alexisjane

The Summer We Spoke of Love

Masterpost

Summer can just go fuck itself.

The thought popped into Sam's head and he all but laughed out loud, biting back the explosion so he didn't draw attention to himself. Dad was already mad about him talking back over breakfast. He didn't want to have to explain why he was laughing hysterically to himself on the backseat of the Impala at nothing at all. Didn't want to blurt out how fucked his life must be; being sixteen and dreading the summer months, praying for them to go quickly so that he could bury himself back in schoolwork again.

Not that he really cared what Dad thought. He had told him as much that morning, as they yelled at each other across the table, screaming at each other again, about something and nothing. But then Dean had stepped in and then he'd gotten it worse than Sam. And Sam did care about that.

Dean sat silently in the front seat, the warm wind from the open window ruffling his hair and the edges of his shirt, while his face stared impassively through the windshield. Sam's chest ached with the memory of his father's vicious words and the look on Dean's face as he just stood there and took them and took them. Sam wondered whether John realised that seeing the hurt in Dean’s face was a greater punishment for Sam than being on the receiving end himself. He may not have cared what John thought of him, but he cared a lot about what Dean thought and how Dean felt. Watching him sitting there, processing the harsh words that were harder for him to take from his father than fists, was agonizing.

Sam wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him, tell him he was sorry, but he hadn't had the chance before they had left the motel. Now they were stuck in the car, the sun burning through the windows making Sam feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, the tension from his father paralyzing him; Sam just wanted to touch his brother and he wasn't sure when he'd next get the chance.

Which was why summer could go fuck itself.

When they had school, or lately now that just Sam had school, John did his best to keep them in one place, at least for a semester at a time. He'd rent a crappy apartment, pick up some odd jobs or a little mechanic work and spend the evenings researching before heading off for however long the next hunt would take. As the boys got older, he'd leave them for longer and longer periods, only taking Dean with him when he really needed to, so Sam and Dean would fall easily into easy companionship. They had their own rituals, their own routine when John wasn't there, and in a lot of ways it was so much easier when he wasn't.

Especially this last year, since the worst day Sam had had in a long time, turned into the best day of his life. Dean had forgotten to pick him up from another truly shitty day at school, and made Sam walk home in the rain so he could get fawned over by the cheerleader of the week. Sam had been so angry he could barely see straight. But he could see the apology Dean tried to make, bringing him a comic that he thought Sam remembered as a favorite. Sam didn't, but Dean read it to him anyway, tucking Sam into his side and holding him close like when they were young. Until Sam looked up, his heart pounding and his...everything...wishing. Wishing so hard that how he was felt wasn't wrong. Wishing that Dean felt the same way. And when, like a miracle, it came true; they had held each other and kissed, slow and chaste and loving, until they realized it was dark and Sam couldn't even remember what anger felt like.

After a couple of hours driving, once the sun was a little higher in the sky, Sam sighed in relief as John pulled into a gas station. Both he and Dean started to shift and stretch even before the Impala fully left the asphalt and mounted the forecourt. Dean was already opening his door when John handed him the bills and muttered something like get him water, not just soda. He didn't bat an eyelid when the two boys headed towards the store, their shoulders brushing together.

The transition from July heat to the AC chill was welcome and Sam suddenly became aware of how sweaty he was when the cold air stuck to his skin. He and Dean walked the aisles, grabbing bags and boxes on autopilot. Same shit, different place. They didn't speak until they reached the cooler at the back of the store. Sam reached for a four pack of Mountain Dew but Dean slapped at his hand. Sam looked up, worried. Dean was smirking. "Water, Sam. You need to rehydrate if you're going to keep sweating like that."

Sam smiled coyly. "I'm not doing it on purpose, Dean." He pulled out a couple of bottles of water, the condensation from them dampening the front of his tee-shirt. Without looking up, said quietly, "You okay?"

He saw Dean nod out of the corner of his eye. "I...'M fine, Sam. Dad...he only says stuff like that when he's mad. He doesn't mean it."

Sam wanted to say, “Well, he shouldn't fucking say it then, should he?” and “Why do you let him treat you like that?” but when he turned to Dean and saw the hurt in his eyes all he could manage was, "I'm sorry. It was my fault."

Dean smiled softly. He checked the aisle and over his shoulder before his free hand came up to cup Sam's jaw. "Don't do that, Sammy. You didn't make him say anything, okay?" Sam nodded, feeling Dean's thumb rub over his cheek and then Dean's soft lips on his, Dean's teeth scraping over his bottom lip before he pulled back and rested his forehead against Sam's. "Just try to keep that smart mouth of yours under control for a bit, okay?"

Sam laughed and pulled away. "Funny, you weren't saying that last night." He walked towards the counter, blushing but relishing the groan that Dean tried unsuccessfully to stifle behind him. He chuckled but realized too late that reminding himself of diving in between Dean's spread legs, grappling with his fly, "Jesus, Sam! He said he'd be ten minutes!" "Yeah, like you're going to last more than ten minutes." Dean coming so hard into Sam's mouth that Sam barely had time to touch himself before he came too; it was a mistake. Dean wasn't the one hiding a bulge in his pants on the way back to the car.

The first ten days of summer break hadn't been so bad. John had dumped them at Bobby's, claiming he had a hunt that they couldn't help with, which really meant that Bobby needed extra eyes to work through a shit-ton of research. But that was okay. Sam didn't mind it. And as much as Dean bitched about it, he had a real knack at making connections and remembering snippets of information that made the whole thing go much quicker. Sam had once asked him if he had an eidetic memory. Dean had punched him in the arm, and said "That's disgusting, Sam." But Sam had seen the flush of pride as he walked away. Somehow that became something else to be mad at their father about. Sam could only think that Dean felt the need to play dumb so he could fulfil his expectations somehow. Sam didn't get it, but he didn't want to talk to Dean about it either. They both knew how smart he was but he let Dean go right on, selling himself short and treating Sam like he was the clever one.

Being at Bobby's did give them the chance to share a bed with no questions asked, which wasn't so bad. When they started coming around when they were kids, Bobby had designated one of the guest rooms as theirs and it had kind of stuck. It was dusty and a bit cramped, every surface apart from the king-sized bed was littered with books and papers. There was usually a stack of ammo next to the door and a large closet in the corner that Bobby kept locked. Sam had managed to pick it when he was twelve. Dean had found him, sat cross-legged in front of it, a bewildered look on his face as he stared at the clothes and jewellery, scent bottles and shoes. Dean had pried a white nightgown from Sam's hand and laid it reverently back on the shelf.

When Sam had whispered, "Are these Mom's things?" Dean just shook his head and closed the doors. When Sam asked, "Don't we have anything of Mom's, Dean?" his big brother had slid to the floor and pulled Sam to his chest, burying his face in Sam's hair. "Just you Sammy. Just you."
Still, there was something about knowing those things were in there as they slept. It somehow felt like protection to Sam, like a sigil or charm, deliberate on Bobby's part and Sam slept better for it.

Now, sleep was usually preceded by something else. It had only been a few months since Sam had finally worn Dean down and lost his virginity to him. Opportunities for long and slow tended to be superseded by quick and dirty when their father was around, but here, in this place that was to all intents and purposes their own, there was no reason not to savor every moment before sleep overtook them. The thought had crossed Sam's mind once or twice that Bobby might think that they were too old now to share a bed, that he might separate them. It made sense when they were kids to sleep together, when there were nightmares to contend with, and the two men who needed to drink themselves to sleep weren't up for comforting crying boys in the night. But as the brothers got older, Sam fully expected the next visit to be the one when Dean got told to sleep elsewhere. But it never happened. In a way it made sense. Hunters crashed where they could. No one stood on ceremony. But still.

Sometimes Sam caught Bobby looking at the two of them, a question flitting across his eyes and mouth but it would vanish in an instant like it never really existed at all. It made him wonder.

"Do you think Bobby knows?"

Dean pulled his head out from under the hood of the battered truck he was working on. Sam had come to find him under the pretence of bringing water, but had ended up sitting around, playing with Bobby’s new dog, talking idly as Dean did mechanic work for their keep. He looked the part, smears of black grease on his cheek and forearms, over the sheen of sweat glistening as the sun beat down, reflecting off the shiny surfaces of the scrappers surrounding them.

For a moment Sam wasn't sure Dean would even acknowledge the question. They didn't talk about it. Sure, Dean would pin Sam up against the wall when John was in the next room, and whisper all the filthy things he wanted to do to Sam until they were both rock hard and gasping. Then he'd lock himself in the bathroom, chuckling, leaving Sam dry mouthed and stupid, trying to conceal the bulge in his pants with his calculus homework. But they never really talked about it.

Dean stared into space, thinking, then shook his head. "No. No, we've been careful."

Sam looked up, squinting at him through the bright sunlight, his hands still rubbing Rumsfeld's belly as they lay in the dirt, the dog's black fur and Sam's blue jeans both covered in pale dust. "You call slapping my butt every time I walk past you careful?"

Dean smirked and ducked back down. "Well, maybe you should stop shoving the damn thing in my face, Sam. You know I love that tight ass of yours."

Sam grinned down at the dog and ruffled his ears hard, trying not to let the swell of happiness spill out. He coughed and got up onto his knees, making the dog jump up too. Rumsfield shook and look at him expectantly. "So later...you wanna...?"

The clicking of the torque wrench stopped abruptly as Dean stilled. He stood and glanced at Sam. "Yeah...yeah but I was thinking..." Dean looked down at the wrench, passing it back and forth in his hands, seemingly assessing the weight of it. Sam felt anxiety stirring, until Dean said quietly, "I was thinking that we could try...that you could..."

Sam felt confusion for a moment but then blurted out, "You want me to fuck you?" The words sounded far too loud and far too real, bouncing off the walls of wrecks surrounding them.

Dean's face flushed bright pink and he disappeared back under the hood. "Well...yeah. Maybe. If you wanted to..."

"Yes! Yes, I want to." Sam had thought about it. He loved being fucked by Dean, the feel of him, the weight of him. He was always so gentle, and just the sight of him between Sam's legs was enough to start the aching beginnings of Sam's orgasm deep in his belly. But of course, he thought about being on the other side of it, how it would look and feel. Although it wasn't until Dean asked, and all the blood in his body rushed to his groin, that Sam realized how much he wanted it.

He got up, patting at the dust on his jeans and walked up behind Dean. Sam slotted his body against him, canting his hips into Dean's ass so that Dean could feel exactly how much he wanted it. Sam lay his forehead on the dark patch of sweat between Dean's shoulder blades, breathing in the bitter smell of him mixed with the scent of engine oil. "I want to. Are you sure you want me to?"

Dean pushed back and used the space created to turn around. Still grasping the wrench, he pulled Sam back to him with his forearm, careful to keep Sam clean, and ground his hips up. Pressing his hungry, hard cock up against Sam's, he growled out, "Jesus, Sammy. Yes, I'm sure. Besides, that thing between your legs just keeps getting bigger. We should do it now before I have to hunt it."

Sam smirked and kissed him, moaning slightly at the friction, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders to leverage himself up onto his toes and rocked harder against his brother. "Are you saying you're scared of my monster cock, Dean? 'Cause you've seemed pretty okay with sticking that baseball bat of yours in me."

Dean pulled sharply away and looked into his eyes. "Do I hurt you, Sammy?"

Sam laughed at the look of concern on Dean's face. As much as Dean liked to talk dirty with his hand in Sam's underwear, to lick at the corners of Sam's mouth and tell him all the varied ways he wanted to have him, where he was going to put his tongue and how beautiful Sam looked as he came, when it got down to business the only things Dean ever said were, "Is this okay, Sammy?", "Are you sure, Sammy?", and "I love you, Sammy". After nearly eighteen months of their physical relationship and the four months they had been fucking, it was still the only thing Dean could bring himself to say when he was inside Sam. Even though Sam had only ever answered with, "Yes.", "More.", and "I love you too."

"God, Dean, that's not...I didn't mean..." Sam laughed again, yanking Dean's head forward and kissing him rough and quick, knocking their teeth together. "I would tell you. I promised, remember."

Dean nodded and pressed his cheek to Sam's temple. "You did, and...Oh, hell...look, can we talk about this later? Bobby wants this transmission out of here before he has to go into town and I don't want to have to explain to him why doing that made me come in my shorts...which is going to happen real soon if you keep doing that, Sam!"

Sam looked up at him, still grinding, and smirked. "Well, we can’t have that can we? It would just be awkward."

Before Dean could stop him, Sam was on his knees, button fly pulled open, cock out, precome glistening in the sunlight, his hands on Dean's zipper, sucking him down before his cock was even fully free of the fabric, Sam's face hard against the crotch of his jeans. Dean tried to protest but the words wouldn't come so he just gripped tight to front of the truck, bracing himself and bit back the scream that was building along with his orgasm. Sam was ferociously jerking his own dick with his free hand and when he came, the sight of it set Dean spilling with a gasp down Sam's throat, his head thrown back, eyes shut tight against the midday sun.

Sam rolled back on his heels and looked up at his brother, his cock softening, licking Dean's seed from his lips. He felt beyond obscene. Dean was still having to use his arms to hold himself up, his spit slick dick twitching as he ran his eyes over his brother. They were both panting and smiling, not needing words, until there was a clang of metal and they heard Bobby cuss not twenty feet away.

Sam turned away from the noise, panicked, boots scraping in the dirt, simultaneously trying to stuff his wet dick back into his jeans and wipe Dean's come off his mouth.

Dean managed to zip up, and started to move to intercept and block Sam from view. "Bobby? Is that you?"

Bobby appeared from behind a stack of cars, looking distractedly back. "Who the hell else is it going to be?" He was rubbing at his shoulder and cussing. "Dammit, walked right into that damn pickup. Don't know what's wrong with me today. Looking for Sam, y'seen 'im?"

Sam popped up from behind Dean's shoulder. "I'm here, Uncle Bobby."

Bobby sighed. "I thought you might be. What did I say about not bothering your brother, boy?"

Sam ducked his head, and tried not to let out a whimper when he saw the patch of wet ground where he'd come between Dean's legs. He swallowed hard and mumbled, "I wasn't distracting him, not really," trying not to let his pounding heart rate show in his voice.

Bobby snorted. "Right. And I bet you have no idea where that good for nothing mutt is either?"

Rumsfeld, wandered up, head bowed and the stump that should have been a tail, wagging hard. Bobby bent and roughly patted the dog's head, muttering something that sounded like a cuss but the dog took for affection.

Bobby straightened and turned away, saying, "Right, both pups back to the house. There are chores to finish before lunch...or there'll be no lunch. And Dean, I need that transmission, son."

Both Winchesters answered with their automatic and eerily synchronized, "Yes, Sir," and watched Bobby disappear between the stacks of junkers and wrecks.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dean reached out a hand to the nearest car and leant heavily on it, all the color draining from his face. Sam stood motionless, staring out into the space Bobby had occupied, equally pale, then turned quickly and kicked dirt over the wet patch he'd left minutes earlier. When he was done he turned to Dean, who was covering his eyes with one hand. Sam whispered, "Do you think he...?"

Dean let out a breathy laugh. "I'm still breathing, aren't I?" He looked up, ready to vent, but seeing Sam's watery eyes and pursed lips, he held open his arms instead. Sam launched into them, clinging to his brother like he was drowning. "It's okay, Sammy. I promise it's okay. We just have to be more careful." Sam buried his face in Dean's neck and Dean held him until his lips stopped quivering and the color returned to his face. "Much more careful, Sammy."

And they were. So much so that Bobby ended up asking Dean if they had had a falling out. They kept their distance during the day but more than made up for it at night. They woke up each morning, sweaty and sticky, once with Sam still inside his brother, thankful for their own shower, and that they could fling the windows wide open and let the stink of sex dissipate. And before too long it was time to leave.

The night before John was due to pick them up, Bobby got a call from a hunter who'd landed a vamp nest and needed an extra pair of hands. He apologized profusely, telling the boys to just go ahead and eat the steaks he'd bought for their 'last supper' and that he promised to be back in the morning to see them off.

Dean stood in the doorway; arms folded across his chest and watched Bobby's tail lights disappear in the darkness. "I should have gone with him."

"He said he didn't need us, Dean."

Dean shut the door and walked back to the couch where Sam had sprawled out, idly flicking through the TV guide. "It doesn't make sense. The more hunters, the better when it comes to a vamps nest. He should have taken us. It's not like we haven't hunted before."

"Maybe he felt like he needed Dad's permission or something...to go on a hunt with him?"

Dean smiled down at Sam and pulled his flannel shirt off his shoulders. "Really? So you think we should have gotten a permission slip?"

Sam laughed and undid the button fly of his jeans. "Exactly. Like a field trip."

Dean pulled his t-shirt over his head and put one knee on the couch between Sam's thighs. "I guess it would be educational."

"Very educational." Sam's t-shirt hit the floor.

"It's a shame..." Dean pulled down the waistband of Sam's underwear over his hip bones.

"What is?" Sam fumbled the buckle on Dean's jeans twice before he got it undone.

"I guess I'm going to have to think of something else to teach you." Dean took Sam's nipple in his mouth and that was the last discernible thing they said for a while, until Dean screamed Sam's name as his brother pounded his orgasm out of him on the couch in Bobby's office.

The following afternoon, when they'd heard the Impala roar up to the house, the memory of the previous night somehow seemed to make the impending road-trip seem more bearable. Dean leant on the doorframe, nursing a cup of coffee, watching Sam reading. Sam looked up at the noise. His eyes caught Dean's and they smiled sadly at each other. Sam felt a pang in his chest but forced it down. Instead, he patted the seat beside him and waggled his eyebrows. Dean laughed and coughed, the vision of them both naked and writhing in that very spot set firmly in both their minds.

Dean gestured for Sam to get up as he called out, "Uncle Bobby!"

But Bobby was already at his shoulder. "No need to yell, Son. He ain't exactly stealthy in that thing, now is he?"

Sam hung back, letting the other two walk out onto the front porch, irrationally trying to keep his distance. Dean, as always, jogged down the steps and got swept up tightly into his father's arms, before they walked to the house. Sam intended to hide behind Bobby as long as possible but the sight of his father, safe and well, took him over. As John climbed the steps, Sam stepped forward and into John's arms. As much as his father infuriated him, the feel of his strong arms around him, his hand carding through his hair, his deep, low whispered, "Hey Sammy", it all released a tension that had been burning low inside him. Dad was home. Safe. All was well in the world. For now.

Bobby shook John's hand. "You gonna stay for some food before you head out?"

John nodded. "That would be much appreciated, Bobby. Thank you."

Bobby turned to Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you take your brother and heat up the left over chili and cornbread, while I have a talk with your daddy?"

Sam caught the look of concern flit over Dean's face. "Yes, sir. I'll try and make sure he doesn't eat it all."

"Hey!" Dean grabbed Sam playfully in a headlock and started to drag him inside. "Tasting is important."

The boys headed to the kitchen, leaving the two men leant up against the Impala, talking in low voices with heads bent together. Sam opened the refrigerator and pulled down the leftovers. "What do you think that's about?"

The skillet clattered onto the stove. Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. Dad probably found out some intel that Bobby needs or..."

"Or?" Sam put the pot carefully down on the counter, but held onto it as he looked to his brother, the cold from the Pyrex seeping into his palms.

Dean smiled at him. "Or nothing. I don't know Sam. When they want us know, they’ll tell us."

Sam nodded but there was a fist of anxiety clenched in his stomach until John and Bobby sat down at the table, both men quiet and dower but before long all four of them were laughing at one stupid story or another, like they were a regular family, eating a regular meal and not the most screwed up four people on the planet.

Part Two >>>>>