Summary:
Complete fluffy domestic happiness that is also about fifty percent porn. Dean has a big question for Sam, Sam has a response he didn't quite expect, they celebrate in bed.
Notes:
Hello everyone--
I just really needed a fic where no one is mad or angry or upset in any way, where everything is just pure domestic happiness. Here it is.
Warning for explicit, incestuous gay sex, dirty talk, fluff, and...I actually think that's it.
Enjoy!
Work Text:
"You sure these will work?"
"God, yes, Dean. You act like this is the first time I've done this."
"Gimme a break, Charlie. Sam an' I need to live with these forever. They need to work."
"And they will. None of my IDs have ever let me down. No one will say anything about them."
"And...the rings? You liked those, right? You didn't just tell me you liked them to shut me up?"
"Dean, they're silver bands. You can't screw that up. They're fine. They're great. Sam is gonna love it."
"I hope so."
Dean has planned it all out.
There's a box, under the couch. Kevin and Cas are gone with Charlie, who knows where and who cares. Sam will be home any time now, probably ready to settle in for a long night in the library.
Dean is kind of hoping it'll go a different way. Not that he's opposed to having sex in the library (they've done it before), but they have a nice memory foam mattress down the hall, and a big shower, and all sorts of other places that are nicer to fuck in than the library.
He's finishing dinner-baked chicken, and broccoli, and a salad, and baked potatoes, healthy food that Sam likes-when he hears the door creaking open, and unless one of their friends has a death wish, Sam is home.
"Dean?" Sam calls from the balcony. "Guys?"
"In the kitchen, Sammy," Dean calls back. He hears thumping of the booted feet of a sasquatch on the stairs and then Sam enters the kitchen.
Dean turns and kisses him. He has some notion that it was meant to be chaste, but they only break apart when the oven timer beeps to let him know the potatoes are done.
"Where is everybody?" Sam asks as he takes plates from Dean and sets two place settings.
"Out," Dean simply says, keeping it simple both as a testament to his complete and utter lack of desire to talk about anyone other than himself and Sam, but also because he has no idea whatsoever where they are. "Just you an' me tonight, baby."
Dean doesn't even have to turn around to see Sam's eye roll, though he has noticed that Sam protests far less to the endearment when they're naked. Still, when they're alone, Sam usually lets Dean get away with his sappy side without too much protest.
Dinner is delicious, but Dean doesn't really taste too much of it. He's too busy watching Sam eat, watching his mouth move and his throat work, watching those long, capable fingers grip a fork.
"I have something on my face?" Sam asks when he catches Dean staring at him yet again.
"No, you're good," Dean says, and Sam just gives him a strange look before turning back to his meal.
