The Truth In The Lie: Epilogue

Title: The Truth In The Lie: Epilogue
Rating: NC-17 this chapter, NC-17 overall.
Word count: 6,069/63,000 (this chapter/total)
A/N: Main header and notes: here.

Prologue, Day One, Day Two, Day Three, Day Four, Day Five, Day Six, Day Seven, Day Eight, Day Nine, Day Ten, Day Eleven (Part One, Part Two), Epilogue.

****

When they got to the rest-stop, Dean hot-wired a Pontiac and took off fast in the direction of Yarmouth before whoever owned it could come running out of the tiny service station. He drove with his foot heavy on the gas, occasionally tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel, and Sam knew that if they'd been in the Impala with Dean's tape collection, rock music would be blasting.

As the adrenalin started to wear off, Sam began to become uncomfortably aware of the scratches and bruises all down his back and legs from where Victor had held him down. He found himself hunching forward so that his back didn't rub against the seat and trying hard to put as little pressure as possible on the backs of his thighs.

After about twenty minutes, Dean let out a frustrated huff of air and pulled over on to the edge of the road.

“You gonna let me look at your back?” he asked.

Sam sighed and glanced around at the cars passing by on the road before turning his back to Dean and carefully pulling his shirts over his head. Dean turned on the overhead light and leaned in close to examine him. Sam held very still under his scrutiny, but couldn't stop himself from twitching slightly when Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

“He didn't bite you, right?” asked Dean, running his hand gently down the edge of Sam's shoulder-blade, skirting one of the scratches.

“They weren't werewolves,” Sam pointed out, trying to keep his voice steady. “We don't even know if they were contagious.”

Dean's hand stopped moving. “Sam,” he said in a warning tone.

Sam made a face to himself. “No, he didn't bite me,” he said in a long-suffering tone.

Dean nodded and continued his examination, tracing his hand further down Sam's spine and making him shiver. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“Back of my legs,” admitted Sam, then deliberately lowered his voice. “Want me to take my pants off?”

There was silence for a very long minute and Sam began to think that Dean was going to say yes. He was trying to work out the logistics of sex in the front seat of the car when Dean cleared his throat and moved back.

“Not here,” he said regretfully, then reached into the back to grab his duffle. “We haven't got time to clean those now, but you should take a couple of painkillers so that you can sit without squirming.”

Sam reluctantly pulled his shirts back on and took the pills Dean handed him. Dean watched him swallow them, then started the car and got back on the road.

****

They abandoned the car in the parking lot at the ferry port and got tickets as foot passengers, both of them trying not to look around too obviously for law enforcement officers.

There was an hour's wait before the next ferry, so they found a couple of chairs that faced the door in the waiting room. Dean twitched nervously every time it opened, but the long night and the effects of the pills made Sam way too tired to care if they ended up being arrested by the Canadians. In the end, he just shut his eyes and let himself doze off, leaving Dean to it.

When Dean woke him to get on the ferry, Sam's head was cushioned against Dean's shoulder. Neither of them mentioned it.

Sam would have been quite happy to just find somewhere on the ferry to continue his sleep, but Dean hustled them into a restroom before the ferry had even left port. He checked the cubicles to make sure they were alone then blocked the door with a trash can. Sam watched him with a growing sense of anticipation.

Once Dean was sure that they weren't about to be disturbed, he turned to Sam. “Shirts off,” he said tersely.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What, you're not going to take them off for me?”

Dean glared at him. “I'm going to clean those scratches,” he said.

Sam pushed down his disappointment and pulled off his shirts as Dean dug around in his bag for their first aid kit, then ran some hot water into a sink.

Dean's hand was gentle as he cleaned the scratches and Sam watched his frown of concentration in the mirror. He traced over every single one of Sam's injuries, even the ones that Sam could tell were little more than a red line, and Sam had to work hard to keep his breathing calm and even, especially as Dean's hands strayed further down, towards his waistband. When he poured on the disinfectant, Sam dipped his head and sucked in a breath at the sudden sting. When he looked back up, Dean was staring at him in the mirror. Sam locked eyes with him for a long moment, then Dean looked away, glancing back down at Sam's back as if he'd been caught out.

“All done,” he said, clearing his throat, and Sam turned round to face him, leaning back against the sinks.

“There's the back of my legs as well,” he reminded Dean. “Want me to take my pants off?”

Dean glared at him as if he'd suggested they ditch the Impala for a Toyota, then reluctantly nodded. “Don't get any ideas, though,” he warned. “This isn't a good place for getting frisky.”

Sam laughed as he undid his jeans and pulled them down. “Dean, you've probably had sex in more restrooms than most people have even been in.”

Dean scowled, and gestured at him to turn around again. “Yeah, well, this is different,” he said.

Sam raised an eyebrow, turning to brace himself on the sinks again. “Because we're on a ferry?”

Dean crouched down behind him and Sam had to shut his eyes against a sudden rush of mental images of what he could get up to in that position.

Dean didn't reply immediately. Instead he started cleaning out the claw marks down Sam's legs but after a couple of quiet minutes, he muttered in voice so quiet that Sam was positive he wasn't meant to hear it, “Because you're worth more.”

Before Sam could comment, Dean doused him in disinfectant, and Sam let out a gasp of shock and clenched hard at the edge of the sinks.

Dean stood up and stepped back. “Right, you're done,” he said with fake cheeriness. “Get your clothes on.”

He busied himself with packing everything away while Sam slowly pulled his jeans back on, doing his zipper up carefully over his half-hard cock. Dean was already hovering by the door, bag over his shoulder, by the time Sam had pulled his shirts back on and hefted his own bag.

“Ready?” asked Dean.

“Not quite,” said Sam. Dean quirked an impatient eyebrow at him and Sam just grinned as he stepped forward to kiss him, rubbing one thumb over Dean's cheekbone as he sucked gently on Dean's tongue. “Thanks,” he said when he stepped back.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head, moved the trash can and opened the door.

****

Dean's relief at getting back to the Impala was almost palpable. He ran his hands down over her body as if looking for any dents that might have mysteriously appeared in the last two weeks while she sat in a garage.

“Hey, baby,” he said, as if it was perfectly normal to talk to a car. “I'm sorry, I'll never leave you again. Especially not for a fuck-ugly minibus.”

Sam rolled his eyes but left him to it, opening up the trunk so he could dump their stuff inside. “I take it we're leaving now?” he asked.

Dean nodded absently, examining a tiny spot on the paintwork. “Yeah, if the Feds are looking for us, then Bar Harbor will be crawling with them as soon as they get their act together.” He finally gave up his inspection, and got into the driver's side.

Sam settled into the passenger side seat, surprised by just how familiar and comfortable it seemed after two weeks on a bus. Dean turned over the engine and grinned gleefully at the roar.

“Now that's what an engine should sound like,” he said. Sam snorted, then relaxed back against the window and stretched his legs out as much as he could.

“Wake me up when you want to switch,” he said tiredly, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Won't be any time soon,” said Dean as they turned out of the motel parking lot. “Me and my baby've got some catching up to do.”

Sam didn't bother responding and was asleep before they'd even hit the freeway.

****

When Sam woke up, the sun was high in the sky, they were pulled over on the edge of the freeway, and Dean was poking the strip of flesh that was showing where Sam's shirt had pulled up.

“Your turn to drive,” he announced when he saw Sam's eyes were open, but he didn't move his hand. Instead, his fingers brushed lightly over Sam's stomach, making his flesh tingle.

“Uh, right,” said Sam, still only half-awake. He sat up properly, hoping that it wouldn't prompt Dean to stop touching him. It didn't.

“Where are we?” he asked, glancing around.

Dean shrugged. “Somewhere south of Boston,” he said. He clenched his hand into a fist and ran his knuckles across Sam's hipbone, then sighed tiredly and pulled away. “I'm beat,” he said, opening his car door. “Definitely your turn to drive.”

Sam shifted over as Dean walked round the car and settled down into the passenger seat. “Don't crash my car,” he murmured, and Sam grinned. He could count on one hand the times he'd driven the Impala and Dean hadn't told him that first, and most of them involved Dean being unconscious, or not knowing that Sam had the car at all.

“Don't worry,” he said, patting Dean's leg reassuringly. “I'll be gentle with her.”

Dean snorted, but Sam could tell he really was exhausted when he didn't add any further threats. Sam pulled back out onto the road, and let himself fall into the rhythm of long-distance driving.

****

Sam drove for five or six hours, until the sun was starting to go down, trying to keep his eyes and concentration on the road and not on his brother, who stayed in deep sleep for pretty much the entire drive. He found it increasingly hard as the afternoon wore on not to fixate on the fact that they'd probably have sex before another day had passed. He allowed himself a tiny gay freak-out at around four o'clock, mostly revolving around the mechanics of the whole thing. Whose ass? Whose dick? What if I get it wrong and mess the whole thing up? He wished he'd had more time to do some research.

He followed that up with an incest freak-out. Oh, God, I'm thinking about having sex with my brother. Then he took a deep breath and started calming himself down before Dean woke up. This is Dean. Doesn't matter if he's my brother, or if we don't get it quite right first time. It's Dean.

It was nearly seven when he turned the car into the parking lot of the Milky Way Motel. Dean opened his eyes almost as soon as the engine was off and Sam wondered if he'd really been asleep, or if he was just so tuned in to the sound of the Impala's engine that he automatically woke up when it ended. He stretched awkwardly and glanced around.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Sam shrugged. “Middle of Pennsylvania somewhere. I figured we were far enough away to stop for the night.”

Dean nodded. “Man, I'm starving,” he complained. “Let's get a room, and then I want a massive steak. And pie, today is definitely a pie day.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he got out of the car, wondering exactly which days Dean didn't think were pie days.

They both went into the motel's office but Sam let Dean do all the talking, content to just look at the tourist pamphlets in the rack.

“Room for the night, please,” said Dean cheerfully, slapping down a credit card.

The man behind the desk nodded. “King or two queens?” he asked, and suddenly there seemed to be a vacuum in the room. Now that the case was over, they didn't need to sleep in the same bed and Sam wasn't sure just how this thing they had was going to go. He felt Dean's eyes on him, and he carefully kept his face neutral, concentrating hard on the poster for Cherry Springs National Park.

International Dark Sky Park! it exclaimed excitedly, while the pause seemed to grow and grow, until Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh, king, I guess,” he said. Sam stared at the picture of a starlit sky above the dark silhouette of pine trees and tried hard not to break into a grin.

****

Sometimes Sam was almost convinced that Dean had his own psychic power; the ability to find a restaurant serving exactly what he wanted to eat within five minutes' drive of wherever they were staying. There was a steakhouse just down the road from the Milky Way Motel which, according to the sign outside it, was famous county-wide for its blueberry pie.

Dean's gleeful grin made him look roughly five-years-old, and Sam wondered if the fact that it made him want to kiss him meant there was something wrong with him. Something wrong other than the whole incest thing, obviously.

Dinner was quiet but not awkward. Dean was far too focused on his food to make conversation, and Sam was content to just eat and watch his brother now that he was allowed to take note of things like the way Dean's lips looked around a French fry, or the way his eyes lit up when their pie came out. Dean glanced up at him once or twice as if he could feel Sam's eyes on him, but beyond frowning in a faintly confused manner, he didn't react to Sam's attention.

Well, not until he'd paid the cheque, anyway. “Come on, Sammy,” he said, throwing down a generous tip as he stood up. “Let's go back to the room, where you can stare at me all you want.”

Sam grinned at him as he stood up. “Think I might want to move up to touching by then,” he said.

Dean smirked. “I think that can be arranged,” he said and left the restaurant, walking slightly faster than he usually did. Sam felt anticipation thrum through him and followed close behind.

****

The Milky Way Motel had been decorated with a very definite astronomy theme. Their room had stars not only on the ceiling but all the way round the walls as well, laid out in the precise positions and constellations as the Pennsylvanian night sky. The light was a large yellow globe, obviously meant to look like the sun, and for some reason there was a telescope in the bathroom. Sam didn't look at any of it as they entered the room. He was too busy watching Dean as he dumped his keys on the side and took his jacket off, wondering exactly how this was going to go and getting nervous again.

Dean turned round and smirked at him, but Sam could see something tense and hard in his eyes, and he realised with a shock that Dean was just as nervous about this. The idea that Dean could be nervous about anything sex-related was just so ridiculous that Sam grinned back, then crossed the room and kissed him.

After a second of delay, Dean's tension seemed to melt and he grabbed at Sam's shirt, pulling him down harder against his mouth. Their tongues met, and Sam let all his apprehension be washed away in the tide of Dean's lips under his and his tongue laying claim to Sam's mouth. Sam let his hands slide up under Dean's shirts, desperate to finally touch his brother's skin. Dean shifted his hips closer to Sam's when Sam ran his hands up the smooth skin of his sides, and twitched slightly in a way that made Sam wonder if he was ticklish. Sam stroked round to Dean's back, pulling him even closer until he could feel Dean's erection pressed hard against his thigh through two layers of jeans.

“Fuck,” muttered Dean, pulling back from the kiss. He grabbed the edges of Sam's shirts and tugged them up. “Get these off,” he demanded.

Sam was only too happy to obey, stripping them off over his head and throwing them to one side before smoothing down the static mess of his hair. “You too,” he said when he looked back at his brother to find him almost frozen in place, looking at Sam as if he'd never seen him before.

Dean nodded jerkily and took his shirts off with slightly more care than Sam had shown. He reached out for Sam and kissed him again, hungrily, and Sam caressed his hands over Dean's shoulders and back, feeling the muscles and scars that he knew almost as well as his own. Dean pushed him backwards until Sam could feel the bed behind his legs, not letting their mouths break their connection for a second. Sam grabbed a tight hold around Dean and let himself fall backwards onto the bed.

“Jesus,” breathed Dean once they'd landed in a pile of limbs. “Give a guy some warning.”

Sam just laughed, caught up in the euphoria of having made it this far, and pulled Dean down hard against him, seeking out his mouth again. Dean shifted until his thigh was pressed tight against Sam's erection, and Sam had to fight not to thrust up against it like a horny teenager. He couldn't seem to stop touching Dean, running his hands all over his upper body, desperate for every inch of warm skin. Dean seemed to be having the same problem if the way his fingers ran up Sam's chest, across his shoulders and then back down to his nipples was any indication.

Sam could feel Dean's erection pressing hard against his hip, and he experimentally pressed up against it. Dean bit off a curse against Sam's lips then pulled back, his hands holding tightly onto Sam's biceps and keeping him down on the bed when he tried to follow after Dean's mouth. Dean just looked down at him for a long moment, and Sam was on the verge of saying something impatient when Dean's head dipped, and he bit hard at Sam's collarbone, then sucked until Sam was sure there'd be a mark. He heard himself make an unintelligible noise that a distant part of his brain, the part still capable of rational thought, realised Dean would probably mock him for later, but he couldn't bring himself to care as Dean's tongue flicked over his neck, burrowing into the hollow of his throat.

Dean pulled back and looked down at his handiwork with satisfaction, then glanced up at Sam's eyes. He took a deep breath.

“Last chance,” he said. “We can stop here, never mention it again, and things would probably go back to normal.”

Sam gaped at him in disbelief and struggled to find his voice for a second. “No way we could go back after this,” he said eventually.

Dean pursed his lips, and shrugged a shoulder. “Well, okay, almost normal,” he said.

Sam stared at him hard for a moment. “Is that what you want?” he asked slowly. “Do you want to pretend this never happened?” Dean flinched almost imperceptibly. If their faces hadn't been so close together, Sam probably wouldn't have seen it. “Or, do you want to go all the way with this – see how just how fucked up we can get?” He lowered his voice slightly. “Cos that's what I want. I don't want to stop – not now, not ever.”

Dean frowned slightly, gazing at him hard as if he could see into Sam's mind. After a moment he nodded, then sat back completely. “Okay,” he said. “Then you're going to fuck me.”

Sam sucked in a hard breath as a surge of lust spiralled through him at Dean's matter-of-fact words, and he sat up, reaching out for Dean again.

Dean dodged backwards to avoid him. “Get your boots and jeans off,” he said. “I'm gonna...we're gonna need some stuff.”

It took an almost superhuman effort for Sam to pull himself together enough to nod and concentrate on his boots. He squinted down at his laces, wondering how he was supposed to be able to cope with them when his whole body was thrumming with the prospect of fucking Dean. As he pulled open the knot, he remembered exactly why he'd taken to wearing sneakers while he was at Stanford. Quickie sex was just so much easier in shoes you could toe off, and Jess had been a real fan of quickie sex.

When he finally managed to get them off, followed in a rush by his jeans, Dean had stripped down to just his boxers and put a couple of things from his duffle on the bedside table. The moment Sam's jeans hit the floor, Dean was on him again, kissing him hard and fast and thrusting their hips together.

“Gonna be so good,” he muttered breathlessly against Sam's lips, and Sam could only make an incoherent noise of agreement and pull him closer. His fingers found the edge of Dean's boxers and he slid them beneath, down over Dean's ass, then tugged impatiently at the material.

“Off,” he growled, and Dean shivered, then hesitated.

“You're sure about this?” he asked again, and Sam banged his head back against the pillow in frustration.

“Yes, I'm sure,” he said. “Is English not getting through to you? Want it in Latin? Ancient Etruscan?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he sat back to pull his boxers off. “Bitch,” he said, but Sam wasn't listening any more, too busy taking in the sight of his brother stripped naked for him, his cock hard and heavy already, curving up towards his stomach. Sam reached out for it without thinking, running his finger up it like he had on the bus, but this time without the barrier of jeans and boxers between them.

Dean shuddered, and Sam grinned at him, then wrapped his hand around it and pulled upwards in a firm stroke. “Jerk,” he said, and Dean's groan was half lust, half exasperation at the pun. Sam pulled at Dean's cock a few more times, getting used to the feel of an unfamiliar cock in his hand and the way Dean's breathing had gone short and stuttery, then Dean pushed his hand away.

He took a couple of deep breaths, then looked down at Sam with a grin. “Got a ways to go yet,” he promised, and Sam grinned back. Dean's hands caught on Sam's boxers, and then he hesitated again.

This time Sam didn't hold in his long-suffering sigh. “Pro certo habeo,” he said firmly.

Dean's mouth twitched with amusement and he yanked hard on Sam's underwear, moving backwards as he pulled it down. “Such a geek,” he said, but it sounded more affectionate than insulting. He sat back on his heels once Sam's boxers were out of the way, and just looked at him for a moment, until Sam began to feel uncomfortable and propped himself up on his elbows, meaning to reach for Dean and bring him back down where he could touch him, kiss him, taste him.

Dean evaded him and pushed him back down onto the bed, running his hand down Sam's chest and across his stomach. He leaned forward to lick a stripe up the inside of Sam's thigh, and Sam gasped in surprise, then as Dean's mouth moved closer to his cock, in pleasure.

“Dean,” he hissed as Dean's lips trailed over his skin, and his tongue ran up the length of Sam's cock. “I want...I want...” but he couldn't work out exactly what it was that he wanted, not when Dean sealed his mouth around the head of his dick and sucked, hard. “Jesus fuck,” he muttered instead, and felt more than heard Dean's laugh.

When Dean sat back, his lips were red and wet, and Sam couldn't stop himself from grabbing Dean's shoulders and pulling him up so that he could kiss them and taste himself in Dean's mouth. He couldn't seem to let go of Dean, probably grasping at him too tightly, but Dean didn't seem to mind if the way he kissed Sam back - hard and almost violent, before pulling back to bite briefly at his jawline, was anything to go by.

“We're doing this,” he growled into Sam's neck, and certainty rang in his voice. Sam nodded a little frantically.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Really fucking soon,” he added, and Dean laughed again.

“Well, all right,” he said and sat back, straddling Sam's hips. He grabbed the lube from the night stand and squeezed some sloppily onto his fingers, then raised himself up on his knees, his hand disappearing behind him. Sam found himself holding his breath, unable to look away from Dean's face as he frowned with concentration, then let out a hitching little noise that let Sam know exactly what he was doing. Sam reached out blindly for his brother, clutching hard at his thigh in shock that this was actually happening.

Dean's breathing got heavier and heavier, until Sam couldn't just watch any more and he sat up, slipping his arm around Dean's waist to hold himself steady, and kissed the nearest piece of his skin, sucking at the centre of Dean's chest until there was a mark to match the one on Sam's collarbone.

“Dean,” he murmured, letting go of his thigh so that he could trace down Dean's arm to feel what his fingers were doing. He ran his fingertip around the tight edge of muscle that surrounded Dean's fingers, feeling where the lube had made Dean's body slick, and Dean sucked in a harsh breath.

“I want,” said Sam, “please, Dean, let me.”

“Yeah,” gasped Dean, “God, yeah, okay Sammy.” He slid his fingers out, and Sam replaced them with his own, clutching Dean tighter round the waist as he felt the heat inside him.

Dean was holding on tightly to Sam's shoulder as if it was all too much and he couldn't hold himself up on his own any more. Sam experimentally scissored his fingers, stretching Dean open, and Dean dropped his head forward until his forehead was resting against Sam's.

“More,” he demanded. “Need more.”

Sam nodded, and pulled his fingers out before replacing them with three. He curled them over inside Dean, and Dean groaned and clutched hard at Sam's shoulders so that Sam could feel his nails digging into his skin.

“Yeah, okay, I'm ready,” said Dean breathlessly. He sat up, pulling away from Sam, and Sam couldn't resist pushing his fingers in as hard as he could one more time, just to see Dean's reaction. His body tensed with sudden pleasure and he spat out a curse word, clenching his eyes shut.

When he opened them, he glared at Sam. “I want your cock now,” he growled and it was Sam's turn to shudder under an overload of lust. He pulled his fingers out without any more teasing, and let Dean push him back down onto the bed.

Dean's grin as he ripped open a packet and rolled a condom down onto Sam's cock was almost feral, and Sam had to shut his eyes against it, so turned on he was worried he'd come before they actually got anywhere. Dean would never let him hear the end if he did that. He counted down from ten slowly in his head, trying to calm his breathing.

When he opened his eyes, Dean had repositioned himself so that he was straddling Sam's waist, and he took a firm hold on Sam's cock, making him gasp and almost lose it, then slowly lowered himself onto Sam, encasing his dick with the most amazing tight heat that Sam had ever felt.

“Jesus fuck,” he swore, grabbing at Dean's thigh again.

Dean ignored him, his teeth chewing at his lower lip as he carefully worked Sam's cock inside himself. Sam had to shut his eyes again rather than watch his brother fuck himself open on his cock, but that only made the sensations more intense and meant he didn't have any distraction from the noises Dean was making deep in his throat.

When Dean paused, Sam as deep in him as he could go, he put his hands onto Sam's chest, resting his weight there.

“Open your eyes,” he said hoarsely, and Sam couldn't stop himself from automatically obeying. Dean grinned down at him, his eyes even brighter than they had been when the pie arrived at dinner. “Okay?” he asked, and Sam had to choke back a laugh at the idea that anything could be wrong with him right now.

“Just....just fucking move,” he said. Dean's grin grew wider, and he raised himself up slightly awkwardly, then sank back down. Sam found himself clutching hard at Dean's thighs again, everything in him suddenly desperate just to thrust upwards. Dean did it again, getting into a rhythm, resting more of his weight on Sam's chest with every push down, and Sam knew that it should be getting difficult to breathe, but it was hard enough to breathe anyway with Dean doing that, with the feel of him so perfect around Sam's cock. He was dimly aware that there was a hoarse gasping noise coming from his throat and that he was holding so tightly onto Dean's legs that he could feel every shift of his muscles, but it was all lost in the intense pleasure of the moment.

“Jesus, fuck, Sammy,” groaned Dean. “You gotta...you have to fucking touch me.”

Sam blinked at him, his brain too caught up in what was happening to his dick to work out what Dean meant, and then he found his gaze drifting down to where Dean's cock was hard and heavy with blood, curving tightly up against his body in a way that looked almost painful. It took him a moment to co-ordinate his limbs enough to let go of Dean's thigh with one hand and grab his cock instead, but the noise Dean made when he did was worth it.

“Fuck, yes,” and his inner muscles did something that should have been illegal and made Sam choke out a moan and tighten his grip on Dean's cock in reaction, which was a cycle that could only end really, really well. He stroked hard at Dean's cock until he could feel Dean beginning to lose his rhythm, muscles shaking beneath Sam's hand. Sam sat up, grabbing Dean round the waist again to hold him steady and pump his cock fast and hard a few more times, until Dean came with a grunt of Sam's name, his muscles tightening around Sam's cock in a way that made Sam just want to throw him down on the bed and fuck him as hard as he could.

He didn't have enough patience or stamina left in him for that though, and instead he just grabbed hold of Dean's hips as hard as he could, and fucked into him where he was, thrusting his hips up as much as he could and pulling Dean down against him.

“Fuck, yeah,” gasped Dean, still coming down from his orgasm. “Come on, Sammy...make me feel you.”

“Dean, god, Dean,” groaned Sam, and Dean pushed down, rolling his hips, and that was all it took. Sam's orgasm was like sledgehammer blow, crashing through every part of him, and he couldn't do anything more than hold tight to Dean and let himself feel it.

When he came back to himself, he felt wrung out and Dean was shifting uncomfortably. Sam let go of him and held onto the base of the condom so that he could pull away, then fell backwards onto the bed. He tied off the condom and threw it towards where he thought the trash can was almost on autopilot.

Dean collapsed down next to him with a sated sigh. “Man, I'm gonna ache in the morning,” he complained, but he didn't sound pissed about it.

Sam sniggered, and turned his head to look at Dean, who was sacked out on the bed as if he was never going to move again, eyes already shut. Sam watched him for a while, noting the marks he'd left on his brother's body and wondering why it was so hot to see them. Dean's breathing slowed down, and he shifted slightly to get more comfortable. Sam noticed the condom on the floor over his shoulder – he'd missed the trash can by miles.

“Dean,” he said, meaning to tell Dean that as he was closer, he was going to have to get up and move it.

Dean's shoulders tensed up. “We're still not talking about this,” he said firmly.

Sam stared at him for a moment, then snorted. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, deciding that the condom could wait until morning. He sat up and pulled the blankets up over them both, turned the light out and settled back down into bed.

He wasn't at all surprised when Dean turned over ten minutes later and slipped his arm around Sam's waist, pulling him close.

****

Roughly a month later, Dean stopped off at their PO Box in Effingham, Illinois. Sam stayed in the car and watched Dean as he bent down to pull out a bundle of mail. He supposed it was just the flush of newness, but he still couldn't seem to keep his eyes off his brother.

When Dean got back in the car, he tossed a handful of what looked like letters from credit card companies in the glove compartment, then dumped a bulging envelope into Sam's lap without saying anything. He started the car up and headed back out of town, ignoring Sam's puzzled look and deliberately not meeting his eyes.

When Sam opened the envelope, a bundle of photographs spilled out. The one on top was of him and Dean at the Fisheries Museum, arms around each other and big grins on their faces.

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You got them developed?”

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Figured I could use a new picture for next time you go missing.”

Sam rolled his eyes and looked back down at the pictures. He went through them slowly, examining each one carefully, matching the details up with his memories. Most of them were of him and Dean in front of various landmarks and views, and Sam noticed how their coupley poses became more relaxed and natural-seeming over the course of the two weeks. He studied the few group shots for some sign of evil that they'd missed in Victor and Marcus's faces, but there didn't seem to be anything.

The last photograph was of Dean on his own, in front of the church at Grand Pré. He was grinning cheerfully at the camera, but his eyes were fixed on something slightly to the left, as if he'd gotten distracted at the last minute. Sam could tell that the grin was fake and that Dean was one photograph away from losing all patience and destroying the camera.

He looked at the photo for a long time, then folded it up and stuck it in his wallet. Beside him, Dean snorted.

“For next time you go missing,” said Sam, then he bundled all the other photos back into the envelope, and put it in the glove compartment.

****

Three days later, he borrowed Dean's wallet to pay for gas, and found the picture of them in front of the lighthouse at Peggy's Cove inside, carefully cut down so that it would fit. He grinned to himself as he paid the cashier, but didn't mention it when he tossed the wallet back to Dean.

****

Bonus fics are linked from the main header post.

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MBSFKDJALFNSJNK!!! EEE!!! I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH. I don't know whow you could think that anyone could possibly hate it... or even dislike it. IT'S SO AWESOME.

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The Sinners Have Much More Fun

The Truth In The Lie: Epilogue

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