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Dean wants to say something. Lie about that he doesn't like the beard, make light of everything, because the pain of memories alone is enough to drown him still. But when he looks at Sam… sees the weight his little brother hasn't let go of, he can't do it. Those eyes get to him every damned time. More so the soul who hides behind, the one he knows better almost than he knows himself. His Sammy.
Fuck, but now that he's seeing his brother it all crashes down on him too. How long has he been gone? For how long has Sam searched for clues? Desperate for any trace Michael left behind… the archangel who'd taken Dean for a ride, and then some. Days… weeks… months of Sam none the wiser. Sure, he was drowning, trying to claw his way back to himself, and failing to. But Sammy? How far has he gone to find Dean? To try and save his big brother?
So, in the end Dean doesn't say anything. All he has left is to pull Sam close, to wrap him up into a tight hug until everything Dean is breathes in the presence of his little brother. "Sammy." In his need to assure them of how they're both here, home in the bunker, Dean seeks out his lips to claim them like there is no tomorrow. And oh, is the taste of him everything he remembered. Sam is warm, all muscles… and now beard hairs scraping over his cheek. Fuck, but the sensation is not unwanted. How?
Dean breathes out all the pent-up pain, lets go in his arms, while he seeks out more of the blessed heat of Sam's tongue and mouth. His brother too clings to him. Nothing else exists but this… them… now. He gets lost in the taste of Sam, until at last, regretfully, he must come up for air. Unwilling to let go, Dean looks up at those hazel eyes which never fail to undo him.
A blush creeps onto bearded cheeks… and Dean can't help it. He reaches out to touch him, to feel the hairs and how they prick into his palm. His little brother still should shave, but maybe after? But then Sam smiles, eyes full of something else now. Beyond arousal lies recognition of knowing a loved one. His little brother has long ago learned to look past his gruff front and into his soul. He doesn't have to speak of want any more than that Sam has to spell it out to him in turn. This thing between them is what it is.
One tug, a soft grin, and they're off to find privacy. It goes unsaid that Dean takes Sam into his bedroom and his bed with the memory foam mattress. Here they are furthest away from the team of hunters from the other universe. The people who Sam now leads, they who call him chief. A title Sam blushes over… a reaction that Dean can't help but find adorable. Nothing about his little brother though is as soft as that now. Sammy is all impatient hands and passionate kisses. His shirt is no match for it, and Dean cares not in the least how he's stripped out of the clothes he hadn't chosen to wear. He wants to forget, needs to have Sam and now.
"Sammy." Dean knows it is almost all he's said since coming home, but the breathless gasp of his brother's name is as much confirmation as it is his promise. No, he won't ever leave Sam willingly, and even if forced he will fight those in his way tooth and nail to come back. But none of that comes out in words. Dean speaks with his hands instead. Undoing the shirt Sam wears for far enough to expose his tattoo, the black mark which protects them and connects them at once. He palms it, looking up at his brother, who smiles down at him.
The pause though is short-lived. Sam is expressive in his consent… leans down to kiss him breathless, begging now with the call of his name. "Dean." As he does, he rips off his shirt and the cotton under layer to clutter the floor, his jeans next to follow. Now naked but for his boxers Sam pulls him close. "You're here…" He swallows around the pain Dean knows all too well, because they never do well apart.
"On the bed."
Sam heeds his breathless request like an order, eager to let go of that aura of control… which he's clung onto for weeks on end. He lies down on his back, spreading out on Dean's mattress without shyness and like a feast for his eyes, and his alone. No one gets to have Sam this pliant. All naked chest, tight abdomen and long, muscled limbs. Dean pins him down with his eyes alone before he closes the distance between them. Some days he likes to tease. To tie Sam up and watch him like a predator does his prey. Not today though.
Dean spreads those long legs to kneel on the mattress between them. Slowly he wraps his hands around ankles, one hand for each, only to tease them in a stroke upwards over now bend legs. Calves… knees… thighs… and to the hem of those tenting boxer briefs. With his thumbs he brushes up over every hard inch covered by cotton. So what if he teases Sam a little? That is his big brother privilege, since it is just hard not to, when Sam makes those tiny sounds of want, whimpers held back by teeth biting into a kiss swollen lower lip. "Fuck… Dean… please…"
To hell with slow. Dean can't not give in easy today. Wants too bad to be inside of his Sammy, and so he tears away the final cotton barrier. At last! His hands move before his brain does. Sam pulses in his grip, eager, wanting, gasping and writhing while he curls his fingers into the sheets. "Fuck." His curses and gasps add onto his arousal as well. Dean answers the plea of sorts with a twist of his wrist and by seeking out where Sam is most sensitive, his thumb sliding perfect over the pre-come slick tip of him. "Dean!"
Though Dean has missed those sounds he takes them into his own mouth by trying to kiss Sam senseless. Once they could be as loud as they wanted to be, but no more. Not when others may hear them. His little brother though gives back as good as he can, silenced, but no less eager to take from Dean whatever the hell he wants. His beard again scrapes over Dean's cheek and he can't help but want that hard-edged touch, feel alive through it. Now he gasps out into that wicked mouth until the need for air forces him to come up.
But rather than break free completely Dean moves lower to kiss and bite his mark next to the tattoo on Sam's chest. "Mine", he claims without a word, happy to feel how his brother arches up into him over the sentiment they won't ever speak of. Dean though denies them both the contact. Instead he reaches out to find their stash under his pillow, triumphant when he finds the lube. In a more than practised move he slicks up his fingers to slide them over his abdomen, teasingly down the trail of dark hairs… where Sam stops him short, with long fingers curling around his wrist.
Eyes full of lust and something darker stare at Dean, intent, full of reckless longing. Dean draws onto his face, the by arousal flushed cheeks, the freckle next to his sharp angled nose and that damned beard. It hits home now that his brother is a man… one who's survived far more than anyone else could. Dean is damned proud of him. Can't help but fall in love all over. There is no shyness in Sam either, the blush is only one of admission and a need for Dean to understand what he's asking comes from the depth of him. Sam and he don't do words, but speaking through action? Dean is all for it.
And so he watches on with eager as Sam flips himself around until he's kneeling on wide spread knees, ass up the air, exposing himself before Dean. He rests his head on the other pillow, the one that's become his, on the bed Dean has learned to share. Hair fans out over the white cotton. Dean can only stare at the beauty of his brother, enchanted by his grace almost. Even though his bronze tanned skin is blemished with scars every inch of it too covers strong muscles, sinews and lean bones. The dip of his spine and that tight ass though are enough for Dean to tear himself away from looking. He has to feel Sam… explore him and take him apart from the inside out. "Like this…", Sam mumbles, and Dean can't agree more. This way he can take Sam deeper, fill the heat of him and make him feel it tomorrow still.
"Perfect", he praises under his breath. Sam is too much, he doesn't deserve his willingness, and yet now that he's been given it Dean won't deny either one of them the pleasure of reunion.
Slow can wait, and so he presses his slick thumb against Sam's so beautifully exposed opening. He teases the muscle open with smooth circles, not dipping in, until he can see how Sam trembles where he whimpers for him to please do it. His back arches up when Dean sinks two fingertips into his brother. Sam gasps, breathless, and he answers it by sliding in deeper… slow but steady. Fuck he is tight! But regardless Sam begs. "More… I can take it…"
Dean knows it, can see it too, how much Sam wants to feel him. And so he fucks him in shallow thrusts of his fingers. Pressing in and out, a tiny bit deeper each time until he can slam his fingers home into that sweet spot which has Sam cry out in pure pleasure. Wanting to hear the sound again, and to see his fingers disappear Dean seeks it out… and again, until Sam meets each brush with a roll of his hips lewd enough to show off how he's more than ready.
Beyond aroused himself Dean replaces his fingers by pushing his cock inside of Sam, hard, gasping as he's welcomed by the tight grip of him. At last! This is what he wanted since he saw his little brother. Dean though has to pause at the sweet friction. So close… too close almost… and he hasn't even started undoing Sam.
"Dean", Sam trembles around him, eager to move, but unable to when Dean holds him by the hips in a strong grip that demands only submission of him. It takes a breath though to sink in. Sam stills with a soft whimper, his back still arched while he curls his fingers even harder into the sheets. His body speaks only of how he's an extension of Dean now… one Dean is more than willing to fuck himself in… and so he moves to pull free and slam back inside of that perfect ass until he hits home.
Slow but steady he takes from Sam what he wants, what he knows his little brother wants for him to take and take. Sam makes the most beautiful sounds under his thrusts. His body opens for him, but he's always tight enough to leave Dean with the maddening grip around his cock as he fills Sam to completion. There's no sweetness, not at times like this, when they need to make up for lost time. Absence never suits them. He's only half alive without Sam. Dean needs for his brother to be his moral compass, to bring out his best and push him on when he's overwhelmed or lost in his anger.
Harder, deeper… and slow again in his growing need to feel Sam shaking apart with pleasure. He wants for Sam to shatter around him. Needs for him to have everything he deserves, and more. Anything in his power to give belongs to Sammy. He's tempted to touch him, to wrap his fingers around that delightful cock, but before he can he feels Sam clench his ass around him just as he bottoms out. No… on second thought, he is going to push him over the edge like this. Tear him apart untouched.
Dean fucks his little brother with more precision and tenderness now. Listens for that tell-tale whimper which lets him know he's found his prostate on the end of his thrust… and again. In the corner of his eyes he catches the hand out to touch himself, but Dean snatches it up to rest it on the dip of Sam's spine where he holds onto it. "No…", he says.
"De… fuck… so close… I need…"
But he doesn't act upon it. Sam yields to being powerless to stop him, all too willing to submit rather than fight Dean over his growing possessive streak to want to have him like no one else ever will. Sammy is his to fuck… no, to make love to. Even in his own mind he is done denying the truth to himself. What should not be is, because right or wrong his brother and he have never done or known normal. They've only ever had each other, and Dean? Well, he is fine with it, more so when Sam submits to him with such grace and those perfect sounds of lust ripped from him.
Back and forth he rolls his hips, firm in his claim of Sam. His little brother who now spreads his knees wider as he arches up higher into each thrust. Whose body screams of want and nothing else. Every bit of earlier tiredness and tension is gone from him to be replaced with utter compliance, and sheer arousal. Sweat makes his skin glisten in the yellow lights cast upon their world. Dean though only sees Sam, and how he takes his cock into his body time and again until he's nothing but raw nerve endings which shatter apart over one last perfect thrust.
Even as Sam spills on the sheets below them and he clenches hard around Dean he fucks him hard for a few more thrusts. Nothing feels better than Sam letting go and going lax underneath him. It is enough to send him over the edge as well, and buried deep inside of his brother. Like one they collapse on the bed. Their legs entwined while Dean rolls them both onto their sides. He spoons Sammy up from behind, always feeling protective of the one who's looked up to him since birth, even now when he's grown taller than Dean.
Sam grabs his hand then, pulling it up to brush a kiss on the back of it, his beard hairs prickling the skin of it. At last Dean understands why its presence bothers him so. Truth is that he can't live with it, because of what it stands for. Of Sam not looking out for himself… of his little brother being worried sick about him and the unwanted period of absence between them. But if it is a choice… if maybe Sammy prefers to keep it, like a treacherous part of Dean does too, because maybe his cock twitched just now… then maybe he can learn to live with it?