Layers

[dephigravity]

Title: Layers
Pairing: Sam/ Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 1613
Disclaimer: If I did own them I wouldn't be on here, now would I?
Summary: Exhausted after a hunt, the boys come back to their motel to crash. When Dean catches Sam watching him change he decides to test his brother's resolve and the ever-present sexual tension between them.

Author's Notes: A huge shout out to dcillusioned for all her extremely copious amount of help she gave me with this fic. She truly is the best beta and deserves more praise than I can possibly give her, this fic is as much hers as it is my own.

*Written for the kink_bingo "Exposure/ Strip Tease" prompt.


Sam shoves the key into the hotel room’s door knob; he shakes it to jostle the tumblers until they fall into place. With a shove of his shoulder, the door finally relinquishes its hold allowing both exhausted Winchester brothers inside. Sam flicks on the light and tosses his duffel to the foot of the bed before collapsing face first onto the stiff mattress.

Dean follows in behind and throws his own bag onto the other bed. Walking by, he lifts his foot up to kick at Sam’s outstretched legs blocking his way to the bathroom.

"Shower," Dean says, his voice low and rough.

Sam squirms further up the bed, grumbling incoherently as he clutches the pillow.

Dean’s hand runs up the wall just inside the bathroom in search of the light switch; finding it, the fluorescent bulb flickers and slowly grows to its full brightness. He lets loose a heavy sigh as he leans against the chipped counter. Grabbing a washcloth from the corner, he turns the rusty faucet, soaking it under the stream of water and wringing it out. After wiping the dried and crusted blood from beneath his eye, he tosses the washcloth into the corner of the counter and rips the hand towel off the sliver ring on the wall. His hands are dry and calloused against his skin; examining his cheek, Dean tries to determine whether or not his latest scar-to-be is deep enough to require stitches.

When Sam rolls over, he catches a glimpse of Dean’s reflection in the mirror on the wall. Scrunching the pillow up under his head to get a better view, he watches as Dean releases the clasp of his battered watch and sets it aside. Dean’s hands grab the worn leather cord of his amulet as he lowers his head to place it next to his watch.

Sam’s captivated as Dean’s thumb slides beneath the hem of his shirt to tug it over his shoulder. When he looks up, Sam’s caught; Dean pauses, and slides his sleeve back on.

"Sam?" Dean says, his eyebrow lifting high as he stares back into the reflection.

Sam’s eyes clench, embarrassment rushes through him as a blush creeps over his face.

"Sam," Dean repeats more forcibly this time, demanding a response, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing, just, I don’t know, ignore me. I’m just tired, from the hunt," Sam fumbles. His lies are never that convincing, especially when those lies are to Dean.

Dean steps from the room and approaches the end of Sam’s bed. He studies Sam for a moment, eyes traveling over the length of his body appreciatively.

There’s been a strange tension between them lately; something Sam has been hesitant to define. But the way Dean is looking at him now has him flustered and confused, questioning his own morals and shattering his defenses.

"You see something you like?" Dean says with a strange glimmer in his eye. There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a twitch that Sam’s seen frequently at random bars when his brother’s checking out another potential conquest.

When Dean’s hands grab at Sam’s boots, their gazes lock. Something about Dean’s stare is intriguing and slightly familiar as he slides his hands under the cuffs of Sam’s jeans. Grasping his ankles, he drags Sam’s body down the length of the bed, legs now dangling off the edge at the knee. Sam pulls himself up into a sitting position, his face inches away from his brother’s chest before he finds the courage to speak.

"Dean," Sam says, challenging him as his brows furrow. "Come on man, okay I admit I was looking, but it’s not like we’ve never seen each other. How many times have I seen your body when I've bandaged you up?"

"You like looking at my body Sammy? I mean, it’s a nice body y’know, I can’t say that I blame you," Dean says, eyes glinting and full of mischief matching the playful seduction in his tone. He steps back, grabbing both sides of his opened shirt to slip it over his shoulders; it slides down the length of his arms slowly, inch by inch, revealing his brother’s strong arms under the tee shirt he’s wearing, clinging to him like a second skin.

"Am I making you uncomfortable? Want me to stop?"

From the sound of his voice, Sam is quite aware that it is Dean raising the stakes, testing him to see how far he will go. There’s no way he’s gonna let Dean win this time though, so he leans back on his shoulders to enjoy the show.

"Thought so," Dean says, giving him what has to be the sexiest wink Sam has ever seen.

Smug asshole.

Sam glares at him, but the look holds no heat.

Dean reaches down and tugs at the bottom of his tee shirt. His hands rise revealing the dusting of hairs trailing just beneath his navel. A bit higher and Sam can make out the contours of his abs and then the first glimpses of his firm chest. Dean adjusts his arms and pulls the ringed tee over his head, throwing it past Sam.

Sam whistles, it’s meant to be a tease, but his façade falters and his breath hitches as he admires the light tan and freckles that paint his brother’s skin.

Dean catches him again, with a knowing look that says, ‘yeah, I’m winning this round.’ He’s got Sam frustrated, confused, and judging by the hard line of his dick visible through his jeans, extremely turned on.

Sam’s eyes are fixated on Dean’s chest, admiring the way his muscles twitch and flex when he moves. Dean’s boot brushes against Sam’s crotch when he lifts his foot to rest it against his leg and untie his laces, repeating the process with his other boot. Sam’s eyes close, all too aware of Dean’s proximity and he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Dean, heavy with gun oil and sweat.

Something’s changed. The playfulness Sam felt earlier is receding, replacing it is a feeling of want, a craving that shouldn’t be there but he’s helpless to stop it, doesn’t even know if he wants to anymore.

"What’s the matter, Sammy? Not enjoying yourself?" Dean says with a wicked smirk.

Sam’s tongue slips out to moisten his lips as Dean’s hand traces the cut of his hip. Sliding along the smooth leather of his belt, he finds the clasp and slides it through the metal buckle. With one quick jerk he pulls the belt through the loops of his jeans, almost whipping Sam’s leg grabbing both ends, he lifts it above Sam’s head to drape it over his neck. Sam tries to swallow around the lump in his throat as he adjusts his crotch to give himself some more room.

Dean’s teasing demeanor falters for a moment and a seriousness hovers over him as he slips his thumb beneath the waistband of his jeans. Sam’s eyes travel the length of his torso, lean and taut, covered in dirt and glistening with sweat. He lingers at his navel, imagining the taste of Dean’s skin, his tongue licking and taunting all over Dean’s body. A whimper slips out as his eyes follow Dean’s hand, threading the metal rivet through the button hole at his waist. He grasps the zipper, dragging it down excruciatingly slow and folds over the flap to reveal the well-worn briefs that lie beneath.

"It’s okay little brother, you can look. Remember, it’s not like we haven’t seen each other before."

When Dean’s jeans fall to the floor, he steps out of them and tosses them on the nearby chair before removing his socks. Sam can’t help but stare at the outline of Dean’s half-hard cock behind the strained cotton, a growing stain of precome already present. Dean’s fingers tease along the line of his dick and Sam’s riveted by the sight. If a growl escapes when Dean’s hand slides below the elastic band to wrap it around his swollen cock, he doesn’t notice.

Obviously enjoying himself in this new and special brand of torture he’s devised for Sam, Dean’s head falls back when he rocks into his hand and pulls his lip between his teeth.

All-too-soon Dean removes his hand and tugs at the sides of his briefs. The stark whiteness contrasting against the rest of his body as he exposes his hips. The elastic catches on the tip of his cock making it slap against his stomach as he pushes his briefs down and flings them at Sam.

Sam’s mind spins as his eyes devour Dean’s naked body. His dick aches as it presses against the confines of his own jeans while his fingers clutch tightly into the still warm cotton briefs.

Dean’s ass taunts Sam when he turns around; it’s glistening with sweat in the glow of fluorescent lights as he strides back to the bathroom.

Sam lifts the underwear to his face and breathes in the musky smell of Dean and his cock twitches, wet against the cotton of his briefs. He hears the creak of a faucet, followed by the sputtering of water from the showerhead. He falls back onto the covers, briefs still wrapped in his fingers. He closes his eyes to fantasize what might have been with Dean, cursing his brother’s cruel sense of humor.

"Sam?" Dean calls from the bathroom.

Sam’s eyes shoot open in surprise at the sound of his voice.

"Sam," Dean says more authoritatively.

"Yeah," Sam chokes out.

"Get your ass in here, now!"

The rasp filled tone of his voice makes Sam obey, frantically disrobing and rounding the corner to meet Dean in the shower.