Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly

You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read the FMFC series yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this won't make much sense…

Epilogue

The rainstorm caught up with them in the night, pattering down on the thin roof of the motel room like thousands of tiny feet. The curtains were open and Dean watched the rivulets creasing the glass, turning it to a mosaic that caught the gaudy neon light cast by the sign outside and made it electric, yellows and blues and purples shimmering downwards in a pattern that made no sense and yet made all the sense in the world.

The candles were guttering, pools of dripping wax spilling over onto the cheap décor as if the heat they'd produced was so intense the room was melting with it.

Snuggled under the bedcovers next to him, Sam snorted loudly, his face split in a wide grin as he watched the rerun of MASH playing on the TV. Dean looked over in time to catch Frank Burns flattening an army jeep in an out-of-control tank.

The pizza they'd ordered was cold on the bedside table, but Dean reached over for another slice anyway. Sex always used to make him hungry, and apparently nothing had changed over the years. Sam giggled again, his sharp elbow poking Dean in the belly under the covers as the other man wriggled into a more comfortable position. Usually Dean would be trying to escape by now, slipping back into his clothes and flashing his Friday-night fuck a quick grin and an excuse as to why he couldn't stay the night. He wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling him in closer with a smile. Maybe some things had changed.

"Dude, you got cheese on the covers!" Sam poked him again, deliberate this time.

Dean scooped the congealing lump of greasy cheese up with a finger, grinning at Sam as he stuck it in his mouth. "Better?"

The other man made a face. "D'you know where these sheets have been?"

"Around your dick?"

Sam's mouth curled. "So you're eating dick-cheese?"

It was kind of gross now that Sam had mentioned it, but Dean pulled his face into a toothy grin anyway, making exaggerated mmm noises. "I'd eat cheese off your dick any time, Sammy."

"You're really disgusting, you know that?" Sam said conversationally, leaning over to take a bite of the pizza in Dean's hand.

"You love it."

Sam snorted around his mouthful of pizza, the corners of his mouth pulled down like he was trying not to smile. "Yeah, I'm totally in love with all your disgusting habits. Stepping in your pee when you miss the toilet is a personal favourite. Turns me on so hard."

It should feel weird, Dean thought. Talking about dicks and hardness, casually slipping sex into a conversation like it'd always been that way. The part of his brain that had censored all his dirty talk and innuendos before today as if Sam might get offended, blushing virgin that he used to be, seemed to have shut down for the night, maybe shut down forever. It actually felt good, better than good. Like that final barrier keeping them separate had been broken down, and now they could be themselves, be them.

Maybe sex really did seal the deal. The thought rolled around his head for a few seconds, semi-serious until Dean couldn't hold back any longer.

Sam watched him with a raised eyebrow and a half-grin, waiting patiently for his laughing fit to pass. "Wanna share the joke?"

"Just…thinking." Dean waved his free arm in the air, an expansive gesture taking in the whole room."

Sam waited for a second, probably hoping for more of an explanation, before rolling his eyes and settling back against Dean's arm. "Sometimes you can be weird."

"And sometimes you can be a freak. No seduction, my ass." Dean aimed a pointed look over at the used lube and condom wrapper still on the bedside table.

"It never hurts to be prepared, Dean." Sam said, in the tone of someone who'd said the same thing many times before. "You'd never go into a hunt without making sure you had enough ammo. Same logic applies."

"So, what, you put it there on the off chance you'd get lucky?" When Sam shrugged, his eyes fixed determinedly on the TV, Dean smothered a grin and pushed. "Did you do that in every motel room we've stayed in, or was this just a coincidence?"

Sam blushed.

Dean's eyes widened. "Seriously? Every motel room?"

"You'd've bitched if it wasn't there when you needed it." Sam said, ducking down into the covers.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean cheerfully hauled him back up the bed, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek. "It's so cute that you thought of my needs in such detail. You're such a considerate boyfriend."

"And you're a jackass. If this is your idea of pillow talk then we're never having sex again." Sam said, snatching the last of the pizza out of Dean's hands and stuffing it in his mouth.

"Hey, no one said my right to mock you would be revoked after sex. Free speech, baby. Don't oppress me."

"Oh, I'll do something to you, alright." Sam's voice was low, almost a growl. When Dean glanced over, his eyes were half-lidded, dark and feral, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Dean swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Oh yeah? What're you gonna do to me?"

Sam leaned in close, the ends of his hair brushing Dean's cheekbones, his lips parting with a soft wet pop.

And then he let rip with an enormous pizza-scented belch, falling back to his side of the bed as he laughed, free and loud and happy.

"You little bitch!" Dean gagged, frantically rubbing at his face like Sam's gross cheese-breath had left stains on him. Sam couldn't speak, laughing so hard tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Dean rolled on top of him, pinning him to the mattress and tickling him until he was gasping and wriggling like a caught fish, batting weakly at Dean's arms.

When the mood settled, Dean remained where he was, lying on top of Sam, his forehead pressed into the other man's neck. Sam's arms were limp around his waist, and the only sounds were the slowing beat of Sam's heart and the tinned laughter from the TV. "Hey, Sam?" Dean said without moving, soft and muffled against the other man's skin.

"Yeah?"

"You good?"

"Better than." Sam answered, arms squeezing Dean tight for a second. "You?"

Dean smiled, his eyes heavy. His brain was telling him it was time to sleep, and it seemed like a damned good idea, actually, everything so warm and safe around him. He rubbed his cheek against Sam's throat, feeling the bob of the other man's adam's apple as he swallowed. Dean let out a long sigh, feeling like he was breathing out the old parts of himself, taking in the new. "I'm good, Sammy." He whispered, letting his eyes slip closed. "I'm real good."