A/N: This is a gift, for the talented LeighAnnWallace, whose drabbles inspire me greatly. Hope you like it, sweetie.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural (but I want to, I want to, I want to!)
Story Details: This fic is an excuse for some fluffy slash between the brothers and a salute to the amazing Bobby. If you spot any hints of plot let me know :|
Warnings: Wincest. Slash (mostly implied). Schmoop. Biblical references (I'm not trying to offend anyone, so don't jump on me. I've done my research and the examples I give are valid.)


There's plenty to be said about having a secret incestuous relationship with your little brother; primarily that it sucks. Dean can attest to this.

The boys were at Sioux Falls, South Dakota, recovering from a hunt (involving a Cuco, a ghost-monster that is; equivalent to the boogeyman, speaking Spanish -and don't listen to Sammy, Dean's accent rocks- and a headache that made Dean's scalp throb -should he be worried? He's not getting any younger...)

Anyway, Dean and Sam were resting at Bobby's place; which would've been good, great, awesome -if Bobby's ears were... well, a little bit damaged. And, yes, Dean knows that that sounds mean and awful and insensitive but the old man's supersonic hearing has started to get on Dean's nerves.

The old hunter had send them to bed at 10pm. Dean had ineffectively whined "But, Bobbyyyyy," which only proved Bobby's point that the boys were still in need of having a curfew, but all sulking displays aside Dean had found himself right were he wanted to be; alone with Sammy, in a room with a bed.

He had taken every precaution he could think of! He stuffed a folded piece of cardboard paper under the mattress to avoid creaky noises. He had taken a nap (slept!) earlier in "his" bed, so that the following morning both beds would be in disarray (not that Bobby would check for something like that, but Dean was a bit paranoid.) And, finally, he had attached Sam -very very quietly- peeling the younger man's shirt off of him with care -and quietness- while breathing in air and exhaling out words; like "damn, need you, please, want you so bad..."

And just as Dean had Sam's zipper half way open, his hand about to grab Sammy's sweet cock... a gruff voice reached Dean's ears; then it found his erection -and viciously killed it.

"Are you girls playing' pillow fighting or something? Don't make me come up there! Shut it or I'll shut it for 'ya!"

After that, Dean tried and tried but Sam had been unyielding.

"Man, I can't. I just can't. It's Bobby! It's sick and twisted to fuck while we know he might hear us!"

"C'mon, Sammy, don't be a bitch!"

"Dean! No. Can't you just wait until we're back on the road?"

"No, I can't. I want you now!"

"You're being childish!"

"I just said I wanna fuck you; what's childish about fucking? Ew!"

" 'Thought I told you girls to shut the hell up!" Bobby's voice yelled, sounding closer than the last time, which meant the old hunter was standing just below the stairs.

So, the brothers lied down to sleep obediently, Sam yelling a "Yes, sir," back while Dean huffed curses about grumpy, ageing hunters under his breath.

"I heard that, boy!" Bobby growled, banging his foot on the first step of the stairs.

"Sorry, sir," Dean mumbled stunned.

"That's more like it," Bobby's musing fainted as he walked away.

...

Two days after that, Dean was going crazy with lust. He was, honest to God, missing his brother's body. Sam was right there of course, but Dean couldn't touch him, or kiss him... or trail his hand down Sam's magnificent chest, or pet Sam's soft thigh, or lube his fingers nicely and slide them inside Sam's-

"C'mon, Dean!" he mentally scolded, "Mind out of the gutter! Think un-sexy thoughts... Okay, okay- umm, Bobby's couch! Yeah, that's an ugly lookin' thing alright! Not to mention that it smells like it's stuffed with dead rabbits or something..."

Hmm... How many positions could he bend Sam on that couch? Sam leaning over the side...

Sam spread eagle...

Sam on his lap going up and down...

Sam on his knees in front of him; mouth open, and bruised.

Mm'hmm. Oh, yeah, those sweet lips taking him in and-

"Oh, god! I'm sick!" Dean slapped both his hands against his face.

"You figured it out? Finally! I've known it for years," Bobby mocked, as he stalked inside his living room.

"Bite me," Dean sort of whimpered back as a pathetic retort.

"Nah, I'll pass," Bobby replied casually, taking one of his ancient books -a heavy, dusty one- and throwing it at Dean.

"Make yourself useful, like your good little brother, m'kay?" he jerked his head to the armchair, into which Sam had folded himself, a large tome across his lap, sniggering when Dean grimaced.

Dean huffed and nodded, taking up a place on the couch (shivering briefly before settling) and blaming his sour mood to Bobby -for being such a pain in his ass- to Sam -for being so nonchalant about the situation- and to the Bible -for being such a tease!

And, yes, that's very disrespectful but also very true.

You see, it all started with Cain and his Wife. Cain was the first born son of Adam and Eve, and his brother, Abel, was the second. In Genesis, we read how Cain kills his brother and is sent east of Eden where he marries a woman and "lays" with her. Because Adam and Eve were the first humans -from whom all people come- Cain's wife was his sister and, consequently, all of the early Biblical relationships were incestuous (with the exception of Adam and Eve).

There was Abraham and Sara, Nachor and Melcha, Lot and his Daughters (yes, that's plural,) Amram and Jochabed, Amnon and Thamar... And those were only a few of the innumerable examples.

So, what was Dean asking? A chance to go all Biblical upon his Sammy. Was that a crime? Well, yes, but that's neither here nor there.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, terminating Dean's interior -insane- monologue, "Can you calm the fuck down? You're practically vibrating with anger," Sam chastised -quietly.

"It's not anger," Dean snapped.

"Then what's your problem?" Sam inquired.

"You! Sitting there, reading your book, looking all peaceful... you- you don't want me anymore!" Dean accused, coming to terms with the fact that it bothered him -a lot- that Sam seemed unaffected by their... dry season.

"What? That's what you think?" Sam's eyes bulged, almost spilling out of their sockets.

"Then why aren't you doin' anything?" Dean yelled, unable to contain himself.

"Like what?" Sam threw his book off of his lap, standing to walk closer to the couch, his voice still low but more urgent, "What can I do with Bobby in the kitchen?" he asked patronisingly.

"I don't care! Get him to leave!" Dean pounded a fist on the table in front of him, which bounced slightly.

"It's his house!" Sam snapped, exasperated.

"Technicalities!" Dean spat back.

"You're impossible!" Sam rubbed his temples with his fingers, as if he was having a headache.

Somewhere in Dean's mind, his rising anger crossed a few critical wires, causing his instinctive response to completely bypass his brain to mouth filter. By the time he realized what he was saying, the words were already out. "And you don't love me anymore!"

Sam stood strucked still, his mouth barely above the floor (Dean couldn't hold it against him -they never said that to each other, both knowing it wouldn't ever and under any circumstances be true), before he blinked the surprise away. "You're so stupid," he whispered, tone flat and absolute.

He didn't look like he was going to do anything crazy. Except Sam was always doing crazy shit while acting like it was no big deal. He tilted his head a little to the side, and when Dean unconsiously did the same, Sam leaped forward, climbing onto Dean's lap, knocking the book off of it and somehow overturning the table too.

It was one of those kisses Dean had seen in movies, the kind in which two people's mouths open automatically and their tongues meet without awkward hesitation and disjointed movements and everything else around them fade to the background, unimportant and forgotten.

Sam kissed like he did everything else, generously, holding nothing back, with raw feeling and a reluctance to let go. And with something other, Dean didn't have a word for, but that made his stomach flip and caused his pulse to accelerate.

"Sammy," Dean moaned when Sam's mouth released his and Sam started peppering kisses all around his face -on his eyelids, on his cheeks, on his nose, on his brows, on his forehead, on his jaw- mumbling "stupid" as he went. "You know that, Dean?" -kiss- "So" -kiss- "Fucking" -kiss- "Stupid."

"Want you so much," Dean panted, kissing Sam back wherever he could reach as if he was thirsty and Sam was pure water. Dean felt as if his blood was boiling inside his veins, an urge to just take Sam then and there filling him to the point he thought he would burst.

Sam's hands were already under Dean's shirt, fingers stroking and flexing on his chest and abdomen, as Sam started to rock back and forth, his hardening cock brushing against Dean's strained erection.

With a growl, Dean lowered his arms from Sam's back to his ass, hands curling around the twin globes, and started guiding Sam to grind down on him harder.

"We-e-ell. Look at what we have here," a smug voice interrupted Dean and Sam's interlude. Reflexively, both boys tightened their arms around each other, as if Bobby was about to pounce and tear them apart.

"We're out of bacon, I'mma head to town to get some..." the old hunter announced, looking completely calm and collected, "It might take a while, so you'll have a couple of hours to commit your dark, twisted fantasies."

The brothers looked up at him silent, not even daring to blink.

"But I'm warning you," Bobby continued unfazed, "If you don't clean up after yourselves, I'mma salt and burn both your asses to boot. Got it?" He adjusted his trucker cap, not waiting for a reply, turned and headed for the door. "Idjits," he added over his shoulder, as an afterthought, just before the door clicked closed.

5 minutes later...

"I just had the weirdest dream ever," Dean managed to whisper conspiratorially to his equally stunned brother. They were still on Bobby's couch, hands hanging loosely around each other, their eyes trained on the front door.

"I'm afraid that was real..." Sam said, detaching his gaze from the piece of wood and blinking down at his brother.

Dean's eyes widened. "Bobby really told us to-"

"Yeah."

"In his house."

"Yeah."

"On his couch?"

"Uh-huh."

"But... that's... that's... crazy!" Dean concluded.

"I know," Sam nodded.

"Why would we do it on this narrow, uncomfortable thing when there are two perfectly good beds upstairs?"

"Exactly my- No, wait. What?" Sam asked, startling when Dean bounced them both off the couch and started marching towards the hall, dragging a dumbfounded Sam by the wrist.

"C'mon, Sammy, move your cute little butt!" Dean urged.

45 minutes later...

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Dean asked, nuzzling against Sam's warm, sweaty neck.

"Mmm, that's nice," Sam arched, giving him more room. "I was thinking that everyone should have a Bobby," he told Dean, earning a chuckle from his older brother.

"Everyone should have a grumpy, ageing hunter to boss them around and call them 'Idjits'?" Dean laughed, feeling Sam shivering as his breath was blown close to Sam's ear.

"Exactly my point," Sam smiled, leaning up to claim a kiss.