pathossam:

A tense hour across the library over the many stupid, cyclical fights they have, and Sam’s had just about enough. He slams his laptop closed and leans across the table, right into Dean’s face.

It says a lot about their boundary issues that Dean doesn’t back away, just kind of crosses his eyes and scowls. “The fuck?”

“Gimme a kiss,” Sam demands, ignoring the flush blooming across his face, the sweat against his palms making his grip against the lip of the table slippery. Never mind in all these years they’ve never once kissed, but Sam knows Dean won’t deny him anything, and he thinks this, this thing they’ve never talked about, this line they’ve never crossed, could be the solution to every fight they have here on out.

“What?” Dean demands. “You been reading some, what is it, slash stuff over there?” But it’s not a no, not that Sam ever expected one.

“Gimme a kiss,” he says again, stonily, tone booking no argument, no give. 

All thirty-something years of want flitter across Dean’s face, then, in the best book Sam’s ever read, best movie he’s ever watched. “Sam,” he breathes, no trace of anger left. “Sammy,” he says again, so quietly, like he’s tasting the words instead of saying them.

“Gimme a kiss,” Sam whispers, one more time, three times the charm, wanting it now more than he did the first time he thought about it, twenty years ago.

Dean leans forward, kissing him soundly, seeming to liquify his mouth against Sam’s, so soft, like a whimper, like a question he’s already got the answer to.

Sam pulls back, eyes closed, the smile on his swollen mouth everything he doesn’t know how to say.

“Fuckin’ demanding,” Dean mumbles, pink, looking back down at his research, but his puffy lips are smiling, too.