Three hours to launch time, Goddamit. His mouth flattened into a line as he found no way out of this, other than perhaps asking for Wesson to be relieved after they arrived planet side, and whenever another Telepath was available. Even that wouldn't be easy once the project began. Doing away with any false niceties, Dean got to the point. "Check your things in, then report to the lab. You're already late."
"Ah, yes, I don't do the sleep thing - I prefer to stay awake, get to know the crew." Sam's smile softened, "dreams are quite lovely and if people have any issues with nightmares I'm quite capable of dream-intervention. I'll ensure everyone has a pleasant journey." Sam shifted his kit to his other shoulder. "Is there someone available to show me to my compartment?" He cocked an eyebrow at Dean.
If possible, Dean's jaw tightened some more. "I'd rather you took the sleep option," he said, not wanting the man underfoot.
"Like I said," Sam raised his eyebrows, "I stay awake. According to in-flight regulations, it's my choice. So - my compartment?" This was certainly going to be a challenge. Sam really did understand that his abilities made some people uncomfortable, that there were still some small factions that considered what he did to be an unnatural mutation, something to be wiped out. Winchester didn't feel particularly violent. He was more guarded, closed off and it centered around more specific events. Sam frowned and rubbed his forehead - being around Dean was going to be draining and annoying.
Leaning to the side to look around Sam, Dean shouted, "Corporal? Is he in there?" Sighing, he got up. With the scramble to make the launch time, he didn't believe he would find someone fast enough. Striding to the door, he waited for Sam to exit, then walked to the small desk right outside the door, looked at the passenger list and assigned quarters. "This way," he marched down the hall, a bit irritated that Sam was keeping up. People in the corridors, some uniformed, some in civilian clothes, moved out of their way.
They reached a hatch, he opened it, and headed down some metal stairs. "Once you see your quarters, you may change your mind," Dean said, hopefully. They walked another hall, and then he stopped in front of a door. "Your quarters."
"Thank-you," Sam pressed his thumb against the entry pad and the door slid open revealing the tiny sleeping pod. Familiar with the routine, Sam reached up and released the storage compartment allowing it to fall open, then tossed his kit inside and closed it. "You know, Dean," he turned to face the source of the irritation that was washing over him, "I'm not the enemy."
"Don't be dramatic. Just stay out of my way, and I'm sure we'll get along famously." He pointed to the stairs on the other end of the hall. "That gets you back up to the level we were on. It's where the kitchen is, and other facilities that are open for use. Someone will go over that once we're underway. You have any questions, or are we done here?" At that moment, he vividly remembered putting the same question to Sam when he wanted to get the hell away from the man's probing mind, a few years ago.
"Are you going to waste this much energy on being irritated with me the entire journey, or would you like to have a drink with me at some point?" Sam smiled watching the other man's face go stony, "we need to discuss the crew manifest, don't worry I'm not suggesting anything untoward." He hopped up onto his bunk, the day's events finally catching up with him. He was tired.
"Don't worry, there's not a chance in hell of anything untoward, as you put it, happening between us," Dean ground out, though he had to once again pull his gaze away from Sam's mouth. What the fuck, the guy didn't think he was the enemy, but he was exactly that. "I'll have time for the discussion in a few days." Don't call me, I'll call you. Since there was silence in response, he used his fist on the entry pad, almost sagging against the door when it hissed closed. This... this thing with Sam Wesson was going to take up too much of his energy, he just knew it... saw it coming.
* * *
Hungry and a bit lonely Sam made his way to the dining lounge. There were likely to be a few people there at almost any hour and it was strangely comforting. The silence of space always took some getting used to and the one thing that seemed to help was when Sam spent time with the skeleton crew on board. He had spent his entire life living with the subtle thoughts and not-so-subtle feelings of the people around him. In space - things could be so quiet - far more quiet than he was used to.
There were enough people in the kitchen area, sitting around eating, that the room was quite full. Sam's eyes ran over the crowd and settled on a set of tense shoulders, and dirty blond hair. Dean had managed to avoid Sam quite successfully since they'd set out - it must actually have been taking quite a lot of effort and planning since the ship wasn't all that big. Dean had a nice body, he was muscular - obviously took care of himself. His green military issue t-shirt was a little damp at the small of his back, and Sam licked his lips. It was going to be a long trip.
He moved through the room, nodding and greeting the people he'd already begun to make friends with. It never took him very long - it was one of the advantages of being able to read even the subtle emotions that radiated from people. People found Sam likable, easy to talk to. His eyes moved across the hard line of Dean's off-putting shoulders... well, most people found Sam likable. He picked up a food pack off the counter and scanned the room only to discover that the only empty seat was right next to Winchester. He smiled softly, perfect, the perfect start to his day.
Walking over he took a few deep breaths and slipped into the seat beside the Captain. "Hi Dean," his voice was soft, almost inaudible in the buzz of conversation flooding the room. He tugged on the neck of his t-shirt, damp sweat already beading on his flesh. They always kept these damn ships too hot.
No. Oh God no. Dean had been enjoying his hot dogs and fries, one of the crew members had actually cooked for a couple of them. It had been sheer heaven, until the telepath entered the room, and Dean just knew where he was gonna end up sitting. He'd bet he was sitting there trying to read his body language, trying to drain off any emotional feedback he could get. "Samuel," he acknowledge the man but didn't smile. "Pass me the ketchup," he nodded to Sam's left, eyes flicking away the minute they were drawn to the motions of the guy's hand on his shirt.
Sam reached out and wrapped long fingers around the container sliding it toward Dean. "How are things going ... with the crew I mean?" He was tired of the animosity. Negative emotions wore Sam down - almost like sandpaper. For some reason, it was even worse with Dean, there was something about the man that saddened Sam. He felt somehow, cheated, that they weren't able to, at least, be friends but he had no idea where the feeling came from. It was strange.
Dean caught it. "Thanks." Squeezing the plastic bottle and covering a quarter of his plate with the red stuff, he answered. "Everyone seems to be taking care of their functions. No anomalies." They'd found that deep space travel, especially in certain quadrants, sometimes didn't agree with the human psyche and made people act... strangely, sometimes even dangerously. That was another reason it was preferred that most people sleep throughout the journey. "If you're asking about personality conflicts, ask someone else. I don't get involved in that," he said, his gaze meeting Sam's, a memory stealing into his mind - Then I suppose we will both have something to regret, won't we? What the hell? Why was he still thinking on that plastic meeting at the bar on Beta Centauri? It had been a set up, and it hadn't turned out the way he'd have predicted. But it wasn't the first time that had happened to him, and there were plenty of other men and women he'd been with since. Why should he remember those words, or that look in Sam's eyes. Why?
Sam unzipped his food packet and dumped some of the small food nuggets into his palm. "I was just making conversation." His thoughts wandered a bit, tugged away from him gently by the emotions around the room. He smiled - there was already a blossoming romance between two of the crew, he liked that- it made him feel like the place was more alive. Relaxing, he shifted in his chair, letting his legs fall to the side, he realized too late it was Dean's thigh he was leaning against. He picked up one of the nuggets and put it in his mouth, the warmth of Dean's thigh rippling through his body like some sort of crazy electricity.
"This isn't kindergarten, I don't have to share with the cla..." Dean started to answer someone who'd made a joke about the freshly made hot dogs, when he became aware of the heat spreading from the point their thighs touched. His heart gave a lurch, something that didn't happen often to him, not since he'd been a teen. Fuck. He used his elbow to nudge corporeal Smith, who was sitting next to him. "I'm going to go relieve Captain Richards at the helm." He started to take his plate and push away from the table, when Smith stopped him.
"Colleen is second chairing with him. I don't think he needs additional relief."
The smirk on Smith's face told Dean that the Captain of the ship was having a private moment with his wife. Great, fucking great. Nodding, he shifted his chair a little, so there was no fear of touching again, but the damage was done. His fucking pulse was too Goddamned high. His gaze shifted to Sam, narrowed, wondering if he was doing his 'reading crap.'
"I know you think that I'm constantly reading you," Sam's voice was low, gentle, only for Dean's ears. "I'm not, I'm not like that - all I can sense most of the time is what people are emitting because they want to. For instance, I can tell how much you ... dislike ... me and that's not something you're trying to keep a secret now is it?" He pushed his chair back and stood up, "have a good day, Dean."
He knew they needed to be able to work together. Without looking up, he spoke loud enough for Sam to hear him, but probably not the others. "It's not you personally, it's all telepaths." That wasn't the completely true, he was on edge around Sam more than other telepaths because something else was going on below the surface. Something he didn't understand. Didn't want to. That and the fact he'd been able to get past his mental defenses. "Finish your meal, I'm almost done anyway."
Sam paused for a moment and then sat back down, careful to keep his distance from Dean. He popped some more food in his mouth and grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe his face as he chewed. "Why do they keep these ships so warm?" He was muttering, he knew it, but he was frustrated.
"Torture? I dunno. Probably has to do with the bottom line. The more uncomfortable it is, the more people will choose the sleep route," he shrugged, picking up his hot dog and dipping it into the mustard and ketchup mixture on his plate, and stuffing a big piece into his mouth. "All it accomplishes is keeping people on edge." His jaw pulsed, he was talking about himself at that moment.
"Yeah," Sam blew out a long breath, "tell me about it." That's why he'd been so happy about the warmer feelings radiating from the two women behind him, who quite obviously found each other interesting and attractive. "There are some really good people on board though, I like them, well, the ones I've been speaking with." He offered Dean a slight smile and pushed the package of food away. "I guess a little edge is good when you're a Captain though, yeah?"
"I'm not the Captain of the ship, just a Captain," he corrected. There, it wasn't too hard. He was speaking civilly with the man. He looked at Sam's uneaten food. "You need to get hooked up with Price. She actually likes to cook... make it in here when she's in here, and she shares." He didn't offer to share his though, as he popped another French fry into his mouth. "You wanted to go over the manifest. I can do it tomorrow night. I take over the helm at midnight... so before then, eleven. Meet me in my office."
Sam nodded, "Okay ... thanks." He sighed and looked around the room. There were some good people on board, he was pretty sure that Dean was one of them - if he ever let anyone in. None-the-less, Sam knew it wouldn't be him that was let in.
Dean frowned. "Is that too late? Other option is six a.m."
"Eleven is fine," Sam nodded and blew out a breath, "I'm usually up at night - people are quieter... well, it's quieter for me." It was more peaceful when people were dreaming. Dreams were always easier to take than thoughts and feelings. Some of them were quite pleasant. The best thing about people dreaming was that the R.E.M. cycle wasn't all that long. He spent the better part of his evening ... alone.
"Fine." Finishing off his plate and licking his fingers, Dean wiped on a napkin and got up, taking his plate to the sink. He was a night owl, and didn't need much sleep. Dreams weren't usually kind to him anyway, so he preferred not to sleep.
* * *
A couple more days passed. Their meeting had gone without incident. Dean couldn't deny that tension still stretched thick between them. That Sam made him wary, made him want to throw up all of his defenses. His presence shot up his adrenalin somehow, triggering feelings akin to the 'flight or fight' instinct. He'd had to master both of those instincts just to get through the meeting. If it had been anyone other than Sam in his office, he would likely have moved to the round table and reviewed the manifest side by side, instead of using his large desk to keep the distance between them.
Something about Sam got to him. Alright, yes, he was afraid ... hated the thought of being read. Couldn't stand it that Sam had broken into his mind once already. But that wasn't all. There was a sense of impending doom, something he couldn't get rid of. Like Sam could get inside again and then somehow break him, which was impossible. He could not be broken. He wasn't afraid of death or of pain. He wasn't attached to what he owned, or anyone in particular. His mother had passed long ago, his father a few years ago, but he couldn't even make himself go to their resting place. The chasm between them had only grown over the years.
Anyway, he didn't avoid Sam as obviously as he had at first, but was more stealthy about it. Always courteous, but never too chatty. Even when he sometimes had this incredible urge to tell him a war story, or something... it would be at the tip of his tongue, then he'd hold back. He didn't want to be friends with that man, and he knew that some of the urges he was feeling, including his heightened sexual awareness of Sam, could be tied up with the fact that the man was a telepath. They could be sympathetic, could make you want to talk, to share, all the things Dean didn't want. Didn't need to feel.
Dean woke with a start. It was the fucking dream again, Goddamit. Even as he turned his head to look at the clock, feelings of intense sadness and abandonment washed over him. No. He was not doing this. He was not going back there, not now, not with a damned telepath aboard. Wiping the moisture that had crept down his face, he got out of bed. The fact that it was 4:00 a.m. be damned, he needed to do something with himself.
Pulling on some light sweat pants and grabbing a towel, he headed out of his room and up the stairs. Thumping the entry pad, he ducked inside the gym the moment the doors opened. Seeing as no one else was around, he put his own code in at the music selector station and then checking his playlist, picked some heavy metal. The instant the music started, a slight sense of peace washed over him. Between that and physical exertion, he'd be fine. Maybe be able to catch a couple more Zs.
As he made the rounds, using the machinery for weight lifting, using every muscle in his body, arms, legs, abs, he started to win the fight against the feelings evoked by the dreams he could never really remember. He didn't know how much time passed, but eventually he was wiping off, and laying down to use the bench press. Sure, he probably shouldn't be doing this alone seeing as he was testing his limits, but he needed this... needed to exhaust his body, and he would.
Sam whipped around the corner into the gym, hoping there wouldn't be too many people around. It was amusing to many of his colleagues in the Tel Unit but he didn't particularly like working out in front of people. He needed to work out, it made him feel better, it was a habit he had picked up back in his training days. When he was still young and had trouble being able to deal with all the emotion that surrounded him all the time, the focus, the intensity of working out had helped to ground him. He'd never stopped.
When the door slid open in front of him he was a bit disheartened to see Dean. Sure, things had improved slightly. They were much more like two solitary wolves circling each other respectfully now but it still wasn't all that comfortable. He noticed though, that the other man was bench pressing, not in keeping with ship protocols, alone. Sam wandered closer and waited until Dean pushed the weight bar up and settled it back on the metal rack before speaking, "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to report you to a Captain for lifting without a spotter." He smiled down at Dean.
Staring at Sam, upside down, he let out a deep breath and tried not to notice how the guy's tee pulled tight across his chest. He licked his lips, tasting salt, telling his mind that the form of exercise that he was suddenly starting to think about wasn't on his 'to do' list. "Yeah, well... I have a feeling the Captain will show leniency." He frowned. "What are you doing here? There a problem?"
"I came to work out, isn't that what most people do in here?" Sam tossed his towel down on the floor behind him. "Spot you if you like?" He rested his hands on the bar above Dean's head, one eyebrow raised.
"Only the insane ones at this time. Yeah, please," he added, wiping his hands on his thighs before gripping the bars again. His gaze briefly met Sam's, but he looked away quickly, feeling a little like he'd been burned.
Sam let his hands go loose on the bar, fingers grazing Dean's. "When you're ready." He shifted his legs apart a little, stepped forward and made sure he was stable. "I come here when it's quiet - I don't much like working out with other people around, and I like to be awake when the crew is sleeping. It's easier... for me."
"Hmm." He'd actually thought of Sam as a social butterfly, the way he knew about everyone and seemed to have a smile for all. "Easier how?" he asked, moving his hands slightly, so he could concentrate as his muscles tensed and he started to lift. Never had he had so much trouble focusing, forcing himself not to look at the telepath's flat abs and wonder what he looked like under the pants. This wasn't a Goddamned view screen encouter, and he needed to stay in control.
Sam's eyes wandered down Dean's arms, he obviously worked out a lot. "When I'm awake during the same hours as most of the crew - I get a bit bombarded by people's feelings. I know you think I seek it out - but I don't. In fact, I wish I could turn it off Sometimes, it's exhausting - although, you have a predominantly happy crew." He slipped his hands under the bar as Dean pushed the weights back up. "You doing reps of ten?"
"Yeah." Dean chewed on the information as he grit his teeth and did his presses. "Maybe you should learn to... block," the corner of his mouth quirked up a little. "Seriously, what are you going to do when we're not on a skeleton crew, or what if there is a mass disaster?" He'd never wanted to know, understand anything about those in the Tel Unit, and was surprised the question crossed his lips. Arms shaking, he started to bring the weights down.
Hands moving once more to hover above the bar Sam raised his eyebrows, a wry smile on his face. "I'm trained to block, but it seems unfair somehow. I mean - people can't shut off their thoughts from me so it only seems fair that I don't cut myself off from anyone. I .." Sam swallowed around a lump that was forming in his throat, "I was blocking once on a long mission and I missed something rather important, I could have .. well, I could have prevented something unfortunate from happening." He was surprised he was still speaking, and even more surprised he was speaking about that particular incident, "so, I don't block anymore." He watched Dean's arms trembling a little with the strain. "You good?" He slipped his hands further under the bar, careful not to touch it.
His tongue wet his suddenly dried lips, and he dropped the weights little faster than he intended, answering belatedly, "Yeah." Resting, he took a deep breath, and fought against his curiosity. He didn't like people in his business, and he didn't get in theirs. Those were the rules he played by. Before. "What happened? What did you miss?" he asked, knowing it had to be horrendous.
Shifting his weight Sam stepped back. "I missed someone who had a particularly bad reaction to being on a long term mission. I knew he was feeling the effects but I thought he was stable." He shrugged, "turned out he wasn't. When he finally had a psychotic break, he killed two other crew members and because I was blocking I missed it. It was my fault." Sam moved over to the closest weight machine and sat down. Adding some weight, he started working his biceps. "Of course, by Tel Unit standards I wasn't at fault. We are allowed to block for five hours a day. I just couldn't live with that." He grunted as he worked his arms.
Pushing up, Dean grabbed his towel and started drying his face and neck, watching the play of Sam's muscles as he worked the machine. "Well there's an irony for you. You're job is to help people let go of... things, and doesn't look to me like you let go of that." It came out sounding more insensitive than he intended, but that was his way of speaking. "I don't think anyone should be 'on call' twenty four seven, but I get how knowing something doesn't ... well you can still feel like you messed up, think that you could or should'a done something." He knew that well enough.
Dean nodded, sucking in his breath when Sam shifted and sort of lifted his hips before settling down again. "I should go." Trying to get his fucking hormones under control, Dean started to get up.
Sam glanced over at Dean. "For the record, my job is to facilitate healing when I can, and when I can't, I assist people in developing strategies for coping. I cope." He dropped the weights back down and reached for his towel, wiping the back of his neck. "If you doubt my ability to protect your crew I can send you my work record. I've not lost another crew member since then." He looked down, wiping his hands on his towel.
"I didn't... I didn't say that." The fact that Sam thought that's where his mind was gave Dean a little assurance that the telepath really wasn't reading him every second. "Besides... it was the first thing I checked. I was hoping for a valid reason to boot you," he grinned. "You're not very cooperative that way."
"Well," Sam pushed his hair off his face, "I try to do a good job." His eyes moved up to Dean's and he was surprised to see that other man smiling. He smiled back.
"I think you can handle more than that," Dean responded, looking at the weights, then moving closer to increase them. He could feel Sam's body heat. His gaze went to him, he looked thoughtful for a moment, considering what might have happened on that space station if... "There," he said almost softly, before pulling up.
"Thanks," Sam slipped his hands back over the pads and started lifting, "feels better. So - what about you - you have any work drama in your past?" He froze, "I didn't mean about... I mean - I wasn't trying to bring up.." his voice trailed off.
He searched Sam's face. "Nah, I'm... I'm over that." Yeah, that's why he occasionally looked up the blogs of some of those kids he'd rescued off the doomed passenger flight. A lot of them were messed up and a couple still pretty much wished he were dead. He was able to brush it off for the most part though, there was only so much a person could do. "I'd call my work day more adventure than drama," he shrugged. "Except when we're just... you know, traveling like now."
Sam started pulling the weight again, he could feel his t-shirt dampening with sweat. "Well, I'm okay with a little peace and quiet for a while. We'll have a lot of work to do when we get there. Are you done? I think I will ... just go take a shower or something." He let the weights fall back, "get a couple of hours of sleep after I wander around for a bit." The corners of his mouth twitched up into a slight smile, "have to do my nightly rounds, listen to a few dreams."
"Yeah, I'm done." He stepped away before Sam got up, and went to turn off his music. "Good night."
"Good night," Sam ran the towel over his face, "and thanks for talking to me like I'm ... normal." He smiled, hair sticking to his cheeks.
Dean just lifted his chin in response, waited a few minutes after Sam left, then followed him out.
* * *
It was only a few days before they'd reach Aragon and Dean had been putting in overtime because there had been errors in the original information that had been provided to him. The health and welfare of all the people aboard and those already on the planet were his responsibility. He had to make sure supplies would timely be delivered, confirm routes of delivery and contact the various governmental arms that had to interact on the diplomatic side.
Too tired to get up and go to his room, he put his head down on his arms on the desk. It was the about four a.m. and no one would be coming to see him anyway.
Goddamit, he did not need any bloodsucking Tel rambling around inside his head. Dean reached the office, and pushed the door open. It was Samuel Wesson. Again. He was sitting in his arm chair, waiting for him, but he hadn't hear him walk in.
Slowly, he walked up behind Sam, determined to do now what he should have done the first time he found out the sexy guy he'd met at the bar was the Tel assigned to analyze him. Distracted him, shown him what he'd missed out on, maybe make up for some lost time.
When he was close enough, Dean took a quarter step to the side of the arm chair so he was still mostly behind Sam. Leaning in, he brought on palm down over Sam's chest, right under his heart, and with the other, he cupped the side of Sam's throat, moving both hands up simultaneously, one hand stroking over Sam's chest, the other forcing his face and mouth toward him. God that mouth, thoughts of it had tortured him since he'd last seen Sam. It was time to end the torture now.
Leaning in, Dean ran his own mouth over the expanse of Sam's throat, his hands and mouth moving constantly, worshiping Sam. Oh God, the moan that broke from the Tel, the way he allowed him to pull his face, his body, in whatever direction Dean wanted, and fuck, the warm moisture he felt when Sam's mouth skimmed his ear as he continued to kiss Sam's throat, had Dean hard and needy ... so fucking needy.
Sam's body moved with the slide of Dean's hands. His hips shifted up and like a wave, the movement ran up his spine, his chest and his neck. He breathed in the warm scent of the other man's body, lips barely brushing Dean's ear as he moved away. Dean was near him, then far away, then his hands were moving down his body starting the writhing wave all over again. Sam's long fingers gripped the arm of the chair, shaking with the lust running through his veins.
As Dean gently cupped Sam's jaw and moved his hand upwards, mapping every plane of his face, he brought his own mouth close to Sam's, so close he could feel the puffs of air leaving Sam. He brushed the corner of Sam's mouth, heat radiating through his system at that slight touch. "Sammy," he breathed so low, the only reason the other man could hear him was that they were so close.
God, Sam felt so good under his palms, so responsive, so pliable. Dean's hand traveled over hard muscle, dipping into the valleys between each muscle group as he made his way down to Sam's abs. So good, so fucking good, and they weren't even in bed yet. Just as his hand covered Sam's shaft, his mouth slanted over Sam's in an upside down kiss. Tongues tangled, danced together, as he squeezed and pressed, and groaned at the feel of Sam growing harder and thicker for him.
Sam's hand was trembling as he reached up, fingers ghosting over Dean's cheek. His hips shot up off the chair as he moaned into the dark warmth of Dean's mouth. His free hand clawed at his own thigh, fingers digging into the muscle. He wanted this man and his body ached, his spine curved towards the touch of Dean's hands. Sam's tongue sweep across the roof of Dean's mouth, so warm, and skimmed across his smooth teeth. He writhed under the touch, the feel of the kiss sending small shocks through his body.
Moving more to the side, Dean continued to kiss Sam, his mouth working over those soft sensuous lips that had taunted him for too long, tasting him, tracing the edges of his mouth then penetrating it deeply. The way Sam kissed him back, let him run his hand all over his body, lifted his hips just right, it was like a moment they'd been working towards, and when it came, they knew exactly what to do. Groaning, teasing the shell of Sam's ear, tracing it with his tongue, then kissing softly... his stomach tightening as Sam raised his face, searching for the heat of his mouth. That was when Dean couldn't take a moment more, and moved to straddle his thighs.
Dean woke with a jerk, breathing hard, and suffering from a raging hard-on. For once, he remembered his dream, and cursed under his breath. Goddamit, he didn't need to be dreaming about the Telepath, didn't need to be thinking about him at all.
Pushing away from the desk, he crossed the room in two strides, and as he walked out, rubbed the pad of his thumb over his still burning lips.
Sam had been wandering the aft corridors of the ship when he'd first sensed a sort of tug at his mind, like he was being called, and if his memory of how it felt was correct - it seemed like it was coming from Dean. He wandered towards the Captain's office each step bringing him a little more clarity, Dean wanted him, needed him somehow. Sam's pace quickened as he moved through the empty corridors of the ship, the sound of his footsteps echoing ahead of him.
The closer he got - the stronger then sensation and then it slammed into him as he neared Dean's office. Hands on his body, moving, exploring - and lips so close to his ear, his cheek. Dean wanted him, wanted to touch his lips, his arms, the curve of his chest. Sam's step faltered and he stumbled into the wall outside Dean's office, leaning his cheek against the cool metal wall. He'd felt dreams before, obviously, it was part of his job - but never something so sensual and entirely directed at him. His hand shook as he leaned it against the wall in front of his face, the need was overwhelming, he could feel his heart thundering in his chest, pushing his blood through his veins faster and faster. Sam's eyes drifted closed at about the same moment as he heard the door to the office slide open.
Sensing a presence, Dean lifted and turned his head slightly, his eyes widening at the sight of Sam pressed flat against the wall, his face flushed... just like it had been in his dream. Fucking hell. "You were eavesdropping?" It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. And just like that, they were back to square one. "Sonova..."
His jaw was so tight as he walked away, that it ached as much as his fucking dick, Once they got planet side, best thing he could do was find a warm willing body, and stop thinking or dreaming about that Telepath with a penchant for snooping. He'd believed him before. Maybe even started to trust him. But what he'd done now... it was exactly what Dean expected all along.
"Dean..." Sam called out as the other man retreated down the hallway. He knew he wouldn't answer. The anger, and worse betrayal he left behind in his wake was overwhelming. Sam slid down the wall as his eyes followed Dean's stiff back until he turned a corner and disappeared. He hadn't followed it deliberately, it had been - like he was called, like he was needed, so of course he followed the dream. He banged his head back against the wall - the trust they'd built was so fragile and now it was gone in an instant. Sam knew Dean well enough to know there'd be no chance for him to explain. Sighing he ran a hand down over his face, and palmed the front of his pants trying to relieve some of the pressure there. He really did regret their not being together, it was a shame that Dean would never believe that now.