Whew! It feels AMAZING to be writing my lovely Wincest again! Guess what? I just finished my finals and I'm now a friggin' college grad! Whew! So…more time to write Wincest *fist pump* Expect updates on continuing stories, all of you wonderful readers who have been interested in them.

This was written for fun and to create more brotherly love in S8 because it has been sorely lacking, don't you agree? It's written for right after "Hunteri Heroici." Send me some love if you like it! Or…not, you know, tell me that it sucks. Whatevs. Enjoy!

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Dean had missed the softness of Sam's lips. They had been lying in bed and unhurriedly kissing each other for half an hour. Dean's hard-on pushed against the zipper of his jeans, but he didn't care; not about the discomfort or the fact that he was almost definitely not going to get sex tonight. All that mattered was that they were finally alone. And thank God because he thought for a while there that Cas was never going to leave, even with the not very subtle hints he was dropping, ("so, are you going to get a room or…"; really, did Cas need him to draw a friggin picture?). He was glad when Cas had finally given them an awkward shifty glance, jerkily nodded his head, and vanished. When Dean was in Purgatory, sometimes he'd wake up with his whole body throbbing from the sheer need of being with Sam. But it wasn't sex he'd missed the most; it was this: feeling, rubbing, kissing, licking, touching, exploring. And now that he was finally topside again, he wanted to re-learn everything he'd missed. He slipped his hands under Sam's t-shirt and caressed his hard, sweaty stomach. There were small changes; his abs felt a little smaller and less defined than he'd remembered a year ago and some of his scars felt smoother. His skin felt softer and there were no unfamiliar wounds; all side-effects from having spent so long not hunting. But Sam still smelled like yeast, musk, and deodorant, his lips were still soft, and that massive erection pressing against his groin and belly, the only one he'd ever handled besides his own, still felt exactly as he'd remembered.

Sam slipped his tongue a little further inside his mouth and Dean gave it a gentle suck, feeling the heat rise deep within his belly when he was rewarded with a soft moan. The familiarity of it, of being able to please Sam with the same things he could one, five, ten years ago, was comforting. His hands moved up to Sam's chest, where he rubbed his flat pecs and then tweaked his already hard nipples. Sam had always loved that, too. And, sure enough, Sam began making little moans into his mouth and slightly bucking his hips against Dean's. Dean could feel Sam's hard-on now rubbing against the side of his own and also digging into his groin. And, damn, the kid was so hard that it felt like he was being rutted against by a hot lead pipe. He wanted so badly to feel the velvet-soft head against his fingertips, swipe his thumb against it and feel the wet, thick drops of pre-come, grip the shaft and feel Sam's heartbeat in his hand. He skimmed one hand down Sam's stomach and to the front of his jeans, then popped the button and dragged the zipper down –

Sam grabbed his wrist and his body did a skittish jerk back, like some nervous teenager and Dean found his lips and hands no longer on his skin, but touching only air and his hands were stretching the fabric of Sam's t-shirt. Sam was staring at him, wide-eyed and serious and Dean felt the slow burn of anger and frustration rising in his gut. Sam and his fucking rules.

"Dean."

Right. This was the part where he was supposed to be reminded that he was good enough for Sam to kiss for hours while he was away from Amelia, but that was where it ended. Dean was never allowed to touch him where they both really wanted it or let either of them get real physical fulfillment out of what they did. So Sam could go home after this was all over, back to Amelia and pretend like it didn't count. So that later, once they'd gotten settled down again, Sam could maybe even introduce them, make the two of them stand in the same fucking room together, while Sam sheepishly gestured toward him and said, "this is my brother, Dean…" my former lover, my soulmate, the dude who shares my heaven. But of course she wouldn't hear any of that. She'd walk up to him with a smile and extend her hand with a "hello, it's nice to meet you," and Dean would take it with a begrudging smile.

That was, if Sam went back. Although, honestly, Sam never would have let anything happen between them again if he really loved Amelia. The guy just wasn't a cheater. And he had to know he was cheating. Because, come on, really – making out doesn't count? Where were they, high school? But Dean knew better than to say what he was thinking to Sam. He had found that that was a good general rule, overall.

"Why not?"

"You know why. Things shouldn't have even gone this far."

"No one's forcing you."

Sam scoffed but he didn't move. They both knew he wouldn't, that even if he wanted to, he didn't have the willpower to leave. Every time they started up this thing they had between them, neither of them could break it apart; at least, not for very long. So they'd stopped talking about it years ago, about their feelings and that, wait, they were brothers and maybe this wasn't such a great idea and what would Dad say. They'd stopped arguing about it with each other and fighting about it inside of themselves and just accepted it as something that just was. So when Sam had kissed him last week, Dean hadn't asked him about Amelia or why this was happening now and if it meant that they were together again or if he just wasn't thinking straight; he'd just kissed him back. And when Sam had said that he didn't want it to go any further than kissing, Dean hadn't argued. But he'd had enough, dammit. Being with Sam this way has been the only thing in his fucked-up, monster-ridden life that has ever felt right. And he knew Sam felt it, too; that was how this thing between them was ever able to work. It felt right. Hell, it was right. Sam stared into his face for several seconds and then let go of his wrist. Dean did not break eye contact but instead stared at Sam's flushed face and asked for permission with wide, questioning eyes as he slowly dragged down Sam's zipper. Sam gasped as he felt Dean's fingertips caress him through his boxer briefs and then pulled him in for a kiss.

And a few minutes later as Sam came, spilling over his hand, Dean knew he didn't regret it. Because, at the end of the day, their universe came down to one word: Samndean. No matter what or who else occasionally got in the way – Cassie, Madison, Ruby, the apocalypse, Lisa, Amelia – they were all impermanent. Through everything, Hell or high water, they always came back, always somehow found their way back. And even if Sam did go back to Amelia, even if he did spend the rest of his life with her, Dean would have him in heaven. They would always be together because they were Samndean, one life, one soul, and there wasn't a force in the universe powerful enough to break that apart.