Perfect by bloodwrites

Just like that, everything is right again.

Sammy beside him, the road stretching out in front of them, the rumble of Baby's engine beneath them.

It's perfect.

"Where are we going?"

Dean glances at his brother, pats Sam's knee, smiles like his face might split. "Anywhere you want, Sammy."

Sam smiles back, turns back to watch the scenery fly past. Time goes on, miles pass beneath them.

"Pull over," Sam says, when they find themselves flanked by heavy, shaded woods on either side of them.

The car rolls to a stop. Gravel crunches beneath the tires.

"What are we doing?"

Sam pops the passenger door, unfolds himself out into the open. The door slams shut.

Dean shrugs and follows. He catches up with Sam as he's disappearing into the trees. Dean only just got here himself, but he's pretty sure they can't get lost.

It's warm beneath the trees, sweet with the smell of leaf mold and clean dirt. Though the sun can't penetrate the canopy, Sam's presence, the smiles he throws back over his shoulder as if to assure himself that Dean's following close, light up everything.

Sam lights up the world. Heaven is beautiful, bright, but Sam's presence makes it gleam, and Dean never would have noticed if they hadn't come here, into the shadows of the canopy.

"It's the opposite of Purgatory," Dean says, finally. Purgatory had that hard, cold purity.

Heaven—this new, improved Heaven—is soft. It's warm. It's complex.

Sam stops at the base of a tree. It's a tall birch, the trunk broad and smooth. "Come here." He reaches out.

Dean takes his brother's hand, allows himself to be pulled close.

Sam's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. There's a look on Sam's face that shouldn't be there, not here, and Dean instinctively presses closer, protective instinct too much to deny, it's so ingrained.

"You died," Sam says, and it's like a dam has burst its banks. Tears well up and roll down his cheeks. "You were gone. For so long."

"I know." Dean holds his brother's neck, pulls him down to press their foreheads together. "I never wanted to leave you. I'm so sorry."

"I needed you, Dean." His breath is hot on Dean's face. "I need you."

Dean sucks in Sam's breath like he needs it to survive. "I'm right here. We're both here, now. Right where we were always supposed to be."

Sam gasps, his diaphragm contracting, and he blinks away tears as he looks up into the canopy. He holds tight to Dean, turns them both beneath the trees.

It's like dancing, Dean thinks, until Sam pushes him against the broad birch trunk. Backs him up against it and then drops his eyes and the look is deeply intense.

"How do I know you're not gonna push me away?" he asks. "How do I know it's really you, and not some pretend you that's just here to make my heaven perfect?"

"Because I had to wait for you," Dean says. "There wasn't any pretend Sam to keep me busy. Time's different, but I waited for you. You really gonna make me wait longer?"

"No," Sam says. "Fuck, no, Dean."

Dean can't decide whether he knew Sam was going to kiss him next. Right on the lips, passionate, not remotely familial.

It's the kiss of a lover, it's teeth and tongues and desperate, desperate need.

If it had happened on Earth, when they were both still alive, well, Dean can't say what he would have done. Pushed Sam away perhaps, been shocked, scandalized.


He's none of those things.

"I'm here," he gasps between breaths, between kisses. "I'm right here." Wraps his arms around Sam's shoulders, meets Sam's hips as they grind against him.

Sam can get nothing out but parts of words, broken sentences. It's been longer for him. "—need—" and "—want you—" and "—take it off—" as he tugs at Dean's clothing.

Dean's gotta push Sam away, because they're getting nowhere. Strips off his clothes, kicks off his boots. Sam watches. Moans as Dean drops his jeans, steps out of them.

There's a breeze on his skin, but it's not cold. He's hard. Precome burbles from the tip of his cock and dribbles down the shaft.

"I'm ready for you, Sammy," he says. Heavenly perks, like never feeling hungry and never needing to pee.

Sam's eyes track Dean's bare flesh. His skin tingles under Sam's scrutiny. It warms, shivers, as though he's already being touched.

"Shit, Sammy." Dean leans back against the tree. His head falls back, and he closes his eyes. "Touch me for real."

The breeze fades and Sam is on him, pressed against him. Hungry, desperate, grasping. "Need you. To be inside you." Rushed, urgent, like they don't have all the time in the world.

Foreplay can come later. When Sam hasn't had to wait decades.

It's so easy to let Sam lift him, to press him against the tree. To wrap his legs around Sam's waist and sink, slow, onto his baby brothers cock.

And it's like this is enough. Like being wrapped in Dean, being inside Dean, was all Sam really needed. The urgency fades and the desperation disappears and Sam kisses him again, but this time it's slow, and tender, and like he finally got what he needs.

Dean pushes against the tree at his back. Rises up, sinks down again. "Is this what we should've been doing all along?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know." He starts to move, taking Dean's cue, matching Dean's rhythm. "I don't care."

"We've got it now," Dean whispers. "We've got it forever."

"Finally," Sam says. "This is perfect."


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I'm bloodwrites, and I've been knocking around the fandom internets since the early 2000s. I write fic, almost exclusively slash. I like Dean Winchester, vampires, pirates, and CSS. Some people know me as vamp.

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