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”So close, no matter how far,
Couldn't be much more from the heart,
Forever trusting who we are,
And nothing else matters.
Never opened myself this way;
Life is ours, we live it our way;
All these words I don't just say,
And nothing else matters…” - Metallica
Sam trudges tiredly down the stairs, duffel heavy on his sunken-in shoulders. Dean’s steps behind him sound just as exhausted, and all he wants to do is strip down and go to bed. But he knows once he gets there, he’ll lie awake, counting the aching beat all wrapped up around his heart, because--
Because his Alpha has apparently just plain forgotten he ever claimed Sam. It sounds crazy to him, because Sam can’t forget it, can’t understand how Dean could either, because for once in his life, at least in this respect, he had been sure of Dean’s love, the frenzy of their mutual possession. He can't believe it's Dean denying them. Dean, who's just naturally ten times hornier than Sam could ever be, with his general insatiable-ness for all things Sam, and the way he can get sometimes, like a machine, with this laser focus Sam’s felt burn along his skin all his life--
Okay, so not helping, Sam decides.
They shrug off their duffels onto the library table, and Sam sighs in relief as the heavy thing comes loose, falling to the wood with a loud thud. He rubs at his shoulder absently, eyes closed, listening to Dean pour them both a victory drink/nightcap.
Sam startles when he feels Dean’s strong, life-worn fingers dig into the stiff muscles Sam’s been working at loosening up. Dropping his head, he purrs low in his throat, body going loose and easy, the way it does when Sam’s Alpha touches him like this, like it’s all he wants in the world. Like it’s all that exists for him, this task he's performing for Sam.
Dean’s rough fingers trail to Sam’s mating scar, and he drags his fingerprints over it possessively, rubbing at the skin deeply. Their scars are full of nerve endings, sensitive beyond reason, have been since the day they healed. At a particularly rough drag of Dean’s calluses against the soft skin of Sam’s collarbone, he can smell himself getting wet, and he squirms under the focused, claiming touch.
“Alpha, please,” Sam murmurs, tilting his neck to the side to offer it up, to show Dean his scar, show him how proud he is to bear it.
Dean draws in a huge breath, and when he releases it, he steps back. Sam whines, but all Dean does is reach around him to hand Sam his drink. When Sam turns to face him, he can see the flush in Dean’s cheeks, the devotion and longing written deep into the burgundy-lined green of his big brother’s stare. But Dean just shakes his head, his long eyelashes brushing his pink cheeks as he looks down and away, letting out a frustrated huff of air.
“Shower,” Dean mumbles finally, eyes flashing up to Sam’s before darting away, so shamefaced he can barely stand the guilt of it. Dean can't even look his mate in the eye. “You’re so fuckin' beautiful, omega. You know that, right? Know there's no one on this whole earth prettier than you?"
Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat like a trodden-on puppy, shifting forward to bring Dean close again. But his Alpha dodges him, practically tripping in his haste to get away.
Sam lets him go, listening to his heart race in his ears. He turns down the hall in the opposite direction, shuffling quietly to his room, shoulders caved in miserably. A part of him is raging, because he’s never cut Dean so much goddamn slack in his life. He’s being a hurtful bastard right now, denying Sam the true homecoming he deserves (after being kidnapped, for Christ’s sake! Not to mention tortured!), to be laid back against Dean’s memory foam-- their memory foam-- knotted up so tight he can feel Dean’s cock all the way up into his throat. To know that he's home, truly home, where he belongs.
But the omega in Sam is overruling the human this time. It’s the omega giving his Alpha a wide berth, being understanding. Having patience. He’s only been a presented omega for a little over a year, and he still has trouble reconciling his instincts. So, he thinks this is truly the first time he’s been aware of the separate parts of himself, the omega and the human. He likes to think he's self-aware enough to accept that right now, the omega understands his Alpha better than Sam understands Dean.
So, he waits.
And he waits some more. Waits long, lonely nights in his drafty room curled miserably on his old, springy mattress. Waits silently, closing his eyes to imagine Dean tucked up behind him, strong arm wrapped around his waist, fingers knotted together on the bed. Some nights, he waits by stuffing himself full with one of the toys Dean bought for both of them to use together, but Sam is a thirty-three year old newly(ish) mated red-blooded omega male-- he can't fuckin' help it sometimes. Before, barely twelve hours would pass before they'd be all-fucking-over each other again (not that there was ever much distance even when they weren't fucking like animals), no matter where they were-- the Impala, a flea-bag motel, on a stakeout, in the woods, in the garage at home. It's like Dean has been making up for sixteen years of lost time, sixteen years of being in love with an omega who didn't exist, who would never exist, and then suddenly, one day--
He exhales deeply as he settles onto his bed, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He's still so wet (no wonder with his train of thought), can feel the seat of his boxer briefs collecting a puddle of his slick. Luckily, this particular brand is made for omegas, so the fabric is super absorbent, and it won't leak through to his jeans (unless he's in heat, which isn't due for another two months). He tucks one long leg up underneath him, stretching the other out, rolling his ankles and popping his toes. It’s been a long, draining couple of weeks (all the harder to bear without the solace he finds in his Alpha), and the case they just worked-- it helped, a little, he thinks, to get Dean out of his own head.
Dean had realized his own mistakes, had even apologized. Sam barely had to say a word about his dickish behavior before Dean called himself out on it. Sam was and still is proud of him for that, knows his big brother is trying to work out his own crap. Sam will always forgive Dean, but it makes it easier when Dean knows he's being an ass. And Dean hasn't said a word about Magda and the powers, either, hasn't cast any accusatory, worried glances Sam's way (the way he used to stare at Sam after he witnessed him pulling demons out of people with his brain). That says a lot to Sam, a lot about trust, and it's an incredible thing that Dean finally, finally trusts him again. After all this time, Sam feels like (at least as brothers) they're on the same page. A unit, Sam and Dean Winchester versus the world.
So. With this case, that’s what Sam wanted, yes, but as always, whenever they do these ‘milk runs,’ he finds himself almost more drained-- emotionally, physically, spiritually, whatever-- than he does after the big battles.
He can hear faint music trailing down the long hallway between their rooms, and it makes Sam roll his eyes. It’s the same Metallica song Dean has been listening to on repeat ever since their mom decided it was too much (“And nothing else matters…”) -- either that, or maybe… they weren’t enough. These grown up, broken little soldiers with too many cracks for their mom to build a solid foundation on. Sam can’t figure out which one it is, but it doesn’t matter, really. Because Sam thinks there may be another, bigger reason she couldn’t bear to stay.
Even if Dean doesn’t want to admit it, Sam is almost certain their mom knows. About, you know. Them. Being mates, and that’s what really made her leave. His mom doesn't suffer fools, and Sam can’t imagine what it must be like to be playing with your small children one day, and the next, not only seeing those children as men, but being able to smell them all-fucking-over each other, the combined scent of their mating practically wafting through the air vents. There isn't a sturdy piece of furniture Sam hasn't been bent over in their home. They’d never needed to hide it before, but then again, they hadn’t really had to hide it from her, either, because Dean hasn’t touched him since the rescue.
And it makes him mad. It makes Sam so mad that their mom can just waltz into their lives, make Dean shrink back from Sam, his mate, his omega, to make her comfortable. He misses Dean so bad it’s a constant ache in his chest, up underneath his rib cage, like someone is slowly inserting a knife into the fleshy bits between bone, but he at least, at first, understood why, even if he didn’t agree. But now? He has no room in him, despite his inherent love for her, to be understanding, even if he has to put on a brave face for his brother. He can’t understand how she can look at them and decide she can’t be with them, and just abandon them. It fuckin' hurts. Well, he’s okay for the most part. But the blow it caused Dean, to walk out on him like every other person (yes, including himself) that Dean’s carved his own heart out for, to show the steadfast, unwavering love there-- when he’s built his whole entire life on the foundation of his mother’s love being taken away--
Anyway. Maybe Sam’s expecting too much, because they haven’t been mates long, and it’s complicated things, but for Sam, the payout of finally having Dean, having him in every way he can-- it’s worth it. It’s more than worth it. It’s everything Sam never thought he could have, that true sense of belonging, of home. That’s what it feels like for him, to be all knotted up, sweaty and sated and full, with Dean’s hot breath skating along his neck, sucking absently at Sam’s mating scar; it feels like the home he’s been searching for all his life. It feels like everything Sam has ever wanted, every small little secret yearning, right here. And without it, without Dean holding him together, the part of Sam that will always feel broken gets flayed open like a fresh, bleeding wound.
And it’s just-- he hasn’t felt that, hasn’t been with Dean, his soul-bonded big brother Alpha, who Sam has been so stupidly and irrevocably in love with for at least two-thirds of his life-- that man hasn’t touched him since that horrible fucking hug in front of his mom’s grave. He hasn’t even really acted like he’s wanted to. And let’s not forget the reason the hug was so goddamn hard (one of the top five worst moments of Sam’s life, and that’s not an easy fuckin’ list to make, okay?): Sam thought his Alpha was marching off to his death because the duty of the job, the weight of it, fell on his shoulders this time.
Sam doesn’t know why he didn’t protest harder against Rowena’s ‘human bomb’ plan. In the past, he’s never had an issue slapping down any idea that involved Dean thinking it was that time again (Death-o-clock). He thinks the omega in him was so shocked, so devastated at the thought of not only Dean leaving him, but his mate leaving him, that part of him shut down, shut off completely. He went into full-logic mode, working towards solving the problem of the sun and nothing else. Once that was done, he started grieving the loss of his brother before Dean had even been gone. Even though, Sam realizes, he wasn’t ever truly gone.
But, goddammit, the sun had come back on! Just like that. Like a lightbulb. What was Sam supposed to think? And then that psychotic British bitch and her games, and even though Sam had fought desperately to get free, it’d been instinct only, really. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about who wasn’t waiting for him out there, who wasn’t searching for him desperately-- he’d survived to free himself to get back to the Bunker, so he could figure out a way to get Dean back.
Or, he guesses, to follow Dean wherever he went, maybe get Billie to throw him into the Empty, too-- a two for one deal. Despite her ‘help,’ he doesn’t doubt her threats to throw them somewhere no one will ever find them, but that's okay. As far as Sam’s concerned these days, he doesn’t care much where they end up, as long as they’re together. Both of them, or neither of them. Wherever they are, that’s where they need to be. Period.
When he saw Dean again for the first time, being shoved down the staircase all bloodied up and stunningly beautiful, he'd thought it was another one of Lady Bitch's sick hallucinations. He’d felt so fucking violated by her sex thing, especially considering she was an Alpha. He’d thrown up bile for half an hour after it all, when he was alone, throat burning as he muffled sobs into his fist. He’d been touched by another Alpha in a way that might not have been real but was still so vivid in his mind, regardless. He could still feel it all, the heat of her touch, the taste of her breath. It felt like-- like cheating to him, because Sam was still taken, he was still Dean’s omega no matter what, no matter where in this universe their souls resided, whether they existed together or not.
He still hasn’t told Dean about it, about how far she truly went. Not that, you know, he’s really had the chance. Deep down, he knows at least part of it is not wanting Dean’s reaction of jealousy or possessiveness to be the reason he comes back to Sam. Doesn't want it to be the reason Dean wants him again, just because he feels the need to claim what’s his. He doesn’t want to trick Dean into it, either. He just. He just wants him.
Once Sam decided Dean was real, that he was really there (before he knew his mom was, too), all it took was their eyes connecting and holding. Despite the massive amounts of pain Sam was in, he started squirming in his seat, dick stirring, slick starting to rub in between his ass cheeks.
“Alpha,” Sam had all but groaned, watching Dean watch him get wet. Whatever Dean saw there, glowing inside Sam, made him try tugging his wrists forcefully from the shackles, a dark burgundy ring growing against the stark green of his eyes. Sam had spread his legs as wide as he could in answer to that blood-hot stare.
“Fuck, baby,” Dean had all but gasped, but he was cut off by the return of the action, and there’s been nothing since.
It occurs to Sam, as he stretches out the other leg, that Dean’s music is finally off, and the Bunker is silent. That should mean Dean is asleep, so Sam stands with a groan, stretching and yawning, shuffling into his house shoes. He wants one more drink before bed, hoping it’ll help him sleep easier. He remembers being deeply concerned when Dean started drinking more nights than not for the very same reason, and now, Sam does, too. He wonders what that means, what it says about him, about their lives. If it's just the natural progression of things. He feels happier than he has in a very long time regardless, so he doesn't let it worry him too much.
He hadn’t consciously been waiting for Dean to fall asleep or anything, but it does make his shoulders sag in relief to know he won’t run into his brother smelling the way he does at the end of the day, sleepy and warm and the place Sam chooses to rest his weary head. He won’t have to pretend it’s not killing him that Dean is doing this to them, whether it's intentional or not.
When he rounds the corner to pad into the library, his heart gets all knotted up around his throat. Dammit, why can’t Dean go to sleep before midnight like a normal person?
“Sammy,” Dean greets quietly as Sam lumbers into the room, looking everywhere but at his (god, please, please still be his) Alpha. He nods vaguely in Dean’s direction, almost hoping his less-than-enthused greeting will make Dean get all growly for Sam’s attention. Then, he notices the two glasses of scotch at Dean’s elbow, both untouched, like Dean knew Sam was just around the corner when he poured them. Hell, he probably did.
Dean seems softly amused by Sam’s awkwardness. “C’mere, omega. Too far away, baby.”
Sam flushes deeply, can feel the warm pink on his cheeks from the unexpected affection in Dean’s voice. The soft smile on his lips and the sweet names Dean hasn’t used in weeks are just icing on the disarming cake. He’s barely been Sammy, let alone ‘baby.’ Let alone ‘omega.’
His blush makes Dean's smile go deeper, and if it were any other person, Sam would say Dean is looking at him with 'heart eyes.' He thinks about how much he's missed those little names, missed how loved and complete and owned they make him feel.
Sam goes to his Alpha, because there’s no way he can resist. Because even though he’s angry at Dean for keeping him at arm’s length, angry at himself for not having the balls to call Dean on his shit, angry at his internal omega insisting he be patient with his emotionally stunted Alpha-- it’s been nearly seventeen goddamn days since Dean’s looked at him like this, a month since he’s touched him with intent. Sam has to go to him; he follows the pull of his Alpha’s eyes with fumbling steps, and he nearly can’t stop himself from kicking away the chair Dean pulls out for him to sit in. He wants to crawl into Dean’s lap instead, wrap him up, demand… anything. Everything. Something. Please, just something.
He sits in the chair like a good boy, though, trying his hardest not to squirm when the smell of Dean’s unwashed skin hits him. God, for someone who’s spent the majority of his adult life not having much sex at all, he should have a little bit more control, a little more willpower over this whole thing between him and Dean, but he doesn’t. Not at all. He’s a total slut for it, all of it, wants it all the time, thinks about it all the time. All the things Dean’ll let him try, all the things he would let Dean do-- how he can’t think of a single thing he wouldn’t try. He catches himself staring all hours of the day, entranced with the soft blink of Dean’s impossibly long eyelashes, the way they brush against his cheeks when he looks at Sam from underneath in that way he does.
Maybe it’ll wear off over time, but Sam kind of hopes not, kind of doubts it. It’s not like Sam being horny all the damn time has ever been a problem for Dean; in fact, Dean matches him every step of the way, and that’s the main reason it’s so good. They both want more of each other, always more, and they take each other to the edge to find it.
It’s that ‘home’ smell of Dean's skin that does it, makes him vulnerable, makes Sam soft enough to whisper, “miss you, Alpha,” in a voice he hasn’t used in way too long.
Dean’s eyes flash to his, and he’s all there, really there. His Dean, looking at him for the first time in what feels like a barren wasteland of an eternity, smiling at him with his eyes all lit up from the inside, the soft crinkles of skin folded over and over and over into happy little lines at the corners.
Sam makes this aching, purring little noise that’s more omega than anything human. The next second, he’s up out of his chair, practically climbing Dean to settle into his lap. He can feel his vision changing as his irises are painted over with gold, and he drapes himself shakily across Dean’s lap to get at him, to show him. Sam's nose gets buried into his Alpha’s neck, so he breathes Dean in, scents the lust and love and devotion practically oozing out his pores. He burrows deeper, gets to that part of Dean that’s just for him, that warm homemade whiskey and apple pie smell practically coating the back of Sam’s tongue it’s so pervasive. It’s exactly how Dean should smell when he’s got Sam all up close like this, when Sam loves him this much.
“God, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, lips against Sam's cheek then down to his chin, biting at Sam’s jaw before hovering his lips there, right over Sam’s, but no further. Dean just looks at him, all up close like this, like they’ve been looking at each other all their lives, too close, but also never close enough. “Been sucha moron. Don’t know why you let me get away with this shit.”
Sam exhales shakily against Dean’s mouth, thumb up under Dean’s collar to smooth over his warm skin. “You deserved time to… decide. What you wanted to do. Or. Or how to cope. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure. If you were doing it on purpose or not.” Sam’s dry lips keep catching against the dampness of Dean’s, and it’s so goddamn distracting, but he knows this is important. Focus, Sam.
Dean draws back a little instead of pushing forward like he should, and it makes Sam chase his mouth with a pitiful sound. Dean gets a hand in Sam’s hair, tugging so suddenly it makes Sam gasp, makes his spine almost melt and drip down his legs.
“What do you mean you weren’t sure? You thought I… what? Forgot? What the hell, Sam?” Dean looks genuinely upset, but not angry. More like, “god, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t-- dammit. Even after all this time, after mating you and being so damn aware of you in so many ways, I still… get it wrong. What you’re gonna blame yourself for, what you’re gonna think you deserve. I thought… not that it’s your fault. It’s not. It was my stupid idea to keep you at arm’s length because I wanted-- anyway. I thought, when you didn’t come to me either, ask me what the hell I thought I was doin’... I thought maybe you needed some breathing room. And shit, it hurt, but I figured I deserved it for, uh. Treating mom like the shiny new baby, and you like the redheaded stepchild…”
“Hey,” Sam protests, smiling when Dean grips his chin between his thumb and forefinger to keep him from wiggling away. “Thought you were gonna be less of a dick.”
Dean tickles his side for the impudence until Sam squirms, trying not to giggle (it only encourages Dean). “Shut up. It’s true,” Dean insists, hitching Sam closer. “I was so happy to have her back, so… overwhelmed, I guess. Wanting to get it right. Wanting her to,” Sam feels Dean swallow hard, so he wraps a comforting palm around the Alpha’s neck, pressing his thumbprint into Dean’s own mating scar (the one Sam gave Dean, just like he promised, as he fucked his Alpha's tight little ass for the first but nowhere near the last time. Dean'd had a humiliated little blush on his cheeks the entire time, telling Sam everything he needed to know: that his Alpha loved getting held down, loved getting his ass fucked, loved pulling his ass-cheeks apart with his own hands to show Sam his hole, whining pitifully like it hurt so, so good, and-- focus, Sam, Jesus!), “to love me despite all the shit just because I’m her son. And maybe she does, no-- I. I know she does. But, man, it’s like. It feels like she's sayin' we’re not good enough. She’s supposed to be our mom, right? Unconditional love and all that shit? I mean-- uh, I mean, me, I get it, you know? I get how she could look at me, think I’m not enough. But. But you? How can she--” Dean breaks off, clears his throat.
“Dean,” Sam breathes, pressing forward into his brother’s hold to touch their noses together. Such a sappy move, and Sam fully expects to be called out on it. But Dean just shushes him, letting Sam nuzzle him, and continues to talk with Sam all up close like this.
“How could she, for one second, look at you, this, this amazing fuckin’ kid, this man, with this-- this heart and these eyes and that smile and think there’s anything better, anything more worthy of her attention than that? Than you?” Dean tips his head so their lips are close again, so close that Sam can feel the warmth of his brother’s mouth, and he wants it so bad. “I can’t do that, Sammy. I can’t imagine continuing to look for something after finding you. I’ve never looked away from you, not once in my whole life, and you think I just forgot about you, or worse, that I was punishing you? For getting kidnapped, or. For being my mate and my brother in front of our mom? For whatever reason, and I shoulda known, Sammy, and I’m sorry, I. I get so damn caught up in wanting to make everyone. You know.”
“Happy?” Sam guesses, grinning. He nudges his nose against Dean’s again, some deeply-rooted instinct wanting to continue nuzzling the hell out of his Alpha, but he doesn’t want to move away from Dean’s mouth.
Dean looks bashful. “Uh. Yeah. And I just…”
“Dean,” Sam starts gently, playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “I think she had to go because… she knows. About us.”
Dean frowns at him. “Well, of course she does. I fuckin’ told her.”
Sam nearly comes unseated from Dean's lap when he jerks in surprise. “What?”
Dean at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I, uh. Yeah. Maybe I… no. No maybe. I should've talked to you about it first. But you were... gone, and Mom got to experience-- well. How would you deal with mom around any of the times we've been unwillingly separated?”
Sam grimaces. “Oh.”
“Yeah. She thought it was typical Alpha big brother stuff at first, but she caught me being… upset. Really, really fuckin’ upset. And I told her about you, about how I love you because I just. Needed someone to talk to about it. Missed you so damn much, omega, was outta my mind worryin’ about you.” Dean’s hand worms its way up under Sam’s thin sleep shirt, practically clawing at his bare skin to get closer, to burrow inside. “And I just remember thinkin’ that I wasn’t ashamed of you, of us. It’s not something to be ashamed of-- in our culture, as an AO, we usually stay pretty close within the pack. Family ain’t all that unheard of, but. Mom’s a beta, so it’s harder for her to understand. She’s never felt the pull. So I… wanted her to be ready. For my reaction when we found you. For my reaction if we couldn’t find you, or if we found you too, uh. Too late.”
Sam can hear the tears in his voice, the strain, and he realizes that Dean needs this, needs Sam, needs their connection just as bad as Sam does. That Dean’s been living without Sam, just like Sam’s been without Dean. That Dean’s been holding himself back for whatever reason-- and yes, Sam knows he’s owed an actual, real reason that Dean keeps dodging-- but right now, he needs this just like Sam does. With everything he’s got.
Sam presses his lips a little harder against Dean’s, the pressure still so light it’s nearly maddening not to move into the kiss. But he waits, because more than anything, he wants Dean’s capitulation to this, to them. Nothing tastes sweeter than Dean's surrender.
“Alpha, please,” Sam murmurs, their damp lips catching as Sam continues to mouth ‘please, please’ until Dean groans, and Sam knows he’s done for.
“Missed you so bad, omega,” he whispers before pressing their mouths together, finally, for the first time in a very, very long time. Sam moans, shuddering at the strength of Dean's kiss, the way he's taking Sam apart with only his lips and the tip of his tongue. Sam pushes into it, nipping at what Dean gives him. Dean groans, opening for Sam, so he sucks on Dean's lips, wrapping his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Dean's neck. He's purring deep in his chest, letting the feel of his Alpha's soft but firm mouth coax his into submission. His hips rut shamelessly, rubbing his ass all over his Alpha’s crotch, but Dean has other plans, it seems.
He slaps Sam’s left butt cheek (fucking hard, ow!), telling him, “up!” as he rubs out the hurt. Sam scrambles to his feet, and Dean pushes him forward over the table until he’s bent in half, ass in the air, chest flat to the wood. Dean has one hand on his neck, holding his face down, while the other fumbles with Sam’s sleep pants. Sam can’t stop squirming, his ass pressing firmly against his Alpha’s hardness, and he feels a little kiss of wetness from the slick tip of Dean's cock dragging along his bare back where it’s come up out of Dean’s jeans, because (oh, god, he always forgets how huge he is) Dean’s dick is too big when it’s hard to stay wrapped up. The thought has him shooting a hand back to grab onto Dean’s thigh, hiking his hips to help get himself undressed. His pants finally come down, his underwear with them (they're a dripping mess with all the slick they've absorbed, like a sponge), and he hears a chair scrape across the floor before Dean’s warm hands spread his ass, exposing how long he’s been wet, how soaked just being close to his Alpha makes him.
Dean groans like he’s in pain, murmuring, “fuck, Sammy,” as a thumb swipes across his hole, dipping in slowly as the other hand spreads his ass cheek until his hole is pulled tight, contracting wildly every time Dean tugs. Sam’s cock is so hard it’s leaking, hanging heavy between his legs as his hips churn to chase Dean’s fingers. He hears Dean settle into the seat, and he realizes-- holy shit, Dean pulled up a chair like Sam’s a table Dean intends to eat from. And then he realizes with a groan that he is. That’s exactly what’s going on.
He barely feels a flutter over his rim, connecting a long string of Sam's slick to the tip of Dean's tongue in a way that makes him feel so fucking dirty and amazing he's blind with it, before the shrill sound of Dean’s phone ringing cuts through the breathy moans and quiet panting. They both startle, Sam’s tailbone bumping into Dean’s nose so hard, his Alpha hisses, chuckling.
“Whoa there, Seabiscuit,” he murmurs, smile clear in his voice, patting Sam’s ass like he’s a spooked horse.
“Ignore it. Please, Dean, c’mon,” Sam begs, hips rocking, when Dean seems hesitant to continue. “Need you, please, please--”
Dean shushes him gently, pulling at his cheeks again to spread Sam’s ass wide. He blows cool air against Sam’s hole, and the feeling has Sam dropping back down off his elbows, landing flat against the table. He glances down his body, and somehow seeing how hard he is, the way his cock is drooling a thin stream of precome that connects to the table underneath-- it makes this situation even more urgent. So when the ringing finally stops and Dean picks up where he left off, burying his tongue directly into the wet, willing, waiting muscle, he moans in sheer relief, settling in for Dean to eat his ass like a meal.
“Taste so fuckin’ good, Sammy, fuck,” Dean moans, his lips tickling Sam’s asshole as he speaks. Sam can hear how wet he is, how Dean's breaths are even damper against his skin because of it. The thought causes a very unmanly squeak from Sam's chest, and Dean growls in response, and the vibrations from that are, h-holy fuck, in-insane--
The phone rings again. They groan simultaneously, but not in pleasure, un-fucking-fortunately. Dean emerges from Sam’s ass with an unhappy sigh, the bottom half of his face shiny and damp. Sam straightens up, too, running one of his own hands down his backside, touching the tip of his finger to his relaxed hole and pushing. He sighs in relief, letting his head tip back onto his shoulders, eyes closed as the even slight fullness helps alleviate the ache.
A strong hand grasps his wrist, shoving Sam's hand forward so his finger sinks all the way inside him in one firm push (which leaves him on his tiptoes, gasping), then Dean guides it all the way back out.
“You touchin’ what’s mine?” Dean asks dangerously, his eyes glinting blood red with the Alpha ascending to the forefront. “You touchin’ my hole, omega?” He grabs his phone from the pile of clothes on the floor, never looking away from Sam.
Sam bites his lip but doesn’t respond (because he knows where that particular possessive rabbit hole leads), instead nodding at the phone. “Who is it?”
Dean sighs, showing Sam the screen.
MOM is flashing there, spelling out Sam's doom. He sighs, deflating.
It stops ringing for a second time. Sam and Dean look at each other in the silence, the phone still in the air between them, hanging from Dean’s fingers. Sam shakes his head, scoffing. He's backing away from Dean when it rings for the third time.
“Answer it,” Sam tells him, hoping his smile looks more convincing that it feels. He knows his brother's been waiting days to hear from his (their! their) mom, and Dean has to talk to her before any of this can get better.
He’s just… goddammit, he almost had his Alpha back. Then their mom had to go and ruin that, too. Again.
“Answer it,” Sam repeats when Dean looks at him in surprise. “It’s okay. I know… you need to talk to her more than anything. I’m gonna… just. Head to bed. We can talk in the morning.”
Sam turns to walk back to his room, hoping beyond anything that Dean will call him back. He winces when he hears Dean answer the phone instead.
“Hey, mom. Can I call you back? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”
Sam nearly trips he spins around so quickly. He can feel the shock written all over his face, can see it reflected in the smirk painted across Dean’s mouth.
“How long? Uh…” Dean’s eyes turn dark, dripping into blood red, and Sam can feel the answering gold coming down across his vision. He needs his Alpha now, or he’s gonna fucking die.
“No tellin’ how long,” Dean finally decides. “Never long enough, ya know? And I tend to lose time when I’m… busy with this. So, don’t call me, I’ll call you. Oh, and mom? Love you, too.”
Dean throws his phone into the nearby armchair, then wrenches his sleep shirt up over his head. They’re fifteen feet apart, staring at each other from across the library, chests heaving as they calmly take the other in.
Sam breaks the spell when he closes his eyes, moaning at the feel of his slick and Dean's spit running down the back of his leg. It makes him feel so fucking dirty, makes him want Dean to pin him down and fill him up over and over again, until he’s got no more room to hold it all, and it leaks out around the plug he'll have Dean slide up inside him.
Dean is suddenly in motion, marching to him in three long strides. Their mouths connect hungrily, both practically snarling. Dean lifts him off the ground in a show of his Alpha strength, so Sam wraps his long legs around Dean’s waist, letting himself be carried to bed. Their bed, again, hopefully. Finally.
“I can’t believe you said that to her,” Sam gasps out as Dean drops him down onto the mattress. He can’t keep the wild grin off his face. “I thought--”
“You thought wrong,” Dean tells him, crawling over his body like a big cat hunting its prey. “You said you knew she’s what I needed most, and so did that bitch Amara. That’s how all’a us got in this mess to begin with, people assumin’ they know what I need. If Amara was really doin’ me a favor, she woulda zapped my happy ass right back into this bunker. Because you, my omega, are what I need most. What I need always. Need you all the time, Sammy, every second of the day. Don’t have to be doin’ anything, just wanna be around you. All the time. And maybe that’s an Alpha thing, but it’s always been that way. You’ve always been mine, baby. I’ve always been yours. And just because I have you now, in a way I never thought I’d get, doesn’t mean that I don’t still need you the most, more than anything. Just because I have you today, that, uh, that doesn’t mean I won’t need you even more tomorrow. Swear to god, I wake up every day and I. My... uh, devotion to you, how I feel about you, it must get stronger every night while I'm sleepin', or something.”
Dean drops down to his elbows, braced just above Sam, shushing him when he notices the tears Sam couldn’t stop from forming. He can’t help it, can’t help but be enamored by the whole of this man above him. Can’t help but feel dangerously, darkly possessive of this part of Dean, the part only Sam gets to see-- the tender underbelly of the Alpha. The vulnerabilities and the kindness and the way Dean can be so soft, be the softest person Sam has ever known, with those eyes and that big, brave, unyielding heart.
“You will always be my number one priority,” Dean continues, planting soft kisses to grow along his cheekbones and jawline. “Most of the time, if I’m being totally honest here, you’re kinda my only priority. Mom came, and I thought, ‘Sam can handle himself. Kid’s an amazing hunter. Mom’s rusty; she needs me more.’” Dean shrugs, ashamed. “I, uh. Sammy, I forgot that, that takin’ care of you, watching your back, the two of us against the world… I forgot that not only is it my job and my duty to you, as both your big brother and Alpha, it’s also my privilege and one of the best parts of my life. Nothing makes me feel like more of a man, more of a good man than taking care of you. Making sure the world still has Sam Winchester in it, no matter what. And not just because I need you, but because this stupid world needs you too. You've saved me, saved this world, over and over.” Dean grins. “Every hero needs a pitbull, right? I'm your big, dumb Alpha pitbull.”
“Dean,” Sam murmurs, smiling through the tears in his eyes. It’s so disarming when Dean gets this way, and it’s almost like Sam forgets just how fluff-filled Dean’s heart can be sometimes. And when Dean focuses that heart on Sam like a sailor’s compass pointing steadily North, it reminds him how lucky he is to have Dean. As a brother. As a man. And as his Alpha. “You’re my hero, okay? Not my pitbull. Always-- always have been. My whole life. Even if I didn’t understand you, I always admired you. And loved you. Loved you so much.”
Dean smiles, then clears his throat. “Never let me do something for our own good without talking to you first, okay? Never again. I’m learning… I’m trying. Call me on my shit, omega.”
“Only if you shut the hell up and fuck your mate,” Sam demands, grinning, digging his heels into the small of Dean’s back.
Five minutes later, Sam’s toes are curling up around Dean’s ears. He’s got Sam’s thighs spread wide, pushed to his chest, his hips hitched up with a pillow underneath so Dean can get at his hole. Sam’s fingers are cramped with the grip he has on Dean’s ass as his Alpha’s hips fuck into him so hard, it’s forcing a high-pitched noise out of Sam with every thrust.
Dean sits up slowly, gets his knees up under him. Sam watches him dazedly, moaning at the shift of Dean's cock inside him. He's so far gone already, in that place where he exists as a tool for his mate's pleasure, where his own pleasure is derived from watching Dean take pleasure from his body. Sam lets Dean arrange his long legs just like he wants them, groans with the loss when Dean slowly pulls out all the way.
“You want my knot?” Dean asks, voice shot and almost a growl. He rubs the head of his sticky cock against Sam’s hole, and Sam can feel his slick slipping down his crack, adding to the puddle of it up under him. The sheets are sticking to his lower back because of all the wetness Dean keeps fucking out of him.
“Hmmm? Answer me, omega.” Dean slaps his cock against Sam’s puffy, stretched opening, and it makes him whimper, humping desperately to get that thick cock back up inside him.
“Y-yes,” Sam answers finally, once he realizes Dean is waiting for an actual answer. “P-please, Alpha, wanna-- wanna h-hang off your knot for hours--” He crawls one of his hands down his chest, pinches a nipple while licking his lips, staring baldly into the red of his Alpha’s irises.
“So fuckin’ beauiful, Sammy, goddamn--” Dean’s hand comes up to follow the path Sam’s took, pinching at the other nipple before pulling it up harshly, making Sam arch, cry out in surprised pleasure. Dean lets go, scratches down Sam’s stomach to pull at his pubes, the sharp little pains making Sam hiss and writhe. Dean trails suddenly soft fingers down to cup Sam’s cock and balls in his wide, square palm, massaging at them as he rocks his hips back and forth. The tip of his cock just barely breeches Sam’s begging, hungry little asshole, and he can feel Dean watching the way his hole grips at his cock in desperation as Dean pushes in, the way it clings even more desperately to keep him when Dean pulls out.
Dean backs away suddenly, shuffling forward to flip onto his back. He scoots against the pillows as Sam watches, trailing a couple fingers out to pinch at Dean’s puffy, pink nipples. Dean moans, jacking at his cock, and Sam can see the barest hint of the thick knot at the base, and he scrambles up, suddenly desperate.
“Yeah, thas'it, thas’a good boy,” Dean murmurs sweetly, palming his little brother’s hip as Sam settles over Dean’s lap. “Show me how bad you want my knot, omega. Come’n get it.”
Sam bares his teeth suddenly, the challenge in Dean’s voice prickling something deep down in him that feels more omega, more animal than anything else. He lunges forward, pinning Dean’s wrists above his head with a growl that has Dean arching, moaning with surprise. He rubs his wet crack all over Dean’s bare cock, teasing him with slow rolls of his hips, head thrown back in pleasure, showing off the pink and white mating scar in the shape of Dean’s teeth.
“Fuck me,” Dean begs, rutting his hips up hard. Every time the tip of his cock catches, then slips away from Sam’s hole, he groans in frustration so heartily, so bodily, it’s like it's really killing him. “Omega, please, please,” he pants, thrashing back and forth, struggling against Sam’s ever-tightening grip on his wrists.
“Shh, shh,” Sam whispers, dropping forward to nuzzle at Dean’s face, dragging his nose down the line of his Alpha's jaw so he can take in the smell, memorize the scent of Dean’s surrender, his begging. Then he straightens back up, letting go of Dean’s wrists but making it clear he expects Dean to keep them there.
When Dean nods, Sam leans back on his hands, using his strong thigh muscles to lift himself into a hover over Dean’s dick. Dean 'helps' by pressing a couple fingers up into Sam (which makes his head roll back on his neck, and he nearly loses his balance, which is not helpful), making sure he’s still good and open. He trails the slick back out, jacks his dick with it a couple times, then holds himself steady as Sam starts to descend, to breech himself.
Sam watches Dean watch them, watch where they’re coming back together. Dean loves porn, always has, and Sam accepts this. He can remember Dean stealing their dad’s Playboy when Dean was barely double digits in age. The point is, Dean is an incredibly visual person, so Sam likes to give him something good to look at. This position isn't the most comfortable, but that's okay, because this is for Dean. This is Sam giving Dean the sight of his big cock opening up Sam’s ass exactly how it was made to.
Once Dean’s bottomed out, Sam falls forward over him so he can get back at his Alpha’s mouth. He’s missed this, missed kissing Dean almost more than the sex. Because the kissing can be anywhere, anytime-- before they split up on a case, before bed, first thing in the morning, at the pump getting gas, when they pass each other in the hallway, when Dean surprises Sam with his favorite foods. The endless possibilities of their connection, being reminded of Dean’s passion and devotion and beauty every time those soft, full lips claim his own, is absolutely priceless. Dean, Mr. No-PDA himself, actually initiates many of those kisses-turned-makeout-sessions. Sam always belongs here, wherever Dean is. Being able to express how happy that makes him anytime he wants-- maybe he’s a sap, but that sort of emotional gratification after years of feeling like an outsider? Yeah, definitely almost better than the sex.
But just almost.
Dean’s hips are slapping up against Sam’s as he grinds down, and the sound is getting louder and louder with their groans. “F-fuck, yeah, Sammy, coax that knot out, get yourself all plugged up. That’s it, baby, thas'it--”
Suddenly Dean pulls out, and Sam is shoved to his back again. His legs get pushed up and up and up, his calves at his ears, Dean using the underside of Sam's knees to grip as he digs his own knees into the mattress. Dean fucks back inside Sam in one deep, unannounced thrust, and Sam gasps, groaning out, “h-holy shit, Dean,” which makes Dean laugh, but not meanly. Like he’s happy Sam’s happy, and Sam is, but my god he swears he can feel Dean’s dick up in his sinuses.
“Ready, Sammy? Hmmm?” Dean pushes forward, landing on his hands as his knees dig deeper into the bed, bracing himself against the grinding of his hips. “Gonna fill you up so good, omega, you’ll see. You gonna come on my knot?”
“Jesus, Dean, yes-- p-please, uhn-unh-uhn!” Dean’s thrusts change from a slow grind to punishing slaps that unerringly bullseye against his prostate every time. A dozen more sharp punches to the nerve and he’s gone, toes curling against Dean’s forehead as he cries out and clenches up, letting himself feel how tight his well-used hole is around the meat of Dean’s dick. His come is hot where it lands against his skin, and Dean's fingers instantly come down to play in it like it's finger-paint. Sam happily sucks on the digit Dean sticks in his mouth, letting his tongue play lazily over the whorls of his Alpha's fingerprints, loving the thought of Dean leaving those prints behind inside him.
“Yeah, Sammy, yeah, tha’sit, sucha good boy. Came so good for me, omega, right on my cock, fuck,” Dean pants, hips starting the grind again. Sam goes limp, lets Dean arrange his legs, hitch his hips up higher. He bears down when he feels Dean start to push, and they both groan loudly at the thick slide of the knot through the outer ring of muscle. They sigh collectively as Dean pushes all the way through, and Sam clenches back up around him as Dean cries out, dropping his face into Sam’s neck as he comes, hard. Dean's hips jerk and thrash, and Sam cards his long, sticky fingers through his brother’s hair, purring in utter contentment as Dean groans in the back of his throat.
They eventually get maneuvered onto their sides, facing each other, still stuck together. Dean smiles sleepily at him, wrapping Sam up in his arms, pressing them together as tightly as possible. Sam doesn’t mind; he’s feeling pretty clingy, too. He's so happy to be back here again, and Chuck himself is gonna have to come back to pry Sam's cold dead body from this bed.
“Dean,” Sam murmurs eventually, letting his thumb trail across the soft hairs of Dean’s eyebrows. “You know, you, uh. You never really gave me a reason, you know. For why you… did what you did. Held me at arm’s length. I get that it was about mom, but.” He breathes out through his nose, chancing a glance into Dean’s face. He’s relieved when he sees calmness and soft affection there instead of the irritation he was expecting.
“I get that it was about mom,” Sam repeats, his thumb dipping down towards Dean’s sharp cheekbones. Dean is so goddamn beautiful like this. Well, he is all the time, obviously, but like this-- he’s… soft. This is what he meant, about Dean being the softest person he knows. He’s warm and clingy and dazed and smiley and he’s not trying to hide anything from Sam right now. He’s open, all of him, his eyes and his heart, and he’s letting Sam come inside. No, he’s begging Sam to come inside, wanting to show Sam a soft place to land. “But I thought it was you trying to keep us a secret from mom. But she, uh, apparently. Uh. Knows about us. Which… is weird, but fine. I get your reasoning, and I’m not ashamed either. So… why couldn’t we be together? Why did you… Dean, you can’t-- can't just take this away--”
“Shh, Sammy. I know. I'm sorry, baby. So fuckin' sorry.” He kisses Sam softly, adjusting them into a somewhat more comfortable position. Sam can’t help the moan that escapes him, feeling Dean's cock shifting around up inside him, keeping him open and wet for next time. Which will be very soon, if Sam has any say in the matter. Sam lets himself be kissed because he can’t resist it, can’t resist tasting the love coated just as thick as the whiskey and pie at the back of his tongue.
Dean backs away with a sigh, lips still pursed, eyes still closed. Sam brings him in for one more kiss, then lets him go.
“It was… stupid,” Dean admits finally. “Another case of me thinkin’ I know what’s best for everyone. It’s just… dammit Sam, it’s like I don’t realize I’m doin’ a bad thing until someone gets mad because it feels right, feels like duty and protectin’ you, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, both as your brother and your Alpha. I thought-- well. I got time with her last time, you know. When we were little. You didn’t… have any memories of her. Of her sayin’ she loved you. All the stuff I know you’ve missed out on, not havin’ her around. Because I know I was a real shitty substitute, tryin’ to be a mom and a dad and a brother and an Alpha and…”
“Dean, you were amazing--”
“No, I-- listen. Our lives are so temporary, you know? Mom got here because of some god-like person’s whim. That whim can be taken away just as easily. And I… wanted you to have quality time with her. Wanted her to come around you, get to know you. Wanted her to see how fuckin’ special you are. And I thought-- I knew. I knew that if we picked our relationship back up right away, that wouldn’t happen. Because for one thing, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you once I started,” Dean runs his hands down Sam’s chest as if proving this, “and I would be completely and totally selfish with your time. I would be jealous of the time you were spending with her instead of me. And that’s… not right. That’s the Alpha in me, and I know that’s wrong. You deserved that time with her. And also, I knew if we started fuckin’ around again, she would smell it, even as a beta. And it-- uh. I was afraid it’d make her leave, and again, you’d never get to spend time with her.”
Sam regards Dean quietly, trying to hide the quivering of his chin. Because goddammit, “you’re right, Dean. That’s exactly what would’ve happened, and… I would have been devastated and angry at myself for not trying to spend time with her.”
“Well,” Dean shrugs. “She left anyway, so.”
Sam shakes his head. “It’s not the same thing. Yeah, she left, but she said she just needs time. I don’t think she’d want to come back if we’d been… acting the way we used to. In regards to, uh. Like. Nudity around the bunker.”
Dean grins. “Naked Sundays.”
“Naked Sundays,” Sam agrees wistfully, grinning back. “If she does come back, we can make certain… concessions. What you did was really thoughtful, Dean. And annoyingly right. But you still should have told me. I would have agreed, and then we could’ve gone for a drive. Gotten a motel for a couple hours.”
Dean’s eyes go wide. “Uh, wow. I never… thought of that.”
Sam snorts, shaking his head. Dean grins bashfully, wrapping Sam up even closer. Sam starts rolling his hips a bit, groaning at the tug on his rim. Dean growls deep in his chest, fingers digging into Sam’s ass cheeks, pulling them apart to stretch at his hole. Just like that, Sam’s on fire again, and he can feel his cock stirring where it’s pressed between their stomachs.
“Alpha,” Sam moans as Dean pulls out, his knot deflated just enough-- but there’s still a rough pull that tears at the sore, bruised nerves of his hole, and he fucking loves it. It would have ripped something if not for the load of come, spit and slick spilling out of him. “Fuck, Dean.”
“Mom’s not here now,” Dean reminds him with a grin, pushing two fingers back into Sam's hole to plug him up. “So let’s see just how loud a prostate orgasm can make an omega, hmmm?”
“Oh god, yes,” Sam groans as he’s flipped to his stomach. Before Dean pushes in (his cock already rock hard again, another blessing of their biology), Sam grips at his wrist, turning his head to look at his Alpha. He’s sweating and smells fucking incredible, his dark red irises focused on Sam. “Love you. So much, Alpha.”
“More today than yesterday,” Dean murmurs into his shoulder blades, nipping at Sam's scar. Dean gasps at the feel of the tip of his cock pushing against Sam’s leaking, used hole, priming it to get ruined once more. “More tomorrow than today. Forever and ever, kiddo. Love you like that. Love you in that way. Always.”
“Me, too,” Sam assures him, then opens his body up for Dean to prove it one more time, over and over again, forever.