La jalousie te crèvera le coeur… -Les Rita Mitsouko

They never talked about being exclusive. They never talked about not being with other men but the occasional woman being fair game. Hell, they never talked about this thing between them at all.

But Dean thought… he assumed. After all, it was Sam. Sensitive Sam. Surely as soon as they gave in to this thing that had been building between them as long as he could remember, Sammy was going to girl up and only be with Dean. Dean wouldn't even have to say anything. It would just be understood.

Except that's not how it happened.

That fucking woman. That damn brunette. Painted into her jeans, cute little Led Zeppelin cut-off t-shirt showing off her toned belly with that hint of roundness they both liked so much. Except Dean saw it like a beautiful piece of art. Lovely to look at, but he didn't want to fuck it.

But when she looked at his Sammy, flashing those pretty green eyes at him, his face changed like he'd been eating salad for weeks and suddenly caught a whiff of something sticky-sweet, hot out of the oven.

She slid up next to Sam, all accidental-like, and ordered a beer, and when she bumped against Sam, he didn't nod politely and turn back to Dean. He gave her that sweet smile that was supposed to be just for Dean.

Dean felt sick.

He couldn't watch this. Couldn't stand by for a second longer, waiting in agony for Sam to give him that signal that said, "Take off." He had some pride left.

He drained the last of his shot and set it down on the bar a little too hard. "Hey, I'm gonna head back."

Sam blinked at him rapidly, really laying on the innocent puppy dog eyes. Dean almost believed the confusion was real. "Dean?"

Dean looked over Sam's shoulder at the brunette. "Try and get him back at a reasonable hour, wouldja?" He leaned in and said in a voice too low for her to hear, "Give her hell, Sammy." He thumped Sam on the shoulder and walked out of the bar. He left so fast he didn't see the hurt on Sam's face.

Outside, he bent over and threw up. Then he got in the Impala and drove back to the motel, stopping on the way to pick up a fifth of Kentucky bourbon.

Dean went inside the motel room and brushed his teeth. He tried to sit down and get savagely drunk, but he couldn't stand it. Seeing Sam's things everywhere. Getting faint whiffs of the scent of his shampoo in the bathroom. Knowing that right about now, Sam was probably being pulled into a similar motel room by that woman, getting what he wanted that Dean couldn't give him.

He sprang to his feet and got into the Impala, intent on driving somewhere. Anywhere. But the whiskey in his system had hit unsafe-to-drive levels.

Couldn't go inside. Couldn't drive away. All he could do was crawl into the back seat of the Impala with the bottle.

So he did. He tried to keep the tears buried inside, but they spilled, rebellious, down his cheeks. His Sam. Not really his Sam. Not all the way. He sucked down another swallow of bourbon, trying to kill the pain.

Dean was a third of the way through the bottle, rocking in place in a desperate effort to get the pain in his chest to back the hell off, when the glare of brake lights startled him, as a car pulled up in the motel parking lot. Christ, Sammy, you didn't bring her back HERE to fuck her, did you? His stomach churned, nausea welling again. The car door opened, and Sam stepped out. He nodded to the brunette, who smiled at him a bit sadly and drove away.

Sam didn't see Dean in the car. He went into the motel room, looked around and saw Dean wasn't there, and came back out to look for the Impala. When he saw it in the far corner of the lot, his shoulders relaxed. He walked quickly to the car.

"Dean? What are you doing?" He opened the door. Dean recoiled all the way to the far side of the car. He couldn't bear smelling her scent all over Sam. He took another huge slug of bourbon, capped it and dropped it on the floor of the Impala.

Sam stared at him, confusion and worry clear on his face. He slid into the seat next to Dean and shut the door.

Dean turned his face away, shoulders shaking.

"Hey. Hey. Dean. What's going on?" Sam put his hand on Dean's arm.

"Sammy," Dean choked out, face wet with tears. Sam turned Dean to face him. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of her lipstick on Sam's mouth (other places oh Jesus god no).

"Dean! You're scaring the shit out of me." Sam tugged Dean into his arms. Dean shook like a scared little girl, defenses totally obliterated by the pain and jealousy and bitter realization that he wasn't enough for Sam. He wasn't good enough. He struggled not to breathe, because once he got a hint of her scent on Sam, he was going to fucking lose it right there. The pain would win, and he'd fly apart into pieces. But Sam wouldn't let go, burying Dean's face against his chest, and Dean had to breathe.

Just Sam. Just the scent of Sam. No girl scent. No perfume.

He pulled back in surprise, daring to look at Sam's face. No lipstick. "Sammy?" He reached up, touched Sam's face hesitantly, his neck. No teeth marks. No hickeys. Nothing.

Sam frowned in confusion. Then his eyes widened. "You're jealous."

Dean felt like he'd fallen off the roof of a ten-story building. Jesus he did he really did fuck her. He curled on himself like someone had stabbed him in the gut. Sam tried to turn him around again, but he threw Sam's hand off with a violent shrug.

"Dean. I didn't."

Dean's breath caught in his throat.

"I didn't do anything. I didn't want to do anything with her."

Dean's chest heaved.

Sam stroked his arm, gently. "I didn't even touch her."

A great, ugly sob burst out of Dean.

Sam put his hands on Dean's shoulders and turned him to face Sam. "Dean. If you don't want me to be with other people, why did you… I mean, you practically shoved me at her."

Dean grabbed Sam's flannel shirt, tangling his fingers in the fabric. "Sammy."

"I don't want to be with anyone else. I just want you."

Suddenly, Dean was all over Sam, hands touching him, only able to utter the word, "Sammy" over and over, hands pulling at Sam's cheeks, stroking his arms, his chest. Sam responded to his touch like he'd been starved for it. "Don't ever do that again, Dean." His voice was thick, like he was trying to fight back tears as well. "Don't try and…pass me off to someone else." He grabbed Dean's face with both hands and held it steady. "I'm yours, ok? JUST yours. Don't you ever give me away like that again."

Dean dissolved into sobs. Sam kissed him through the tears, kissed them from his cheeks, holding him gently, kissing him so tenderly that it made Dean cry all the harder. "Shhh… it's ok. Dean. It's ok. I love you, you fucking idiot. I only want you. You're just… you don't even fucking know how incredible you are. I'm lucky to have you. Anybody would be lucky to have you."

Dean shook under Sam's touch, his words. "Sammy."

Sam kissed Dean harder. "You want me? Right?"

By way of answer, Dean claimed Sam's mouth with a rough kiss.

Sam pulled away just far enough to whisper, "You want me all to yourself?"

Dean's mouth twitched. Before he could say a word, Sam whispered, "Show me."

Dean's face changed, from the desperate hope fresh from climbing out of the pit of despair to something feral in its intensity. He swung his leg over and straddled Sam. Sam moaned as Dean rocked against him, gripping his arms hard enough to leave bruises. Dean was loose from the alcohol, but not clumsy. He knew how to touch his Sammy. Nobody did it better.

Within seconds, they had their jeans unbuttoned, cocks freed from their confinement. Dean hissed at the feel of Sam's hardness pressed up against his, skin to skin. He rutted against Sam, his hand wrapped around their cocks, driving hungry little cries from him, the heavy weight of his balls slapping against Sam's with every snap of his hips. "Sammy." He was already close, so close. Sam moaned underneath him, hands gripping his back, every sound, every motion of his body declaring that he belonged to Dean, and how good that felt.

Suddenly, Dean found his words. "Mine."

Sam threw his head back, baring his throat. "Yours."

Dean nipped at Sam's throat, teeth seizing the skin. "No one else touches you like this, baby boy. Not ever. Man. Woman. Doesn't matter." Dean sucked the answering cry from Sam's mouth, and the feel of it burned in his veins, infused his muscles with warmth. He tipped his head back and laughed with the joy of it. "You're mine. All mine. And I don't share."

Sam trembled beneath him. "Yours. Dean. Yours." Each word sounded like a sob.

Dean slid his hand up and down on their cocks. "You only come for me. Only spread your legs for me. Only one who gets to be inside you is me." The words were slightly slurred from drink.

Sam was practically hyperventilating. "Yes. Yes. God."

Dean licked inside Sam's mouth, and Sam sucked on his tongue as though it was his cock. Dean groaned.

"You belong to me?"

Sam writhed, bucking his hips up. "Yeah."

"Show me, sweetheart. Come for me."

Sam came instantly, spilling over Dean's fist, a steady stream of "Dean" and "fuck" and "god" issuing from his lips, each pulse of come throbbing against the underside of Dean's cock, suddenly warm and slick, slick with Sam's come… and Dean went off, dizzy with the force of it, shooting warm and wet all over Sam's shirt, a few drops soaring high enough to land on Sam's mouth.

They groaned in unison, Dean lapping the white droplets off Sam's mouth, Sam licking the taste of himself off Dean's lips. Dean stroked the aftershocks out of them, shuddering.

They stayed like that a long moment, until Dean shifted and pulled off, and they tucked themselves back into their jeans. "Come on." Sam picked up the bottle from the floor, and took Dean's hand. He pulled him out of the car and put his arm around Dean to steady him. Dean gave him a look that was soft and stern at the same time. "I can hold my liquor. Don't need you to hold me up."

"Not trying to hold you up. I just want to hold you."

Dean let Sam walk him back to the room, arm in arm.

Back inside, Sam opened the bottle and poured himself a generous amount into a tumbler. "You want any more?"

Dean kicked off his boots and laid down on the bed. "Nah. I'm good."

Sam pulled his boots off, took off his shirt and tossed it on the duffel of dirty clothes. He got into bed next to him, sitting up. Dean curled up against him, face pressed into his chest, inhaling deeply.

"I love your musk."

"Aaaand you're drunk."

Dean peered up at Sam. "Duh."

"Adorable."

They lay together for a long time in a comfortable silence.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you get my name tattooed on your ass?"

Sam snorted. "Dude. We have matching tattoos. Over our hearts. I might as well have your name tattooed on my ass."

"But would you?"

Sam frowned. "Does it have to be my ass?"

Dean grinned. "Nope. Just somewhere."

"Does it have to say Property Of?"

Dean was silent.

"Dean."

"Thinking."

Sam sighed.

"No. Just my name."

"Alright."

Dean's grin was blinding. "Yeah?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah."

"Awesome." Dean snuggled into Sam's chest again.

"Sam."

"What?"

"If you do… you know… miss women. We could bring one home. You know. Together."

Sam kissed Dean's forehead. "That's not even on my radar. But if you want to sometime…maybe we can try it."

"You really don't think about it anymore? Girls?"

Sam chuckled. "Do you even know how hot you are? How… Jesus, Dean. You don't remember all those girls telling you how you spoiled them for anyone else? 'Cause I do. And… I know. "

Dean's mouth curled up in a proud smile.

"No, I don't miss sleeping with women. And I don't want to fuck other guys. Just you."

Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's glass and stole a sip of bourbon. Sam let him.

"Ok, so. But. If you didn't think that chick was hot…why did you stare at her like that?"

Sam stroked Dean's hair. "I did think she was hot. Smokin' hot."

Dean tensed.

"Shhh, baby."

Dean tilted his head. "Did you just call me baby?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah."

"You don't call me baby. I call YOU baby. And I call my baby Baby. But.. wait. Go back. To where you did think that chick was hot."

"You're one of the smartest people I've ever met, but sometimes you can be so…"

"Don't call me stupid."

"Dean. You really didn't see the resemblance?"

Dean just blinked, utterly confused.

"Boots. Jeans. Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Brown hair. Green eyes."

Dean stared at Sam. And stared. And stared.

"Oh."

Sam shook his head. "Now you get it."

"Me! With boobs and a…" Dean sat up. "Dude. We totally should have fucked her."

THE END