Ficlet

[essene_backup]

Title: What the hell am I doing here?
Setting: lateish Season 5
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13ish?
A/N: title taken from the lyrics of "Creep" by Radiohead; unbeta'd...I really need to get me one of those.  Any volunteers?



There are three ways it CAN go, but only one that it does.

 

 

A couple of shots at the bar where Dean charms the barmaid and Sam looks suitably chagrined.  Ten minutes spent scoping the pool tables as they drink down amber liquor from small glasses.  Sam pushes away first, saunters over to the group of 3 men taking turns shooting balls while shooting the shit. 

He perches on a stool, elbow propped on the shallow counter next to a bowl of nearly fluorescent yellow popcorn.  A few minutes later he orders a beer from the wandering waitress and then strikes up a conversation with the guy in the red shirt who's waiting his turn.  Soon enough, Sam's rotating in, taking turns with the men like he's one of them.  Dean downs his third shot and adjusts his jacket as he moves off the stool and makes his way toward the pool tables, slotting neatly into the niche they've carved for him.

 

Pockets flush with a couple hundred dollars and movements addled by more than a few assorted beers and shots, Dean is fumbling with the lock to the motel room.  Finally, after what seems like ages he fits it in and twists--he doesn't realize until it's too late that Sam has been propped not only by the door but by Dean’s back and the sudden loss of a firm structure sends them toppling to the ground, Dean pinned to the musty shag carpet by the massive hulk of his little brother. 

 

Dean hears and feels giggling even as he winces at the sharp pain that shoots through his knee from taking most of the impact of their fall. He elbows Sam firmly in the gut to get him to move off. Sam does so, but keeps up with the giggles. 

 

Groaning, Dean rolls onto his back, "You're one heavy motherfucker, jerk."

 

Sam is still giggling, but it's more hiccups and panting now.  "Your fault, bitch.  You're the one who kept taking the alcohol."

 

They lay there for a few more moments on the matted carpet, moonlight streaming in the open door.  Dean gets up first and then reaches down a hand for Sam, hauling his drunk-ass brother to his feet.

 

Sam leans in swift and without warning. Presses freshly licked lips into Dean's, and Dean feels his stomach lurch sideways as his heart misses a beat. His eyes widen, and he wedges his hands between them and shoves.

 

 

*****************

 

It's been a long hunt.  Pack of Adlets in Montana...blah blah blah.  Same old story: death, blood, gore. He and Sam had taken care of it, and the only ones who knew it were them.  Dean figured they needed a better thank-you than that, so he found the little corner of town that exists in every community, no matter how small, and scored some spectacular skunk.

 

Coupla hours later, he and Sam have demolished the bucket of chicken that Dean grabbed on his way back to the motel and guffawed their way through the TV edited version of Animal House--which in Dean's opinion is still the funniest damn movie ever made, even when it's been hacked to within an inch of its life.

 

Dean's in the bathroom after taking a record length piss and contemplating the feasibility of rubbing one out before going back out for another hit and maybe calling for Chinese.  He's got his fingers wrapped around his cock and is just...feeling it, the heft, the soft give of relaxed muscle just starting to fill with blood...and then hears Sam laughing just outside the door.  He sighs and tucks himself away before zipping up and opening the door. 

 

Sam's right there, reaching out towards the door, looking surprised that it's open and that the bathroom has an occupant.

 

"Dude.  I totally forgot that you were in there,"  he breaks out in an ear splitting grin, "innnn therrrrrreee." He draws out the words, as if savoring them, followed by uncontrolled giggling.

 

Dean edges past him, shaking his head and claps him on the shoulder.  "I'ma do another bowl.  You want some?"

 

Sam has clearly forgotten to close the door because Dean's answer is the sound of liquid hitting liquid followed by a large sigh of relief from Sam.  Dean shakes his head, grabs the baggie and the bong and packs the bowl while Sam finishes up.

 

He's lit up and taken one long bubbling drag, residual smoke stinging his eyes as Sam totters out of the bathroom, jeans still around his legs.  Dean watches amusedly as Sam clearly seems confused by his inability to move at a regular pace.  Stopping in front of Dean, Sam states, "My pants fell down."

 

Dean scans Sam's face lingering on the small upturn in the corners of his mouth, the lazy slope of his eyes, the hot flush on his cheeks. Sam's high and happy--been a long time since Dean's seen the creases disappear, the tension wash from his brother's features.

 

When Sam finally tries to toe off his pants, he loses his balance and careens towards where Dean's leaning against the rickety dresser and Dean moves to steady him. Sam looks up at him, grateful eyes shining, teeth bared in thanks and Dean doesn't think, just tips down and presses a dry kiss to the dip below Sam's jaw. Sam jerks away like he's the one who's been burned, hand clasping to the spot Dean's lips just left before shooting out and twisting into Dean's shirt and heaving him close, eyes hard and glittering as they look down into Dean's.  Dean can feel Sam's breath panting hot and moist across his mouth just before his little brother groans, "Fuck, Dean," and licks into the dark space between Dean's lips.

 

*************

 
 

Sam walks through the door, pizza box in one hand, six-pack of beer in the other and kicks the door shut with his foot. Dean doesn't look up from the laptop just raises his head in acknowledgement of his brother's return. Sam sets the six-pack on the flimsy table within Dean's reach and twists one out for himself.  He slumps down on the nearest bed and flips the lid on the box, snagging a loaded piece of pizza. Folding it in half with long fingers he starts wolfing it down as he pops the top on the can of beer. Dean looks over at him. "It's amazing to me. You're such a fucking primadonna in a restaurant, ordering rabbit food, but pizza? Pizza you eat greasy and loaded down with everything imaginable. You're such a hypocrite."

 

Sam just looks at him and then grins, lips stretching wide and slick from grease as he chews and swallows. "Can't fuck with perfection man. Pizza's no good with lettuce."

 

Dean watches as his brother follows this declaration with several long swallows from his beer, Adam’s apple rolling rhythmically with each one. He looks away hastily as he realizes that his gaze is lingering, tracing the bones framing the base of Sam's neck.  He pulls a beer from the pack for himself, taking long greedy guzzles with his eyes closed. He relishes the burn of the carbonation, letting it distract him just long enough to settle the low heavy feeling building in his groin.

 

He finishes his research on mandrake and homunculi and clicks the laptop closed.  He'd tell Sam what he learned, but he suspects that he studious little fuck already knows.  It's been the way of things lately, Dean doing the research, Sam tapping into his brainpan for the knowledge.  He'd be frustrated, but that's just pointless.  Sam's always been smarter.  That too is the way of things.

 

Dean knocks a boot into Sam's and nods at the half-empty pizza box, "Give me a piece, you hog."

 

Sam lifts a piece laden with toppings and sagging with the weight and places it into Dean's outstretched hand.  He reaches past Dean for another beer before flicking on the TV and surfing channels, finally settling on Mythbusters--even though they've already seen Adam & Jamie send Buster crashing to earth via crane at least twice before.  It's still good TV.

 

During a commercial, Sam turns to Dean and says, "I mean it, you know."

 

Brows crossed, Dean tries to decipher what the hell Sam is talking about.  When he says nothing, Sam continues.

 

"When we were in the nut house.  I meant it."

 

Dean snorts and pulls another beer free from the plastic.  He's about to pop it open when Sam's giant hand stops him.  "I was hopped up on happy pills, but it didn't make me a liar..."  Sam's hand is still covering his, warm and solid, "it just let me say what I never seem to be able to when we're in the middle of all this shit."

 

Dean finally looks at him.  Takes in his brother's earnest face, pleading with him to understand all the meaning behind his words, searching out the shapes hidden within.  Without blinking, Dean answers, "I know."  He swallows thickly and continues, "me too, man.  Me too."

 

Sam's hand leaves his then, and Dean's skin feels stark and exposed.  He draws the beer closer, grips it firmer.  He does not look at his brother, just lets his eyes go back to the TV screen, even if he's not really seeing what's there anymore.

 

A few moments later Sam sighs and Dean hears the bed springs squeal in protest as his brother gets off the bed and heads for the bathroom.  Only then does Dean let himself react, lets out a shuddering breath and closes his eyes as his brain processes what Sam's given him.

 

Eventually, Sam emerges and grabs his coat, shrugging into it.  "You ready?"

 

Dean stands and grabs the keys, "Yeah.  I'm ready."

 

Together, they head out into the night.

 

 

Comments

[spiralleds.livejournal.com]

Love those angsty, messed up boys.

[electricalgwen.livejournal.com]

Mmmmmm. Delicious. *g*

[locknkey.livejournal.com]

There are some really nice moments here - the second kiss and this He looks away hastily as he realizes that his gaze is lingering, tracing the bones framing the base of Sam's neck. and Takes in his brother's earnest face, pleading with him to understand all the meaning behind his words, searching out the shapes hidden within. :) I really liked the sexual tension and the knowing between them.