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When Sam had first said he needed to go to Seattle to interview a few people in person for the new book he was working on, he’d proposed it as a couples trip. Dean could come, too, and could explore the Seattle baking scene while Sam did the interviews, then they could spend the evenings together. Dean was sold. But then Sam's interviewees could only meet him the one weekend that Dean had to be in town for a fundraiser he’d committed to months ago. They’d both reluctantly agreed that Sam should go to Seattle and Dean would stay home. They counted back and realized they hadn’t been apart for so much as a night in years, but, hey, they were grown men. They could be apart for three days. It would probably be healthy, even.
As Sam left for the airport in his hybrid, he pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth and promised to be back soon. Dean put on a brave face, telling him to travel safe and have fun. “You too,” Sam said with a fond smile. And then he was gone.
The first night, Friday, wasn’t so bad—Dean went out for drinks with some friends. Sam had called the second he’d landed in Seattle and then texted right before he’d gone to sleep. Dean had taken an Uber home from the bar and slept okay by himself in his and Sam’s bed, then woke up with a headache, which reminded him that he was closer to fifty than forty, and maybe he couldn’t go for that third cocktail anymore.
Saturday he went to the luncheon fundraiser he’d both helped organize and been a major contributor to, and was thrilled with the total amount they were going to be able to donate to the local charity. It helped local school kids take food home on the weekends and school breaks when they no longer had access to free school breakfast and lunch. So he was tired, but he still went over to Charlie and Stevie’s for family movie night. The twins were on a classic movie kick, so they watched Hitchcock’s The Birds, set in nearby Bodega Bay, which was both surprisingly scary and incredibly dated. Dean had a hard time falling asleep that night. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Sam on the phone that day, though they’d texted a few times. The bed was just so big and empty without his Sasquatch of a brother-slash-husband in it.
Finally, it was the last night. Sam would be home the next morning, thank goodness. Sunday had seemed to last forever—Dean had done a little paperwork for the bakeries in the morning, then tinkered on the cars, then made himself an uninspired meal for one—grilled cheese and canned soup. He thought about inviting himself back over to the twins’ and their moms’ house just to have human interaction, but it was a school night and they had their routine. They didn’t need him moping around, getting in the way.
He was about to give up on the day and just go to sleep already when he got a text from Sam.
What are you doing?
He smiled, typed out his reply. About to get in the shower.
Sam took a minute to reply. You’re naked, then?
Dean looked down at his jeans and ripped Petaluma Middle School Fun Run T-shirt. Yep.
Can I see?
Dean hadn’t taken his clothing off so fast in years. He stripped and then hesitated—Sam was usually pretty prudish about sexting. Something about not wanting to create evidence for their FBI files. Dean was pretty sure he was kidding about that. Still, he didn’t want to give away the farm. He decided to take a picture of his right pec, snapping and sending it before he could overthink.
Sam responded with a series of thirsty emojis, which cracked Dean up since Sam was usually a light emoji user.
He asked a question of his own. What are you doing?
Missing you.
Gah. Sam was killing him. Dean had been missing his husband since the second he left for the airport, but never so much as right then, where he felt his absence like a tangible thing—he could reach out and touch the empty space next to him where Sam should be.
They’d been as close as two siblings could be when they were young. They had to be—they had to stick together in order to survive their childhoods. Then when they got away and started a new life, just two of them against the world, being together meant safety, meant that Dean didn’t have to worry that something bad was happening to Sam when he wasn’t there to stop it. Over time, that need faded, as they built real lives, as Sam grew up, excelled in school and Dean became a fully functioning adult. But no amount of therapy—and Dean had had a lot of therapy—could ever really dispel the constant, low-level need Dean had to have Sam near to him. It was just how he was built, and even if his intellectual brain could understand that Sam needed to have the freedom to leave once in a while, he’d never truly be comfortable in the days, hours, minutes they were apart.
Luckily, Sam, for the most part, seemed to feel the same way. Which was why Dean was convinced, after everything they had been through, that they were just meant to be that way. They were born four years apart, but they were still two halves of one whole. Dean must have been waiting around those four years for Sam to make his appearance before he’d felt truly complete. Fully himself. They shared more than a last name and a shitty childhood. They shared one heart. One soul. Dean didn’t know anything different. And he didn’t want to.
Which was why he was standing naked in his and Sam’s bedroom, staring at his phone, not sure how to goad Sam, who was 800 miles away, into sexting. “Fuck it.” Forget texting, he hit the button to put a call through. He needed to hear Sam’s voice. If he was lucky, maybe Dean could get him to make it a video call.
But Sam didn’t pick up. And when Dean tried texting him, he didn’t get a reply, either. Dean shoved aside the instant worry that sprang up in his chest and rationalized that Sam was probably in the bathroom or brushing his teeth and he’d respond soon.
Since Dean actually needed a shower, he went to their bathroom and started the water. He was about to step under the spray when a knock came on the bathroom door. For a split second Dean was startled, but burglars didn’t knock. And they didn’t say, “Dean?” with Sam’s beautiful voice. He pulled open the door and there he was, his baby brother and the love of his life.
“What are you doing here?” Dean made himself ask before he launched himself at Sam like a golden retriever.
Sam looked sheepish, then his gaze sharpened on Dean’s body and he looked hungry. “I took an earlier flight.”
“Well, good,” Dean said gruffly. “You going to join me, or what?” he asked, gesturing to the still-running shower.
Sam's hands blurred as he stripped faster than Dean had a few minutes ago. Together, they stepped into the shower, which they’d proven a hundred times over could fit both of their not-small bodies at the same time, as long as Sam avoided bonking his crown on the shower head. Once the water was sluicing all over them, Dean couldn’t help himself. He wrapped his arms around Sam and squeezed. Sam did the same and they just stood there embracing until Sam nosed along Dean’s cheek and got him to tip his head up and meet him in a long, infinitely sweet kiss. Every molecule in Dean’s body settled and sighed. This was right. This was how they were supposed to be.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, welcoming Sam home where he belonged.
“Hey,” Sam replied throatily. “Couldn’t face another night in that hotel bed.”
“You made the right decision,” Dean said approvingly as he let go of Sam just long enough to squirt some shower gel into his palm. He lathered up Sam from his collarbone to hips, reveling in all the lean, strong muscle. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was on standby, didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Sam said, the corner of his lips curving.
“Hey, I was doing okay without you,” Dean lied.
“I don’t doubt it,” Sam said seriously as Dean continued to wash him. “And I did okay, too. My interviews went really well—they’re going to be the backbone of this book.”
“That’s great, Sammy,” Dean said. They shifted so Dean could soap up Sam’s back. He paid special attention to the perfect swell of Sam’s ass. Sam shivered under the warm water.
“I think we proved we can be apart for a few days,” Sam said. He turned around in Dean’s arms so they were facing each other again. “But let’s not do it again for a while.”
“Agreed,” Dean said, noting that Sam’s dick was half chubbed. He wrapped a loose hand around it. Sam sighed and shuffled closer. They were chest to chest, crotch to crotch, mouth to mouth, steam and water cocooning them in warmth. Dean had never been happier than in this moment.
“Let’s dry off and get in bed,” he whispered against Sam’s mouth.
“Our bed,” Sam reaffirmed.
“Our bed.”
End