I regret nothing. I apologize if the song gets stuck in your head. lol

I don't have a beta, so any mistakes you see are my own. Also, this is my first Supernatural fic! Yay!

THIS IS WINCEST. If you don't like that, get the hell out. Don't bother yelling at me in the reviews because I will just delete it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything you recognize here. There.

The first time it happened, Sam figured it was a mistake, a simple case of "I must have the wrong number."

He and Dean were riding in the Impala, fresh off of another hunt. The bar they had stopped at for their celebratory beer was just as sleazy as all the rest (the bathroom stall even had a glory hole in it, for Christ's sake), but that didn't stop Dean from hitting on the bartender. Or the waitresses. Or the biker chicks. When they left, Dean had five napkins with phone numbers on them in his wallet, a smirk plastered on his face.

All-in-all, it was par for the day.

Until the phone call.

Sam's phone started ringing in his pocket, so he fished it out and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Uh, is this Samantha?" The man's voice on the other end was gruff and slurred, as if he had been drinking and smoking at the same time.

"This is Sam," he replied, glancing at Dean; his brother had a huge grin on his face and he was biting his lip, as if quelling laughter. He cocked his head, questioningly, before he turned back to the conversation. "Who is this?"

"Um, sorry, must got the wrong number…" The line went dead as the man hung up.

Sam snapped his phone shut and slipped it back in his pocket. "That was weird."

Dean stayed silent, still stifling his laughter.

Sam sighed and shifted back in his seat. It was gonna be a long drive.

He was in the middle of the library a few days later when the second call came in; Dean was nowhere to be found, probably back at the motel banging some chick. He pulled his cell from his pocket and quickly answered it. "Hello?" he whispered, glancing at the librarian to make sure she was out of ear shot.


Sam's face tensed as he pursed his lips – he Dean-dubbed "Bitchface" – as he said, "No, this is Sam." And seriously, what was going on here?

"Sorry. Wrong number." The man hung up swiftly and Sam was left staring at his phone in confusion. He silenced it completely and shoved it in his bag before turning back to his research.

It was two o'clock in the morning a couple weeks after the library incident when his phone rang a third time. He dragged himself out of his slumber, smacking the bedside table trying to find it. "Hello?" he said groggily.

"Hi, Samantha." The man's voice was husky and he was whispering, almost seductively, if Sam was interpreting his tone correctly.

"Dude, what the fuck?!" he yelled; Dean stirred in the next bed, but Sam was beyond caring if he woke his brother up. "Where are you people getting this number?!"

The other line was already dead, the man having hung up after Sam's initial outburst. He slammed his phone back onto the table, flopping onto his back and glaring at the ceiling.

"Mm… Who wassat?" Dean asked, speech sleep-slurred.

"Nobody, Dean. Go back to sleep."


Sam smiled and couldn't help but reply, "Jerk," before falling back into a restless sleep.

A few weeks and a couple hunts later, Sam had nearly forgotten all about the weird calls from men asking for Samantha. Until, that is, his phone rang while he was on a stake-out with Dean.

"Hello?" he said, keeping the binoculars held up to his face; he dropped them into his lap when he heard the very male voice through the receiver.

"This don't sound like no Samantha."

"That's because it isn't. Samantha." Sam was furious now. He glared at Dean, who was full-on laughing now, and punched him in the leg. "Look, just tell me who the hell you are and where you got this damn number."

"Uh, it's written on the bathroom wall at The Rat's Hole."

"The Rat's Hole?" Sam repeated. The bar they had been to right before he received that first phone call.

"Yeah, says right here, 'For a good time, call Samantha' and this number."

Sam grit his teeth, staring at Dean, wishing he could burn his soul out of him through his gaze alone. "Do me a favor: cross that shit out. Or so help me God, I will hunt your ass down and-"

"Got it. It's gone."

Sam grunted in lieu of a response and snapped his phone shut. His eyes never left Dean, who was still chuckling. "What's wrong, Sammy?" he asked innocently. "Or should I say, 'What's wrong, Samantha?'"

"Dean, I will kill you. And then make a deal with a demon to bring you back just so I can kill you again."

"Calm down, Sammy. It was just a harmless prank."

"I am so serious right now, Dean. Why the hell would you do something like that?"

"Wanted to have a little fun." He shrugged and turned back to the house they were camping out in front of. "It's fun to see you get all worked up sometimes."

"Fun?" Worked up?

He opened his mouth to ask more questions but stopped dead when he saw Dean squirm in his seat; it was nearly imperceptible, but Sam had been around Dean enough to know his quirks. And right now? That little twitch was Dean-body-language for "I'm so turned on right now." He let his eyes fall to his brother's crotch and, sure enough, there was a slight bulge in the front of his jeans.

Sam swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. So, Dean had the hots for him? He could deal with that. He had been harboring a more-than-brotherly love for Dean for… well, longer than he could recall right now. He had to clear his throat before he spoke again, his voice still hoarser than he would have liked when he said, "Dean?"

His brother ignored him, still staring out the window at their subject. Dean's hand was on his own thigh, though, and the clenching and unclenching it was doing was speaking volumes.

"Hey," he urged softly, placing a large hand over Dean's. It stilled beneath his and he tightened his hold; Dean turned slightly towards him, watching him out of his peripheral. "It's okay. I-" he paused there, because what did he want to say? "I… it's okay."

Apparently that was enough, because Dean nodded and brought his body to full face Sam's. "I don't know why. Or how." And that admission was fucking huge coming from Dean. "I just do."

"It's okay," Sam said again. "I do, too."

Dean looked at him, searched his face for something. "Yeah?"

Sam nodded, and Dean must have found what he was looking for there because suddenly Sam's lips were being covered by another pair, a tongue trying to coax its way inside his mouth. He moaned and parted his lips, stretching his own tongue out to meet Dean's; his taste buds were in overdrive with the flavors of his brother's mouth: bacon cheeseburger, apple pie, and a hint of something uniquely Dean. One of his hands moved up and gripped the back of Dean's neck, holding him in place.

"Holy crap," Dean breathed out when they parted; he rested his forehead against Sam's, eyes shut tight. Sam gazed at the tops of Dean's cheeks, flushed pink. "What are we doing, Sammy?"

"Making out?" Sam supplied, laughing against Dean's lips when his eyes flew open. He marveled at how green they were this close up, and a surge of jealousy pulsed through him when he thought of all the people Dean has slept with that got to see him like this. "Never again," he whispered. Dean looked confused, but Sam just shook his head and went back to kissing him.

Dean's hand moved out from underneath Sam's to slide his thigh, almost high enough to touch Sam's growing erection. Sam parted his legs willingly, allowing Dean to keep moving, but Dean's hand stilled where it rested. They separated again and Sam pulled away, wordlessly dragging his shirt over his head; he threw it on the floor next to his feet before moving back in.

Dean stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. "Backseat. Now." Sam smirked at his brother, who couldn't tear his eyes away from his torso. Scars from numerous hunts stood out bright white against his tan skin, but he was proud of them; Dean had actually been the one to patch most of them up. And he knew Dean knew that.

His smirk widened as he elected to climb over the seat instead of getting out of the car to get to the back, giving Dean a wonderful view of his ass. He opened his jeans once he was lying down and slipped his hand inside, starting to slowly stroke himself. Dean had frozen, staring at him, so Sam said, "Am I gonna be by myself back or what? 'Cause I can get myself off no problem. It's just that, well, I'd rather it be you."

Dean's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and Sam found himself entranced by the motion; he wanted to lick it and suck at the skin there. "Shut up, bitch," Dean said, but he scrambled back and covered Sam's body with his own, grinding his hips down against Sam's. "Fuck yeah."

"Dean…" Sam panted, removing his hand and rutting back. They set up an unsteady rhythm, rocking the car on its axel; Sam grabbed Dean's head and dragged him down, attaching his lips to the pulse point on Dean's neck, sucking and nipping until he had created a sizable mark. "Dean, take off your pants."

The elder Winchester chuckled between gasps of air. "Such a romantic," he said, even as he reached down to remove his pants. Sam glared at him as he pushed his own jeans down his hips, followed by his boxers. Dean paused at the waistband of his own boxers when he caught sight of Sam's cock. Of course, they'd seen each other naked before – they were brothers – but seeing Sam naked and hard with arousal

He growled, practically ripping his underwear as he shoved them down, and then gripped both of their erections in his hand tightly. Sam groaned as Dean's calloused hand started to move, skin snagging slightly on the upward stroke. "Holy fuck. Dean!"

"God, I know, Sammy," came the strangled response. Dean's hips were thrusting with the movement of his hand, causing their cocks to rub against each other with each stroke. "I wish I had stuff with me. Can't wait to get my dick in that sweet little ass of yours."

"You mean you don't carry condoms on you at all times?"

"Condoms, yeah. But I don't make a habit of fucking dudes and I don't wanna take you dry."

Sam nodded, flushing at just the thought of Dean fucking him at all. "Yeah, that would suck."


They were silent for a while, only making soft noises and gasps, the car creaking with the force of their coupling. Sam wrapped his hand around them at a point, exhaling softly on the side of Dean's neck.

"M'not gonna last much longer," he said, lips brushing Dean's sensitive skin.

"Same," replied Dean, quickening the pace of his hand. "C'mon, Sammy. Come for me."

"Ooh." A few more seconds was all it took for Sam to shoot all over their hands, some of his seed landing on his bare stomach. "Dean."

"Yeah, that's it, Sammy." Dean's come-coated fingers made his stroking slick and easy, and – paired with the realization that it was Sam's come on his fingers – he met his release on a groan. Most of it got onto Sam's stomach, while some hit his T-shirt After he caught his breath enough, he let himself fall atop his brother.

They lay like that for a while, their come drying against their skin uncomfortably, but Sam couldn't bring himself to ask Dean to move. Instead, he ran his hands all along Dean's back, smirking into the other man's neck when he sighed reverently. "Never pegged you as a cuddler," he commented quietly, cursing himself when Dean's body tensed against him.

Apparently that was too hard because Dean relaxed again, letting his limbs go boneless and intertwining with Sam's on the bench seat. "I can make an exception this time." He actually snuggled closer, exhaling hotly on Sam's neck. Sam was grinning stupidly as he buried his face into his brother's shoulder. "But if you got your junk all over this seat, you're paying to have it replaced."

Sam chuckled, but it was short-lived as his phone rang from the front seat, which reminded them that they were naked in the backseat of the car in a semi-public place. They scrambled to sit up and tug their clothes back on, Sam reaching into the front seat to grab his phone. A moment of dread filled him when he flipped it open, hoping that it wasn't another weird guy calling and asking for Samantha. "Hello?"

"What the hell have you been doin'?! I tried calling three times already!"

"Oh, hey, Bobby." Sam blew out a silent sigh of relief, ignoring Dean's laughter next to him.

"You idjits find anything?"

"Um…" He looked to Dean for help. They were staking out for a reason, one that they totally ignored in favor of shacking up in the backseat.

He could hear Bobby tsk'ing on the other end. "Idjits…"

"Sorry, Bobby. Give us a few more hours. We'll call you."

Bobby muttered something that sounded like "You may not have a few more hours" before he hung up.

Sam stuffed his phone back in his jeans and turned to Dean, who was grinning still. "What?"


Sam shoved him lightly, climbing back into the front seat. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean replied, following suit.

They finished the stake-out in relative silence, the promise of more to come hanging in the air between them.