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Author's notes: This was written about a year or two ago. It could be set between Seasons 1 & 3.
"It's Sam," he says softly.
Dean's hand stills on the curve of Sam's hip. "Get it through your head," he says gently but firmly, "when I call you Sammy, it's said with love and affection. Take it for what it is: a gift. Remember that no one but me gets to call you that. No one. It's mine. You're mine."
A slow smile creeps from the corners of Sam's mouth to his eyes, as his hand brushes across Dean's chest. "Possessive much?"
Dean answers by moving his hand again until it shapes and cups one of Sam's ass cheeks. Squeezing, he says, "Yeah. Got a problem with that?"
Sam leans in and kisses him slowly. "No," he says, still ghosting Dean's lips. Pulling back a little, Sam looks directly into Dean's eyes and holds his gaze.
"What are you thinking, little brother?"
Shrugging one shoulder, he gives a wry smile. "Just chick flick stuff. You don't wanna know."
The only thing that Dean hates more than chick flick moments is not being let in on a secret. A secret that has to do with him, anyway.
"Say it."
Sam sighs. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
Waiting a beat, Sam then says softly, "I love you." Before Dean can interrupt, he continues. "I realised I loved you before I left for Stanford. About a year before, actually. It made it harder and easier to leave."
"And Jessica?"
"I loved her. I'll always love her. But it wasn't the same."
"How was it different?" Dean asks, knowing his curiosity is sometimes self-destructive.
Sam pauses for a moment. Wow, Dean's actually talking about this. Another gift.
"Well, with you, it was…I don't really know how to describe it. Consuming. Wonderful. Terrible. Maybe that had something to do with thinking that it was all one-sided, and having to keep it hidden. So many times I just felt like I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. I nearly told you a half a dozen times, but I'd always come to my senses and realise that I couldn't have you hate me. I'd rather suffer in silence."
Dean drops his eyes briefly and smiles ruefully. "That's exactly how I felt. And then you left for Stanford. As much as I missed you, I thought it was the best thing for both of us because I constantly thought I was going to slip up and you'd realise how I felt about you. The thing is, it wasn't better, just different. You left, but my feelings didn't. When you were around, I was frustrated and always on my guard, but I was still happy. After you left, I was frustrated and miserable. Dad even had to tell me to snap out of it a couple of times."
Sam's eyes sharpen. "He didn't…"
Dean interprets Sam's question. "No. God no. If he knew, he would've beaten the crap outta me. And then he would've really hurt me."
"I wonder…I wonder whether we still would've ended up together if dad hadn't made you my protector. If we had all gone to live with Pastor Jim, or Missouri, instead of it being just the two of us most of the time." He shrugs. "Just thinking out loud."
Dean moves his hand over the swell of Sam's buttock to his lower back, and lazily follows the dip and hardness of his muscles, up and down. "I dunno, Sammy; maybe. But I'd always trade a more normal upbringing for the one we had because it's brought us here. I can't imagine that I'd be happier in anyone else's arms." Feeling uncomfortable with his last statement, he adds, "And that's as girly as I'm gonna get."
Sam chuckles, before leaning in again to claim his lover's lips.
Reluctantly pulling back a minute later, Dean looks into Sam's eyes. "Sam…I love you, too."
Sam smiles. "I know. And it's Sammy."