Take What You Can

It's been three months since Dean last saw his brother down in South Carolina, where they teamed up to take out a particularly nasty cluster of poltergeists.

Right now he's in Bellevue, Idaho, checking out a possible Wendigo. He's pretty sure it's a bust, that it's just some random weirdo kidnapping people - hell, it's a goddamned resort area, not like Black Water Ridge - but he's not leaving just yet. He knows Sam isn't far away; the message he left on Dean's cell had said he could be there in under two days. Dean doesn't know how Sam's getting round these days - for all he knows, Sam steals a new car each week. Dean doesn't dwell on it; he spends enough time checking police reports between Sam's emailed updates to make sure his brother isn't popping up on anyone's radar.

The town's not much to see - a bar, a movie theater, a small motel. It's a Tuesday night and the bar is mostly empty, just a few locals drinking their beers with the single-minded intensity of the truly miserable, and two girls Dean would swear were no more than eighteen doing shots of some disgusting looking green shit and becoming increasingly more giggly. He sits at the bar and watches them; the music isn't too bad and one of the girls is getting drunk enough that she doesn't notice her top slipping down a little. Dean sips his beer and leers at the girl when she turns and sees him; she blushes a pretty pink color and waves at him.

An hour later finds Dean sitting between the girls, buying them more drinks and thinking that if Sam doesn't show soon Dean's gonna get laid anyway, when a hand falls heavily on his shoulder.

"Dude, finally," he starts to say, turning around to look at his brother. He barely gets the words out before stuttering to a close, his ears turning pink and his mouth hanging open.

"What?" Sam asks, his voice low and rough.

"You're not my brother," Dean bleats, and Sam laughs. Tosses his head back and laughs, the way Dean's barely ever seen him laugh. His hair - fuck, his hair - is coming loose from the scrap of leather holding most of it off his face, and the girl on Dean's left shifts to move off of her stool, mumbling something along the lines of screw you, I'm going after this one.

Sam ignores her, his eyes fixed on Dean.

"What happened to you?" Dean whispers. Sam doesn't reply; he simply touches Dean on the arm and drags him across the bar as if there's an invisible leash around his neck. Dean mutters Christo under his breath but it just makes Sam turn and grin at him, looking almost feral beneath his scruffy-looking beard and long hair. The black leather jacket should look so out of place - Dean's so used to seeing Sam in flannel shirts and hoodies - but it fits, it fits this person Sam seems to have become over the past couple of months, and Dean wonders again what happened to the Sam who left him alone in bed before the sun had come up, back in Port Royal.

It's even more surreal when Dean sees the motorcycle.

"Dude, you steal that?" Dean says, impressed, when Sam walks over to it and leans against it.

"Does it matter?" Sam asks. He grins at Dean again, gleeful and annoying and there he is, there's the Sam Dean knows, there's his annoying little brother with the stupid hair and dimples. Dean leans across him to stroke the smooth black metal, still warm to the touch, and isn't the least bit surprised when Sam takes the opportunity to run his hand down Dean's back in an undeniable caress.

Dean whimpers softly and leans into Sam's touch. He senses him moving closer, feels his breath puff in his ear, his words tugging at the edges of Dean's hearing.

"Come for a ride?"

Dean doesn't even crack a smile at the innuendo laden into Sam's words. He takes a step back and raises his eyebrows at his brother, waiting for him to straddle the bike before climbing on behind him.

And isn't this the perfect position? The bike roars to life, thrumming between Dean's legs, stirring his already half-hard cock to life. Sam's body is tight and hard under his hands, his thighs strong against Dean's, his hair almost completely loose from its tie and blowing in a tangled mess against Dean's face as they ride through the night to god-knows-where. Dean doesn't care. He buries his face in the nape of Sam's neck, inhaling deeply the scent of sweat and Sam and a hint of sex, and grins privately to himself when Sam flinches at the touch of his tongue.

Dean's fingers are cold when they secretly tug aside the layers of Sam's clothing and sneak inside. Sam twitches but doesn't react otherwise when Dean touches hot skin. He turns his head slightly and leans back a little against Dean, shifting his weight and spreading his legs as far as he can without driving off of the road. It's so damned easy for Dean to get Sam's belt open and his hands inside, and then - finally - Sam's dick is in his hands, hot and familiar and his.

Sam whimpers, the sound torn away by the wind. Dean can feel the noises he's making, can feel them through his tongue as he licks and bites Sam's neck, nudging the hair away with his nose, moving his forehead to rest on Sam's shoulder, rubbing his cheek against Sam's and loving the roughness of his beard.

The movement of the bike becomes unstable, and Sam pulls over to the side of the road with a spray of gravel. They're miles out of town, the blacktop dark and endless ahead of them, the only light the bright puddle of yellow from the headlight. Sam lets go of the bike, leans back and wraps his hands around Dean's thighs, his mouth open and gasping as he thrusts his hips into Dean's tight grasp.

Dean can hear filth pouring out of Sam's mouth; he whimpers and tugs harder, faster, wanting to make his brother come but at the same time wanting this moment to last. Just him and Sam, side of the road, nothing between them but a few layers of clothing. No sound but the quiet plink of the bike's engine cooling, the hushed murmur of the wind, the unfettered gasps of Sam in his arms. No difficult thoughts about we can't do this and be brothers at the same time, no fears about maybe we should stop altogether, no painful memories of watching Sam drive away because neither of them could live as brothers and lovers at the same time. It was one or the other, and for survival's sake, Dean had known they couldn't keep on.

Sam jerks in his arm, his mouth slack-jawed and wide open, and Dean finally gives in to the almost painful need to kiss him. There's no artistry or subtlety about it; he claims Sam's mouth as his own, sweeps his tongue in, drives away doubts and fears and the months of painful longing in a kiss that leaves him breathless and wanting. Dean's hand is wet with his brother's come, but he doesn't stop kissing Sam, can't let go.

Later, they share a cigarette in the light of the motorcycle's headlamp. Dean watches Sam's mouth as he takes a drag and exhales, and he wonders how to say what he needs to.

"Do we gotta do this?" he murmurs, his words almost vanishing in the dark.

"It doesn't work when we're together," Sam says quietly, passing the cigarette back. Dean inhales, almost chokes, and tosses the butt to the ground. It burns briefly, making its own light down by their feet, before going out.

"Could try again," Dean says obstinately. "It's not like we really made a go of it last time."

"Brothers or lovers, Dean, that's the choice you gave me," Sam says. He runs an impatient hand through his tangled hair, and fishes in his pocket for something to hold it back with. Dean's eyes follow the movements of his hands, watching the muscles and veins in the shadowy light.

Dean nods. He knows Sam's right; knows that if they went back to how it was before, with the fucking and the hunting and living out of each other's pockets, they'd kill each other. Nearly did that last time. Hell, Dean doesn't know if he even knows his brother anymore, not like he used to. The camaraderie which kept them going for almost three years in each other's company had vanished the moment they took from each other what they had both wanted for so long.

"Don't make it three months this time," he says, conceding defeat. Sam looks at him and smiles.

~

It's only a few weeks before Dean hears from Sam again, a text message at three in the morning saying where r u?

He grins and sends a message back, grinning even more widely when the reply to that is b there in 4 hrs.

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