompted him to wrap his legs around his waist.

"Jesus Sam!" Dean bit out, voice breathy and face blushed red, lips swollen red with spit shining them, and Sam found his brother never looked better. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's neck and shoulder for better leverage, panting hard and eyes lidded in pleasure. They stood there, breathing deeply and both achingly hard, Sam's head spinning in the enormity of the situation. Dean, clinging to him, flushed and looking to him for direction was enough to make him almost come right then and there. He pushed his head into Dean's neck, nipping at the flesh he found there.

"I heard you." Sam said roughly between bites, teeth digging in and meaning to claim and mark.

"Wha-?" Dean slurred, much too focused on grinding down into Sam than any cognitive speech. Just as Sam was drowning, so was Dean, washed ashore a distant island with no map or indication to where he had crash landed, save a vague sign damaged from water and time. Not that he was complaining, because all his fantasies could barely live up to what this would truly be like, and if he had any brain cells currently working he would laugh at how he just knew Sam would be one to bite.

"I heard you," a sharp nip at Dean's jugular, "that night," a sweep of tongue carrying to Dean's ear, "when you wore my shirt." A harsh clamp of teeth at the lobe turned angry red soothed by gentle kisses, and all Dean could do was cling and shudder, soft sounds spilling from him as what Sam said slowly became clearer. "God Dean how you sounded." Sam breathed out, eyes slipping closed as he remembered standing tight against the door, eyes wide and heart thundering in his chest, as noises he never thought he would hear slipped so quietly through the thin wood.

"You- You what?" Dean said, words still hard to form but nonetheless a sinking effort put forth.

"So fucking needy, had to stop myself from breaking the door down." He pushed himself back from the wall, stumbling under Dean's weight a moment before stabilizing and walking towards one of the beds, falling backwards and landing with a grunt when Dean landed none too softly on him. Dean immediately sat up, knees planted either side of Sam's waist and hands placed firmly on his chest. He was still catching up to speed, brain managing to reboot far enough along that he could contribute more to the party aside from clinging to Sam.

"Why didn't you –ah, say anything?" Dean groaned out, grinding back against the thick line of Sam's cock. Sam's hand caught Dean's hipbones and helped direct his brother's movements, pushing up as he pulled him down.

"Tried, fuck, tried to," he paused in speech, pushing away to pull his jeans off, Dean pushing his sweats off and away before resuming their previous position. Sam pulled Dean's shirt off, Dean unbuttoning Sam's flannel and helping him out of it. The over shirt nearly got tossed before Dean clung to it stubbornly, not letting go of this golden opportunity to live out one of his biggest, and probably the major cause of this happenstance, fantasy. Sam let him have it, watching mesmerized Dean put on the shirt while leaving it undone, which wow, looked just as hot as it did the few minutes Sam got to ogle before Dean's little panic beforehand.

The shirt hung just right off of Dean's shoulders, clumping around his waist where Sam had his hands gripping tight, his chest peaking deliciously out of the shirts open slit. Dean praised everything Sam went with his blue plaid today, the one being his personal favorite.

"Course you did." Dean said, a bit out of air because holy hell here he was, sitting atop Sam, clad in nothing but his briefs and Sam's shirt, with his little brother's dick pressing insistently against his ass. The arrangement was absolutely perfect, the both of them not having any doubts as they resumed grinding.

"Not my fault you're a, hn, st-stubborn ass." Sam stuttered out, Dean choosing the moment of speech to tweak a nipple. Well two can play that game.

"Not stubborn." Was all Dean managed to say before he was flipped. Head landing dizzyingly fast on the soft blankets. Mind a spinning fog of shit that's hot he finally managed to get back in touch with reality, finding Sam grinning down at him, large hands clamped down around each of Dean wrist's and holding them down by his head. At once a rush of heat spurt through him, a garbled version of a whimper leaving him because holy shit that really is hot.

He pulled at one of Sam's hands, a pretend attempt at escape and groaned when he got nowhere, rewarded only with Sam tightening his hold. A thin barrier of cloth blocked the warmth of Sam's palm, that being Sam's shirt and Dean didn't know if he could take much more of this. With Sam above him, holding him down while he maimed his neck with teeth and tongue, hips pressing hard into his own, Dean was sure his heart was going to burst from his chest. Perhaps the only thing staying his orgasm being the Dozy Doe grinning perversely down at him.

"Okay, oka-ah-ay, we gotta', Sammy, just nh, hold a moment." Dean barely managed, legs trembling where they held tight around Sam's waist. Sam either didn't hear him or chose not to listen, hands maneuvering to hold both of Dean's wrists in one so the other could slide down with his mouth, leaving a burning trail of kisses and bruising sucks that were sure to leave marks. By the time Sam was sucking Dean's nipples raw and his free hand slipping his briefs off Dean wasn't sure what it was he wanted to say. Then he caught another glance of horribly painted baby blues and he recalled his request.

"Sam, seriously, it's just, holy fuck, the damn fu-uh-ucking deer." This seemed to catch Sam's limited attention, his brother pulling back and glaring down at Dean with confusion, hand halting its path towards Dean's ass. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen, and when Dean chanced a glance down he could only see littered marks and peaked nipples bright red, the shirt fanning out around him and the bruises only prompting the thought of damn did Sam do a number on his chest.

"What?" His brother sounded genuinely upset at being told to stop, eyebrows knitted as he tried to make sense of Dean's statement.

"It's that fucking deer, genius, I am not letting some damn fucking deer ruin this." Dean was surprised he managed so many words but he had to say while getting fucked by Sam was high on his priority list now, it didn't include the third party of horrendously drawn deer.

"Deer? What?" Sam sounded unconvinced and lost, unsure still of what Dean was saying.

"I am not letting you fuck me for the first time while the fucking Dozy Doe watches." He tried to be as clear as he could, gesturing with his head upwards until Sam finally caught on, looking up and Dean snickered as realization dawned on his brother's face. Sam groaned loudly, shoulders slumping as his head sagged back down.

"Kind of a mood killer." Dean said in attempt at soothing the sting that must be going through Sam right now.

"Did you have to choose this damn motel?" Sam asked miserably, cock hard and heart still racing. Dean himself was in the same condition, but he absolutely refused to continue on if he had to stare any longer at miss Dozy Doe.

"Can't you just close your eyes?" Sam threw out, looking pleadingly to Dean. No matter how strong Sam's puppy eyes were, nothing was changing his mind, call him sentimental, but Dozy Doe would not get to play voyeur to their first time.

"Nope." Dean said with a bright grin.

"Please?"

"No."

"Fine then." Sam said with a glower, and before Dean had any chance to calm his brother next thing he knew he was face down on the bed, body flipped so fast he had no time to cognitively note it. He began to push up, ready to ask Sam what the hell his problem was until Sam, sweaty, six-foot-four of pure muscle and warmth pressed him back down into the mattress. Large hands slid up and down his sides in a caress, Sam mouthing the back of his neck and pressing his hips hard into Dean's and Dean found it hard to voice his issue now. Or really what his issue was.

Oh wait the damn deer.

"Sam this doesn't change anything." Dean said in warning despite the way he was rolling his body back into Sam's, a slow burning pleasure zinging through them both.

"Yes it does, we can't see her." Sam said matter-of-factly, seeming much happier now that they were continuing.

"No, it, doesn't." Dean said with each press of his hips, slowly losing his trail of thought as Sam started marking up the back of his neck just as well as the front, which stung like hell as it scratched across the motel's comforters but damn if Dean wasn't all for it.

Sam didn't bother responding, simply focused on pulling down Dean's shorts. Dean would deny helping him but he did, letting his limbs splay where Sam needed them too until he was shoved back into position, his face resting in his arms, chest pressed down and ass drawn high. It made his face burn with arousal, panting open mouthed against the bed while Sam started to grab at his bare cheeks, fingers grazing just teasingly across his hole. Straining back against the touch, wanting more but not making much more a move to claim it, Dean let Sam call the shots now.

"You look so pretty like this." Sam said reverently, one of his hands sliding up the back of Dean's shirt and stroking the skin he found there, his other still rubbing firm circles into his ass. Dean turned his head to the side, eyes struggling to stay open.

"M'not pretty." Dean managed, breaking off at the 'y' to yelp when Sam slid his hand from Dean's arse to his dick, huge ass hand working him with sure, calculating strokes. Dean's hands began clawing into the blankets, stream of unintelligent noises slipping past his lips. He was fully on board now, forgetting completely why he was against doing anything more for the night. Sam now made perfect sense, couldn't see Dozy Doe, what was the problem?

"You are." Sam responded, leaning down to breath in his ear, angling Dean's head back towards the bed so he could hook his chin over Dean's shaking shoulder. All the while he kept his even pace on Dean's cock, thumb swerving the top and tightening at the base before repeating the process.

"You know all the things I want to do to you?" Sam breathed, Dean shaking his head dumbly because hell if he knows anything right now, not with Sam playing him so easy.

"Want to tie you up, kiss every inch until you're begging for me, fill you up slow until you feel like you're going to die before giving it to you as hard and fast as you want." Sam whispered, nipping at the reddened ear as he began to drag his own cock up the cleft of Dean's ass and down, riding him.

"Want to bruise you Dean, leave my mark so everyone knows who you belong to, who owns you." He gave a particularly rough stroke, hand tightening cruelly on Dean as he bit down hard on the base of Dean's neck. The elder brother just cried his pleasure, mouth open and leaving a damp spot where he tried for breath, body shivering and heart beating a tattoo against his ribs.

"I own you, don't I Dean? Tough big brother on his hands and knees, moaning so prettily for his little brother, just like you should be." Sam said, his voice rough as he sped up his strokes, bringing Dean closer to the brink. Sam himself was nearly there, so close to getting off just by grinding between the cheeks of Dean's ass, head catching on the rim of his hole and giving a taste of what it would be like to be inside his brother, where Dean could never be rid of him.

"Yeah." Dean finally said, voice broken and cracked, and he kept repeating the word, pushing his hips into Sam's hand and back into Sam's cock, feeling caged by Sam and hornier than he's ever been. A low growl erupted from Sam's throat, lunging forward to lick at the spot he bit earlier, sucking hard until it showed red and glistening and his mouth held the slightest tang of copper.

Dean tried to hold on, let this feeling of euphoria last, because he doesn't know if this is some sort of fluke or hyper realistic dream and he doesn't want to miss any second of it. He wasn't sure he could hold it off any longer however, not with Sam panting hard into his ear, his heavy cock riding his ass and skimming his hole enough for Dean to push back with a loud whine, wanting more, needing more, only taking what Sam gave him. Sure enough Sam stroked at just the right angle, Dean coming with a loud yell, Sam's name mixing in as he spurted all over the bed and Sam's hand. A few more frantic thrusts from Sam and he came with a grunt, coating the back of Dean's thighs and ass, the thick substance steadily leaking downwards, and if Dean wasn't busy riding the high of one mind blowing orgasm he would probably be disgusted.

They both lied there for a few beats, Sam sluggishly holding himself up before his muscle gave way and he had enough time to flop to the right of Dean, right on his back with his head facing his brother who was still face planted into the bed. Dean took another deep breath before turning his head to face Sam, offering a weak grin when he was greeted with hazel eyes warm with awe and adoration and he was going to have to hide his face again, unable to stare too long at such a look. He rolled onto his back, keeping his eyes on Sam while he did so.

"So." Dean said, his voice rough mouth dry.

"So." Sam responded, staring a few more moments at Dean until breaking off into a cheerful grin, Dean doing so in turn.

"That was… Awesome." Dean said slowly, figuring he had no right word to accurately describe how truly amazing he thought what transpired between them was.

"Yeah, yeah it was." Sam said, voice bright and cheery.

"Though uhm, kind of told you to stop there, Sammy-boy, no self-control I see." Dean said in jest, laughing as Sam furrowed his brow and bit into his lower lip.

"You just said no fucking, I improvised."

"We fucked."

"But we didn't fuck fuck." Sam said, as if it made all the difference.

"Aren't I supposed to be the obnoxious one?" Dean said, looking upwards only to grimace because hello there Dozy Doe.

"Aren't you supposed to be the macho macho man?" Sam retorted. Dean turned to Sam with an unimpressed glare.

"Hey, doesn't make me less of a man if I like it up the ass, thought you of all people would be supportive of that."

"Hey! I am, I was just…"

"Just?" Dean pressed.

"Dropping it. Just dropping it." Sam said in a plaintive tone, taking the easy way out and Dean let him, too happy to let even Dozy Doe ruin his mood.

A comfortable silence fell over them, both glaring up at the deer upon the ceiling before Dean turned on his side, facing Sam with an uncertain glance. He bit into his lower lip, looking down before gathering his courage.

"Hey Sam?"

"Hm?" Sam hummed, eyes closed and hands resting on his stomach, apparently already halfway asleep.

"We're uhm, we're good right? This wasn't a mistake or anything?" Dean said quietly, fingers drumming into the bed in soft patters. Sam didn't bother responding, instead turned to face him with a warm smile and a hand placing itself on his cheek, thumb rubbing small circles into his cheekbones and pulling him forward. They shared a soft kiss, one full of promise that made Dean's chest flush with warmth, and yeah, they were good.

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