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Deep Waters	By : rue37 Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3151 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Deep Waters
- 1
Title: Deep Waters
Author: ruefulgirl
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 2720
Summary: Sam washes Dean�s hair.�
A/N: Apparently, I have a thing for personal grooming,
because this is the second one I�ve written (see shaving porn here).� This occurs in the same �verse, but it
stands alone so there�s no need to read the shaving one first. Originally, it
was going to be PWP, but it didn�t really work out that way.� Anyhow, this is for dysonrules � Merry
Christmas!

Dean�s head hurt.�
Like, really.�
It was still bleeding, too�so much so that he had to let Sam
drive since the blood kept obscuring his vision by running into his eyes.� And why the hell was his head always
getting sliced and diced?� At least the
brick-wielding ghoul had missed his face this time.� If he got too many more bashes to the face, he was going to lose
his good looks.� Not that a huge, matted
patch of shredded skin atop the crown of his head would do wonders for his
social life.�
Anyhow.� The frickin�
ghoul had been terrorizing a tourist resort in the Ozarks.� A rather remote tourist resort with nothing
cheaper than $200 a night motel rooms.�
There was no way in hell Dean was going to spend that much on a room,
even if his brains were leaking out.�
Which they weren�t.�
He hoped.
By the time they found a decently priced motel it was 1:30
am, freezing cold, Dean�s head was honest-to-God throbbing, and his muscles
ached like nobody�s business.� And oh,
yeah the liberal quantities of ghoul blood that the fucker had squirted all
over him while dying had made him stink to high heaven.�
Now, Sam on the other hand.�
Sam didn�t have a drop of blood or smear of dirt on him.� Anywhere.
Dean waited in the car, sulking like a very grumpy,
blood-spattered three-year-old, while Sam went in to get them a room.� When he came out and tried to help Dean out
of the car, he got snarled at for his trouble.�
The room was cold as a witch�s tit.� And it smelled like mildew.� While Sam fiddled with the ancient room
heater, Dean went straight into the bathroom and peeled his reeking clothes
off.� Then he stood around naked and
shivering while the shower heated up, which must have taken a good ten
minutes.�
Once he got in and the goose bumps receded, the water
started to feel good.� Dean let his head
fall back, groaning, as steam billowed up all around him, allowing the strong
jet of water to massage away the aching in his muscles.� Yeah, he appreciated a place with good water
pressure.� First good thing that had
happened all night long.� Other than the
ghoul�s death, that is.� He stood there,
swaying, as let the dirt, blood, and sweat sluiced off him, and ran a washcloth
over his skin.� Then, reluctantly, he
put his head under the showerhead.� This
was going to hurt.�
The sheer volume of his howl of pain, however, rather
surprised him.
A moment later, Sam practically kicked the bathroom door in,
wild-eyed.� �Dean � what?�
Dean couldn�t answer, though.� He was too busy chanting, �Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, fuckin� shitty
fuck--� and slapping his palm against the slick shower tiles to distract
himself from the burning agony atop his head.
Suddenly the water was off and Sam was there, wrapping a
towel around him and guiding him out of the shower, murmuring in that gentle
way of his,� �It�s okay.� The pain will be over in a minute.� Move your hands and let me see.�
Dean tried to slap him away, irritable.� �Don�t get all grabby on me, Dude.�
But Sam didn�t move � he just kept pulling at Dean�s hands,
all close and warm and concerned.
�Crap, Dean,� he said when he finally got a good look at
Dean�s noggin.� �The blood is all
crusted in there.� No wonder it hurts �
you can�t just stick your head in the shower and expect that to come out.�
�Why the hell not?��
�Because it�s matted and tangled and�what the hell?� I think you�ve got chunks of dirt in the
cut, too.�
Great.� That was just
great.�
Sam slung another towel around Dean�s shoulders, patting him
like he was some withered old grandpa, and said, �Wait here; I�ll be right
back.�
�Wasn�t planning on jogging around the block at 2:00 am,� he
muttered, drying himself off.
Sam returned in a minute, pushing a low-backed armchair into
the bathroom.� He positioned it in front
of the sink, facing outward.
�What the hell is that for?� Dean asked.�
Sam retrieved the shampoo from the shower and said
practically, �Sit down.� I�m going to
clean out your wound.�
�With shampoo?� Dean asked.
�It will work better than anything else.� You�ve got, like, oily ghoul spooge all over
your hair.� It�s pretty gross,
Dude.� God knows what kind of infection
it could give you.�
�Ghoul spooge � ?� Dean spluttered, then
remembered the important thing.� �I�m
not a fuckin� invalid.� I don�t need you to wash my hair.�
Sam pursed his lips together.� �Yes, as a matter of fact, you do.� And you�re going to enjoy it.��
He pointed at the chair.� �Now,
sit your ass down before I make you.�
�Like you could,� Dean retorted.�
Sam simply raised an eyebrow at him.�
All right, so maybe Dean wasn�t in top form right now.� His mouth, however.� That was working just fine.� �Look, I�ll do it myself, Sam.� Really, I appreciate the gesture--� NOT.
��but I�ve been able to wash my own hair for a lot of years now and I�d like to
keep up the tradition.�
�Dean, the cut could go all the way to the back of your
head.� You can�t see back there.��
�Now you�re just being an alarmist, it�s not that bad��
�Dean.�
��I�ve had worse practically every other week.� I managed to survive just fine without
having you��
�Dean.�
��fuss over me like a��
Sam leaned over into Dean�s face and enunciated very
clearly, �Sit your ass down, Dean.�
NOW.�
Dean was pretty sure he heard the window rattle from Sam�s
deep voice.� Which made him raise his
own voice.� �I DON�T--�
Sam made himself relax with visible effort and said evenly,
�Stop being a dickhead and just let me take care of you, okay?�
That stopped Dean in his tracks.� Sammy was just worried about him.� Not for any good reason, mind you, but that had never stopped him
before.� And Dean made a point of giving
Sam what he wanted every now and again just to avoid a big emo scene.�
He tied one of the towels off around his waist with
unnecessary force and sat down in a huff.
�Come on,� Sam said.�
�Lean back.�
Dean obliged, banging his head on the hard porcelain.� �Sorry,� Sam said, and rolled up a hand
towel to put beneath Dean�s neck.� �That
better?�
Dean grunted in assent, the most civil response he could
think of.� He did not like this.� Not one
damned bit.� Lying here, head back, neck
exposed and Sam fiddling around with the taps, trying to get the water the
right temperature.� Sam, entirely too
close to him, eating up his personal space.�
Sam who still smelled like the aftershave he�d put on this morning and
something else as well.� Some sort of
herb or something � rosemary, that was it.�
He must have brushed up against a bush when they were at the house with
the ghoul-infested basement.� And
whatever.� Was he having some sort of Better Homes and Gardens moment or
something?
Sam looked down at him, exasperated.
�What?�� Dean asked.
�Relax, would you?�
He almost snapped, �I am relaxed!�� Except for his clenched jaw, ramrod-straight back, and rock-hard
ass.� Which, okay, so maybe Sam had a
point.� Dean took a deep breath, letting
it out through his mouth in a slow exhalation.�
What was the big deal, anyhow?� He�d fought demons, for
cryin� out loud.� He should be able to
relax enough to get his stupid hair washed.�
Yeah, he should be able to, if Sam wasn�t so close, and if
his neck wasn�t exposed.� It made him
feel � vulnerable.� As a general rule he
preferred walking three miles over broken glass in his bare feet to feeling
vulnerable.�
Sam filled a plastic cup with warm tap water and poured it
carefully over Dean�s scalp, avoiding the wound for now.� With gentle, firm pressure, he slid his
fingers into Dean�s hair, caressing his scalp in little circles.� The shampoo felt smooth and cool, soothing.
Quickly, it grew into a thick, silky lather that surrounded him with the scent
of coconut.� He remembered making fun of
Sam when he bought the shampoo for that very reason (�What are you, a girl,
dude?�).� But now, well now he kind of
liked it.
Sam had one hand on either side of Dean�s skull, long
fingers warm against his neck, his fingertips pressing into tired muscles with
just enough pressure to send shivers down Dean�s spine.�
Sam paused and asked, low and concerned, �You all right?�
It took Dean a moment to respond.� �Huh?� Oh, yeah �
M�fine.�� His voice sounded slow,
relaxed.
Okay, he could admit it.�
This felt good.
Damn, good.� As in damn.
Sam started the soothing motion again, hands cradling Dean�s
skull in a way that made him feel both supported and � what was the right
word?� Cherished?� Like he was the most important thing in the
world.� Like Sam wanted him to feel
precious and loved.�
The thought brought a rush of heat to his face, and shame to
his stomach.� He wasn�t�God, he knew
better than anyone that he wasn�t special.� The mere thought of it felt like knives in his gut.� Now, Sam � Sam was special.� He had never questioned that.� The knowledge of it lay deep in his bones,
deep as the marrow.�
Sam poured another glass of water over Dean�s scalp in a
warm wave, this time over the wound.�
But unlike before, there was no pain, just gentle wetness.� Sam dabbed a wet washcloth over the wound
with infinite, studious tenderness.� He
leaned close, eyes fixed on the task.�
Dean smelled the sweat on him, felt the near heat of his skin.� Dean let his eyes slide shut, trying to
alleviate the burning exhausted sting of them.�
Sam worked in silence for a long moment, then said with an edge of
fondness, �You�re an ass, you know.�
Dean opened one eye.�
�Jumping in front of that ghoul the way you did.� You�re lucky he just hit your head and not
anything important.�
�Ha ha.�
�Seriously, dude.�
I�m not five years old any more, in case you haven�t noticed.� I can take care of myself.�
�Then why are you getting choked every time I turn
around?� I mean, what do you
expect?� I saw that ghoul coming for
you, hands outstretched, and I thought: here
we go again.� Wasn�t really counting
on him picking up that brick.�
�Yeah, yeah, yeah,� Sam said.� �Tell it to the judge.�
�Is it going to need stitches?� Dean asked.� He hoped not.� There wasn�t much he enjoyed less than having Sam stick a needle
into his head.
�Nah, doesn�t look like it.�
The bleeding�s stopped, but I�ve still got some cleaning to do.�
They fell quiet for a long while, then, as Sam worked with
infinite care and patience.� Dean began
to notice, in the stillness, the rhythmic thump of his own heart, the quiet
sounds of Sam�s breath, the concentrated way he worked, his lower lip caught
under his teeth. The sight of Sam�s lips brought to the surface long buried
memories.� Sam at seventeen, young and
innocent and beautiful.� Sam standing in
front of the sink, razor held awkwardly as Dean guided his hands, teaching him
how to shave.
Dean remembered the sudden passion that had overcome both of
them, remembered kissing his brother, sucking those plump young lips, feeling
his smooth skin, taking his hard, heavy cock into his mouth and sucking�
It had been a fluke, something that happened a couple of
times, then no more.� Afterward, Dean
had felt as guilty as hell, and Sam, well, Sam was so distracted by school and
fighting with Dad that screwing his brother didn�t hold much appeal.� Which Dean understood.� And truthfully, it was a bit of a relief to
have it over.� Soon, Sam left for
college and this hadn�t been an issue since he�d come back.
And Dean sure as hell wasn�t going to mess up Sam�s life by
making it an issue now.

He closed his eyes again, willing the interested twitching
in his cock to subside, focusing his attention on his head, on the feel of
Sam�s fingers, the gliding and stroking and healing.
So.� Here he was, not
thinking about Sam�s hands.� And not
thinking about his dick.� Because he had
no business combining the two of those in his mind.�
Then Sam put his hand on Dean�s dick.
Sam put his hand
on Dean�s dick.�
Which couldn�t really be happening.� Because � well, just how hard did he get hit
on the head, anyhow?
Sam didn�t move his hand, and Dean grew shock still.� This, apparently, wasn�t a
hallucination.� Or, an accident on Sam�s
part.��
He jerked to his feet, spluttering, �What the fuck,
Sammy?� I mean � what the fuckity fuck?�
�I want �� Sam said, looking flushed.� �Well, isn�t it obvious what I want?�
�No, you don�t!� Dean cried, rather frantically.�
�You don�t know what I want,� Sam said.
�Yes, I do.� I�m the
older brother, remember?� And you don�t
want this.� Not really.� I mean, before � that was, before.� We don�t do that anymore.�
�You don�t get to tell me what I want.� And I want you.� I want you to know � you don�t know it, Dean.�� Sam had
that pleading, desperate look on his face.
Oh, God.� Sometimes,
living with Sam was like having a chick around 24/7.� Only it made him crazier.�
�Know what?��
�That you�re worth it.�
Dad�s sacrifice.� My loyalty, my
. . . love.� You�re the best man I know,
Dean.� But you � you seem to think
you�re a piece of trash.� I mean there
you were, again today, throwing yourself in front of me to take that ghoul�s
blow.�
Dean shifted around uncomfortably.� �Jesus, Sammy, you don�t have to do me to try to prove something
to me.� Or because you feel guilty��
�I don�t.� I
just�Look, can�t it just be because I want to?�� Sam asked quietly.
Dean looked at him, stunned.� After an uncomfortable moment, in which it was all he could do to
breathe, he said, �Do you?�
�Yeah,� Sam said earnestly.�
�All these years, all you do is take care of me.� I want to take care of you for once.� I want to make you feel good.�
Dean snorted and tried to talk without his voice cracking,
didn�t quite make it.� �What?� You couldn�t just buy me a bottle of Jack at
the gas station?�
Sam gave a little smile.�
�Yeah, I guess I could have.�
This seemed like a better alternative, though.�
Then Sam moved toward him again, and Dean moved back until
his back was against the wall, but Sam kept coming, the bastard, he just kept
coming until his whole body was pressed up against Dean�s, all long hard warm
length.� Dean couldn�t quite help his
hands coming up to rest on Sam�s hips as Sam leaned his head forward and
mouthed Dean�s neck, kissing and nipping slowly.� �It�s all right, Dean,� he said in a low rumble against Dean�s
skin.� �If you don�t want this, just say
something and I�ll stop.�
The connection between Dean�s voicebox and his brain
apparently malfunctioned, because now Sam�s hand was back on Dean�s dick
through his pants, and instead of Dean pushing him off, he bucking up into his
brother�s hand, breathing hard.�
When, after concentrated effort, Dean could speak again, the
words he knew he should say, �no� and �stop� and �this is fucked up� became
�yes� and �don�t stop� and �fuck me.�
And afterward.�
Well, afterward, he said them again.

End
- 1
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Deep Waters