RockStarPeach

I wrote this story for the always sort-of-okay ash_carpenter, who was asking for a Sam/Dean cheating fic. I had a really hard time trying to come up with any kind of scenario in which either Sam or Dean would cheat on the other, but I finally decided on this.

I hope you like this, honey, even if I'm not sure it’s exactly the tone you were hoping for. But there's boys hurting each other, so at least I got that part right!

Title: Can’t Trust That Day
Pairing: Dean/Sam (Implied Sam/OFC)
Rating: Adult
Summary: The brothers have decided to give themselves a break from the hunting life and settle down for a while, in a sleepy little town, with normal jobs and a house. It even has curtains. But Sam always works late on Mondays, ever since he met the pretty new mail girl.
Warnings: Infidelity, rough sex
Word count: 2200


***

It’s Monday night, right around eleven and Dean’s just finished putting down the last of the kitchen tile when he finally hears Sam’s Prius pull into the driveway.

The library closes at six in this town (except on Sundays, when it’s not open at all), but Monday afternoons the new book shipments come in, so Sam doesn’t usually get out of there until eight.

Two months ago they hired a new mail carrier, a pretty little slip of a thing with long dark hair and a shy smile, to deliver the books. Two months ago, eight o’clock turned into ten o’clock. A month ago, ten turned into eleven.

Three weeks ago, Sam started showering after work.

But only on Mondays.

Dean puts down the cloth he’d been using to wipe the grout and goes to stand in the doorway that leads to the living room. The carpet went down in here last month and now Dean’s been looking for a cheap couch.

The house has come a long way from the run-down piece of crap they moved into six months ago.

Back when Sam suggested they get out of the hunting life for a while, set up somewhere and just relax, Dean figured it was a terrible idea. They weren’t built for the normal life, were never meant to stay in one place for so long. They’re drifters.

He always figured it would be him that got twitchy though, couldn’t handle the domesticity, not Sam.

Sam’s key jiggles in the lock out front – it always sticks and that’s the next thing Dean has to fix – and Dean crosses his arms over his chest, leans against the doorframe and waits for Sam to come inside.

“Dean,” Sam says, after he shuts the door behind him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dean says, monotone, watches Sam kick out of his shoes and hang up his jacket on the hook by the door. “There’s pizza, if you’re hungry.”

“Nah,” Sam says, smiling a strained little smile. Dean used to wait and order the pizza when he knew Sam was on his way home, so it was still warm and they could eat together. Sam used to smile at him and say he was starving and tell him all about his geeky books and then they’d fuck in whichever room of the house was under the least amount of construction. “I grabbed a veggie sub from that shop across the street again. Thanks, though.”

Now Sam grabs veggie subs from that shop across the street, even when he doesn’t have to work late. Even when he doesn’t see her.

“More for me,” Dean shrugs and when he pushes off the wall and casually stalks closer to Sam, Sam flinches ever so slightly and steps back. “What?” Dean asks. “No kiss hello? Way to make a guy feel special, Sammy.”

Dean doesn’t think they’ve ever kissed hello in their lives, so what Sam should really do is make a face and push Dean away.

What he does though is laugh, an awkward, forced sound and he leans in to give Dean a quick peck on the cheek before he steps even further back, down the hall toward the bedrooms. Well, one bedroom, one weapons room, because they might have settled down some, but they’re not stupid.

“It’s been a long day, man,” Sam explains. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

Dean just looks at him for a beat longer and Sam pauses, stands outside the bathroom with his hand on the door, looking back at Dean like he’s waiting for permission or something.

“Sure,” Dean finally says, and turns his back on Sam to head back to the kitchen.

He doesn’t bother heating up the leftover pizza for himself, just tosses the entire box into the fridge. He’s not very hungry.

He wanders into the living room and fiddles with the edge of the curtain, long and thick and cream-coloured and he pulls it back slightly to peek outside. Lawn needs mowin’, but Dean won’t get to it for a few more days. He’s got a job lined up on the construction site for a new Walmart that’s going up the next town over and it starts tomorrow.

He lets his fingers drop to his sides and lets out a deep breath, closes his eyes when he hears the shower start to run and he wonders how everything got so fucked up. Wonders when he stopped being enough for Sam.

Probably right around the time Sam had any other option. When they put down enough roots someplace that Sam could actually start to make connections with people who aren’t Dean.

He doesn’t even know for sure if Sam’s fucking her. Hell, for all Dean knows all they do is talk for hours, share their secrets and fears while they slowly fall in love. Maybe Sam kisses her, maybe he tells her they shouldn’t and he holds her in his arms and whispers about how good she feels.

Then again, maybe they fuck like bunnies in a cheap motel room. Maybe they go to her place and she sucks his dick before she climbs on top of him. Maybe Sam doesn’t think of Dean at all, not once while he throws her down on her bed and pounds into her.

He honestly doesn’t know which is worse.

The water shuts off and he hears the bathroom door open, hears Sam’s footfalls as he goes into the bedroom, probably to throw on some shorts and crawl into bed. He follows.

He stands in the open doorway and watches for a moment. Sam’s back is to him as he rummages around in the dresser, towel hanging low off his hips while drops of water fall from the ends of his hair to land on his shoulders.

It’s Sam, Dean thinks. Dean knows that Sam’s a pretty good looking guy, and if he ever stopped to really think about it, he supposes that he’s the kind of good looking that girls would throw themselves at. He figures Sam would be pretty fuckin’ hot, if Dean ever bothered to think of him that way.

But he hasn’t. It’s just Sam, he loves him and he needs him and being with him makes Dean feel like he’s a whole person but never, not once, did Sam’s outward appearance factor into it. He doubts anybody else would be able to make the same claim.

“Don’t bother,” Dean says, his voice rough and cracked, lower than normal.

Sam jerks and stands up straight, snaps around with his eyes wide until he realises that it’s only Dean and then breathes out a half-laugh of relief.

“Jesus, Dean. Don’t do that.”

“Jumpy?” Dean asks, then cocks his head at the pair of blue boxers in Sam’s hand. “Don’t bother.”

“Dean…”

“Sammy.”

He moves closer, crosses the bedroom floor and stops right in front of Sam. Looks up at him and watches Sam’s breath catch and his throat work over a dry swallow when Dean hooks one finger inside the waist of the towel.

“Dean…” he says again and Dean doesn’t give him a chance to finish. Doesn’t want to hear it. He just pushes, sudden and fierce. He forces Sam up against the wall so hard that he winces and the resulting thud echoes through the room.

Dean grabs his wrists and slams them back too, holds them against the new green paint next to Sam’s middle. Sam sucks in a sharp breath then and when Dean leans in close to bite at Sam’s collar bone, he can feel the evidence of Sam’s sudden arousal.

Kid’s got pretty good recovery time, Dean’s got to give him that. Then again, he always likes it on those rare occasions that Dean gets a little pushy.

Dean bites down even harder on Sam’s neck and Sam cries out, clenches his eyes shut and knocks his own head back against the wall. He gives Sam’s wrists an extra hard squeeze and then he lets go, pleased when Sam just leaves them there, like he knows that’s what Dean wants. Dean grabs Sam’s towel in one fist and gives it a sharp pull, smiling into Sam’s neck when he actually whimpers and pushes his hips forward against Dean’s.

“You want me, don’t you Sammy?” Dean asks, pushes back against Sam even harder, grinding him into the wall. He means for it to come out a lot more self-assured than it does. Instead he sounds desperate and pitchy.

“Yeah,” Sam answers immediately, sort of breathless as he spreads his legs a little to make room for Dean’s hand between them. “Yeah, Dean, of course I do. I always do.”

Maybe not always Dean thinks, bitterly.

“On the bed,” he orders, but he doesn’t even give Sam time to obey, just grabs him and pushes again, sends Sam stumbling back and lays him flat in the middle of the California King. He climbs on after Sam, shedding his own clothing as he follows. He fits himself between Sam’s legs, working them even further open and using his leverage to push Sam up the bed.

“Dean!” Sam calls out when Dean grabs a huge fistful of his hair and uses it to yank his head back, teeth closing down once more over Sam’s throat. He’s gonna be bruised tomorrow, that’s for damn sure, and Dean grins to himself. Good. “Shit, Dean. What’s gotten into you?” he asks, kind of chuckles nervously while Dean works two rough, dry fingers inside him.

Sam’s not stupid enough to think that Dean doesn’t know, but neither of them ever says it out loud. Dean’s willing to live in denial as long as he can, doesn’t want to shatter this illusion. Sam obviously agrees.

“Missed you,” he just answers, because that’s true enough. “Need to…” he breaks off, goes for Sam’s wrists again and pins them above his head. His fingers dig into the delicate skin there and that’ll bruise, too. It will be purple and blue with little red crescents where his nails break the first few layers of skin.

It’s not enough. He needs to mark Sam fucking everywhere, needs Sam to remember that he’s Dean’s, that he belongs to Dean, no matter where else he might spend his Monday nights.

He bites his way down Sam’s chest, sharp little nips that pinch the skin and make Sam jerk under him and bigger, wider bites that sink his teeth deep into the muscle. His fingers don’t stop inside Sam, just stab harder, faster, rubbing the skin inside him raw.

“I need to,” he says again, sucking in deep, rough breaths to try to get himself under control. He punches at the pillow beside Sam’s head and he grinds his teeth against the tears that suddenly want to fall. He turns his face into the side of Sam’s neck and gently kisses over one of the bite marks. “Let me.”

“Yeah,” Sam answers, because when it matters, when Dean really needs him, Sam never says no. “Yeah, Dean, do it. Anything. I can take it, I promise.”

Of course he can. This is how Sam atones.

Dean adjusts his hips and slips his fingers free from Sam’s hole, takes his own cock in hand and lines it up. He’s hard, he’s turned on despite how miserable he feels and the tip is slippery and leaking. It’s not enough lubrication, not nearly. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, him as well as Sam, but Sam just angles his hips up in invitation and then goes lax.

Dean pushes in.

He goes slow, doesn’t want to hurt Sam too badly, but Sam clenches his jaw and Dean can see the veins in his neck stand out as he strains against the intrusion. When Dean’s all the way in, he doesn’t pause, just pulls back and keeps thrusting. He goes faster, goes harder and pretty soon it’s easy, enough pre-come to make the way relatively slick.

He slams forward again and again until the bones of his hips are leaving little brown bruises along the backs of Sam’s thighs and Sam’s pliant under him, breathing heavy and wriggling a little and whimpering, “please, yeah, Dean,” over and over.

“Go ahead, Sammy,” he says, strained and tight when he starts to get closer. He can tell Sam’s close too. Can always tell when Sam’s close. “Touch me. ‘S okay.”

Sam’s arms are around his back instantly, fingers clawing into the skin and pulling Dean closer, tighter. Sam’s cock is caught between them, sweat and his own fluid making it slippery and warm. He starts to grind up against Dean faster now, his moans getting louder and higher.

When Dean comes he digs his nails into Sam’s ribs as hard as he can, tears at his skin with dull nails. Sam screams, follows him over the edge and they both collapse.

Dean gives himself a few seconds before he moves, waits for his heart to slow back down a little. He rolls to his side, then. Puts his arm around Sam and pulls him close, presses soft kisses to his lips and his cheeks.

He doesn’t feel any better.

“You okay?” he asks.

Sam laughs out loud then. It sounds ugly.

“Yeah, Dean,” he answers. “I’m okay. I like it rough, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. They’re quiet for a long, long time.

“I need to clean up,” Sam says, finally.

Dean just holds him tighter.

“Don’t leave me, Sammy,” he says, whispers the words into Sam’s forehead and Sam holds him right back.

“Never,” he promises, tilts his face up for a kiss. “God, Dean… Never.”

Dean believes him. Sam will never leave him, he’ll never leave Sam.

And no matter what Sam does on Monday nights, knowing that will have to be enough.

END