This is the last piece in my Brother's Don't verse. The order goes: Brother's Don't, Morality Be Damned, The Sweetest Cherry, Stitched Up In You, The Hard Goodbye.
Dad knows. You don't know how, but he knows. He's been eying you and Sam suspiciously for the last few weeks.
You've done everything to be discreet, curbing your behavior around others. But he still managed to piece it together. The two of you are so screwed.
Sam's at school right now. Dad is sleeping off another long night of hitting the bottle. Trying to keep yourself calm, you sit at the kitchen table of the cabin, cleaning the guns.
You start to shake as you hear Dad coming out of his room. As he walks down the hall, you keep your head down, concentrating on taking apart another shotgun. You don't look up as he pours himself a coffee and sits across from you at the table.
"How long, Dean," he rumbles. You shrug, not making eye contact. He bangs his fist on the table, sending the stock of the gun you're working on to the floor. "Dammit, boy, look at me."
You raise your head, staring into his angry face.
"How long," he repeats. You lie, tell him it's only been a few months. He sighs and covers his face with his hand. Your stomach is threatening to toss out your breakfast.
His voice is hard as he tells you that it's wrong. You hang your head and nod. You have nothing to say for yourself. He doesn't ask why, just tells you over and over that it's sick, wrong, and it needs to stop.
Your heart sinks. He tells you that it needs to end.
"Promise me, Dean. Give me your word that you will stop this."
"Yes, sir," you say.
Dad finishes his coffee and stands. He tells you that he's leaving to meet up with someone about a new case. You'll be moving again by the end of the week, and he'll be back tomorrow morning.
He leaves, only telling you to remember that you gave him your word.
You knew that this couldn't last forever. You knew that at some point, someone would find out, and it would have to stop.
Staring at the pieces of the guns, you think back. You remember how it started off so innocently. Well, innocent is maybe not the way to describe it. You never intended it to get this far.
But Dad is right. It shouldn't have happened in the first place.
Your stomach does another sickening roll as you hear Sam come in from school. He wraps his arms around you and kisses that spot behind your ear. Instead of relaxing into it, you tense up.
He whispers in your ear, asking you if everything is alright. You nod. You can't tell him. You just can't. But you need to make sure this is the last time.
You pull him onto your lap and claim his lips in a heated kiss. He's almost eighteen now, and so much taller than you. He kisses back, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You grip the back of his shirt tightly, not wanting to ever let him go.
He threads his fingers into your hair and grinds down harshly. You pull back, whispering for him to go slowly, enjoy it. He mumbles something to the extent of you being mushy. You silence him with another deep kiss.
You whisper bedroom against the side of his neck. He keeps your hands in his as he climbs off your lap and starts walking backwards.
You follow him to your bedroom. Your heart and head are fighting with each other. You don't want to hurt Sam, you can't, but this needs to stop.
He lets go of your hands and crawls backwards up the bed. So damned inviting. He lies on his back and spreads his legs. His hands tease along the hem of his shirt, exposing the flat muscles of his stomach and the tiny line of hair leading down to his jeans.
He smirks at you as one finger slips under the denim waistband, pulling his jeans lower on his hips. His hips cant up and he moans your name. He sits up and pulls his shirt off in a fluid motion.
You've held back long enough.
You crawl onto the bed, over him. Your lips touch just below his belly button. You kiss and lick your way up his chest.
He's clawing at your shirt, you know he's desperate. You finally make it up to his lips. You go slow, letting your lips and tongues slide together.
"Slow, Sammy, please," you whisper. The claws on your back change into broad caressing hands. He nods and leans up for another kiss.
You linger, tasting each other for a few moments. You shift your weight to the side, tugging at his shoulders for him to follow. You end up on your back with him above you. You slide your shirt up and off and pull him to rest flush against you.
"Want you," you whisper. He smirks and nods. You catch his face in between your hands.
"No, I want you, want you to have me," you repeat. Shocked realization crosses his beautiful face.
He leans down and kisses you, running his hands up the sides of your ribs. His posture has changed from desperate horny kid to amazed and grateful lover.
Your stomach flips. You've never done this. It's never been brought up. But if this is going to be the last time, you've got to give something he'll remember.
His hands play on your belt as he places lazy kisses along your chest. You arch up into the touch, and help him slide your jeans off. His touches are delicate and slow. You don't even remember the last time you two were tender with each other.
Both of your clothes are lying in a heap on the floor. You alternate between running your hands over his back and threading through his hair. You open your legs and he slides in between them comfortably.
He looks up at you with questioning eyes. You can read his thoughts. You can see the nervousness, the insecurity, and the love. Your brush your hand along his cheek and give him a smile.
"I love you," you say clearly. The smile he gives back is blinding, lighting up his whole face.
He reaches into the bedside drawer, taking out the lube. You take a few steadying breaths, willing your body to relax. He kisses you as he pours the liquid onto his fingers. He keeps kissing you as he leaves a small trail of lube across your thigh and down to your hole. He rubs small circles first before gently pressing in one finger.
It burns, but only for a second. He eases it in, placing gentle kisses along the side of your neck. He thrusts it slowly, and damn, it feels nice.
He adds a bit more lube and works a second one in. It burns again, taking a bit longer for it to fade. He makes a scissor motion with his fingers, and you groan.
He presses against your prostate, and you arch up, making an embarrassing noise. He chuckles and feathers kisses along your hip. He presses again, harder this time. You now wish that you offered yourself up like this more often.
His mouth covers the head of your dick. You moan together. His tongue makes small kitten licks on the underside of the head, just the way you like it.
If the third finger burned on the way in, you don't notice.
The licks match the pace of his thrusts, and you thread your fingers through his hair. He hollowed his cheeks and take you down to the root, massaging your prostate. You buck up as you feel an orgasm rapidly approaching. He must know you're close because he pulls off. You whine as he eases his fingers out and grabs the lube again.
He sits back and coats his dick in lube. You moan as he strokes himself, making sure he's fully covered. He leans over you and you spread your legs as far as they go.
The head of his dick nudges your hole. He presses forward slightly as you push back. You try to keep your muscles from tensing as he slides in. It hurts, but you won't ask him to stop.
He's fully seated, and you feel like you're being split in two. You take a few deep breaths to ground yourself. He's holding himself still, shaking above you. You give a quick nod and he rolls his hips.
The burn slowly gives way to pleasure as he rocks slowly inside you. Your legs wrap around his waist and you pull his mouth down to yours. Your lips meet heatedly as his thrusts get faster. You rock your hips, trying to pull him deeper in you. He changes the angle of his thrusts and immediately hits that spot. You moan loudly and urge him in harder, faster.
It doesn't take long till you're both panting wrecks, hips meeting in an erratic rhythm. He works a hand between your bodies and wraps his hand around your dick. He gets in three hard strokes and that's it for you.
Your orgasm hits, and you feel it everywhere. You arch up and moan his name. Even your goddamned toes are tingling. His hips stutter as you cover both of your chests in ropes of come. He shudders and tenses as he spills inside you.
He rests his forehead against yours as you both steady your breathing. He pulls out and flops on the bed, idly running his fingers through the mess on your chest.
You stare into his blissful face, and your heart aches. You don't want to give this up. What the two of you have is perfect. You know that you'll never be able to love or trust someone as much as him.
Later, after you've cleaned up and are falling asleep, you rack your brain, trying to think of a way to end this. You can't tell him that Dad knows, but you can't find a good reason to give him to end it.
Two days later, he gave the perfect reason to stop.
You're standing beside him at a bus station. He's loading his bags into the under compartment of a bus headed for California. He fought with Dad, stating he wanted to go to school, wanted something other than this life.
Your heart is bursting with pride and breaking at the same time. He got a full scholarship to Stanford, but he's leaving.
The bus driver is checking tickets as people file on. Sam is trying not to cry.
"Come with me," he begs. "You and me, against the world." And you want to get on that bus with him. But you can't. You shake your head sadly.
You want to tell him how proud you are, want to tell him that he's capable of anything and everything. But the words won't come out.
He wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. He whispers that he loves you. You give him one last kiss, hoping he can feel all the things you want to say.
You turn your back before the bus driver closes the door. You can't watch as your little brother, love of your life and reason for being leave.
You wipe your eyes in the car and take a deep breath.
Time to put on your good little soldier face and go hunting.