A/N: Happy Valentine's everyone! Please forgive the schmoop.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.



The day before Valentine's Day, Sam came down with the flu.

He and Dean had decided to give themselves a week off for the holiday, since it was their first together. Dean even spent some extra money on a honeymoon suite in a five-star hotel that boasted a living area and a master bedroom, an amenity that made him slightly nervous as there was only one bed, and he and Sam's physical intimacy had so far only reached the level of kissing and holding hands. They hadn't even shared a bed yet.

As he sat on what must have been the softest couch on Earth, suddenly feeling like a complete douche for unintentionally pushing the "Let's have our first time be on Valentine's Day" scenario, he realized he had gone a little overboard with the arrangements. The intimidating white fabric of the couch was a stark contrast to the black smears still visible on his arms from changing the oil in his car earlier that day. The thick burgundy carpet seemed patently offended by the dust on his old and overused boots. The gleaming gold of the curtain rod glared at him in the soft light of a menacingly beautiful crystal chandelier.

Dean had been in a lot of scary situations in his life, but this was something else entirely. He couldn't shake the irrational fear that if he touched anything, it would burst into flames or turn into a pillar of salt. So he sat very still on the couch, doing his best not to interact with his lavish surroundings. The room was supposed to be a sweet and loving gesture, but his impulsive nature had gotten the best of him. Not that Sam was in any condition to notice.

Sam emerged from the bathroom with a pale face and wild hair, his eyes mostly closed as he shuffled blindly across the plush carpet toward the couch like a freshly risen zombie in a T-shirt and boxers.

Dean tried and failed to keep his laughter in check. He couldn't help it. It was the cutest thing he had ever seen.

Which he found himself saying more and more often about his brother lately. Funny how adding love into the mix could change his perspective on things. Behavior in Sam that had been there all along was suddenly new, endearing, and sweet. Suddenly everything Sam did was special, adorable. Even his taste in music had taken on a new charm, much to Dean's abject horror.

"Mnnnggg," Sam groaned in an attempt to argue against Dean's mirth. "Not funny," he eventually managed.

Dean laughed again and stood up from the couch.

"Is my poor baby sick?" Dean asked softly, taking Sam's face between his hands and kissing his forehead. Sam stiffened slightly.

"Baby?" Sam asked.

Dean backed up a little, keeping his hands on Sam's face. "Yeah. Wow. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, eyes completely closed now. "Kinda weird."

"I'm sorry," Dean said.

"It's okay," Sam replied.

"It's just that you're... You're so damn cute like this, I can't help but..." Dean cleared his throat. "Is 'cute' an appropriate word? I don't want you to think that I'm..." He trailed off.

"Gay?" Sam asked with a hint of a smirk.

Dean dropped his hands to his sides with quiet frustration. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted.

Without opening his eyes, Sam grabbed Dean's hands and put them back on his face, sighing contentedly at the feeling of warmth against his skin.

"Well, this is good," he said, keeping his hands against Dean's.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.


"Well, good," Dean said. He pulled Sam closer and kissed him on the forehead again, then gently pulled Sam's head down onto his chest. "I have this overwhelming urge to take care of you and make you better," Dean breathed uneasily. "It's scary."

"That works for me," Sam said, the smile audible in his voice even as he began to dose off standing up.

"You better get better by V-Day," Dean whispered.

"Mmm," Sam replied sleepily.

"I made reservations for tomorrow night at the restaurant downstairs," Dean went on. "The roast duck is their most popular dish, and I can't wait to try it. Some people think duck meat is too slimy, but you know I'll try anything once..."

Dean couldn't get to the end of his sentence before he heard Sam's stomach rumble angrily.

"Oh, God," Sam said as he wrenched himself from Dean's arms and sprinted back to the immaculate five-star bathroom complete with jetted heart-shaped bathtub, and slammed the door behind him. Dean cringed at the sound of retching from within as he leaned against the door miserably.

"I'm sorry, baby!" he called out, then corrected himself. "I mean sweetie! No! Honey. Wait... Dude, what do I call you?"

"Sam!" Sam shouted between heaves.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said. "I'll try to keep the food talk to myself for a while, okay?"

"S'okay," Sam uttered painfully and continued to throw up.

"And the baby talk too," Dean added.

"Thank you," Sam groaned.

That night, Sam passed out in the master bed with hardly a word of good night, and Dean placed an ornately bejeweled ice bucket nearby in case Sam had to throw up and couldn't make it to the toilet. And then, as he did the dutiful thing and went out to sleep on the couch, his last waking thoughts were of how much he had hoped to hold his little brother in his arms that night.

Happy Valentine's, he thought sourly.



On Valentine's night, by the sweet and flickering light of a dozen red and white candles, Sam sat back against the left arc of the heart-shaped tub, gently holding Dean who sat in front of him, leaning back against Sam's chest. Sam felt great. Whatever he had been struggling with the day before had gone as quickly as it had shown up, and he was as good as new.

Unfortunately he had given it to Dean.

"It's too hot," Dean said uncomfortably.

Sam grabbed the wash cloth from the soap tray and dipped it into the bathwater, which was actually very cold, and rested the cloth over Dean's sweltering forehead. Dean sighed with relief.

It wasn't the sexy, steamy, romantic bath Sam had hoped they would share on Valentine's Day, but it did feel nice to be close to Dean in this way. And although it killed him to see his brother in so much pain, at least the scorching temperature of Dean's body was helping to keep Sam warm in the cold water. Mostly. He tried and failed to suppress a small shiver.

Dean, who had begun to nod off, jerked himself awake again with a soft gasp.

"You cold?" he asked weakly.

"Just a little," Sam whispered. He leaned his head forward and planted a kiss on Dean's bare shoulder. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't want you to get sick again," Dean murmured.

"I just got over it. I'm pretty sure I'm safe," Sam replied, pulling Dean closer to himself. Dean let out a soft moan that was half pleasure and half pain.

"Besides," Sam said cautiously, "I don't want to leave my baby all alone when he's sick."

Dean stopped breathing for half a second. Then his hands found Sam's thighs and he pulled himself even more snugly into his brother's lap, curling his neck around so that he could rest his face on Sam's chest with a small smile.

"You like that, don't you," Sam said with satisfaction.

"Mmm," Dean agreed, kissing Sam's collarbone.

Sam dipped the washcloth in the water again and dabbed it over the back of Dean's neck gently, eliciting more contented cooing.

"My baby likes it when I take care of him," Sam continued with a peck on Dean's temple.

"Only when I'm sick," Dean croaked.


"I'm only letting this happen because I'm sick and I need it," Dean said. "Otherwise, you're my baby."

Sam thought that over for a moment. "We'll see," he said.

"No, we won't see," Dean responded with irritation. "That's just how it is."

"Oh, is my little baby grumpy?" Sam asked, his voice saturated with pouty sweetness.

"Sammy..." Dean warned, but then he broke into a fit of coughing that nearly folded him in half.

Sam held on tight as Dean's legs rose up in the water with the intensity of his coughs, and when he finally began to settle down, he was heaving and out of breath and whimpering in pain as he reached blindly for his brother's protective arms.

"I'm right here," Sam comforted him. "Ssh, Dean. Just breathe."

He pulled Dean's legs sideways so that he was actually cradling him in his lap. Dean buried his face in Sam's neck and coughed a few more times, groaning with each one and grabbing at his head with shaking hands.

"Hurts," he cried softly.

"Sounds like it," Sam said sadly. "Just keeping breathing, okay? You're gonna be okay."

Dean made a few more noises that vaguely resembled words, then seemed to drift off again. Every so often, his legs would kick softly in the water as though he were having a lively dream. It was so insanely adorable, Sam thought his heart might actually break from it.

"Sick or not," Sam said, "you're always my baby."

Dean only breathed quietly in reply.

Several more minutes passed, and Sam held Dean for as long as he could until he couldn't take the cold of the bathwater any longer. He reached over and pulled out the plug, resting his chin on top of Dean's head as the water slowly and silently lowered around them. As the last of it swirled noisily down the drain, Dean snorted and woke up again, disoriented.

"Sammy?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"I'm here," Sam said. "Let's get you to bed."

"Mm," Dean grunted.

He allowed Sam to help him to his feet, then sighed in utter contentment as Sam wrapped him in a big white towel, softer than any he had encountered in his life. Then Sam walked him out of the bathroom, through the living area, and into the bedroom where he laid Dean gently down onto the large bed, covering him with the thick, warm comforter.

Sam kissed his brother on the forehead and whispered good night. As he turned to leave, Dean grabbed his forearm and made a whining noise.

"Where you goin'?" he whispered.

"You need your rest. I'll sleep on the couch."

"I can't sleep without you," Dean said, eyes still closed.

Sam stood totally still. Was Dean delirious? They hadn't taken this step yet, and he didn't want to do it if Dean didn't really know what he was asking for. Dean let out a ragged and annoyed sigh, as though he knew exactly what was going on in Sam's mind.

"Stop trying to figure out what I'm really thinking and just spoon me already," Dean rasped. "I promise I won't throw up on you."

"We've never done this before," Sam argued.

"We'd never shared a bath before either," Dean returned. "That turned out okay, right?"

With a nervous and somewhat embarrassed laugh, Sam nodded in agreement. He hadn't even thought about the bath. All he could think at the time was that his big brother had a fever, and it was up to Sam to take care of him. This felt different somehow. Not bad-different. Just different-different.

But he was tired and didn't feel like arguing, and Dean was lying there looking so pitiful and needy, and Sam just couldn't pass up the chance to baby him some more. So he tiptoed to the other side of the bed and pulled down the covers just enough to climb in. The bed was so obscenely huge that he felt a little like Moses crossing the Red Sea as he scooted his way over to Dean's side, then finally settled in behind him, cupping Dean's back with his whole body and wrapping his arm tightly around Dean's stomach.

They both breathed out loudly, as the feel of warm skin on warm skin was the greatest relief either of them had ever felt, as if they had been waiting their entire lives for this contact and never knew it. They lay there for a long time without saying anything at all.

"Sorry," Dean eventually whispered.

"For what?"

"Ruined Valentine's," Dean replied sleepily.

Sam laughed gently. "I'm the one who got you sick, remember?"

Dean took a deep breath and shook his head. "This stupid hotel room," he breathed. "Bad idea. It was too much too soon."

Sam thought that over for a moment. "Well, it's not really our style, true," he agreed. Then he kissed the back of Dean's neck. "But you did it for me. That's what I'll remember."

He waited for a response, then realized he wasn't going to get one as a low snore emanated from Dean's throat. Sam smiled and buried his face in Dean's shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting himself drift into sleep.



It was the night of February 15, and Dean and Sam sat shivering side by side in the Impala, shakily holding Styrofoam cups of coffee close to their faces and breathing in the steam. They could see their breath in the car, and ice was forming on the windshield right before their eyes as they tried to keep a clear view of the cemetery that they were staking out.

They were both totally healthy now, although they were in no mood to celebrate it. They had received a loud wake up call that morning and had to vacate their suite in a mad rush as impatient housekeepers descended upon them, shouting in disgust at the ice bucket a la vomit.

Neither of the boys had been sure how to deal with the level of intimacy and openness they had shared the night before, so they did what any sensible couple would do in lieu of approaching a difficult conversation.

Kill things.

Or at least look for things to kill. Hence the stake out.

The only problem was that Dean had used up most of their money on the hotel suite, and now they barely had enough gas to get them out of town until the next morning when Dean could find an open store to give him a cash advance on his fraudulent credit. So they filled a thermos with coffee from the hotel lobby as they left, and they tried in vain to warm themselves with it in the car rather than turning on the engine and using up their gas on the heat.

"Sorry," Dean said under his breath.

"Hmm?" Sam asked.

Dean closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to have to say it again. "Sorry," he repeated, barely louder than the last time.

"For what?" Sam asked innocently, knowing full well what Dean was apologizing for, but wanting him to have the balls to own up to it.

Dean looked at Sam incredulously, hardly believing that the sweet, loving boy from the night before was actually trying to pick a fight not even 24 hours later.

"I'm sorry that I spent all of our money on a hotel room and that now we're freezing cold and practically stranded," Dean blurted.

"A hotel room we didn't even need," Sam muttered grumpily, quivering in his seat.

"Oh, come on! You said you liked it!" Dean yelled.

"I didn't say I liked it!" Sam argued. "I said I understood that you did it for me!"

"I did do it for you!"

"Dean, there are a million things you could have done for me that wouldn't have landed us in the freezing cold outside of a cemetery full of dead things that are actually dead! Pneumonia, anyone?"

"Well, pardon me for thinking that you were worth the extra expense," Dean spat. "I won't make that mistake again."

"Well, good, then," Sam countered. "I mean, what must you think of me if you think the only way to get into my pants is to spend money you don't have on tacky material shit? I'm not some bimbo from the bar, you know!"

"Get into your pants?!" Dean shrieked. "For Christ's sake, Sam, I have been nothing but a gentleman with you! Do you think that I would ever hold out this long if I thought of you like a one-night stand? I would've moved onto the next trick a long time ago!"

"Oh, well, this is fantastic," Sam shook his head. "Now I get to hear all the sordid details of your disgusting sex life."

"You mean my nonexistent sex life, prude!" Dean yelled. "And you brought it up!"

"I'm a prude?!" Sam's eyes were like saucers. "The one who stripped you down, bathed you, put you in bed, and laid naked next to you all night long? You're calling me a prude?!?"

Dean opened his mouth to shout back, but found he suddenly couldn't speak as the string of images Sam had just brought up coalesced beautifully in his mind's eye. And how it was even physically possible in this frigid weather, Dean never knew, but he sprung a hard-on in two seconds flat.

"Oh, Sammy," he said with a lust-ridden voice.

"Dean," Sam breathed.

They tossed their coffees out the window and collided in the middle of the car's front seat, kissing more hungrily and violently than they ever had, ripping at each other's shirts and pawing at each other's faces.

"God, you're so hot," Dean said through a mouthful of the skin of Sam's neck.

"No, I'm not, I'm freezing," Sam said. "Ah!" he yelped as Dean bit him.

"Smart ass," Dean snapped, roughly turning Sam's head in the other direction to begin devouring the other side of his neck.

"Only for you, baby," Sam gasped.

Dean grabbed the lapels of Sam's jacket and yanked him forward so they were nose to nose.

"You're. My. Baby." Dean said through clenched teeth.

"Uh-oh," Sam said with mock terror. "You gonna spank me?"

Dean's eyes actually began to water as he donned an expression that looked like a mix of anger, humor, and suffocating desire.

"Why? You been bad?"

Before Sam could answer, Dean threw him into the backseat with a strength that shocked them both, then jumped over the seat himself, landing on top of his brother. They both cried out as their jean-covered erections rubbed together, and Dean immediately began thrusting against Sam.

Under any other circumstance, Sam would find it hilariously funny that Dean couldn't even wait to get their clothes off before going to town on him. But after the disappointment of their ruined holiday, the frustration of both of them getting sick, the painfully erotic physical closeness they had experienced at the hotel with no sign of a happy ending in sight, and now the fight they had just had… Sam concluded that a good old-fashioned dry hump was the order of the day. Dean felt the same.

"Come for me," Dean panted into Sam's ear.

"Ah," Sam moaned.

"I want the first orgasm I give you to be right here in my car," Dean said, grinding away.

"Oh, Jesus fuck," Sam wheezed, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the windows had completely fogged over.

"Come, Sammy," Dean urged.

"Not until you kiss me, bitch," Sam argued.

Without so much as breaking his rhythm, Dean pulled away from Sam's ear and looked him dead in the eye. A small bead of moisture dripped from between Dean's eyes and landed on Sam's forehead.

"You call me names and I won't finish," Dean threatened.

"Like I'd let you stop now," Sam seethed in return. "Fucking kiss me."

Dean looked like he was debating between a kiss and a punch in the face. He then combined the two by slapping his lips against Sam's so hard that they both grunted with the impact. They kissed hungrily, teeth against tongues, and Sam cried out as Dean bit his lower lip.

"I need you to come, Sammy," Dean panted. "I need to own you."

"I'm already yours," Sam replied, biting on Dean's ear.

"I need you to come for me," Dean insisted, aggressively thrusting his hips into Sam's again and again.

"I will," Sam said.

"Please," Dean begged.

"I will," Sam assured him passionately. "I'll come for you."

Dean claimed Sam's mouth again as he reached in between them and squeezed Sam's erection.

"Mmm!" Sam shouted into Dean's mouth.

"You're mine, Sammy," Dean said, frantically kissing every inch of Sam's face.

"Aaah!" Sam crowed.

"I want to make my baby come," Dean sang.


Sam's whole body tensed up, and his back arched against the car seat as he rode the climax. His hips rocked against Dean's strong hand, and Dean held him tight as he cried and shouted through the force of his arousal.

"Dean," he said in a whimper that was almost a sob.

"I got you, baby," Dean said in a rush of hot breath to Sam's ear.

"Ah, Dean," Sam moaned.

"I'm right here," Dean cooed. "Ssshhh."

Sam thrashed until he was exhausted, and finally his thrusts began to decrease and his breathing slowed down as Dean's kisses became less urgent and more gentle. Sam let out a long breath, and he shivered for a few more moments before he was still. Only then did Dean move his hand up from Sam's pants to his chest where it rested just above Sam's slowing heart.

Sam put his hand on top of Dean's and leaned into his brother's face, feeling Dean's warm breath in his ear.

"Happy Valentine's," Sam whispered. He was pleased to notice that the inside of the car was quite warm now.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I think this is more our style."

"Definitely," Sam said. "Do you need…"

Sam trailed off as his fingers wandered down Dean's stomach in the direction of his crotch.

"Nope," Dean said. "Taken care of."

"You mean..."

"I mean I came already."

Sam looked at his brother. "When?"

"Same time as you."

"But I wasn't even touching you," Sam said, a little confused.

"Didn't need to," Dean stated. "The look on your face did the trick."

"Oh, God," Sam said, feeling a little embarrassed. "I bet my come face is heinous."

"If by heinous you mean the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen, then yes, it was deeply heinous."

Sam giggled, feeling his face turning even redder than it already was, and they settled closer together, enjoying the warmth of the car and each other's arms.

"I don't think anything that needs hunting is in this cemetery," Sam stated.

"Well, if it is, it's going to have to hunt itself. I'm not moving," Dean answered.

"Good," Sam agreed.

They spent another long, delicious spell of lying still and breathing each other in, both of them pleasantly surprised that the cramped quarters of the Impala's back seat felt so much more comfortable and familiar than a big, foreign hotel bed.

"Oh," Dean said suddenly. "I forgot."

"Forgot what?" Sam asked.

"I wanted to give you something," Dean said. "To apologize for screwing up our Valentine's."

Sam laughed. "Dean, I think you've more than made up for it already."

"No, no. I insist. The hotel was a big mistake and we didn't get to enjoy it anyway, so I feel that as your… boyfriend?" Dean realized he wasn't sure what to call himself in relation to his brother anymore.

"Sure. Boyfriend works for now," Sam said.

"As your… boyfriend," Dean said again, savoring the feel of the word in his mouth, "I feel that it's necessary for me to offer a token of my feelings. One that you can actually appreciate."

"Okay," Sam said warily.

Dean reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled a small object out which he placed gently on top of Sam's chest.

Sam lifted his head to look at what Dean had given him, then let out a mystified laugh.

"Conversation hearts are a token of your feelings?" Sam asked unsurely.

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. "I couldn't afford anything else."

Sam laughed long and hard at that, and soon Dean joined in with him. When they were able to catch their breath, they shared another slow kiss.

"Well, I know how hard it is for you to express your feelings in words," Sam said. "I guess now you don't have to."

Dean knocked his head into Sam's shoulder playfully. "Bitch."

"No, I mean it. Let's see what you have to say."

Sam opened the box and pulled out a hard white heart with little pink letters on it. He held it close to his face and read, "Text me."

The boys exchanged a sickened look, and Sam threw the heart to the floor with disdain. He pulled out another heart, this one orange, and read, "Cutie pie."

Then he turned to Dean and pecked him on the lips. "How true," Sam said. Dean smiled sweetly as Sam popped the heart in his own mouth and bit down.

Sam pulled out a third heart, a pink one, and his smile turned devilish as he lowered his voice and read the words, "Tease me."

Dean watched intently, excited to see what was going through Sam's mind.

"Well, okay, Dean," Sam said. "If that's what you really want."

He reached down and put the heart on top of the zipper on his jeans, then put his hand behind his head, looking expectantly at Dean.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked brightly. "Aren't you hungry?"

Dean's eyes widened again with the same look of sudden overwhelming lust that he had sported earlier, and he felt his pants immediately beginning to constrict painfully as his breathing increased.

"I'll show you hungry, you tease," Dean vowed.

He kissed Sam on the lips, then crawled across the seat so he could bend over toward the candy heart in Sam's lap.

Sam gasped as he felt a light pressure over his hips and then heard a loud crunch as Dean devoured the heart, like a pistol shot signaling the beginning of round two.

"Fuck," Sam moaned as he watched Dean pulling his zipper down with his teeth.

"Be mine," Dean said with an evil grin.