Once a Nerd Ch. 11

Fuck you, past me.

"Sammy, hey." Throwing the truck in park, I reach over to smooth a thumb down his jaw, cradling his nape. His temple's pressed against the window, and there's sure to be a red blot bloomed there. "Wake up, baby."

He grumbles out of sleep, a mumbled 'fuck off' between croaky sounds. I snort and reach over to undo his seatbelt.

"Dean?"

"The one and only."

"Christ, I forgot. I thought you were Casey." He digs the butt of his palms into his eyes, scraping away a blur.

"Tch, watch it. You'll make me jealous."

He gets this tiny, genuine smile that melts my heart into a hot, oozy puddle. "I'm glad I forgot, it's a nice surprise. Sorry to...put you out like this, your roommate—"

"Put me out? Sam, please. Even if you didn't ask me to stay, I'd have fuckin' crawled here if I had to. John knows I owe him one, he'll get over it."

We continue the chatter up the stairs, as Sam lives on the second floor. "He was very nice, fun to talk to. You made him sound like...a lifesize cutout that just stands in the corner of your room." He laughs.

"He's a good guy, we just don't get to interact much."

Once inside, Sam flicks on the entryway lamp. Every nook and cranny of this apartment smells like him, and when bathed in the lamp's demulcent light, no place has felt more like home. I used to think the same walking into his house in Illinois, because it was full of Sam. His scent, his hobbies, his habits, his comforts. I take a deep breath, reacquainting myself with the space. Thanksgiving break is two weeks away, and he'll have to mace me if he wants me gone during those few days.

I trail Sam further inside, and he hits a few more lamps as we go. "Did you want a shower?" He asks over his shoulder.

"What, am I too filthy for your sheets?"

"It's called being polite." He rolls his eyes. "Also, yes. I know you just took a birdbath earlier."

"I'll take one if you take one."

"Deal."

I love taking showers with Sam. Even if we don't fuck, it's so intimate, something real couples do. I love washing his hair, scrubbing him down until he looks indistinguishable from a snowman. It's that primitive desire to take care of him. God, do the neanderthal genes just run deep in my bloodline or some shit?

The bathroom is condensing with steam as we disrobe, and I'm committed to following Sam's lead. Even if my boner kills me from lack of blood flow to the brain, I won't make a genuine move unless he's in the mood. I put him through a lot today, and I can understand there might be a need for closeness without sex. But, fuck—

With his back to me, he's slightly bent as he steps out of his pants. I strangle the base of my cock, punishing the selfish appendage. He stands, and there's never been a more perfect profile of someone's backside. Shoulder to ankle, it's God's finest work. He almost looks supernatural in the gossamer licks of steam, a pale apparition to haunt all my dreams into wet ones. Knots of shoulder kissed with starbursts of freckle. The tracing of his shoulder blades are defined and delicate on either side of his spine, a shallow divot centering his back. That fucking, chokeable waist, ass bubbled out like—

"Honestly, I don't know how you have the energy." Sam's dry crack shakes me, as he's turned around and gets an eyeful of my raging hard-on.

"Look who's talking." I shoot back, as he's pitching his own conspicuous tentpole.

He scoffs weakly in lieu of a defense, ambling towards the shower. Before he can climb in, I slap the shit out of left cheek. He jumps violently, hissing a curse through his teeth. "Jesus fucking Christ, Dean! You're heavy-handed, asshole!"

In repentance, I stroke soothing circles into the blushed skin. There's an honest-to-God handprint. "I'll pretend you didn't love that."

He doesn't say anything, because he does love it. He gets off on a little roughing up. If I reached around for his cock, ten bucks says it'd be dripping. But, remember, we're holding back. Get it the fuck together. Once inside the stall, I work hard to realign my priorities. Unless Sam says something to the effect of 'please feed me your cock, Dean!', this is strictly bathing and skinship. I can manage that. Probably. Maybe. Fuck. Our bodies aren't pressed together, but Sam's back is about six inches from my chest. I act like a wall to keep the water from getting to him, as his head is tipped for me to massage his hair into a frothy lather. His eyes are firmly closed, mouth dropped around pleased, little sighs.

God really does give his toughest battles to his strongest warriors, because I'm fighting demons right now.

I work the shampoo into his neck and shoulders, before we swap places so he can rinse. Just as I'm about to start on my own head, he stops me: "Hey, wait. Let me do it."

Sam's washed my hair before, but the height difference presents a challenge. Last time he did it, before we left Illinois, I joked about getting a step-stool for the shower. He hasn't done it since. "You want to?"

"Yeah, just—switch with me and hang your head back as much as you can. I dare you to get smart about it."

Toughest goddamn battles.

Extending my neck backwards as far as the joints will allow for, I suppress a shudder as Sam's fingertips dig firmly into my scalp. He scrubs little circles across my head until it's sufficiently foamed, and unlike our lack of contact before, his chest glides against my back. He's mimicking my ministrations, applying pressure to my neck, shoulders, and back with his thumbs, knuckles, and the meat of his palm. The soap makes it frictionless. I drop my head into the spray, eyes closed against a sudsy waterboarding. This might be Sam's version of a tentative greenlight, as it's rare for him to vocalize his desires, but it's tough to tell.

"Aren't you sore?" He murmurs against the middle of my spine, hands slipping around my ribs.

I nearly snap a tooth with how hard I'm clenching. Choking on it: "Little bit."

Long story fucking short, I keep it together for a few minutes more. My cock hurts, and the heat of the shower in conjunction with too much rerouted blood is almost making me nauseous. If Sam doesn't want to fuck, which is totally fine, I'll have to beat off while simply thinking about fucking him. Small sacrifices. Great in theory, right? Well, it's not like I'm not going to wash Sammy's back, and that's where I dick it all up—so to speak. But I'd swear on my mother, God rest her soul, it's a greenlight.

There was no need for him to arch his back like that. No goddamn need. Chest barely kissing the shower wall, hips pushed out, thighs parted. If he puts any pressure into it whatsoever, he'll be actively grinding his ass against my cock—and he knows it's been hard for the past fifteen God-awful minutes. I said I wouldn't initiate anything, but in soaping up his back, it's way too easy for one thing to lead to another. Slipping a few fingers between the mounds of his ass, to clean!, his hole practically jumps to attention. Feeling that silky, tight ring flutter against my fingertips is the straw to break this camel's back.

Just—one finger shouldn't hurt, right?

He'll tell me to stop if he doesn't want it.

Pulling back a few inches, I watch as my thumb burrows inside. The mind-melting suction is instant, and his inner muscle tightens around the intrusion. My cock pulses with envy. He makes a sharp sound I almost miss under the water's beat, a twitch traveling his frame. With the rest of my available fingers, I grip at his cheek, dragging my thumb towards them in a way that stretches him open. "Hah, shit—"

"Mm—nngh, Dean!" He breathes my name like a prayer, pushing back.

If that's not a motherfucking greenlight.

"Sammy, you gotta tell me. If...you don't want to, we don't—"

Sam whips his face to shoot me an nonplussed look. "Are you shitting me?"

Well, alrighty then.

While we make it out of the shower, we don't make it out of the bathroom. Not for the first round, at least. Tomorrow's Sunday, so we can sleep in. I've got to milk this rarity for all it's worth. He's close to collapsing against the bathroom's wall, knees caught in a wobble, as I drag the flat of my tongue alongside his bobbing cock. I've got three fingers filling his ass, on an S&D mission for that little button to liquefy him. Christ, he makes me feel...full, sustained. There's nothing bland or lacking in his reactions. He can't hold himself back, though not for lack of trying. Nudging against his prostate, it's my cue to make the active effort in swallowing him down.

He jerks roughly, back leaping from the wall. One of his hands is tight in my hair, the other stuffing knuckles between his teeth. "Oh my Go—mmph! Dean, fuck, please..." His fragile noises bounce around the bathroom, and my dick might actually burst. I only pop off his cock when I know he's close, grinding my fingers as deeply into him as they'll go.

"Go ahead n' cum, baby, I'm gonna use it fuck you."

It's not like he can stop himself.

He folds at the waist and grips my head tightly between his hands, splattering into my fist as I stroke it out of him. "Hah! That's—fuck, God!"

"That's it, Sammy, such a good fuckin' job—"

He slumps down the wall until his ass hits the ground. Sam catches his breath as I slick my cock with what's left of his orgasm. He looks good all the time, but especially like this. Loose-limbed, bleary-eyed, fucked-out, and red all over. Even better on my cock, though. Dragging his ass into my lap by the underside of his thighs, he lifts his head to blink at me: "...here?"

"I mean, for now."

Every time really does feel like the first time with him.

His thighs spasm around my hips, waist twisting in my chokehold, as I slot into him. He uses his forearms to brace the top of his head against the baseboard, and his chin tips toward the ceiling on a punched-out whimper. Look, I'd normally be one to brag on my stamina, but I've suffered this erection for close to forty-five minutes now. With Sam giving an AVN-winning performance underneath me? I've got, like, twelve good pumps in the tank. Maybe fifteen.

"This one'll be quick, promise."

"This one—?!"

Planting one hand to the wall, I seal up against his ass with one hard, jabbing thrust. He's erect again off just that. Man or woman, I've never met anyone with such a sensitive, reactive body before him. Belatedly deciding I need more than what this position's giving, I lift him by the underarms. Upright, his back resting against the wall, there's more leeway to use my hands and mouth. It's also achieving a depth that's probably borderline uncomfortable for Sam. His arms wind around my neck, and our foreheads thunk together.

He looks so...blissed-out, and it's making me fucking insane. "Say it again, Sam—"

I'm begging.

"Tell me you love me."

He smiles. Soft and wet and honest, and his kiss-bitten lips drag against mine:

"I love you, Dean."