Title: Baby, It's Cold Outside
Author: Alltheshrinks
Pairing: Dean/Sam, past past Lisa Braeden/Dean, Past Jessica Moore/Sam
Fandom: SupernaturalBackdraft
Rating: NC-17
Warning: incest, AU
Series: 1) You Go? We Go!, 2) Welcome To Middle Age, 3) Tangled Up In You
Summary: Firemen Sam and Dean Winchester celebrate Christmas together.

***

“ You're listening to Kansas’s own KROC, it’s still snowing like crazy outside. A winter weather advisory is in effect until noon tomorrow, temps dropping down into the single digits tonight. Sometime after midnight, the snow is expected to turn into ice, so if you don’t have to go out, please don’t.” The DJ’s voice is calm, but it has an apprehensive quality to it and Lieutenant Sam Winchester turns the radio off, leaning back in one of the chairs of the Kansas City Fire Department’s Day room.

 

The blizzard that is pelting Missouri and Kansas with tons of snow, is still going strong, with very little visibility and making road conditions hazardous. With ice now in the forecast, it is just going to get worse, much worse. Add in the fires from leaving Christmas trees unattended or placing decorations too close to lights and Sam hates December with a passion.

 

Station 17 just returned from a fender bender in the parking lot of the local mall, one of the employees not experienced with driving in the snow had panicked and T-boned another car. No one was really hurt besides a few bumps and bruises, but it is so wet and cold outside that the firemen had returned chilled to the bone and miserable.

 

It’s Christmas Eve, Sam is used to working most holidays, because first responders never get a break. Still, just once, he would like it to be a quiet night. Of course Sam’s life doesn’t work like that. In true Murphy’s Law fashion, as soon as his limbs have thawed out, the alarm call is ringing out, the siren echoing off of the stone walls of the firehouse in an ear-splitting manner. Sam is totally exhausted, but he stands up and heads back down to the apparatus room to grab his rig.

 

He is shoving into his cold weather gear, when his brother, Captain Dean Winchester walks by him and squeezes his shoulder. Dean looks exhausted, too, but doesn’t complain. Dean never complains, not about his aching knee or how tired he is after chaotic shifts. He is the most consummate professional that Sam has ever met. The touch is fleeting, just a It’s okay, Sammy gesture and it grounds Sam more than he will ever admit.

 

“What have we got?” Sam asks, hoisting himself up into the engine.

 

“Apartment fire out 70, someone left their oven on.” Benny Lafitte’s heavy, accent laden timbre sounding even thicker tonight than it normally does.

 

“Shit,” is the only thing Sam says, there are probably going to be some homeless people tonight, not to mention all of the Christmas presents and decorations that the fire and gallons of water are going to destroy. Sam can’t think about that right now, though. His number one thought is making sure no one gets hurt; gifts and structures can be replaced, humans or pets can not.



*******



By the time the fire is over, the injured tended to and the team is heading home, dawn is breaking against the Kansas City skyline. The fire hadn’t really been that bad and part of the tenants of the apartment complex were out visiting family elsewhere. Only a couple of people needed to be taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation.

 

Sam realizes that it is Christmas Day after the company pulls back into the station and he is walking up the steps to fill out his report. The winter storm is still raging outside and he is hungry, filthy and exhausted. There are only a couple of hours left in the shift and all of the other firemen are chomping at the bit to get out of the fire house and celebrate the holidays with their families.

 

Sam files his paperwork quickly, dotting all of his i’s and crossing all of his t’s before sending it to Dean to approve, then he makes his way down to the locker room to shower all of the ashes and soot from his exhausted body. He isn’t surprised that the room is empty, the rest of the company generally cleans up as soon as they return.  Sam stopped doing that a while ago, it seems like every time he gets in the shower, they are being dispatched again.

 

The young lieutenant showers quickly, scrubbing his skin to a deep pink, and letting the hot water soothe his cold and aching muscles. He still just has a towel tied around his waist when Dean comes into the locker room.

 

“There you are…” his brother starts to say, before letting his eyes travel over all of the bare, damp skin of the younger man’s body. Dean really tries not to react this way to Sam in the station, but now that he knows they are alone, he can’t help it.

 

Sam bites his lip and makes a show of taking his time drying off before slipping on his boxer briefs and T-shirt, while Dean watches. The older fireman’s face flushes the prettiest shade of pink and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight of all that corded muscle and tanned flesh rippling as Sam tugs his clothing on.



*******



The drive home is arduous, even in the SUV from the department; Dean doesn’t drive the Impala in the winter months, citing that the salt and ice is hard on its paint job. Even with the snow plows working overtime, it takes nearly three times as long to make it to the river, where the cabin that the brother’s call home is. Sam is toasty warm from the heated seats and hot coffee when they finally arrive unscathed.

 

The cabin is cold inside, the heat turned down to lower their utility bills while they are on duty, but soon, the older brother gets a roaring fire going in the fireplace, the popping of the logs a welcome soundtrack in the otherwise quiet dwelling. Sam sits on the couch in the living room, finally relaxing all of his tired, achy joints and limbs.

 

The Christmas tree that they put up three days ago, sits without any decorations on it, and Sam thinks it is kind of pathetic looking. Both men have been too busy or too exhausted to fool with stringing up any lights, so he figures he should probably get on that before Ben, Dean’s thirteen-year-old son comes over for Christmas tomorrow. He tells Dean as much, finally getting up from his seat to retrieve the box of ornaments and other decorations from the garage.

 

After the tree is finished, Dean busies himself in the kitchen, making sure that the turkey is cooking and that the preparation for their Christmas dinner are all taken care of, while sipping on a winter lager out of his beer advent box. It really was a good purchase, he and Sam have been enjoying trying a lot of beers that they normally wouldn’t buy. He is watching the snow still coming down in a blanket of white out the kitchen window when Sam comes into the room.

 

Sam has been wrapping last minute packages for his brother and nephew and staying out of Dean’s way. “We forgot batteries for one of Ben’s presents,” the younger man announces and Dean looks outside the window with a heavy sigh. They live a few minutes away from civilization and both men are so tired, but Dean just grabs his coat off the hook by the door.

 

Sam raises his eyebrows towards the window, the wind has picked up and the river is barely visible, even from the short distance away.  “You want me to go?” Sam asks.

 

“No,” Dean replies, forcing his arms through his heavy winter jacket and taking one of Sam’s beanies off of another hook. “He’s my kid, I got it.”



*******




There aren’t many places open on Christmas Day, add in the weather and it takes Dean a couple of hours to find the batteries and make the trip home, but when his frozen limbs make it back to the cabin, daylight is starting to slip away. Dean hates winter, he has never been a fan of the cold, but he especially hates it now that his knees and back ache twice as much as they did when he was in his twenties.

 

Sam already has the dining room table set, waiting for Dean to come in, Elvis quietly crooning about Silver Bells in the background. The smell of pine needles and the fireplace is comforting

to his nearly frostbitten nose and Dean has to admit, he really is pretty content with his life.

 

They rarely use the dining room, both opting to eat in the kitchen or in front of the tv most nights, but occasionally, it is nice. Sam has placed several decorations around the room, a red plaid runner on the dark wood of the table, a set of snowflake tea lights floating in scented oils and the Christmas china that once belonged to Mary Winchester. Dean stops at the door of the room, taking in how festive and bright it looks, and Sam makes a beeline for him, kissing him softly on the lips.

 

“What was that for?” Casual displays of affection are normal, but Sam had moved like a man on a mission.  

 

Sam smiles at his brother, kissing him a second time and pointing up at the door frame. There, hanging above their heads, is mistletoe. Dean groans at how sappy his brother is, but doesn’t protest when Sam leans in and kisses him again. This time, his mouth is more demanding, licking and biting at Dean’s lower lip as he wraps his large arms around the older man’s waist and pulls him up against him. Sam’s mouth is warm, tasting of spiked eggnog and sugar and Dean can’t help chasing after the lingering sweetness on Sam’s tongue, his own hands resting against his brother’s dimpled cheeks.

 

”We should eat, before it gets cold,” Sam moans into a kiss, his sibling’s probing tongue is relentless, tangling around his own in a filthy collision of teeth and saliva.



“Hmmmm,” is Dean’s only reply, not even attempting to pull away. Finally Sam breaks away, placing strong hands on the shorter man’s shoulders to stop him from following. Dean is usually really good at controlling himself, as long as they haven’t touched; but once he gets his hands or mouth on Sam, all of that carefully cultivated control flies out the window. It is not his fault that he is a healthy, red-blooded man.

 

Dean looks at his brother with a forlorn expression, one he wears when Sam is being the sensible one. It is the one that Sam always has to look away from, knowing that he is always going to give in. “Come on,” Sam pulls him towards the table, where a meal that is nothing short of a feast waits.

 

Sam pours out some eggnog and hands it to his brother, who tentatively takes a sip before almost choking. “What the hell is in this?” Dean wheezes out around a cough and Sam smirks at him before pushing him down in his chair.

 

They don’t do this very often, just eating and talking about absolutely nothing; there is no talk of fires or the training schedules of the station, no trading notes on performance reviews of the company and no firehouse gossip. This is a side of the siblings that they only let each other see.

 

Way too much food and just as much wine later and Sam helps Dean load the dishwasher, pack up the leftovers and then take their one-hundred, ninety proof eggnog into the living room, where just the Christmas tree and the low light from the fire lights the room.

 

Sam hands his brother a package, wrapped in shiny red paper, a silver bow of curly cues dangling from the top. Dean looks at his brother with wide eyes before Sam says, “Open it, come on.”

 

Dean pulls the ribbon loose, finds the seam where the paper is sealed together and then pulls it free to reveal a white, rectangular box. Sam is nearly vibrating when Dean undoes the tape holding the box together, and pulls out a stack of colorful tickets. It’s season tickets to the Kansas City Royals Baseball team. “Sam…” Dean is at a loss for words, they agreed that they were not going all out this year.

 

“Do you like it?” the younger brother asks, apprehension warring with excitement and Dean stares at him with a gaping mouth.

 

“Of course I do, but we said we weren’t going to spend a lot of money,” Dean reasons, carefully putting the tickets back in the box and sitting it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

 

“Well, there are two tickets there, I figure that you might want to take me along sometimes. Or Ben. You can take anyone you want, but I was kind of hoping you’d take me at least some.” Nerves and the rum in the egg nog makes the younger brother ramble.

 

Dean scoots closer to Sam on the couch, leaning in until their noses almost touch and says, “Of course I will take you, you idiot.” He punctuates the sentence with a kiss to the side of Sam’s mouth. “Thank you.”

 

Sam practically beams at him, dimples on full display as he watches Dean get up and take a blue, brightly wrapped box from under the tree. He lays the large, heavy box in Sam’s lap and smiles. Sam doesn’t neatly open the package like his brother did his, instead he rips at the bright blue gift wrap, tearing into it like a small child. Dean doesn’t even try to hide the fond smile pulling at his lips as his grown-ass brother demolishes the covering before he can get to the top of the plain white box inside.

 

The younger brother doesn’t wait, he almost rips the top of the cardboard open, until he can see the red, white and blue of the Kansas flag painted in shiny enamel covered orb. He is only a little confused, pulling the object out of the box and seeing that it is a motorcycle helmet. There is writing on the side of the huge helmet that reads, To Sam, I may be a stuntman, but you are the real hero, Robbie Knievel. He is momentarily speechless, looking at the signature then back toward his brother, his eyes filling up with moisture. It must be from the fireplace.

 

“Say something,” Dean prompts, hoping that this wasn’t a terrible idea.

 

Sam opens his mouth, then closes it again, before finally sitting the helmet back in the box and gingerly placing it on the table next to Dean’s tickets. Once it is safely out of the way, Sam lunges forward and tackles his brother against the leather of the couch. He places four, short kisses on his brother’s mouth before saying, “Thank you,” and then climbing on top of the older man like he doesn’t have four inches and thirty pounds on him.

 

The eggnog and wine that they both have been consuming since Dean returned home is making them both warm and fuzzy-brained, their limbs are loose and Dean lets himself be manhandled into a horizontal position underneath Sam’s heavy frame. “I take it you like it?” He says with a grin and then Sam is tugging at his brother’s flannel shirt, pulling it off his shoulders and leaving him in his plain white undershirt.

 

“Sam?” The older man can’t believe he is going to say this, but Sam is pulling at his belt buckle and Dean won’t be able to stop once he gets that talented mouth on him. “Sammy, stop.”

 

Sam continues to tug the metal device, slipping the leather out of its bindings, but does look up at his brother to see what the issue is. “What’s wrong?”

 

Dean groans, flinging his head back against the back of the couch and says, “I need to go out and shovel the driveway and porch off, the snow is still coming down fast and I’d rather not have to do it in the morning.”

 

Sam looks at him like he has lost his mind, “It’s freezing outside,” his eyes big as saucers.

 

“No shit,” Dean answers, grabbing his shirt from where Sam threw it across the couch. “It’s just going to get colder after midnight and it will be worse in the morning.”

 

“But it's already dark out, how are you even going to see?” Sam grabs hold of his flannel, pulling it away from the older man again and throwing it over the back of the couch, “Oops,” he giggles out, the alcohol is definitely starting to have its effect on him.

 

“Sam…” Dean chastises him again and moves to get up off the couch.

 

“It’s cold outside,” Sam says again, wrapping his arms around his brother in a tight hold.

 

“You sound like that stupid Christmas song,” Dean rolls his eyes and adds, “I really should do it right now.”

 

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” Sam actually sings it this time, giggling at how ridiculous they both are.  

 

“You’re helping me in the morning, damn it,” Dean points a finger in his brother’s sternum, seeing Sam’s face light up knowing he’s getting his way.

 

Sam settles back in his brother’s lap, leaning in to kiss him gently. He tugs at the older man’s undershirt, moaning when he finally gets it untucked from his pants and can feel the warm skin of his brother’s muscular back.

 

“You want to take this to the bedroom?” Dean asks between kisses, pulling Sam’s hoodie over his head and tossing it in the same direction as his flannel shirt.

 

Sam shivers when the air hits his naked chest, but doesn’t stop lapping at his brother’s mouth, “Let’s stay here in front of the fire,” he manages to get out, while Dean nips at his jaw, letting his kisses get wetter and descend farther down Sam’s long, lean neck until he is biting across his collar bone.

 

Dean’s long, dexterous fingers work on Sam’s belt and the button to his pants, allowing the denim to slide off of his brother’s defined thighs, not stopping until he is pulling off the garment, along with his sibling’s socks.

 

Sam pulls at Dean’s t-shirt, slipping it off of his body before working on the older man’s already unbuttoned pants, tapping his side, so that Dean raises his lower body enough to allow the offending article to be dragged down his bowed legs. His boxers soon follow and when Sam leans down on top of him again, they are finally skin to skin. The warm, silky flesh feels like heaven, alcohol and genuine affection warming up the outside of their bodies as well as the inside when they glide together.

 

Dean holds Sam face in between his hands, the flicker of the fire and twinkling of the lights from the tree glimmer in Sam’s eyes as Dean searches his brother’s face. The love and adoration that is staring back at him makes his heart clinch in his chest, tears threatening to surface once again. He holds him there for an eternity, trying to telegraph his own passion and devotion back into those eyes; just when Dean thinks his heart is going to explode, Sam crashes their lips together again in a searing kiss, tangling his tongue and legs with those of his brother.

 

Dean’s hands, large and calloused, are surprisingly gentle as he cards one through Sam’s long, chestnut tresses and rests the other one of the small of his brother’s broad back.

 

Sam balances himself on his knees and one straight arm, hovering over Dean, his other massive hand sliding down his brother’s torso until he takes both of their hard lengths in his grip. He languidly strokes their engorged lengths, swallowing his brother’s whimpers as he eats at his mouth.

 

They make out like that for days or so it seems, just letting Sam’s hand pull them closer to climax, just to back off again, before starting the climb to the top of the summit yet again.  The slow, methodical edging is driving Dean insane, he is keyed up over and over again just to have Sam slow down to barely a feather’s touch.

 

They kiss until Dean’s tongue is numb, his lips swollen and his jaw is aching.  The older man’s blood boils and he is burning up from the inside, his dick so hard that it is starting to throb. It isn’t that pleasant twinge that normally happens when he and Sam are like this, it is actually starting to hurt when Sam finally slips his hand underneath the couch and pulls out a bottle of lube. Dean doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry, so he does neither, just plucks the bottle out of his brother’s grasp, the cap opening with a quiet snick.

 

The water-based substance is cold against Sam’s rim when Dean circles it with his middle finger, not penetrating yet, just coating the puckered opening with the slick silicone gel. He finally breeches the hole, his long finger sliding in with ease and Sam has to hold back his own pleas for Dean to hurry up. Hours pass, or maybe just minutes with Dean still only stretching Sam’s opening with a single digit, in and out but avoiding that tiny bundle of nerves that will light his brother on fire.

 

Sam decides that it is time to get this show on the road after what feels like an infinite amount of time has passed. He slicks up his own hand and strokes his brother with purposeful movements that cause the man underneath him to hiss and arch his back off of the cushions. They continue pushing and pulling at each other until Dean surrenders and adds a finger to the assault, finding Sam’s prostate with practiced ease and attacking it in retaliation. Sam gasps into his mouth and loses his hold on his brother’s weeping cock. He doesn’t know why they fuck like hand to hand combat sometimes, but he can honestly say that sex has never left him this wrung out and satisfied before.

 

By the time Dean adds a third finger, Sam is all but impaling himself down on his hand, the small, punched out little whines that are leaving the throat of his mountain of a brother are going straight to his own dick. Dean imagines himself spontaneously combusting before he even gets inside of that warm, pillowy cocoon that he could just stay in for the rest of his life.

 

Sam decides that he’s had enough prep to last him a lifetime and pulls away from his brother’s torturous ministrations, sits back on his haunches and looks down at the fuck drunk, half-lidded face beneath him. Dean’s hair is a mess, sticking up in a less than uniform fashion and his mouth is blood red, even in the low light from the fire. “How do you want me?”

 

Dean blinks, licking those cherry lips and lets his gaze wander all the way down Sam’s sweat glistening body and back up again, “Any way I can have you,” and Sam just shakes his head and crawls back over the prone man.  He adds some extra lube to his brother’s diamond hard shaft, gingerly stroking it before lining himself up.

 

Using one hand to line himself up and the other one to steady himself on the back of the couch, Sam slowly lowers himself down onto his brother’s waiting erection. It's terribly slow and agonizingly painful for Dean to not just thrust his hips up and into that tight channel, but he survives until Sam is all the way penetrated and seated flush against him. The older man’s abdominal muscles quake when Sam raises himself up just as slowly before sinking back down at the same speed. Dean thinks he’s going to die like this, his groin is going to catch fire and burn both of them to death. Just when he thinks it can’t get any slower, Sam rocks against him, undulating his hips in an almost circular motion and flash bulbs go off behind Dean’s eyelids that he doesn’t remember closing. When he finally unrolls his eyes and forces them open, Sam is still rocking in his lap with just enough movement to keep Dean from catching fire from the pressure.

 

Dean rocks his own hips, moving counterpoint to Sam’s movements, digging his fingernails into the top part of Sam’s strong thighs and almost breaking the skin. Sam is going to have fingerprint shaped bruises all over his lower body and Dean doesn’t even care at this point, he just holds on, letting his body be yanked up to the top of a cliff like a rollercoaster on a chain. The lazy pace continues, with Sam’s hair now soaking wet and knees protesting the position, but he can’t speed up, not when it feels like this.

 

Dean’s body is oversensitive, his balls protesting the non-existent  tempo and his nerves are lighting up like the damn Christmas tree in the corner. He is not a teenager anymore and says as much, grabbing Sam by hips and forcing him to move quicker. Bigger the younger brother may be, but Dean is still just as strong and even more stubborn, which Sam should be used to by now. It still takes him by surprise when Dean pushes the coffee table out of the way and rolls Sam off the couch and onto the unforgiving surface of the area rug that covers the hardwood flooring of the cabin.

 

The impact knocks the wind out of the younger man and Dean waits until he is hovering over him, Sam’s legs wrapped around his waist before he asks, “You good?”

 

Dean doesn’t wait for a reply, his brother fell a foot and a half, not off the roof, so he immediately lines himself up and sinks right back into the velvety void of Sam’s body. His strong, athletic thighs drive him into Sam deeper and deeper until Sam thinks he can feel his brother in his throat.

 

Dean only speeds up his powerful thrusts marginally, letting gravity drill into Sam’s sweet spot with skilled precision and a focus that would be scary if it was anyone but Dean driving. Dean fucks like he does everything, expertly and effortlessly. He’s able to reduce his brother to a quivering heap with just his fingers and his tongue. It used to unnerve Sam to be on the receiving end of his brother’s laser focus, but now he needs it, craves it even. Sam will push his brother as hard as he can until Dean snaps. It used to happen in sports or during fires, but now that they function as a team, it only happens when they make love.

 

Dean repositions Sam’s legs over his shoulders, bending his brother in half before pistoning his hips like it's his job; the pace is still sluggish, but now the friction between them is building up like steam in a pressure cooker. If someone doesn’t let some pressure off, they both will explode into a thousand pieces. The older brother plants his palms on the floor next to Sam’s head, then rises up on his tiptoes to change the angle of his deep plunges into Sam’s opening. The delicious bump and drag of his dick, pierces through every bit of will-power that Sam has left and he feels himself teetering on the edge of his pleasure plateau, he’s almost to the point of no return and can’t do anything about it. He has absolutely no leverage in this position, can only take what Dean gives him and pray that he doesn’t shatter into a million pieces before the man on top reaches the finish line.

 

As always, Dean knows all of his brother’s tells: every button, trigger, signal and sign that makes Sam tick, he knows every inclination, and every way to evoke a reaction out of his brother. Dean has spent a lifetime watching and listening to every proclivity that the younger man has and can play him like a violin; he can make his brother’s body bow and the sweetest melody that you've ever heard come from within it. He won't let his brother fall apart without being right there to glue him back together.

 

When Dean leans down, their faces not touching but sharing the same breath, and whispers, “Sammy,” his brother is done for. “Come for me,” is all the direction that Sam needs and suddenly he is exploding into a tornado of ecstasy, unrestrained bliss erupting from every pore in his body while axons and neurons light up like a pinball machine: TILT, TILT GAME OVER.

 

Dean doesn't need to feel the fluttering of Sam’s entrance to know that he has climaxed. The euphoria blossoming across Sam’s face is adequate evidence and knowing that his brother came because he told him to shoves Dean off the cliff behind him where he plummets, like Icarus when he's too close to the sun, splashing head first into rapturous delight. Dean let's his own orgasm spasm throughout every cell in his body, taking off like an ignited bottle rocket before detonating in a shower of colors with a bang.

 

Much like the report of a bottle rocket, Dean finally floats back down to earth, charred like a cinder block and still smoldering from the blast. His knees ache, he’s soaked in sweat from head to toe and hurts in all the right places. He slips out of Sam’s hole and rolls over on his back, nestling against the human pretzel that is his sibling.

 

Sam turns his head to gaze at Dean, eyes heavy with contentment and gratification, ”Holy fuck, Merry Christmas, ” comes out breathlessly between pants, Sam’s voice is jagged and low.

 

”Merry fucking Christmas, Sammy, ” Dean replies, fingers sweeping Sam’s sweaty hair off his forehead and out of his eyes.

 

They lay there next to the roaring fire, the Christmas tree casting an odd glow on everything in the living room while mother nature drops another two feet of snow on Kansas City and its surrounding areas. Going out in the morning is going suck, but right now, Dean thinks it was definitely worth it.

***