Archive of Our Own

Sam's already asleep by the time Dean comes to bed. Jacobi fields are kicking his ass, and he's got a lot more studying to do, but his brain hurts too much. There's something he's not getting, something that will lock all of this together, and it's nagging at him, but he knows he's not going to figure it out tonight.

He brushes his teeth, then goes into the bedroom and sits down on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, and rubs his eyes. Sam is stretched out on his stomach, naked to the waist and probably farther, too, where the rumpled sheet covers him: Now that he's out of the dorms, he's mostly lost the habit of wearing anything to bed.

Dean runs light fingers down Sam's back, tracing the perfect architecture of his spine—he wants to lean down and kiss the span between Sam's shoulder blades, but that would probably wake Sam up, and he's got an early class tomorrow. Dean turns away and strips off his T-shirt, aiming it vaguely in the direction of his laundry pile. He's about to stand to take off his jeans when a hand curves lightly around his hip, sending out one of its long fingers to rub at the small of Dean's back.

"You finish everything for Differential Geometry?" Sam asks sleepily.

Dean shakes his head. "No. Gonna get some sleep, try to tackle it tomorrow. Class isn't until four."

"Still the Jacobi fields?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll call Dr. Grissom, see if I can go see him in the morning—he can probably clue me in to whatever obvious thing it is that I'm missing."

Sam nudges Dean backwards, and Dean goes, jeans and all, settling himself against Sam. They lie like that for a few moments, and Dean tries to push geodesics and Riemannian manifolds out of his mind, but it doesn't work: He's got equations running through his head the way some people get Boy George songs. Sam turns over and mutters, "Dude, I can hear your brain grinding all the way over here."

Dean doesn't point out the obvious fact that Sam is not all that far away.

Sam moves onto his side and spreads a hand on Dean's chest. He kisses Dean's shoulder and caresses him with sleepy affection, drawing abstract, invisible patterns on his skin. Dean lets out a breath and turns his face towards Sam, and Sam rubs his cheek against Dean's, then kisses him, first gently, then with more insistence, opening Dean's mouth under his so that they're tasting each other. Dean sighs, and he realizes that Sam has moved his hand down to start undoing the buttons of Dean's jeans.

Dean pulls back enough to ask, "What are you doing?"

Sam is clearly more awake when he answers, "It's not obvious that I'm about to give you a hand job?" Then Sam goes back to kissing him.

Dean spreads his legs to give Sam better access, and Sam hums contentedly. He gets the buttons undone and slides his fingers underneath Dean's boxers to trail them over Dean's cock. Dean isn't hard, but Sam takes care of that quickly, pushing the jeans and boxers down, trailing clever fingers over Dean's balls, running his thumb over the vein on the underside of his cock, teasing the head. Dean's eyes fall closed, and he sighs, arching up into Sam's touch.

"Do you want me to suck you?" Sam murmurs.

"No," Dean says, eyes still closed. "Keep doing that. Just kiss me."

Sam does, and Dean reaches up to tangle his fingers in Sam's hair, letting his helpless noises escape into Sam's mouth. Sam isn't drawing this out, but he isn't rushing it, either, and they settle into a rhythm—Sam's slow, regular stroking; the rocking of Dean's hips as he thrusts up into it.

Orgasm melts him at the same time it tightens his fingers in Sam's hair, clenches his other hand in the sheets. Sam takes him through it, breathing the moans from Dean's mouth, drawing out the last shudders of climax from Dean's cock. Dean sinks back onto the bed, warm and loose-limbed, and lets Sam deal with getting his jeans and boxers off the rest of the way and cleaning them up. The tightness in his eyes and forehead is completely gone, replaced by a pleasant languor and the desire to fall asleep curled up against Sam.

Indeed, once Dean's naked and the tissues disposed of, Sam nudges Dean onto his side and resettles behind him, wrapping an arm around him. Dean puts his hand over Sam's, and Sam kisses the back of his neck. "Go to sleep."

"But I didn't—for you—"

Sam laces their fingers together and raises their hands to kiss Dean's knuckles. "You can blow me in the shower tomorrow. Now go to sleep."

"OK," Dean says, and does.