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One look is enough. Sam can read Dean more than well, knows him inside out. Nothing about the air of angry control in his big brother's stance is about the case. Here… now… Dean has moved past the monster lying in wait outside of these four walls. All of his intent curls inwards to this office space devoid of those who are to fill it on any other working day. Not today though. This is a crime scene gone empty of law enforcement officers. They are the only two souls left behind…
"In here?" Sam swallows down the lust he feels stir within.
He watches his brother move his hands with deliberation, his deft fingers making light work of undoing the knot of his tie. Dean doesn't even waste a glance on the task at hand. Instead his eyes of intent green stare Sam down to where he by now sits glued to his chair, waiting for an order, despite his earlier protest over where they are. None of it matters. The noise of the world is shut out of existence. In its place is only Dean, who doesn't bother to hide the anger born from a long period of absence and choices made they each can't take back.
Why? The question hangs heavy between them. But Sam can't have known about what happened to his brother and as much as it hurts Dean, he in turn knows why Sam had to move on by himself. Deep down though they are still drawing together, anger and disappointment be damned. Purgatory is yet another awful scar to mark his big brother for life. His own grief and inability to grasp what had happened haunt Sam to date. Misunderstandings… hurt… love… and even though the pain is too raw the need to forget it all for one reckless moment pulls them closer and closer until they collide.
Sam is up on his feet, no longer waiting for the order and not ready to stand down. If Dean wants him, he is here, always will be, his torn-up self be damned. The hunter though moves faster now than he's ever done before. Dean slips in his personal space like a flash of lightening, harsh and unyielding as he grabs a hold of his tie and pulls his face down to kiss him senseless. In the move lies no forgiveness, only blunt arousal… stubborn pride of the big brother who won't speak of love and yet he shows it in every single action he takes towards Sam. Even now the hard edge of him softens with the unspoken emotions which lie in wait underneath the anger. "Yes, here", Dean growls, voice low.
It's too much. Sam can't feign nonchalance any more than he can find his voice. Wide eyed with raw arousal and confusion alike he watches those same damned hands work open his belt. Calloused fingers sneak into his boxer briefs to seek him out. His cheeks flush with both shame and flustered want, because yeah… he is leaking beyond reason. Nothing in those brief moments with another can compare to how much he craves for Dean. How it's always been his big brother to catch him. "De…", he pleads.
"Sammy. Shut up."
Maybe forgiveness isn't on the cards. Not in this cold, open planned room of office cubicles. If they can agree on one thing it is that it's too soon to talk about the year which stands between them like a sore thumb. This isn't about their choices and how it has impacted the world around them. This clashing of bodies is about filling the deep ache of emptiness, that hole inside of Sam which can never be full without Dean… be it wrong or right. No one else owns this part of him. He may not even do so himself. So, without shame, Sam nods. He won't say a word against what they both need…
Nothing in Dean yields or pauses. His hands undress Sam with the same assured moves of before. Shoes, suit pants, jacket, dress shirt… and at last his brother takes a moment to share a slow kiss. Softness though holds no residence in Dean today. Teeth nip on Sam's lower lips to warn him off on touching him. "On the desk", Dean orders. Hands grip firm around his narrow hips. Hard enough to bruise him… leave him marked as owned regardless of the two of them fighting. Marks which Sam will cherish despite his hurt feelings.
Sam sits down on the desk, with his legs falling open to make room for Dean. Another kiss, unhurried… possessive despite what Dean says against his emotions. For all his anger his heart beats for Sam unchanged. Their love is a given as much as their stubborn nature is. Winchesters huh? Breathless under the intensity of what still goes unsaid, Sam can feel those wicked fingers brush aside his white briefs bought on a hurry. Nothing about them is sexy, but today he doesn't require them to be. There's no time for seduction. Only purpose reigns here.
Sure enough Sam is left naked. Raw and exposed under those eyes which keep him locked in place. "Hands", Dean doesn't allow him a second to catch his breath. Before Sam can even respond his own not so long-ago discarded tie gets wrapped around his wrists. If he wants to, he can break free, but Dean pins him down with sure knots and an even more determined glare of green gone dark with lust more so than anger.
A hand presses flat against his chest in a last request of him. Sam lies down on his back, resigned as much as gone beyond aroused by what's asked of him. Compliance… yes, but also… consent. If he goes willingly then Dean knows what it means. Yes, they are angry and hurt, but they are beyond everything else brothers, more than that in fact, so much more. The sound of a zip being undone sends another tremor of lust into Sam. Oh, he wants. For the first time in days turned to weeks they are of one mind and one alone.
Hands grab behind his knees to fold up his legs and spread them wider. Sam wriggles his ass closer to the edge of the desk going sticky under his bared skin. The second Dean moves one hand away he knows what's coming. Doesn't even have to wait for unexpectedly slick fingers to breach him open, two at the time. No, they are not patient, and they don't need to be. Sam welcomes the burn of friction and much longed for fullness with a filthy moan of want. It's impossible to keep within how empty he has felt. More so not to angle up his hips in a desperate search for more.
Yes, here… he agrees to the full. Wants to feel nothing less than the persistent drag of fingers as they work him open, unchallenged. He reaches up his arms now to clasp his bound hands around the edge of the desk. Sam can only lie back and take it, but he shows his eager with counter thrusts of his hips. Fuck, but Dean hasn't forgotten how to press against his prostate on each push into him. Harder… fingers twisting as he slicks up Sam from the inside out. Curses and moans tumble from his lips. He wants to beg, but he knows that he has no right to. This is Dean seeking out to punish him and maybe himself as well. No mercy as he retreats his fingers only to shove his cock into the depths of his little brother.
Sam cries out over how good it feels to be filled in the only meaningful way to him. Together again at last. It's been too long… and for now he is broken no more. The slide of Dean fucking him senseless, and on the angle he knows brings him off fast, leaves no room for anything but the pleasure of shameless intimacy. Sam clings to the desk, writhing under each thrust. The hard surface underneath him doesn't yield and Dean gives no quarters. Eyes full of emotions, which Dean will deny later, gaze into his soul in search of answers… of forgiveness and understanding of a torn-up man. Shameless about how much he wants this as well, Sam doesn't look away from any of it. He barely dares to blink… refuses to. No, he won't stand down. Dean will damned well hear him out on what happened after he got left behind with nothing to go on and how he'd never felt more lost until he at last had somehow glued back some of the many broken pieces of his heart. The rest of which are now tumbling together under the crude assault of the man who fucks the life back into him.
It's almost too much. Pain, love, and hope leave him beyond exposed. Sam wants to tell Dean that he didn't abandon him, never would, because to do so is to leave himself behind. Ancient forces had pulled them apart… ripped away from them what their bodies can speak of but which their mouths will never voice to the other. And so Sam makes love to Dean by meeting each thrust with his hips. He clenches around the thick cock which hits home to his prostate. Traps Dean there for a second, before his brother slips out and they repeat the move in the most primal dance of all. The give and take of it befits their natures. Even now Sam can feel how fierce Dean is in caring for his needs as well as his own. Angry or not, his big brother seeks out that half of himself which resides in Sam. Together… and nothing else can come between that, only themselves.
Inevitably, Dean narrows his world down to the blessed, intimate sensation of being owned. Only carnal lust resides here on the anonymous desk at some random office space. No anger, conflict and hurt. It's almost as if they never were there. Sam can feel himself let go of everything else but the rush of pleasure which Dean keeps building upon. Another thrust and he loses his grip on the edge of the desk. He's rendered to a ragdoll now… his body has become nothing more than a bundle of exposed nerve endings and a willing hole of slick heat for Dean to fuck into. Mindless with the raw bliss of their physical reunion Sam doesn't even attempt to cling on any longer. His brother can have him, because for all their pretences and fighting, forgiveness waits around the next corner.
But not yet… soon. This reckless beast of living in the now too is them. And at last it takes over everything he is in a huge explosion of purely physical sensations. Sam arches his back in his toe-curling orgasm, lost to it, but not. Through the haze of bliss, he can feel how Dean retreats to sink deep inside of his clenched heat for one last time. A shout and a rush of sticky, warm semen fills the ache in his heart. They have become one…
Nothing though prepares Sam for the unwanted rush of air as Dean slips away. The ache of emptiness returns to him in a flash. No, he doesn't want to… but as he sits up, he's met with the unchanged stance of before. Now though something softer twinkles in green eyes. Amusement, or rather fondness. It's a flash though. Dean shoves it back down with a shrug. "Get dressed", he orders. "We have a case to solve."
Beyond the crudeness of his voice however Dean catches Sam as he slips from the desk to stand and he almost falls over on legs turned to mush. He winces when the brisk move alone rips a painful twinge from his back gone sore, but he smiles in his gratitude of when Dean undoes the tie knotted around his wrists. "How can I stay angry with you, little brother? After everything I've said… you surrender yourself to me… why? I am damaged goods. Always have been."
"You're my brother", Sam pulls him close to steal a kiss.
"Sam… I…"
"Forget it. It's only ever been us… and this? This too will pass."
"You're still upset with me." It's not a question. Dean knows better than to ask for what he's not ready to face.
Sam pulls up his suit trousers and tucks in his dress shirt, which is now crinkled. None of the streaks of dust and traces of semen on the inside of his pants mean anything to him in the wake of so much pleasure. He picks up his suit jacket from the floor, then shakes his head at his brother. "We need time… and well, I need a shower." Sam crinkles his nose at how he smells of sweat and sex alike.
"Ah." Dean nods, finding his baseline again in turning to action. "Say no more. To the motel it is."
"You owe me a new tie." Sam blurts out as he snatches his ruined tie from the desk where Dean left it.
"Oh, I ain't so sure I agree. As far as I see it… you can still wear it and only it, Sammy."
"Jerk." Sam grins despite his automatic protest, because they both know that it's why he's tucking his tie into his pocket rather than discard it.
"Bitch."
No, nothing has been settled fully between them, but understanding and healing comes in more forms than one. Sam closes the office door behind him with one last glance over at the wiped clean again desk. 'In here' wasn't such a bad idea after all…