
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1109159.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Stanford_Era, Top_Dean, Rimming, Oral_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex,
      Sibling_Incest, References_to_Underage, Sharing_a_Bed, Cuddling_&
      Snuggling, Holidays
  Series:
      Part 12 of 2013_wishlist_fic_fills
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-30 Words: 1812
****** I Don't Need Much (To Keep Me Warm) ******
by verucasalt123
Summary
     prompt: Sam/Dean, makeshift Christmas dinner
     Sam thought it might all be a little too much, or maybe even not
     enough, so realizing that it was exactly right was a bit of a
     surprise.
Notes
     I had a totally different story to write for this prompt, and then
     Cloud On My Tongue popped up on my playlist at 3am and ran away with
     the fic. I’ve taken some liberties with the prompt (read: more porn
     than dinner).
Sam’s scrubbing the inside of the refrigerator again. His brother had only
given him twelve hours of notice that he’d be there to spend Christmas with him
in the dorm, after not having seen each other since August, so it’s not all
that surprising that Sam is engaging in his usual coping mechanism for stress –
cleaning. He’s been to all the stores that are open, trying to collect items
that might be considered traditional Christmas dinner food, but it’s not that
easy when shopping is limited to 24-hour drugstores and gas marts for items
that can be prepared using only a microwave or a contraband electric hot plate
he isn’t allowed to have in the room anyway. His RA is staying there for the
holiday break too, and he bought Sam beer (and weed, but Sam’s keeping that for
himself) so there’s nothing left to do now but wait. Sam’s no good at waiting,
but he’s excellent at cleaning. His roommate thinks he’s a freak, but that’s
all right, at least he thinks it’s because he cleans too much and not because
he knows how to make hex bags or field strip a rifle.
It’s not like Dean’s going to be inspecting the shelves in the fridge, or
checking out how much dust is on the windowsills (there is none); hell, he
probably won’t even notice that the sheets and pillowcases smell like brand
name fabric softener. He’s not coming here because he wants to see Sam’s room,
he’s not even coming for Christmas dinner, really, he’s just coming to see Sam.
But this is what Sam does when he’s nervous – he cleans and he makes lists and
he tries to plan for any possible eventuality, even though this is just Dean.
Dean has slept in filthy places and eaten food past its expiration date and
seen Sam through every nasty gastrointestinal bug he’d had in his life, so why
Sam feels like he has to impress him…well, none of that really mattered because
Dean had never seen Sam on his own, taking care of himself, and Sam wants him
to know that he’s doing a decent job of it. Leaving Dean is the most terrifying
thing Sam’s ever done, so seeing him again can’t be worse than that, right?
Especially since he’s got beer and pre-cooked turkey breast sliced in the mini-
fridge and vegetables he can steam in the microwave and instant mashed potatoes
he can cook on the hot plate and two dishes that match.
And then there’s the part where Sam’s a little overwhelmed, like maybe being
alone with Dean after all this time apart is going to be too much, and he
should have suggested meeting up at a restaurant or something, but that would
have sounded ridiculous and it’s not like any place is open on Christmas
anyway.
But he has lube and condoms and he’s given himself a completely rational pep
talk about how it’s okay to be disappointed if Dean doesn’t want to fool
around, and that Dean may very well not be interested in that anymore, which is
also perfectly all right. Even though it really isn’t and the chance of Dean
leaving without the two of them having sex is practically zero. They hadn’t
exactly talked about it, but then they’d never really talked about it before,
either, when it happened all the damn time, so Sam’s pretty much counting on
the whole sex thing working out fine, even if the rest of the visit is a bust.
Which it won’t be, he tells himself for the hundredth time.
Dean lets himself be pulled into an embrace worthy of whatever was the last
sappy girl movie he’d seen, there’s no shame in his relief at having his hands
on Sam again after all this time. And Sam – fuck, Sam is nervous, like Dean’s a
date, or someone he’s supposed to make a good impression on, babbling about
what kind of food he was able to find and how he’s planning to prepare it and
the tiny room reeks of cleaning products; Dean thinks he might be able to see
his reflection in the tile floor if he tries. But he doesn’t, he just smiles
and nods in the right places, assures Sam it sounds like a really great
Christmas dinner as if dinner was what he’d come here for. It’s Christmas,
sure, but he’s got no present for his brother and holds no illusion that Sam
would have gotten one for him; it’s not something they did, not since Sammy was
little and gave Dean the gift he’d been planning to give to their father,
having decided at the ripe old age of eight or so that John was a liar unworthy
of even token appreciation.
Once Sam settles down, has a seat, somehow forces himself to stop talking, Dean
gets a chance to really look at him. Not so different – a little taller, maybe,
skin darker, hair longer, but still just Sam. Sam enough to still completely
when he feels Dean’s eyes on him, up and down, then straight on. He does that
thing, he’s been doing it since he should have been too young to know that it
was hot, where he looks up at Dean through long lashes and half-closed eyes,
(how does he manage to look up and still exactly in the right place even though
he’s taller now?), biting down on half of his bottom lip like he’s not one
hundred percent exactly sure what’s about to happen. Dean raises his eyebrows
and shoots him a what the fuck do you think you’re doing? look and that’s it.
The kisses are rough and desperate, stopping only long enough to make room for
swift clothing removal before they’re falling onto the narrow bed that Sam’s
made up so nicely. Sam uses his height advantage to pin Dean underneath him,
biting and licking his way down his throat, across his chest, over sensitive
nipples; Dean’s almost out of breath before Sam licks around the head of his
cock and then just swallows as much as he can all at once. Sam can’t help the
little moan that escapes his throat but doesn’t regret it because Dean starts
cursing; he’s glad the RA is on the other side of the hall but he’s not sure
how far the sound travels with no one else around. There’s no time for further
thought on the matter when Dean gets his sense back for a minute and flips them
over, kisses Sam some more, whispers into his ear and slides down the bed to
start licking him out, getting him all slick with spit and sliding a finger in
next to his tongue. Sam manages to reach into the drawer next to his bed for
lube before his brain stops working and Dean takes full advantage, opening him
up and not being gentle about it, either, and it’s a good thing Sam quit
thinking about how far the sound is traveling or he would be wasting time
trying to keep from crying out at how good Dean’s tongue and fingers feel
inside of him. By the time Sam’s desperately fucking himself back against three
of Dean’s practiced and calloused fingers, Dean’s spotted the condoms in the
half-open drawer and reaches for one, looking up at his brother and getting a
frenzied affirmative nod in response, a couple of soft yeah, yeah, now, pleases
that spur him on. He wonders sometimes, what it would be like without it, but
it’s not a chance he’d ever take – if he does the nameless girls he picks up in
bars the courtesy of using a condom without complaint, he’d certainly never do
less for Sam.
Dean’s not thinking about random chicks when he slides into Sam’s hole, though,
he’s only thinking it’s just as hot and tight and fucking perfect as it’s been
since that very first time in New Mexico, middle of summer and skinny dipping
in a lake turning into something he’d been trying to fight off for almost a
year. He’d run out of steam that ungodly hot afternoon, no more energy left in
him to move back when Sam stepped forward, he’d just let it happen and they
hadn’t ever stopped until Sam took his first steps in another direction. None
of it matters now, Sam’s fingers digging into his shoulders as Dean thrusts
into him with no patience or tenderness, both of them groaning and cursing and
helplessly breathing out each other’s names like a skipped record.
It’s over faster than either of them wants it to be, but that’s no surprise.
They’ve got all night; Sam doesn’t know it yet but they’ve got until about
three o’clock the next afternoon before Dean will have to get back into his car
and return to the rest of his life. Sam goes to clean up and lands right back
on the bed next to his brother. They talk in hushed tones about this and that,
neither of them will probably even remember the conversation the next day.
There’s more fooling around and there’s laughing and maybe a couple of awkward
silences. Around midnight, they end up eating dinner; Dean’s not hungry but Sam
doesn’t have any fake credit cards in Palo Alto and he’s not about to let the
food Sam bought go to waste.
Sam’s shocked at how he feels in the morning. He’s happy, of course, thrilled
that Dean’s with him, shoved impossibly close in the tiny twin sized bed,
satisfied and sore and sweaty. But more than that, he’s okay. He knows Dean’s
gonna be gone in the next few hours, and there’s no telling when he’ll be back,
but somehow that’s just fine. As nervous as he’d been yesterday that the visit
would be too much, he’d also been afraid that it wouldn’t be enough, that he’d
be bitter and angry after Dean left, maybe not take his calls for a while
because it would hurt too fucking much. None of that is there this morning.
Yeah, Dean’s gonna go and Sam’s gonna miss him, but it was all right. In all
the ways that mattered, to Sam anyway, they’d never really been apart in the
first place. Dean is always with him, right down to the marrow of his bones,
Dean is there, and Sam doesn’t doubt the same is true for his brother, whether
he knows it or not. He’s overjoyed that they had this time together, and he
knows he’ll treasure any other time they can make to be like this again. What’s
making him feel so stupidly peaceful right now is that having this really is
okay; he never left Dean and Dean’s not leaving him, not really.
you can go now
you’re already in there
I’ll be wearing your tattoo
I’m already in
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