It’s been snowing here and getting back into writing has to start somewhere. So enjoy this little Wincest drabble. Don’t judge me too hard- it’s been a LONG time!
The snow is deeper than Dean's seen in years, a couple of feet at least, maybe a few inches more. He grins a little at his boots, as they sink with each step. It's so quiet and peaceful here, this little field on the side of the road where he'd pulled over, a blanket of undisturbed white on the ground and trees lining the edges of the property line.
“It looks like a Robert Frost poem,” he says, watching his breath swirl in the air.
Sam looks at him and smiles, cheeks flushed with the cold and making him look like he did twenty years ago, when his cheeks were always rosy and Dean spent his time aching to touch them. Anger had flushed Sam's skin then, but there's only calm behind his expression now. “You don't read,” he teases.
Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes.
The air swirls around them, blowing snow and whistling through he trees, and Dean inhales until his lungs burn with winter. The moment feels alive, electric, waiting for one of them to say something profound and important.
Dean throws a snowball instead.
It catches Sam on the shoulder, right where Dean had aimed. Sam doesn't even bother to look in Dean's direction as he immediately kicks at the mound of snow at his feet, sending up a spray that covers Dean's chest and face.
“Hey!” Dean laughs.
Sam shrugs. “You started it.”
And that's all it takes to start the fight, snow flying, both of them laughing as they slip and freeze and try to outlast the other. Finally, Dean launches his body at Sam instead of a snowball, pushing them both down into the soft cold.
“Get off me!” Sam shoves at Dean without meaning it, eyes crinkled with the laughter he's holding in.
Dean stares at him for just a moment. Sam is so beautiful, with his long hair plastered to the snow, his face covered with a beard he finally grew out, relaxation in the lines of his skin. Dean adjusts himself so that his body is completely on top of Sam's, then leans down and kisses him.
It's a gentle kiss, lips moving slow and sweet, taking the time to just feel Sam's own cold lips. Sam smiles a little, hands sliding up Dean's chest to grab his coat and pull him closer. Dean's heart crashes in his chest, fully appreciating the whole moment, the peace of this snow storm and of Sam pulling him down like gravity, down to where he belongs.
It only takes seconds for the kiss to change, for them to use their tongues and hands a little more, for Dean's hips to slowly slide against Sam's.
“Wait,” Sam finally says. “Let's get in the car. It's freezing.”
Dean kisses Sam's jaw, nuzzles his way down to Sam's shoulder and takes a deep breath, calming himself down. “Yeah, Sammy. Okay.”
Even when Sam stands up, when Dean is left sitting in the snow alone, the magic spell doesn't break. He is still in his own personal snow globe with Sam, his whole body thrumming with contentment and the knowledge of how lucky he is.
He looks around once more, taking in all the details, before grabbing the hand Sam offers and pulling himself up. He can't help but throw one more snowball as Sam nears the Impala.
Sam turns around, eyes narrowing. “Okay, you're gonna pay for that one.”
“Am I?” Dean teases.
He's still laughing as Sam pulls him into the backseat.