Fic: Forgotten Trees (Sam/Dean NC-17) For the Kink/Cliche challenge
Title: Forgotten Trees
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: 2,804
Warnings: Wincest
Timeline: During season one, so no spoilers
Beta:
leighm
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me, and no profit is being made.
Summary: After a ghost attacks Sam during a hunt, Dean finds that the best cure for Sam’s illness might lead to something neither of them expected.
Notes: For the kink/cliché challenge. My prompt was: huddling for warmth/the sexual joys of hypothermia.
I took some liberties with the onset of hypothermia, but hey, this is a cliché fic, right?
Title from Noah’s Dove, by 10,000 Maniacs
Forgotten Trees
“What kind of lame-ass ghost haunts a deer camp?” Dean asks, rubbing his palm over a splintered sign, brushing off dirt to reveal the words “no trespassing” written in faded black paint.
“The one whose hunting buddy left him dead on his deer stand,” Sam says, staring in the direction of the abandoned shack that once served as the hunting club. At Dean’s questioning look, Sam points straight ahead at the skeleton perched on a rusted deer stand, its skull hanging limply as if the torso were tied to the tree behind it.
“Ah,” Dean says, squinting over at the dangling bones, rubbing his numb hands together. “Let’s burn the fucker then.”
They head toward the deer stand, and the only path not filled with barbed wire and brambles follows the curve of a small pond, slick with ice. It hasn’t been cold enough in northern Tennessee for the ice to be solid, and Dean calls over his shoulder to his brother, “Watch it, Sammy.”
Sam sighs, with what sounds like a mixture of playful scorn and real irritation but there’s no retort, and Dean’s just opening his mouth to say something sarcastic when he hears brittle crack of branches, followed by the sound of Sam screaming.
Dean turns just in time to see his brother flying off the narrow path, toward the half frozen pond.
Sam’s training kicks in as he falls, and he spreads his arms and legs wide to distribute his weight, landing flat against the ice. Dean can see the water seeping out of the cracks, making dark patches on Sam’s jeans, and he races toward his brother, throwing himself onto his stomach, extending his arm toward Sam as the ice creaks and crumbles, then shatters and begins to pull apart.
Sam inches forward, his fingers curling uselessly at the ice as he motions upward with his head, the freezing water covering his legs entirely. “Dean. The ghost.”
Dean stops reaching for Sam long enough to roll onto his side and aim his gun at the air right above Sam, firing at the faint tinge of swirling black mist. Once the vapor’s dissipated and the ghost is gone again, Dean’s scrambling, grabbing Sam’s arms and tugging him forward, just as the ice splits completely and the water rushes up over Sam’s head.
Dean keeps yanking, tugging him forward, out of the water and onto the shore. “Hang on, man, I need a second,” Sam says, doubling over, trying to catch his breath as Dean hauls him to his feet.
“We can’t wait long. It’s about 12 degrees out here, and you’re soaked,” Dean says as he wraps his arm around Sam’s waist, forcing him to walk forward, practically dragging him to the car. Dean digs through the trunk, grabbing a towel and their thermal blankets, and starts the car, spinning the heater dial as far up as it will go before hurrying back to Sam, who’s already stripped his jacket and shirt off.
Sam’s shaking, fumbling with his belt. “Can’t get it, can’t feel my fingers.”
Dean moves quickly, getting Sam completely undressed, drying him off, and then wrapping him in the thermal blanket they’ve always kept with the first aid kit. Dean runs through all the facts he knows about hypothermia, and tries to keep Sam talking as he drapes the blanket around Sam’s shoulders. “This thing’s been around almost as long as we have-I remember when Dad bought it.”
Sam tries to smile, but doesn’t quite make it. “Yeah… I remember, Dad said we needed red so no stains showed.”
He gets Sam seated in the Impala, making him cross his arms and tucks the blanket behind his back, wrapping the second thermal blanket around Sam’s legs. “You know, they need to make these in giant sizes.”
Sam ignores Dean’s attempts to lighten the mood, frowning at his brother. “Dean. You’ve still got to salt and burn the bones. Go.”
Dean stops fiddling with the blankets and stares at Sam, running his hand over his forehead. “I can’t leave you here like this.”
Sam shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “Go. It won’t take five minutes.”
Dean looks closely at Sam, hoping that he’s imagining the bluish tint to his lips. He folds Sam’s stiff fingers around one of the guns and grabs a shovel, running toward the bones of the dead deer hunter. He cuts the poor bastard down from the tree stand, and tosses the bones in a shallow pit, making sure they’re blazing before he rushes to the Impala. The drive back consists of Dean sneaking glances at Sam, and chattering away, asking questions over and over, while Sam shivers and answers Dean’s questions with one or two words.
Dean sighs in relief when they reach the motel.
***
Dean makes Sam sit in the car while he runs in to grab a pair of socks, refusing to let Sam walk the ten feet from the car to the motel door barefoot.
“You’re worse than Aunt May,” Sam says, his speech already slurring.
Dean’s shoulders tighten when he hears the mangled words. He was hoping that Sam didn’t actually have hypothermia, but the slurred words are making Dean think this is more serious than he thought. That and the fact that he has no idea what Sam’s talking about. “Aunt Fay?”
“Hello, Spiderman?” Sam says with an incredulous snort as he flops onto the bed, as if Dean’s just asked who the lead singer of the Rolling Stones is. Sam rolls onto his side, almost listless and mumbles, “Cold. Wanna get in the bathtub, Dean.”
“No. You know better than that.” Thank god Dean remembers enough about hypothermia to know that a hot bath is off-limits.
Sam rolls over on his side, his eyes already closing as the blanket slips down his shoulders. “Don’t care.”
“Well I care, and you’re not doing it,” Dean says, stripping off all of his own clothes and pulling the covers back, tugging them from under Sam’s long legs.
Sam opens his eyes as Dean arranges the covers. “You’re naked,” he says, his words slack and lethargic.
“Yes, I am, and I don’t want to hear a word about it-it’s exactly what I’m supposed to do.” Dean props two pillows up against the headboard and settles against them, prodding Sam until he scoots up the bed. It takes forever, but he finally gets Sam in front of him, his back to Dean’s chest. “You can Google it and see.”
“I’ll do that.” Sam’s barely gotten the words out before his eyes close, his head falling back, limp against Dean’s shoulder.
Dean shakes Sam and pinches his sides, but he only twitches and shifts, not waking up. But his breathing is even, so Dean lets him sleep, doing his best to keep Sam warm with his own body heat.
Sam’s head is heavy on Dean’s shoulder, and he’s starting to sweat where Sam’s back is pressed against his chest. But Dean doesn’t mind, because he can feel that Sam’s skin is starting to feel less clammy, and Dean’s pretty sure that he’s going to be fine.
Then Sam tilts his head, and a strand of his hair brushes Dean’s cheek, silky smooth, and Dean turns his face toward his brother, who smells like cold air and pine needles. He kisses Sam’s cheek, pressing his lips against his tan skin, tightening his arms around his brother’s chest.
Dean stays awake for a long time, glad that Sam’s too out of it to feel how hard he is.
***
When Dean wakes up, it’s still dark outside. He’s not sitting against the headboard anymore, but lying on his back with his arm under Sam’s head. He tries to sit up to check on Sam, but something’s covering half his body. He shifts and it hits him that it’s Sam wedged up against him, and oh god, Sam’s hard and his erection is pressing into Dean’s hip.
Dean takes a few deep breaths, remembering what happened once before, when Sam was eighteen-the summer before he left. Dean’s never been sure what exactly caused it, but one minute Dean was almost asleep, and the next minute, Sam was behind him on the bed, his hand skating over Dean’s hip through the thin beige sheet. Dean had tried to shove Sam’s hand away, tried to roll across the bed, but Sam slid in behind him, his touch turning from a caress into a grip, and Dean stayed where he was.
Dean had let Sam jack him off, let Sam rub against him until he came, warm and sticky against Dean’s back, and then let him lie there for hours, neither of them talking.
They never mentioned it.
And yeah, Dean knows he’s always needed Sam, in the way that a house needs a foundation, but he’s never allowed himself to think past the need to the want. Not since that day. Not since he assumed Sam thought the whole thing was a mistake.
Dean starts slowly inching away, tiny minute movements that he hopes won’t make the bed creak or the covers rustle. He’s barely moved when Sam stretches his arms above his head and opens his eyes, snuggling closer to Dean’s chest, rubbing his erection against Dean’s thigh.
Dean tenses-Sam can’t realize what he’s doing-it must be the hypothermia.
But Sam’s not acting confused. He’s not acting confused at all-he’s crawling out from under the bedspread and he’s covering Dean with his body, moving his head down to bite the edge of Dean’s ear.
Dean stifles a groan as his cock gets harder. “Sam.”
Sam nuzzles Dean’s neck, letting his lips brush Dean’s collarbone over and over. “What?”
Dean wants to protest, to stop and tell Sam to think about this, but the tingle of Sam’s breath on his neck makes him shiver, dizzy with want, and he doesn’t want to question anything right now. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah. I am. Always have been.”
So Dean doesn’t press; he’s fine with not getting into a discussion right now. If Sam wants this, then that’s enough for him. He lets Sam kiss his neck once more, then grabs Sam’s wrists and points at his brother. “Back under the covers. You’re not over this yet.”
“Dean.”
“Sam. Now.”
Sam grumbles and whines, but crawls toward the head of the bed and wiggles under the covers. “Happy?”
“Yes,” Dean says, heaping all the blankets onto Sam until he’s rolling his eyes, but Dean doesn’t care.
Dean scoots them both down under the covers, rolling on top of Sam, making sure he’s not putting too much weight on him, which earns him another eye roll and an exasperated, “I’m not going to break, you know.”
“Shh.” Dean presses his fingers against Sam’s lips. “I think this might be the best way to keep you warm,” Dean says as he lowers his mouth to Sam’s.
Sam’s skin is no longer clammy or cold, and Dean stretches himself out, rubbing his foot all the way down Sam’s leg as he kisses him, slow at first, increasing the speed as Sam tilts his head, opening his mouth more.
Dean moans, and pulls back, looking down at the slope of his brother’s jaw, and the tan skin around his mouth. He’s never kissed Sam before, not even that time, and it feels more natural than he’d imagined, even with the rough graze of hair on Sam’s chin and across his cheek. And now that the stubble’s scraped across Dean’s lips, he’s fascinated, and moves his mouth, kissing down Sam’s jaw, nipping and sucking
“How far do you want to take this?” Dean whispers, and when Sam says, “Fuck me,” without hesitation, Dean has to grab himself to keep from losing it and coming all over the bed.
Dean fishes his wallet out of the nightstand and grabs two condoms with lube, hoping that will be enough. He rips open one pack, slicking his fingers from the lube on the outside of the condom, and rubbing all over Sam’s ass while he kisses him again.
He moves his mouth back to Sam’s face as he touches him, lips over his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, down the sides of his cheeks. He worries for a moment that he’s being too soft, too gentle, and treating Sam like a girl, but Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing in short little pants, and his cock is rock hard against Dean’s thigh, so he figures he’s doing okay.
So Dean keeps going as he slides one finger into Sam, mouthing his chin and ear and the spot where his hair meets his jawline, licking there and then sucking down his neck as Sam squirms under him, inhaling sharply. “Don’t stop.”
Dean doesn’t stop, because it’s what Sam wants-he pushes one finger in, then two, slowly and carefully, watching Sam’s face and listening to his moans that balance between discomfort and interest. Dean wants to say something like, “You’re gorgeous Sammy, you make me crazy,” but he doesn’t. He thinks it though, when Sam cries out as Dean moves his fingers in just the right way.
Sam’s rocking up against Dean now, enjoying it, and Dean pulls his fingers out, gathering more lube and slicking his erection. He pushes his cock in, carefully, a fraction of an inch at a time, while Sam squeezes his eyes shut and holds onto Dean’s hips, fingers tight and gripping.
Dean holds himself still, not moving, barely breathing. “We don’t have to, you know-we can figure something else out.”
“Shut up, Dean. Just…just do it, okay?”
Dean doesn’t know if this way is easiest; he’s only slept with girls. But he knows enough about the basics to go slowly, and he tries distracting Sam by kissing him again, licking his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, lowering his entire body down so that he’s resting on one arm. He reaches between them and rubs Sam’s cock, happy to feel that it’s still mostly hard. He twists his fist around the head, smearing the slick wetness down Sam’s erection as he allows his body to push farther into Sam.
Sam groans but lifts his hips, meeting Dean, and Dean inches forward. “Almost there, Sammy,” he says, ducking his head to push his tongue flat against Sam’s neck, licking forcefully as he slides all the way into his brother.
“Jesus,” Sam says, exhaling, and Dean can feel his breath against his neck.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” Sam shifts and rolls his hips, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist, moving his hands from Dean’s hips to grab his ass, rubbing his hands all over the hard muscle.
“God.” Dean was already close from the tug of Sam’s muscles around his cock, but Sam’s hands on him are hot and firm, and damn, it feels like his brother’s really into this, which makes Dean even more turned on, and he already feels a bit lightheaded with the fact that he’s in Sam.
“You can move,” Sam whispers, and Dean does, thrusting into Sam in steady movements, still holding onto his cock.
Sam stretches and moves and rolls with Dean, moaning and panting, his skin hot and flushed, and Dean wonders vaguely if they shouldn’t be doing this so soon after Sam was sick. But he knows that any mention of it will annoy Sam, so he leaves it, content to revel in the feeling of his brother beneath him.
“Dean. Oh, god,” Sammy says, crying out, the sound stark against the low rumble of their moans. Dean’s eyes go straight to Sam’s face, and his eyes are closed again, but the corners of his mouth are turned up into a slight smile.
Dean grins quickly against Sam’s cheek, tightening his grip on Sam’s cock, stroking faster. “Love being inside you, Sammy,” Dean says, quietly against Sam’s ear, and Sam throws his head back, shuddering as he comes, clutching Dean’s hips again before relaxing back into the mattress with a satisfied exhale.
Dean bows his head, and rocks into Sam three more times before he’s done, coming with a loud moan. He rests his forehead against the pillow and collapses onto his brother, amazed. He lifts himself off of Sam, rolling onto his back, slightly buzzed as he tries to breathe normally again.
Dean glances at his brother, pleased to see that Sam’s smiling through a yawn, flexing his arms and stretching them above his head as he burrows under the covers he didn’t want. He catches Dean’s eye and his smile widens, tired and lazy. “Maybe I should fall into icy water more often.”
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: 2,804
Warnings: Wincest
Timeline: During season one, so no spoilers
Beta:
leighm
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me, and no profit is being made.
Summary: After a ghost attacks Sam during a hunt, Dean finds that the best cure for Sam’s illness might lead to something neither of them expected.
Notes: For the kink/cliché challenge. My prompt was: huddling for warmth/the sexual joys of hypothermia.
I took some liberties with the onset of hypothermia, but hey, this is a cliché fic, right?
Title from Noah’s Dove, by 10,000 Maniacs
Forgotten Trees
“What kind of lame-ass ghost haunts a deer camp?” Dean asks, rubbing his palm over a splintered sign, brushing off dirt to reveal the words “no trespassing” written in faded black paint.
“The one whose hunting buddy left him dead on his deer stand,” Sam says, staring in the direction of the abandoned shack that once served as the hunting club. At Dean’s questioning look, Sam points straight ahead at the skeleton perched on a rusted deer stand, its skull hanging limply as if the torso were tied to the tree behind it.
“Ah,” Dean says, squinting over at the dangling bones, rubbing his numb hands together. “Let’s burn the fucker then.”
They head toward the deer stand, and the only path not filled with barbed wire and brambles follows the curve of a small pond, slick with ice. It hasn’t been cold enough in northern Tennessee for the ice to be solid, and Dean calls over his shoulder to his brother, “Watch it, Sammy.”
Sam sighs, with what sounds like a mixture of playful scorn and real irritation but there’s no retort, and Dean’s just opening his mouth to say something sarcastic when he hears brittle crack of branches, followed by the sound of Sam screaming.
Dean turns just in time to see his brother flying off the narrow path, toward the half frozen pond.
Sam’s training kicks in as he falls, and he spreads his arms and legs wide to distribute his weight, landing flat against the ice. Dean can see the water seeping out of the cracks, making dark patches on Sam’s jeans, and he races toward his brother, throwing himself onto his stomach, extending his arm toward Sam as the ice creaks and crumbles, then shatters and begins to pull apart.
Sam inches forward, his fingers curling uselessly at the ice as he motions upward with his head, the freezing water covering his legs entirely. “Dean. The ghost.”
Dean stops reaching for Sam long enough to roll onto his side and aim his gun at the air right above Sam, firing at the faint tinge of swirling black mist. Once the vapor’s dissipated and the ghost is gone again, Dean’s scrambling, grabbing Sam’s arms and tugging him forward, just as the ice splits completely and the water rushes up over Sam’s head.
Dean keeps yanking, tugging him forward, out of the water and onto the shore. “Hang on, man, I need a second,” Sam says, doubling over, trying to catch his breath as Dean hauls him to his feet.
“We can’t wait long. It’s about 12 degrees out here, and you’re soaked,” Dean says as he wraps his arm around Sam’s waist, forcing him to walk forward, practically dragging him to the car. Dean digs through the trunk, grabbing a towel and their thermal blankets, and starts the car, spinning the heater dial as far up as it will go before hurrying back to Sam, who’s already stripped his jacket and shirt off.
Sam’s shaking, fumbling with his belt. “Can’t get it, can’t feel my fingers.”
Dean moves quickly, getting Sam completely undressed, drying him off, and then wrapping him in the thermal blanket they’ve always kept with the first aid kit. Dean runs through all the facts he knows about hypothermia, and tries to keep Sam talking as he drapes the blanket around Sam’s shoulders. “This thing’s been around almost as long as we have-I remember when Dad bought it.”
Sam tries to smile, but doesn’t quite make it. “Yeah… I remember, Dad said we needed red so no stains showed.”
He gets Sam seated in the Impala, making him cross his arms and tucks the blanket behind his back, wrapping the second thermal blanket around Sam’s legs. “You know, they need to make these in giant sizes.”
Sam ignores Dean’s attempts to lighten the mood, frowning at his brother. “Dean. You’ve still got to salt and burn the bones. Go.”
Dean stops fiddling with the blankets and stares at Sam, running his hand over his forehead. “I can’t leave you here like this.”
Sam shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “Go. It won’t take five minutes.”
Dean looks closely at Sam, hoping that he’s imagining the bluish tint to his lips. He folds Sam’s stiff fingers around one of the guns and grabs a shovel, running toward the bones of the dead deer hunter. He cuts the poor bastard down from the tree stand, and tosses the bones in a shallow pit, making sure they’re blazing before he rushes to the Impala. The drive back consists of Dean sneaking glances at Sam, and chattering away, asking questions over and over, while Sam shivers and answers Dean’s questions with one or two words.
Dean sighs in relief when they reach the motel.
***
Dean makes Sam sit in the car while he runs in to grab a pair of socks, refusing to let Sam walk the ten feet from the car to the motel door barefoot.
“You’re worse than Aunt May,” Sam says, his speech already slurring.
Dean’s shoulders tighten when he hears the mangled words. He was hoping that Sam didn’t actually have hypothermia, but the slurred words are making Dean think this is more serious than he thought. That and the fact that he has no idea what Sam’s talking about. “Aunt Fay?”
“Hello, Spiderman?” Sam says with an incredulous snort as he flops onto the bed, as if Dean’s just asked who the lead singer of the Rolling Stones is. Sam rolls onto his side, almost listless and mumbles, “Cold. Wanna get in the bathtub, Dean.”
“No. You know better than that.” Thank god Dean remembers enough about hypothermia to know that a hot bath is off-limits.
Sam rolls over on his side, his eyes already closing as the blanket slips down his shoulders. “Don’t care.”
“Well I care, and you’re not doing it,” Dean says, stripping off all of his own clothes and pulling the covers back, tugging them from under Sam’s long legs.
Sam opens his eyes as Dean arranges the covers. “You’re naked,” he says, his words slack and lethargic.
“Yes, I am, and I don’t want to hear a word about it-it’s exactly what I’m supposed to do.” Dean props two pillows up against the headboard and settles against them, prodding Sam until he scoots up the bed. It takes forever, but he finally gets Sam in front of him, his back to Dean’s chest. “You can Google it and see.”
“I’ll do that.” Sam’s barely gotten the words out before his eyes close, his head falling back, limp against Dean’s shoulder.
Dean shakes Sam and pinches his sides, but he only twitches and shifts, not waking up. But his breathing is even, so Dean lets him sleep, doing his best to keep Sam warm with his own body heat.
Sam’s head is heavy on Dean’s shoulder, and he’s starting to sweat where Sam’s back is pressed against his chest. But Dean doesn’t mind, because he can feel that Sam’s skin is starting to feel less clammy, and Dean’s pretty sure that he’s going to be fine.
Then Sam tilts his head, and a strand of his hair brushes Dean’s cheek, silky smooth, and Dean turns his face toward his brother, who smells like cold air and pine needles. He kisses Sam’s cheek, pressing his lips against his tan skin, tightening his arms around his brother’s chest.
Dean stays awake for a long time, glad that Sam’s too out of it to feel how hard he is.
***
When Dean wakes up, it’s still dark outside. He’s not sitting against the headboard anymore, but lying on his back with his arm under Sam’s head. He tries to sit up to check on Sam, but something’s covering half his body. He shifts and it hits him that it’s Sam wedged up against him, and oh god, Sam’s hard and his erection is pressing into Dean’s hip.
Dean takes a few deep breaths, remembering what happened once before, when Sam was eighteen-the summer before he left. Dean’s never been sure what exactly caused it, but one minute Dean was almost asleep, and the next minute, Sam was behind him on the bed, his hand skating over Dean’s hip through the thin beige sheet. Dean had tried to shove Sam’s hand away, tried to roll across the bed, but Sam slid in behind him, his touch turning from a caress into a grip, and Dean stayed where he was.
Dean had let Sam jack him off, let Sam rub against him until he came, warm and sticky against Dean’s back, and then let him lie there for hours, neither of them talking.
They never mentioned it.
And yeah, Dean knows he’s always needed Sam, in the way that a house needs a foundation, but he’s never allowed himself to think past the need to the want. Not since that day. Not since he assumed Sam thought the whole thing was a mistake.
Dean starts slowly inching away, tiny minute movements that he hopes won’t make the bed creak or the covers rustle. He’s barely moved when Sam stretches his arms above his head and opens his eyes, snuggling closer to Dean’s chest, rubbing his erection against Dean’s thigh.
Dean tenses-Sam can’t realize what he’s doing-it must be the hypothermia.
But Sam’s not acting confused. He’s not acting confused at all-he’s crawling out from under the bedspread and he’s covering Dean with his body, moving his head down to bite the edge of Dean’s ear.
Dean stifles a groan as his cock gets harder. “Sam.”
Sam nuzzles Dean’s neck, letting his lips brush Dean’s collarbone over and over. “What?”
Dean wants to protest, to stop and tell Sam to think about this, but the tingle of Sam’s breath on his neck makes him shiver, dizzy with want, and he doesn’t want to question anything right now. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah. I am. Always have been.”
So Dean doesn’t press; he’s fine with not getting into a discussion right now. If Sam wants this, then that’s enough for him. He lets Sam kiss his neck once more, then grabs Sam’s wrists and points at his brother. “Back under the covers. You’re not over this yet.”
“Dean.”
“Sam. Now.”
Sam grumbles and whines, but crawls toward the head of the bed and wiggles under the covers. “Happy?”
“Yes,” Dean says, heaping all the blankets onto Sam until he’s rolling his eyes, but Dean doesn’t care.
Dean scoots them both down under the covers, rolling on top of Sam, making sure he’s not putting too much weight on him, which earns him another eye roll and an exasperated, “I’m not going to break, you know.”
“Shh.” Dean presses his fingers against Sam’s lips. “I think this might be the best way to keep you warm,” Dean says as he lowers his mouth to Sam’s.
Sam’s skin is no longer clammy or cold, and Dean stretches himself out, rubbing his foot all the way down Sam’s leg as he kisses him, slow at first, increasing the speed as Sam tilts his head, opening his mouth more.
Dean moans, and pulls back, looking down at the slope of his brother’s jaw, and the tan skin around his mouth. He’s never kissed Sam before, not even that time, and it feels more natural than he’d imagined, even with the rough graze of hair on Sam’s chin and across his cheek. And now that the stubble’s scraped across Dean’s lips, he’s fascinated, and moves his mouth, kissing down Sam’s jaw, nipping and sucking
“How far do you want to take this?” Dean whispers, and when Sam says, “Fuck me,” without hesitation, Dean has to grab himself to keep from losing it and coming all over the bed.
Dean fishes his wallet out of the nightstand and grabs two condoms with lube, hoping that will be enough. He rips open one pack, slicking his fingers from the lube on the outside of the condom, and rubbing all over Sam’s ass while he kisses him again.
He moves his mouth back to Sam’s face as he touches him, lips over his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, down the sides of his cheeks. He worries for a moment that he’s being too soft, too gentle, and treating Sam like a girl, but Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing in short little pants, and his cock is rock hard against Dean’s thigh, so he figures he’s doing okay.
So Dean keeps going as he slides one finger into Sam, mouthing his chin and ear and the spot where his hair meets his jawline, licking there and then sucking down his neck as Sam squirms under him, inhaling sharply. “Don’t stop.”
Dean doesn’t stop, because it’s what Sam wants-he pushes one finger in, then two, slowly and carefully, watching Sam’s face and listening to his moans that balance between discomfort and interest. Dean wants to say something like, “You’re gorgeous Sammy, you make me crazy,” but he doesn’t. He thinks it though, when Sam cries out as Dean moves his fingers in just the right way.
Sam’s rocking up against Dean now, enjoying it, and Dean pulls his fingers out, gathering more lube and slicking his erection. He pushes his cock in, carefully, a fraction of an inch at a time, while Sam squeezes his eyes shut and holds onto Dean’s hips, fingers tight and gripping.
Dean holds himself still, not moving, barely breathing. “We don’t have to, you know-we can figure something else out.”
“Shut up, Dean. Just…just do it, okay?”
Dean doesn’t know if this way is easiest; he’s only slept with girls. But he knows enough about the basics to go slowly, and he tries distracting Sam by kissing him again, licking his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, lowering his entire body down so that he’s resting on one arm. He reaches between them and rubs Sam’s cock, happy to feel that it’s still mostly hard. He twists his fist around the head, smearing the slick wetness down Sam’s erection as he allows his body to push farther into Sam.
Sam groans but lifts his hips, meeting Dean, and Dean inches forward. “Almost there, Sammy,” he says, ducking his head to push his tongue flat against Sam’s neck, licking forcefully as he slides all the way into his brother.
“Jesus,” Sam says, exhaling, and Dean can feel his breath against his neck.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” Sam shifts and rolls his hips, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist, moving his hands from Dean’s hips to grab his ass, rubbing his hands all over the hard muscle.
“God.” Dean was already close from the tug of Sam’s muscles around his cock, but Sam’s hands on him are hot and firm, and damn, it feels like his brother’s really into this, which makes Dean even more turned on, and he already feels a bit lightheaded with the fact that he’s in Sam.
“You can move,” Sam whispers, and Dean does, thrusting into Sam in steady movements, still holding onto his cock.
Sam stretches and moves and rolls with Dean, moaning and panting, his skin hot and flushed, and Dean wonders vaguely if they shouldn’t be doing this so soon after Sam was sick. But he knows that any mention of it will annoy Sam, so he leaves it, content to revel in the feeling of his brother beneath him.
“Dean. Oh, god,” Sammy says, crying out, the sound stark against the low rumble of their moans. Dean’s eyes go straight to Sam’s face, and his eyes are closed again, but the corners of his mouth are turned up into a slight smile.
Dean grins quickly against Sam’s cheek, tightening his grip on Sam’s cock, stroking faster. “Love being inside you, Sammy,” Dean says, quietly against Sam’s ear, and Sam throws his head back, shuddering as he comes, clutching Dean’s hips again before relaxing back into the mattress with a satisfied exhale.
Dean bows his head, and rocks into Sam three more times before he’s done, coming with a loud moan. He rests his forehead against the pillow and collapses onto his brother, amazed. He lifts himself off of Sam, rolling onto his back, slightly buzzed as he tries to breathe normally again.
Dean glances at his brother, pleased to see that Sam’s smiling through a yawn, flexing his arms and stretching them above his head as he burrows under the covers he didn’t want. He catches Dean’s eye and his smile widens, tired and lazy. “Maybe I should fall into icy water more often.”