Dean hears the shower going when he returns for his jacket. The wind had really started to pick up, the warmth of the spring day quickly dissipating into a bone deep chill. He’s got a date with a hot chick fresh out of high school and doesn’t want to be that douche who looks too proud to wear a fucking jacket. Besides, he’d get bonus points for giving her his if she’s cold and hey, when it comes to getting into a chick’s panties bonus points are important, ya know?
His jacket isn’t where he left it. It had been hanging on the back of a chair in their tiny ass kitchen in their dingy motel. He turned around, hands on his hips, brows furrowed in a frown, trying to figure out where his damn jacket was. When his eyes do land on the battered, hand me down leather, it’s the last place he would have expected.
His brows furrow deeper as he approaches Sam’s bed where his jacket is laid out, rumpled. It’s as he’s reaching for it does he see it, smells it. There’s a perfect white smear on the inside of the jacket, a wayward drop that was easily missed, the fabric around it dark and wet. The air smells like spunk, like sex. His eyes dart to the closed bathroom door and Dean’s breath hitches at the implications.
Sam had just… on Dean’s jacket… Jesus. And just like that, he can imagine it. His baby brother all laid out on the rucked up sheets, one hand stuffed in his underwear, long fingers stroking up and down his shaft. In Dean’s mind’s eye he can see the long fingers of Sam’s right hand clutching the collar of his leather jacket, drawing it in close to breathe in Dean’s scent as he jerked himself to completion. And then finally he comes, face twisted in pleasure, ropes of pearly white streaking his quivering stomach. A drop had landed on Dean’s jacket…
Dean’s sporting a chubby before he even realizes how aroused the thought of Sam rubbing one off on his jackets makes him. He presses his hand to his mouth, bites back the groan that tries to climb out of his throat. There’s no way. No way his baby brother would want that. Want him.
Right?
But before Dean could convince himself otherwise his feet are already carrying him to the bathroom. He finds the door unlocked, hand shaking as he silently turns the knob. It’s so fucked up. He’s so fucked up, but he has to know. Has to know that he’s not the only one messed up in the head. That the guilt he’s been carrying since Sam turned fifteen and Dean noticed the way he grew up, filled out, how those dimple smiles made Dean feel more than just love and joy for his boy…
Dean let’s the door close with an audible click and watches the blurred form of Sam behind opaque glass and steam quickly cover himself.
“Hey! Wait your turn!” Sam yells, shrill and sounding like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dean swallows down all common sense and locks the bathroom door. Dad’s gone for at least a week but he feels safer behind a locked door. Especially with what he’s planning.
“So I came back for my jacket,” Dean throws out casually despite the desperate, rapid thud of his heart against his ribs. Sam goes completely still under the hot spray. It’s enough to make Dean bend down and remove his shoes and socks. “Wanna explain why I found it on your bed, Sammy?”
Sam’s breath hitches audibly as Dean’s removing his shirt.
“Dean, I can explain,” he says, but doesn’t continue. Dean thumbs the button of his jeans open and pulls down the zipper tab, certain Sam can’t hear it.
“I’m listening, Sam. Really curious as to why it smells… ya know… a little funny,” Dean prompts as he slithers denim down his thighs. He can see Sam push his hair back with his hands, can sense his baby brother on the verge of a panic attack. Dean pushes down his underwear, hard cock springing free in the humid air and pulling out a hiss from him.
“It’s uh, it’s not what you think!” Dean pads over to the shower, almost feeling bad for the frantic note in Sam’s tone. He pushes the glass door aside, catching Sam’s flinch and the wild, panic look in his eyes. His chest is heaving, rivulets of water streaming over a flushed chest. His cheeks are bright pink, like a girl’s, and Dean’s caught by how kissable Sam’s bitten lips look.
“Then tell me, Sam. Tell me you weren’t just jerking yourself off while laying on my jacket.” Sam jerks and his eyes dart down, goes wider when he sees how hard Dean is, a perfect pearl of pre cum beading at the tip. Dean doesn’t miss the way Sam licks his lips or how dark his eyes are when they dart back up to meet Dean’s.
“You too?” He asks, young and so damn hopeful, gaze deliberate at it drags down Dean’s body again. Dean waits until lust blown hazel eyes meets his again before he answers.
“Yeah,” he says, stepping into the shower. “Me too, Sammy.”
He closes the shower door with one hand, other already reaching for Sam’s cheek. He brings their bodies flush under the pounding spray, feels Sam thicken against his hip as he kisses Sam, licks his baby brother’s soft lips open. Their hearts are wildly beating in tandem against their chests and Sam’s hands clutch, rub, clutch at Dean’s wet skin. He completely forgets about the girl he was supposed to take out that night. There is nothing else on his mind but Sam.
“When Ackles started homebrewing with his brother-in-law Gino Graul in Los Angeles, it was just a hobby. “We would go in the backyard and tried to brew our own beer. It was horrible,” says Ackles with a chuckle. “Our friends were very kind and said that it wasn’t.” Fast forward several years and the idea of starting a craft brewery became a reality when Ackles and his wife decided to move back to Texas after having their first child…“My wife and I needed to say ‘OK, where do we really want to be and where do we want to plant our roots?’ Coming back home to Texas, being around family, being around friends, was a priority for us. This was kind of the natural first choice.” After moving back, the dream of a starting a brewery followed them. After looking at the craft beer scene in Austin, Ackles and his family thought it would “be a viable option” and took a chance.”
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