Fic - Guilty as charged - Sam/Dean Winchester
Title: Guilty as charged 
Author: benitle
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: After a hunt Sam ends up in hospital. Dean and he desperately need to talk about the way they see each other.
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for Provenance
Note: This is a Supernatural Slash Fiction Angstathon Entry. For the ficathon, I wrote for mylifewithin, who wanted a H/C fic (backup: betrayal or first time) with a lot of foreplay and a little bit of jealousy on Dean’s part. Hope this is right!
Author's Note: Many, many thanks to thisissirius for the wonderful and quick beta. ♥ This turned out way longer than I intended it to, gawd, I first feared I wouldn’t make the 1,500 words. So here you go now. It’s mostly PWP and hence just porn.
Word Count: 9,373 (got carried away a bit! O_o)
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters and I’m not making any money with this. It’s only fiction.
Warning: Very explicit wincest.
Feedback: Cravin’ it! :D
Dean winces as he hears Sammy moan miserably from the backseat of the Impala. The Doc said that feverish nightmares were no rareness and that it was normal within such a short time after an operation.
***
When Dean shoves the credit card with the fake ID - this time he is a certain Mr Michael LaForge - over the counter, Sam looks at him gratefully with those big eyes, full of tears because the pain of the wound on his right side is almost killing him.
Literally.
“So, Mr LaForge, how did this happen? Looks pretty nasty,” the Doctor asks as Dean and he walk beside the gurney Sam is been carried on to the next examination room. There’s blood everywhere, Sammy’s blood, and Dean has to clear his head for a moment in order not to say anything wrong.
Usually, he’s a professional when it comes to making up white lies, excuses after years of training, but seeing Sammy suffer like this almost makes him forget everything.
“A Grizzly,” he eventually states, knowing that it must have been a huge one if it could attack Sammy like that. “We took a walk in the mountains and it attacked us. Out of the blue.”
What Dean doesn’t say is that said Grizzly was not really a bear but rather a werewolf that attacked them as they attempted to kill it. Dean did get rid of the motherfucker, yet before that, it got Sammy pretty badly.
The doctor has a look at Sam and the wound, while Dean has to remain outside - despite his protests “Doc, I really need to be with him now” - waiting and shivering. He’s almost certain that Sam’ll need stitches, that werewolf certainly wasn’t playing, but Dean’s fine with it as long as he’ll get Sammy back in one piece.
Nervously, he paces up and down the hall like a dog not allowed into a shop. Never straying top far from the room Sam is currently in.
When they tell him that, yes, indeed, he’ll need surgery and that Dean can take a seat in the waiting area, he only nods apathetically. He gets to look at Sam one last time, already sleeping peacefully, as they roll him towards the operating room. Dean doesn’t know whether Sam simply gave in, exhausted from all the pain he felt, no longer able to fight it until he fell into an uneasy sleep or whether they gave him some anaesthetics to prepare him for the operation.
Either way is fine, as long as Sammy is no longer suffering, no longer being consumed by the effects of the beast’s angry bite.
The time it takes for the Doctor to approach him again, seems like an age to Dean. He’s walking around the waiting area, because having to sit still is worse than anything. A pretty young woman, waiting too, looks at him with pity, but Dean’s mind is too occupied with all that matters now - Sammy and Sammy getting well - to take notice. Walking makes it slightly better, it releases the tension that is building up within him just a little. It drives him insane, the fact that he can’t help, that all this is his fault and that he is going to lose the most important person in his life. For a long time in his life, Dean prays that whoever’d hear this, do all he can to make Sammy good again.
His fault…
His fault that Sammy’s in pain now and if only he’d…
Dean knows that he’s torturing himself, but what is he supposed to do when him not paying attention properly, not watching his little brother’s back like he should, lead to all this?
His fault, and only because…
***
Eventually, the doctor tells him that everything went fine and that he’s sure Sam will be fit again soon and that he’s a tough guy. Dean tries to smile, saying that’s my boy, but he fails.
The question when he’ll be able to take him home makes the doctor frown. He certainly shouldn’t rush things and Sam’ll need at least a couple of days in hospital on watch, he says, but when Dean insists that he can take him with him as soon as possible the doctor frowns again.
It only takes a few hours and now Sam is lying on the backseat of the Impala, moaning miserably in his sleep as they drive back to the motel. The doc gave Dean some pills that are supposed to prevent infections and others to ease the pain, numbers to call should anything happen and a lot of fresh bandages and disinfection sprays.
There is a stab of guilt in Dean’s guts as he sees Sam writhe in discomfort, little pearls of sweat on his forehead and temples, glistening, and when Dean touches them to wipe them away, they are ice-cold on Sammy’s hot skin.
If only he’d…
Dean shakes his head, but still he can’t help but suffer too.
His fault…
***
Sammy spends the next days mainly sleeping. Occasionally, he’d wake up, moan that he’s in pain and that he needs more painkillers, just to drift back to sleep quickly afterwards.
Dean makes sure that there’ll be food when Sam needs food, that there’ll be drinks when Sam needs drinks and that his wound is taken good care of.
Sam’s something between awake and asleep as Dean changes the bandages and cleans the injury once more just like the doctor had told him to. The first time he did it was pretty gross, with all the red flesh and the dark twine, how the wound watered and suppurated. Of course Dean has seen far more disgusting things, but the person affected being his little brother makes it many times worse.
“See, Dean, you should have gone to college too.” Sam smiles weakly and then, when Dean looks at him, confused and not being able to follow his little brother’s train of thoughts, he adds, “Doc.”
Sam smiles again, tiredly this time and Dean only laughs softly, patting Sam’s uninjured side carefully.
“As if one sidekick geekboy in the family weren’t enough, Sammy. Dad would freak out with two kids that want to be normal.”
The younger Winchester offers another soft smile, though it looks as if smiling exhausted him enormously. One of his hands finds Dean’s, the one that’s currently cleaning his wound and lies down on top of it.
Sam mouths “thank you” but the words wouldn’t escape his lips, so in the end it’s nothing more than the slow movement of his mouth. Not being able to take it, Dean quickly has to look away. He can’t believe that Sam is grateful for all this, after all that Dean did to him. There’s the guilt again, deep in his stomach, tearing him apart, the feeling of being a loser when it comes to being a good big brother, if he even can’t protect Sammy...
“Dean.”
“Yeah?”
Sammy looks at him with half-closed eyes. One of his hands - the one that is not lying on top of his brother’s - is moved up to push the bangs out of his face. It looks a bit clumsy and Dean has to chuckle as Sam needs a second try to finally get the hair out of his eyes.
“Have I showered?”
“Not in days, dude,” Dean laughs.
Sam wrinkles his nose, the perfect “ew” expression on his face and Dean laughs again.
“It’s ok, Sammy. I’ll just pretend I don’t smell it, ok?” Dean winks as he finally continues cleaning the wound so that he can bandage it again.
“Dean?”
“Yeah.”
Dean looks up, right into Sam’s eyes who seems incredibly uncomfortable.
“Let me shower.”
“Nah, Sam. Can’t get that wound wet. Be reasonable.”
But Sam doesn’t give up, doesn’t want to be reasonable (and honestly, with all those drugs in his body, he probably has a totally fucked up definition of “reasonable” anyway), insists that he’s absolutely uneasy and that he won’t be able to sleep and rest and heal if he hasn’t showered. He will be careful, he says, and will make sure not to wet anything that’s not supposed to be wet. Dean only answers that no, he won’t let Sam shower because due to the medication Sam’s movements are still rather uncoordinated and he probably will mess everything up and he isn’t too keen on anything happening to that wound. When Sam tries to get up himself, he pushes him down again, softly but firmly.
Sam suggests then that he could at least wash himself with a washcloth and when still Dean says no, Sam becomes impatient.
“Right, then you have to bathe me.”
He says it more as a joke, believing to know his brother well enough and to know that Dean’ll say no again anyway.
To his surprise, Dean’s eyes only spring wide open. Lowering his gaze, he hesitates a moment until he finally agrees to help Sam. Sam is totally taken aback, however he lets Dean help him up and bring him to the bathroom. The discomfort is stronger than anything else that Sam could feel right now. If Sam looked carefully, he’d notice the guilt in Dean’s eyes.
Dean can’t neglect that he never even thought about doing this - at least not until recently - giving his little brother a bath, but if he had protected Sammy the way he is supposed to, then Sam would be able to wash himself now. Without the need of his big brother’s help.
In the bathroom, Dean sits Sam down on the closed toilet as he searches for some tender and not too soapy shower gel and a washcloth to use.
“Why are you doing this?” Sam eventually asks, looking at his brother who is still busy searching for the stuff he’ll need.
“Huh?” Dean turns around and now Sam can see the guilt written across his brother’s face.
“Dean, why are you doing this? I mean, bathe me. What’s wrong with you?”
This is certainly not the Dean he knows, the “Oh my God, we don’t have to hug, do we?” or the “No chick flick moments” Dean that he has been road tripping with all those months.
“Sam, do you want that bath or not?” is the quick reply.
That’s more of the Dean he knows.
Sam only nods, whispering an almost inaudible, “Yes,” before he slowly starts undressing. First he opens the buttons of his shirt, moving his arms backwards. Stretching his torso to shrug it off his shoulders hurts like hell and Sam can’t help but grit his teeth and release another unpleasant moan.
Suddenly, Dean stands in front of him, carefully grabbing him to pull him up. Dean’s eyes say “Wait, I’ll help you,” but they also say something else that Sam cannot quite read. Quickly, Dean makes sure to get rid of Sam’s shirt and pants and socks. There is an awkward silence when Sam is standing there, in his boxers only, Dean kneeling on the floor.
Sam blushes furiously as he notices that his cock stirs a little, that he’s getting hard at the sight of his brother on his knees in front of him. Desperately, he tries to think of something to stop the blood from flowing down there, even imagines the crappy comment that Dean will give him any moment - because this is Dean - thinks about an excuse. The drugs, yeah, he’s still sorta high from the medication and that’s it.
The comment never comes.
Instead, Sam watches as Dean looks away, blushing too, his cheeks painted in a pink flush.
“Dean,” he repeats, “why are you doing this?”
Sam can feel that Dean feels as uncomfortable doing this as him. That’s why he won’t simply forget about this, but insist on getting an answer.
“Dean.”
“Do me a favour and shut up already, Sammy, won’t you?”
Sam’s totally perplexed at the harsh tone in Dean’s voice and how he suddenly sounds angry, yet he won’t let it go.
“Tell me and I will shut up,” Sam snarls back at his older brother. He blushes some more as Dean’s hands find the hem of his boxers, finally undressing him completely. It’s not that Sam’s ashamed because there would be shown anything Dean hadn’t seen before, but simply because his cock still didn’t decide to flag entirely.
“I owe you this, ok? It’s my fault that you’re hurt and now keep your mouth shut,” Dean says as he helps Sam step into the tub, trying not to pay too much attention to his naked brother’s erection.
“You owe me this?” Sam asks, never having been good at being quiet when others told him not to talk back.
“Yeah.”
“Why? Don’t think I’m injured because of you. That’s total bullshit.” Sam tries to calm, to soothe. He turns around to look Dean in the eyes, but immediately after their eyes meet, Dean looks down, not being able to hold his brother’s gaze.
“Sammy, please. I…Let’s…ah, let’s just forget it, ok?”
Dean’s hesitant, somehow he’d like to tell Sam and apologise, but that means that he has to explain, that he has to let himself be vulnerable and talk about his feelings…for Sammy. The feelings that changed just recently, becoming so much stronger. Strong enough that he felt an indescribable pain in his guts when he saw Sam kiss that girl.
Sure, he had told Sam to go for it, to make a move on Sarah, but he never imagined what this would provoke within himself.
The want for Sam, the need for Sam. Sam to be his and only his.
Eventually, Dean starts to tell…
***
Ever since they left New York, Dean has been quiet and if he said something, he was being cranky and moody. So unlike him.
They headed north, some town in Maine might have gotten itself a werewolf. At least, all evidence pointed to it, the way people died there combined with the times of the attacks - full moons, some of the bodies badly deformed as if something had chewed them for ages, leaving not much more than the bones - made it impossible that it was simply a big bear. They’ve been investigating the whole thing, talked to rangers and bereaved, done the usual research on the area, both in the local library and the nearby woods themselves, until they were 100 percent sure what they were dealing with. Eventually, they strayed said woods to find the fucker and kill it.
Silver bullet in the heart.
Dean snorted; at least that bit was true about all the stupid Hollywood interpretations, whereas the rest had not much to do with the truth behind all that, the real urban legends. Turning into a werewolf after a bite? Ha! Dean could only laugh about it, it takes a whole lot more of dark magic to become one of those fuckers and besides, the remains of the previous victims certainly weren’t anything but a disgusting mass of bones and flesh, certainly not turning into a werewolf after the bites. Not that it mattered much right now.
Those last few days, Sam probably felt the tension between them, and since this was Sam, he must have brooded a lot about it, not quite knowing what it was, what could have made Dean so mad that he was hardly talking to him anymore, trying to figure everything out. He couldn’t recall doing anything wrong and he certainly would have to ask Dean about it. At least try to ask him about it, rather more.
But first that werewolf-son-of-a-bitch.
They kept sneaking through the woods, trying to find the place where it hid and when they came closer to that old, abandoned hut, Dean had told Sam in that I-know-better-than-you-so-follow-my-orders voice that he’ll need to watch out now.
If only he’d followed his own advice…
Slowly, they approached, Dean walking ahead of him, randomly turning around to check whether everything was fine back there. Both carried their guns - 45s and their silver bullets - to be prepared for the moment of attack. Dean felt his neck tighten, the way it does out of habit whenever they’re in a dangerous situation. That hard tension from the nape that creeps down the spine like ice cold hands sliding over his back until it reaches the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades, making his whole upper back hard and stiff.
He heard the wood crack, but hey, they were in a forest and isn’t the wood supposed to scrunch there? He should have known better, and if he hadn’t been so enraged about Sam and that weird feeling in his guts, then he’d probably paid more attention, like he usually would.
As he was walking he kept being distracted by the memory of Sam kissing that girl when they were about to leave New York. It was like a mini-movie that was put on repeat in his head, seeing it again and again and again how Sam kissed her, softly on the lips, how he stroked her face with his big, but slick hand. It was like torture and even though, Dean never would admit it - not to Sam or anyone, not even to himself - he was jealous.
He’d thought a lot about Sam, the way he moved, laughed, smiled, brooded or angsted. The way his expressions - not only his face, but also his whole body language - would change when he’s happy or upset, when he’s uncomfortable or at ease. The way he’d lick his lips or fidget with anything when he was nervous. The way his eyes would sparkle when he is telling Dean something that he found utterly funny. The wrinkles on his cheek from the pillow after he had a short nap back at their motels, for once sleeping not completely hunted by nightmares.
The change occupied his thoughts day and night, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
And that’s when it happened.
Dean was brought back to where he - they - was as soon as he heard Sam’s desperate and throaty cry. When he turned around his eyes sprang wide open. Fuck, fuck, fuck! While he had been busy contemplating, the beast had ambuscaded, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Now it was sitting on top of Sammy and when Dean shouted at it - hey, son of a bitch! -when it looked up, Dean could see blood dripping from its muzzle. Huge claws on Sam’s chest, cutting through Sam’s jacket and hoodie, pressing into the delicate skin, leaving marks, breaking the skin until droplets of blood gushed out, teeth sharp as daggers coated with dark red liquid, teeth that just sank into Sammy’s flank, Dean couldn’t see how deep. Sharp, dangerous eyes gazing at him, glowing and fixating him as if to say “when I’m finished here, I’ll taste you”. He didn’t hesitate one second, pulling the trigger one, two, three times, making sure to kill the beast. One bullet into the shoulder, one into the forehead and the third one into the heart.
This would do.
Quickly, he ran over to Sam, kicking the beast hard off the little Winchester. As soon as Sam could he started holding his side, where the fucker got him. When Dean removed the hand, shoving it carefully away there was more blood and Dean had to swallow hard in order not to do anything like break out in tears or throw up.
He’d seen a lot of blood in his life. But seeing his family bleed like this? That was a totally different league.
The minutes that it took to burn the werewolf seemed like ages to Dean and he cursed in a way that others would wrinkle their noses at or wash out his mouth with soap. All the time, he never kept his eyes from his younger brother, who was lying wrapped up, curled into a little ball of pain (Dean never thought that Sam would be able to curl up like this, be that flexible, despite his considerable height), next to him, moaning and shivering in agony.
Dean had tried to take care of the wound as best as he could, but there was no doubt that Sam would need professional help as the blood kept soaking up the t-shirt he used as a makeshift bandage, turning it from light grey to mud green.
***
When he finishes his story, his reasons why he didn’t pay enough attention, didn’t protect Sammy enough which only lead to Sammy being hurt, when he opened up, feeling utterly vulnerable and weak, Dean can’t look at his brother. It’s not only the guilt that has been killing him those last few days, but also the fact that he definitely cannot deny his inappropriate feelings for his brother.
He somehow got used to the latter and that he’ll have to deal with them and will have to learn how to live with them. Ignore them. Accept that sooner or later Sam will find himself a girl that he’ll settle down with and have 1.6 kids and a dog. But the fact that all this lead to Dean not behaving in the way he should and not only risking Sam’s but also his own life is something that makes him feel miserable. It’s like forgetting everything his father ever taught him.
He used those last few days that Sam has mainly slept to conclude that there is nothing he can do against his feelings for his brother, that, well, they are there and all that’s left for him is try and ignore them as best as possible to not screw things up even more and hope that they’ll go away themselves sooner or later.
Yeah, that’s how it’ll be.
“Oh, I didn’t know that…Dean…that you…erm,” Sam stutters, but Dean is quick to interrupt him.
“Dude, you promised if I told you, you’d shut up.”
And Sam indeed does keep quiet for once as he lets Dean use the showerhead to wet his body from waist down. They don’t speak for a while and Sam simply tries to enjoy the sensation from the warm water running down his belly, into his pubes, along his cock, over his butt and thighs until it finally reaches his calves and feet. The water has a comfortable temperature, the heat turning his skin slightly red, steam surrounding his legs like a mysterious fog. He loves the feeling of cleanness and how it soothes him, lulls him and makes him a little bit sleepy again.
But when he feels the rough washcloth against his skin his eyes spring wide open. Dean must have put the soap onto it already, working a well-smelling lather over his body. Sam steals a glance at his brother, who bites his lips in concentration.
It never occurred to Sam that Dean might be jealous because he kissed a girl and he never imagined that Dean might have not only brotherly feelings for him. He knows that this is going to be trouble and that, sooner or later, they will have to talk about it, whether Dean wants to or not. One thing that Sam can say for sure is that the awkwardness of this all will destroy them both and what they have if they don’t talk things through.
Suddenly, Sam can’t help but laugh out loud. His soft laughter turns into a full roar when he sees the bemused and tensed expression on Dean’s face. He has to hold his injured side, because laughing hurts him, but he just can’t stop.
“What’s so funny, Sammy?” Dean sounds extremely pissed off. This whole situation is fucked up enough - he knows he shouldn’t want his brother, naked like this, sprawled out on a bed and do all the dirty things to him that are currently running wild in his imagination, neither should he be bathing his 22 year old brother and washing him with a washcloth - and now Sammy laughing at him doesn’t make things any better.
“Dude, I so not knew you felt like that. If only I’d known sooner, we could have saved a lot of this crap.” Sam chuckles.
“What? You could have made fun out of me already months ago? Great, college boy.”
If there’s one thing that Dean absolutely cannot stand then it’s being laughed at. Especially if the person means as much to him as Sam does.
“No, Dean. You know, when I said back at the motel in New York that,” Sam pauses for a second, blushing slightly, “that Jess…” he pauses again, fiddling with his fingers as if that made it easier to find the right words, “that Jess was only one of the reasons why I didn’t want to make a move on Sarah, then…”
Sam licks his lips and the suddenly he turns around and presses a firm kiss on his brother’s mouth.
Dean is totally taken aback and can’t react for a moment. The attack on his full lips caught him by surprise, but he sort of likes it. The feel of Sam’s lips on his, the sensation of Sammy’s tongue running along his plump bottom lip, caressing it softly, that’s nice.
Wait, no, they shouldn’t be doing this.
But then, it’s really nice.
No.
Nice.
Brain.
Cock.
Hm.
Shutting down his brain, he makes his choice.
Passionately, Dean kisses Sam back, pushes his tongue back against his little brother’s. It’s wet and their tastes mix, it’s good and in this moment it feels like everything Dean ever wanted. One of his hands - the one not covered by the washcloth - finds its way into Sammy’s chestnut mop, running through the strands, combing them softly. His other hand continues the work it’s supposed to do as it carefully rubs the rough fabric over Sam’s skin. It slips over Sam’ strong thighs, over his awakening cock, down between his buttcheeks.
Sam gasps as he feels the terry cloth scrap over his most sensitive area, stimulating, tickling his eager body. God, yeah. He breaks their kiss and moves a few inches away as he notices that Dean leans forward, going for his lips again.
“Undress and come in,” Sam whispers seductively.
“You sure?” Dean asks, part of him is wishing that Sam says “no” and that all this turns out to be just a bad dream and that, in fact, they still are normal - in a Winchester sort of way - and part of him is wishing that Sam says “yes” and that he finally gets to touch Sam - for real - like he has been longing to.
“Yeah. After all, you’re not done with your job and I think you can wash me more easily when you are in here with me.”
Dean hesitates another moment, thinking about all this, before he grins, “Sounds logical.”
He doesn’t have to be asked another time to step in. Quickly, he discards all guilt and “oh Jesus fucking Christ, so wrong” thoughts and starts undressing. He thinks that those thoughts definitely can wait until later when both him and Sammy came to their senses. At the moment, it’s clear that neither is using them, driven by lust and want, by arousal and the need for sweet release.
But undressing’s not so easy with only one hand - his other hand not leaving Sammy’s body, in order to keep his still dizzy brother (well, his body is still dizzy, his brain clearly not) steady. Eventually, he’s standing behind Sam in the bathtub, softly pressing against his brother from behind.
Sam gasps again when Dean’s length pokes into his lower back, announcing that it’s there too. Slowly, Dean continues his ministrations, lets the washcloth slide over Sam’s body, careful and sensual. He shivers slightly as Sam leans back against him - wet and sticky skin against wet and sticky skin - and as his hand makes contact with Sam’s erection.
Dean rubs in little circles, making sure that he’s touching ever inch of Sam’s body beneath the bandage. He watches carefully as the well-smelling and cleansing lather is being applied to Sam’s cock, captured in his pubes, how it’s dripping between his buttcheeks, cleaning the sensitive area there. Dean makes sure that he’s stroking it over Sam’s firm butt, along the little curve where arse and back of the thigh embrace. His touches are soft and almost bashful. The last thing that Dean wants is to apply too much pressure on Sam’s most sensitive parts, does not want to ruin this, but make this good for Sammy, after all the time that he had to suffer. He wants to make up for every second that Sam had to endure pain because of Dean’s stupid behaviour. Time to spoil Sammy a little. When he moves over to Sam’s thighs his strokes become a bit more forceful and then one of Sam’s hands moves back, grabbing Dean’s neck, clinging to him as if he needed the grip to keep himself steady. Sam shifts a bit, spreading his thighs a little more, giving Dean easier access. And then, Dean suddenly drops the washcloth before he uses his bare hand to work the soap into his little brother’s skin.
They both hold their breaths as Dean cups Sam’s balls, stroking them with his slick thumb only, teasingly light, but strong enough to make Sam’s knees weak so that he has to tighten his grip on Dean’s neck. Sam quickly turns his face until his lips find the older Winchester’s throat, licking and lapping it greedily. He sucks it, nibbling and biting the skin that he never knew just how soft and vulnerable it is there, that little, sweet spot just below Dean’s jaw. He can feel, no hear, the blood rushing through Dean’s veins, what all this does to his older brother. Maybe he’s doing it a bit too hard, the way he bites and nibbles Dean’s skin, but in this very moment Sam is so aroused that he cannot help it.
“Fuck, man,” Sam moans as Dean firmly starts running his hand up and down Sam’s cock.
“Dean.”
Dean doesn’t answer, instead his hand around Sam’s waist, the one that is holding him tight and up straight, pulls him further towards his own body - his own hard cock - while the hand on Sam’s cock keeps caressing him, with a little squeeze now whenever it runs over the glistening head.
“Dean,” Sam repeats, more desperate.
Sam needs another try before he can finally tell Dean what it is that he wants.
“Dean, finish washing me and let’s get flat on the bed.”
Dean smirks against his brother’s shoulder before a slick tongue pokes out to lap at the white skin. Quickly, he reaches for the showerhead again, turning the water tap open until the clear water flows out. He waits a few moments for the temperature to rise.
“Good?” Dean asks as he starts rinsing Sam’s calves and shins.
“Yeah, good.”
Sam shivers again as Dean once more touches the most intimate places of his body with the washcloth, trying to get rid of the soap. Dean then uses it to clean Sam’s chest and back and the ticklish spots underneath his arms, watching carefully not to allow any kind of contact to the wound and the bandage. After all, that’s why he did all this in the first place - though if one looked at Dean’s hard-on, one could interpret his “selfless” and “altruistic” behaviour differently.
Once they’re done, Dean helps Sam out of the bathtub, wrapping him in a towel and sitting him down on the toilet seat before he steps back in and washes himself quickly too. Sam’s eyes follow his every movement curiously as his brother cleans himself and when Dean’s hands glide over his own wet, glistening skin, stroking himself softly, Sam licks his lips unconsciously.
Dean reaches for another one of the big, cheap (and a little too rough) motel towels for himself and uses it to tousle it through his short, ash blond hair, just to dry away the little drops of water and tie it around his hips. Next he walks over to Sammy again, who sits still on the toilet seat, sleep in his eyes, smiling softly and gratefully.
Dean uses both hands to carefully pull his brother up. He has to laugh to himself as he once more gets down on his knees in front of Sam and when he once more sees what this provokes within Sam. Tenderly, he dabs off the clear water pearls from the younger Winchester’s skin, again paying extra attention to not get the stitches and wound wet or rub over them with the towel to firmly.
Once Dean dried a little spot on Sam’s skin, he presses his lips to it, kissing it. His tongue licks across it and Dean has to grin as he hears Sam release short pants. Steadily he moves up Sam’s legs until he stops just in the moment before he is to touch his little brother’s half-hard cock. Dean smirks, looking up from underneath his lashes, stealing a quick glance at Sam, seeing that Sam’s biting his lower lip hard and releasing even more heavy pants.
Carefully at first, Dean starts stroking Sam, then a bit more firmly as the cock grows fully erect in his hand. He uses his thumb to rub over the head, smearing the clear and sticky liquid flowing out.
Dean smirks, surprised just how much this all turns him on, him on his knees, in front of his brother - who unconsciously dropped a hand on Dean’s head to keep him in place - and his hard cock, just inches away from his lips. Sammy’s skin is covered in goosebumps as Dean keeps stroking him.
Yet Sam was right.
They need to get more comfortable. Sam doesn’t look as if could stand there for ages, his body exhausted and tired, his senses sharp as ever though.
Quickly, Dean stands up and when he looks into Sam’s eyes he can see that they spring wide open, glistening with boiling lust, just in the moment when Dean licks his thumb, exactly the thumb coated by Sam’s pre-come. It tastes manly and musky, raw and so very Sam. The way Dean’s own hard-on kicks tells him that he needs more of that and that he needs it soon.
He doesn’t lose more time as he leads Sam over to one of their motel beds. Carefully, he lays him down. Sam smiles at him, his hand moving up to softly caress his brother’s cheek.
“Sammy,” Dean whispers as he bends down to place a tender kiss on his brother’s lips, “Are you sure you want this? I mean,” Dean pauses, licking his own lips, tasting Sammy on them, “I mean, it’s going to be awkward if we do this now and you don’t want it. We still could, you know, stop, I guess. If you want to.”
Sam doesn’t answer, instead he reaches for Dean, pulling him down until he lies between Sam’s eagerly spread thighs. He doesn’t speak, but the way he pushes up against Dean, his groin against Dean’s, cock against cock, says it all.
“Does this feel as if I didn’t want this?”
Dean grins before he captures Sam’s lips in a fierce kiss. Their tongues are battling, tangling and probing, while hands are carefully exploring this new territory, the texture of the other’s skin, the strength of the muscles underneath it. Dean thinks that he could lie here for ages, tasting, stroking Sam, his life feels strangely complete as if this was all he ever wanted.
Slowly, he shifts from Sam until he’s lying next to him, pressed close. His hand wanders over the younger Winchester’s body, starting from his face, over to the soft lips, down his throat to his chest. As soon as it rests on Sam’s abdomen, feeling the heat of Sam’s rigid cock that is pressed to Sam’s waist, he lets his lips follow, starting at Sam’s lips too.
This time Dean is kissing Sam slowly and heavily, sucking at his tongue, his lips, everything that comes across his way. Sam’s hand finds the nape of Dean’s neck again, playing with the short hairs there, twirling them with his fingers, tugging them gently. Sam rests patiently, letting his brother spoil him, enjoying the sensation of Dean’s burning touches and kisses.
He knows that this’ll give him a lot to brood about, something that will stick to his mind and make him think about for ages. He knows that he’ll try to figure out what they’ve just done, touching, kissing, sleeping with each other. Two men, two brothers. But strangely enough, he couldn’t care any less right now, not when having Dean so close like he never had before, feels so warm and wonderful, makes him calm and wanted like he hadn’t felt for a long, long time. Dean sucking his skin, stroking his body is absolutely blissful and Sam doesn’t want it to end. Ever.
Carefully, Dean’s caressing his chest now, scraping short nails over hard, little nipples that grow even harder from the touches. Dean bends down to suck them softly at first, with more urgency as Sam’s hand fists his hair. And when he’s adding a little bite, a teasing little bite, sharp, yet careful, Sam gasps out loud, definitely loving the sensation.
Dean’s hand slowly travels further down until it rests on the bandage around Sam’s waist, on the flank where the wound is, as if his hand would heal. His mouth follows as he places dry kisses on top of it, apologising to Sam and all this, saying sorry without saying it, but with his lips only. Sam continues stroking his older brother’s hair, his neck and broad, manly shoulders, accepting Dean’s apologies and saying, “It’s ok” without saying it either.
To Sam it seems ages that they lie there, kissing, stroking and the little bites. Dean’s currently licking Sam’s bellybutton, dipping his tongue, teasing and caressing the sensitive skin with short pecks. There is one, long constant hum that escapes Sam’s throat, acknowledging that he very much likes this treatment. Dean snorts against Sam’s belly, his breath tickling his little brother.
Dean’s hands knead Sam’s thighs, not too much, running up and down the inner side. Whenever they’re on their way upwards, coming carefully close to Sam’s crotch, his most private area, Dean can feel how Sammy tenses underneath him, how he holds his breath. For a moment, Dean’s unsure - after all, this is the first time he’s doing something like that to Sam and it’s no wonder that he doesn’t know yet how to read the younger Winchester’s body language - for a moment Dean doesn’t know whether Sam tenses because he’s anticipating the touches on his cock that are to follow or whether he feels uncomfortable and nervous.
“You ok, Sammy?” he whispers against the glistening skin.
Sam doesn’t answer, instead he only nods. His fingers continue stroking the back of Dean’s head, playing with his brother’s hair as he looks at him with big, big eyes that are full of lust.
“I mean, Sammy,” Dean pauses to lick his full, wanton lips, in that sensual way that it almost looks porny (no, wait, it does…), “You know, if you’re uncomfortable, we can leave it to that. No, erm, need to rush things.”
And then, suddenly, Sam starts laughing again. Judging from the totally bemused expression on Dean’s face, he totally misses what’s so funny.
“Dean,” Sam smiles, “You never talk that fucking much. Why do you have to do it now?”
The grip in Dean’s hair tightens as Sam pulls his brother up to kiss him once more passionately. Dean’s laughing now too, but the sounds are swallowed by Sam’s mouth, until they’re more of a pant in the end.
“Let’s get on with this then.”
He shifts until he’s in his previous position, a bit further down on the bed, lying between Sam’s spread thighs, pressing wet, suckling kisses to his lower abdomen. With his teeth Dean plays with Sam’s happy trail, tugging the dark hairs gently, further down, further down and further down until he reaches Sam’s pubic hair.
On his way south, Dean can feel Sam’s hard and leaking cock pressed against his skin, bouncing against his throat, as if it was to say, “Hey, I’m here. Suck me now.”
Not yet.
Dean concludes that it’s a bit more time for teasing, so he lazily starts stroking Sam’s hard-on, making sure not to apply too much pressure. He’s running his hand up and down the length and when he feels Sam’s cock in his hand, how it twitches because of the contact, Dean’s own cock kicks. He almost forgot about it as he was having so much fun, spoiling and stimulating Sam’s gorgeous body. But now, it’s once more acknowledging its presence and that someone - preferably Sammy - will have to take care of it.
Later.
Sam moans Dean’s name and Dean finds it a beautiful sound. He adds once more that soft squeeze when his hand reaches the tip, the same soft squeeze that - back in the bathroom - drove Sam almost insane. Once more, Dean uses his thumb to smear the pre-come, spreading it over the whole cock, using it as some kind of lube. His hand is already slick and sticky and he decides to slow down a bit, to make Sam last a bit longer. Dean’s other hand runs up and down Sam’s firm thighs, the nails once more at work, leaving red stripes where they just scratched Sam.
“Dean, don’t tease,” Sam pleads, bucking his hips into Dean’s firm grip to search for the friction on his cock that he’ll need for sweet, sweet release.
“Right,” Dean smirks and as looks up, he sees the lust and longing in Sam’s eyes, he’s tempted to simply suck Sammy off and end it, but he doesn’t.
“I have an idea. Stay where you are.”
With finishing the sentence Dean gets up, leaving Sam behind on the bed. Immediately, Sam feels cold, wanting Dean back by his side - between his thighs - his warm and comforting touches. He watches Dean walk over towards the little kitchenette, focusing carefully on his brother’s long, strong back, his gaze wanders down to his curvy butt, perceiving how Dean’s muscles flex when he walks. He also watches as Dean opens the fridge, bending over, sticking out his naked butt. Sam’s mouth waters and all he’d want now is a little bite on one of those firm cheeks.
It doesn’t take Dean long to return, a little container in his hands. Sam can’t see what’s in there and the way Dean smirks at him doesn’t make this any better either.
“Close your eyes, Sammy,” he whispers before he settles back next to his little brother on the bed.
For once Sam does as he’s told without questioning the person to give him an order like he usually would. He can feel Dean shift next to him and suddenly, there’s something cold against his lips. It melts against his warm skin and when he pokes out his tongue to find out what it is, he can taste only water.
Sam opens his eyes and he can see that once more Dean is smirking at him. Slowly, Dean takes the ice cube from the little Winchester’s lips, just to rub it against his throat the next moment.
Sam shivers but smiles. He bites his lips as Dean slides the cold object further down until it rests in the little curve above Sam’s collarbone. Due to Sam’s incredible body heat it doesn’t take long until the ice melts and almost immediately Dean bends down to lick the fresh water from his brother’s skin.
He takes another cube, repeating the procedure as he rubs it gently over Sam’s collarbone, further down to dark little nipples. Sam doesn’t say a word but judging from the way his eyes shine - and seduce - Dean can tell that he likes it. A little hiss as Dean orbits one of his little brother’s hard nipples with a fresh ice cube, teasing the hot skin. The hiss is followed by a moan when Dean bends down to lick the water and suck and nibble Sam’s nipple passionately. In contrast to the chill of the ice, Dean’s warm and wanton lips feel even hotter.
The ministrations with the ice cubes continue as Dean rubs them all over Sam’s strong chest, his abdomen, further down and yet further down. Sam gasps out loud as Dean lets one little cube slide over his cock, attacking his sensitive skin with the coldness. He thinks he’s dying from an overkill of sexual arousal and pleasure as Dean teases the head with yet another piece of that wicked stuff he’s treating Sam with. Sam’s ability to express himself is reduced to needy whimpers, his brain refusing to form coherent sentences or even complete words.
“Dean, please…”
Eventually, Dean takes pity on his little brother. He smirks before he bends down to finally give Sam what he wants, what he desires so much that he started begging. Quickly, Dean licks his lips, moisturising them thoroughly.
One of his hands holds Sam’s cock as Dean opens his mouth to engulf both the ice cube and the tip. Thoroughly, he starts sucking cube and cock, making porny, little sounds when doing so. Due to all the water in his mouth he hardly can taste Sammy, the melt water diluting Sam’s fluids. Dean swallows, trying to get rid of the water and taste more of Sam, but it’s a bit too much for him to take, as some of the liquid wells out between his lips slowly, along Sam’s cock, making it glisten.
In the moment when Dean’s mouth takes Sam in, the little brother gasps so hard that he almost forgets to breathe. Once more the contrast between the ice cube and Dean’s hot lips is incredible, this time even more intense because of his cock’s sensitivity.
And then, Dean opens his mouth a little further, allowing for Sam’s cock to slip in just another inch. The pressure of Dean’s tongue is delicate as it massages the underside of Sam’s hard-on. Dean feels the thick vain there, pulsating against his tongue and just how soft the skin there seems to be. Sam releases this incredibly loud moan that makes Dean smirk, makes him also proud that he can provoke those kinds of reactions within his little brother and make him lose it and let go for once.
The hand that was holding Sam’s cock previously is now placed on the younger Winchester’s hip in order to press him down and prevent him from thrusting into Dean’s mouth. After all, Dean is very new to this - and even though he’d never admit it, because this is just sex - he’s a bit nervous and certainly doesn’t need Sam shoving that thing uncontrollably down his throat, but needs to be the one in charge.
As he’s getting more comfortable with all this - Sam’s desperate moans, telling Dean that he’s doing well definitely help - he slips yet further down on Sam’s cock, taking even more of it into his mouth. He’s also using his teeth now, careful to put not too much pressure, scraping them over the hard flesh.
With his free hand, Dean grabs another one of those ice cubes and rubs it over Sam’s balls, stimulating them softly. Sam, once more, gasps out and moans, “Oh, Dean, fuck, that’s good,” spurting him on. And when Dean slips his little toy past Sam’s balls and into the intimate crevice between Sam’s buttcheeks, steadily further towards Sam’s most intimate spot, Sam cries out loud.
Sam’s thighs are spread as wide as they would spread as he loops his legs around his brother’s torso, just to keep him there, to keep him doing that. For a split second, Sam wonders whether someone can die from too much pleasure. If that’s possible, he’s dangerously close.
Fuck.
He cries out again as he feels something against his entrance and since his brain already feels like pudding it takes him a while to realise that Dean is rubbing another fresh ice cube against him and that - fuck again - he’s slowly shoving that thing into him.
Dean never stops moving his lips up and down Sam’s painfully hard shaft, even as he feels Sam’s whole body quiver and tremble, telling him that it won’t take Sam much more to come. Carefully, he pushes the ice cube past the tight ring of muscles, letting his index follow. Paying much attention to not hurt Sam even more, he starts moving the finger back and forth.
From underneath his lashes, Dean can see how Sam’s eyes spring wide open as his finger hits a sweet spot that sends a flash right through Sam’s body, while his sounds are reduced to needy grunts and incomprehensible words. Sam feels like being torn apart in pleasure and it’s too much to take for him.
Dean hits that same spot again and again and finally Sam loses it, desperately trying to thrust up into the warm and comfortable wetness that is Dean’s mouth.
Dean’s taken aback, despite Sam’s warning - his whimper, “Fuck, Dean” and shuddering - as Sam comes hard in his mouth, shooting his sweet come. Sam’s cock erupts a few times, releasing several spurts of creamy liquid. Dean coughs, totally not prepared for this, but eventually he swallows everything that’s in his mouth.
It tastes like Sam’s pre-come with the only difference that the taste is a lot stronger, even manlier and muskier and rawer and even more like Sam. Dean continues sucking Sam’s spent cock, that’s still quivering slightly. Carefully, he pulls out his finger, just to softly scrape his nails over Sam’s trembling thigh.
Sam pets the back of Dean’s head in an affectionate manner, running his long and agile fingers through the soft hair. When Dean eventually releases his cock, letting it slip out of his mouth and looks up, Sammy smiles, beckoning his brother close with the gesture of his finger. Dean smiles too and just in the moment he is about to lock lips with Sam, the younger brother turns his head slightly so that he’s kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth and the little wrinkle down, leading to his chin. Sam’s tongue pokes out to lick it and when Dean looks at him, confused, he whispers seductively, “You didn’t catch everything.”
Dean thinks that he just died a bit, alone from the imagination that Sam just licked away his own come from his brother’s face. He doesn’t even know what to say, and that means something for someone like Dean Winchester.
Sam writhes underneath him, smiling, grateful and satisfied. Slowly, Dean starts stroking his brother’s face, the soft and flushed cheek. They kiss deeply as Dean lies down next to Sam, half-lying on top of him, pressing himself against his younger brother’s uninjured side.
Sam shoves a leg between Dean’s thighs and only now Dean realises that he’s still hard, almost painful so, the sight of Sam coming, letting go, spoiling Sam’s body like this totally turned him on.
One of Sam’s hands strokes Dean’s strong chest, not hesitating as he grabs Dean’s cock for the first time, fisting it carefully.
“Sammy, you don’t have to…”
Dean doesn’t have much chance to finish his sentence as Sam whispers seductively, “But what if I desperately want to?”
This puts an end to Dean’s protests and he simply lies back, letting Sam roll him over. Dean sees Sam grit his teeth as he tries to sit up to move over his brother.
“Be careful, Sam,” he warns, his voice a bit sterner than he intended to.
Sam only looks at him with big eyes, but eventually gives up trying to move much. He can’t help it that his side hurts like motherfucker, now that the painkillers are totally worn off. Usually, he’d tell himself not to be a baby and go on with it, because he’s been in worse pain and walked through it, but when Dean says that he definitely does not want anything to happen to that wound, Sam softens and only rolls a little until he’s laying on his healthy side.
Teasingly light Sam starts stroking Dean’s hard cock, trying to put his nervousness aside. Dean licks his lips and closes his eyes, smiling to himself.
“That’s good, keep doing that,” he moans.
Trying to remember what Dean did to him and how good it felt, Sam dedicates his whole concentration on his hand running over Dean’s hard-on and how it feels. As the sees Dean squeeze his eyes shut as if he were in pain - his desperate whimper giving away though that he’s far from that - Sam becomes just a little bolder, his grip tightening on Dean, tugging Dean’s cock carefully.
Dean gasps, his arms sprawling, searching for something to hold on to, to tear apart in his high state of lust. Desperately he pulls the sheets underneath them as his hips automatically push up, into Sammy’s firm grip.
Fuck, yeah.
With one final groan - “Harder, Sammy.” - he comes in several white splashes, all over Sam’s hand and his own body. Still panting heavily, he turns his head to look at Sam and kiss him once more. Sam smiles shyly and before Dean can reach him with his lips, Sam brings his sticky fingers up to his lips, licking them clean, thoroughly and sensually. He pants as Dean’s come coats his tongue, the strong, new scent of his brother in his mouth.
Dean smirks, his hand stroking the back of Sam’s head as he asks, “Do I taste good?”
It’s supposed to unsettle, to tease Sam a little bit, to make him blush again, but when Sam only smirks back, one of his fingers running through the slowly cooling come on Dean’s body, wiping it away and bringing the coated finger to Dean’s mouth with the words “Taste it yourself,” Dean’ the one that’s unsettled. Giving his brother a seducing look, Sam rubs it against Dean’s lower lip. Dean hesitates a split second before he pokes out his tongue, licking away the sticky cream. He then captures Sam’s finger, sucking it greedily into his mouth.
Suddenly and almost at the same time, the brothers start roaring, laughing at the whole absurdity of this situation. They kiss again, heavily and sensually and if the world were to end now neither would mind all that much.
Dean feels how Sam tries to snuggle against him, how he’s searching for warmness and comfort. Sam’s breathing becomes calmer and slower, probably he’s simply exhausted and wants to go back to sleep a bit more.
“I’ll get you something to wear and a few painkillers,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against Sam’s temple.
Sam smiles gratefully and nods. As soon as Dean got up from the bed, his arms feel empty and as if something was missing.
“I’m fine without the painkillers,” he says as he watches Dean’s naked back and butt once more, his eyes following the gracious movements of his older brother. “A glass of water, though?”
When Dean returns, a jar of water and some clean clothes in his hand Sam again smiles gratefully. He empties the glass in one long drink before he lets Dean dress him.
“You ok, little brother?” Dean smiles as he puts one of the blankets over Sam, tucking him in tenderly. “I mean, with what we just did. Any remorse?”
Sam only shakes his head, one of his hands finding his older brother’s. “No, no regrets so far, apart from one.”
Dean frowns, not quite getting what Sam is trying to hint.
“Dude, the only thing that pisses me off is that it took all this,” he pats his injured flank, “all this to find out, I’m not the only one with those feelings.”
“Right,” Dean laughs before he bends down to place a soft peck on Sammy’s lips.
Sam closes his eyes, being exhausted from everything they just did, the pain of the last few days, too many pills and those new emotions. It doesn’t take him long until he falls into a deep and restorative sleep.
Author: benitle
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: After a hunt Sam ends up in hospital. Dean and he desperately need to talk about the way they see each other.
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for Provenance
Note: This is a Supernatural Slash Fiction Angstathon Entry. For the ficathon, I wrote for mylifewithin, who wanted a H/C fic (backup: betrayal or first time) with a lot of foreplay and a little bit of jealousy on Dean’s part. Hope this is right!
Author's Note: Many, many thanks to thisissirius for the wonderful and quick beta. ♥ This turned out way longer than I intended it to, gawd, I first feared I wouldn’t make the 1,500 words. So here you go now. It’s mostly PWP and hence just porn.
Word Count: 9,373 (got carried away a bit! O_o)
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters and I’m not making any money with this. It’s only fiction.
Warning: Very explicit wincest.
Feedback: Cravin’ it! :D
Dean winces as he hears Sammy moan miserably from the backseat of the Impala. The Doc said that feverish nightmares were no rareness and that it was normal within such a short time after an operation.
***
When Dean shoves the credit card with the fake ID - this time he is a certain Mr Michael LaForge - over the counter, Sam looks at him gratefully with those big eyes, full of tears because the pain of the wound on his right side is almost killing him.
Literally.
“So, Mr LaForge, how did this happen? Looks pretty nasty,” the Doctor asks as Dean and he walk beside the gurney Sam is been carried on to the next examination room. There’s blood everywhere, Sammy’s blood, and Dean has to clear his head for a moment in order not to say anything wrong.
Usually, he’s a professional when it comes to making up white lies, excuses after years of training, but seeing Sammy suffer like this almost makes him forget everything.
“A Grizzly,” he eventually states, knowing that it must have been a huge one if it could attack Sammy like that. “We took a walk in the mountains and it attacked us. Out of the blue.”
What Dean doesn’t say is that said Grizzly was not really a bear but rather a werewolf that attacked them as they attempted to kill it. Dean did get rid of the motherfucker, yet before that, it got Sammy pretty badly.
The doctor has a look at Sam and the wound, while Dean has to remain outside - despite his protests “Doc, I really need to be with him now” - waiting and shivering. He’s almost certain that Sam’ll need stitches, that werewolf certainly wasn’t playing, but Dean’s fine with it as long as he’ll get Sammy back in one piece.
Nervously, he paces up and down the hall like a dog not allowed into a shop. Never straying top far from the room Sam is currently in.
When they tell him that, yes, indeed, he’ll need surgery and that Dean can take a seat in the waiting area, he only nods apathetically. He gets to look at Sam one last time, already sleeping peacefully, as they roll him towards the operating room. Dean doesn’t know whether Sam simply gave in, exhausted from all the pain he felt, no longer able to fight it until he fell into an uneasy sleep or whether they gave him some anaesthetics to prepare him for the operation.
Either way is fine, as long as Sammy is no longer suffering, no longer being consumed by the effects of the beast’s angry bite.
The time it takes for the Doctor to approach him again, seems like an age to Dean. He’s walking around the waiting area, because having to sit still is worse than anything. A pretty young woman, waiting too, looks at him with pity, but Dean’s mind is too occupied with all that matters now - Sammy and Sammy getting well - to take notice. Walking makes it slightly better, it releases the tension that is building up within him just a little. It drives him insane, the fact that he can’t help, that all this is his fault and that he is going to lose the most important person in his life. For a long time in his life, Dean prays that whoever’d hear this, do all he can to make Sammy good again.
His fault…
His fault that Sammy’s in pain now and if only he’d…
Dean knows that he’s torturing himself, but what is he supposed to do when him not paying attention properly, not watching his little brother’s back like he should, lead to all this?
His fault, and only because…
***
Eventually, the doctor tells him that everything went fine and that he’s sure Sam will be fit again soon and that he’s a tough guy. Dean tries to smile, saying that’s my boy, but he fails.
The question when he’ll be able to take him home makes the doctor frown. He certainly shouldn’t rush things and Sam’ll need at least a couple of days in hospital on watch, he says, but when Dean insists that he can take him with him as soon as possible the doctor frowns again.
It only takes a few hours and now Sam is lying on the backseat of the Impala, moaning miserably in his sleep as they drive back to the motel. The doc gave Dean some pills that are supposed to prevent infections and others to ease the pain, numbers to call should anything happen and a lot of fresh bandages and disinfection sprays.
There is a stab of guilt in Dean’s guts as he sees Sam writhe in discomfort, little pearls of sweat on his forehead and temples, glistening, and when Dean touches them to wipe them away, they are ice-cold on Sammy’s hot skin.
If only he’d…
Dean shakes his head, but still he can’t help but suffer too.
His fault…
***
Sammy spends the next days mainly sleeping. Occasionally, he’d wake up, moan that he’s in pain and that he needs more painkillers, just to drift back to sleep quickly afterwards.
Dean makes sure that there’ll be food when Sam needs food, that there’ll be drinks when Sam needs drinks and that his wound is taken good care of.
Sam’s something between awake and asleep as Dean changes the bandages and cleans the injury once more just like the doctor had told him to. The first time he did it was pretty gross, with all the red flesh and the dark twine, how the wound watered and suppurated. Of course Dean has seen far more disgusting things, but the person affected being his little brother makes it many times worse.
“See, Dean, you should have gone to college too.” Sam smiles weakly and then, when Dean looks at him, confused and not being able to follow his little brother’s train of thoughts, he adds, “Doc.”
Sam smiles again, tiredly this time and Dean only laughs softly, patting Sam’s uninjured side carefully.
“As if one sidekick geekboy in the family weren’t enough, Sammy. Dad would freak out with two kids that want to be normal.”
The younger Winchester offers another soft smile, though it looks as if smiling exhausted him enormously. One of his hands finds Dean’s, the one that’s currently cleaning his wound and lies down on top of it.
Sam mouths “thank you” but the words wouldn’t escape his lips, so in the end it’s nothing more than the slow movement of his mouth. Not being able to take it, Dean quickly has to look away. He can’t believe that Sam is grateful for all this, after all that Dean did to him. There’s the guilt again, deep in his stomach, tearing him apart, the feeling of being a loser when it comes to being a good big brother, if he even can’t protect Sammy...
“Dean.”
“Yeah?”
Sammy looks at him with half-closed eyes. One of his hands - the one that is not lying on top of his brother’s - is moved up to push the bangs out of his face. It looks a bit clumsy and Dean has to chuckle as Sam needs a second try to finally get the hair out of his eyes.
“Have I showered?”
“Not in days, dude,” Dean laughs.
Sam wrinkles his nose, the perfect “ew” expression on his face and Dean laughs again.
“It’s ok, Sammy. I’ll just pretend I don’t smell it, ok?” Dean winks as he finally continues cleaning the wound so that he can bandage it again.
“Dean?”
“Yeah.”
Dean looks up, right into Sam’s eyes who seems incredibly uncomfortable.
“Let me shower.”
“Nah, Sam. Can’t get that wound wet. Be reasonable.”
But Sam doesn’t give up, doesn’t want to be reasonable (and honestly, with all those drugs in his body, he probably has a totally fucked up definition of “reasonable” anyway), insists that he’s absolutely uneasy and that he won’t be able to sleep and rest and heal if he hasn’t showered. He will be careful, he says, and will make sure not to wet anything that’s not supposed to be wet. Dean only answers that no, he won’t let Sam shower because due to the medication Sam’s movements are still rather uncoordinated and he probably will mess everything up and he isn’t too keen on anything happening to that wound. When Sam tries to get up himself, he pushes him down again, softly but firmly.
Sam suggests then that he could at least wash himself with a washcloth and when still Dean says no, Sam becomes impatient.
“Right, then you have to bathe me.”
He says it more as a joke, believing to know his brother well enough and to know that Dean’ll say no again anyway.
To his surprise, Dean’s eyes only spring wide open. Lowering his gaze, he hesitates a moment until he finally agrees to help Sam. Sam is totally taken aback, however he lets Dean help him up and bring him to the bathroom. The discomfort is stronger than anything else that Sam could feel right now. If Sam looked carefully, he’d notice the guilt in Dean’s eyes.
Dean can’t neglect that he never even thought about doing this - at least not until recently - giving his little brother a bath, but if he had protected Sammy the way he is supposed to, then Sam would be able to wash himself now. Without the need of his big brother’s help.
In the bathroom, Dean sits Sam down on the closed toilet as he searches for some tender and not too soapy shower gel and a washcloth to use.
“Why are you doing this?” Sam eventually asks, looking at his brother who is still busy searching for the stuff he’ll need.
“Huh?” Dean turns around and now Sam can see the guilt written across his brother’s face.
“Dean, why are you doing this? I mean, bathe me. What’s wrong with you?”
This is certainly not the Dean he knows, the “Oh my God, we don’t have to hug, do we?” or the “No chick flick moments” Dean that he has been road tripping with all those months.
“Sam, do you want that bath or not?” is the quick reply.
That’s more of the Dean he knows.
Sam only nods, whispering an almost inaudible, “Yes,” before he slowly starts undressing. First he opens the buttons of his shirt, moving his arms backwards. Stretching his torso to shrug it off his shoulders hurts like hell and Sam can’t help but grit his teeth and release another unpleasant moan.
Suddenly, Dean stands in front of him, carefully grabbing him to pull him up. Dean’s eyes say “Wait, I’ll help you,” but they also say something else that Sam cannot quite read. Quickly, Dean makes sure to get rid of Sam’s shirt and pants and socks. There is an awkward silence when Sam is standing there, in his boxers only, Dean kneeling on the floor.
Sam blushes furiously as he notices that his cock stirs a little, that he’s getting hard at the sight of his brother on his knees in front of him. Desperately, he tries to think of something to stop the blood from flowing down there, even imagines the crappy comment that Dean will give him any moment - because this is Dean - thinks about an excuse. The drugs, yeah, he’s still sorta high from the medication and that’s it.
The comment never comes.
Instead, Sam watches as Dean looks away, blushing too, his cheeks painted in a pink flush.
“Dean,” he repeats, “why are you doing this?”
Sam can feel that Dean feels as uncomfortable doing this as him. That’s why he won’t simply forget about this, but insist on getting an answer.
“Dean.”
“Do me a favour and shut up already, Sammy, won’t you?”
Sam’s totally perplexed at the harsh tone in Dean’s voice and how he suddenly sounds angry, yet he won’t let it go.
“Tell me and I will shut up,” Sam snarls back at his older brother. He blushes some more as Dean’s hands find the hem of his boxers, finally undressing him completely. It’s not that Sam’s ashamed because there would be shown anything Dean hadn’t seen before, but simply because his cock still didn’t decide to flag entirely.
“I owe you this, ok? It’s my fault that you’re hurt and now keep your mouth shut,” Dean says as he helps Sam step into the tub, trying not to pay too much attention to his naked brother’s erection.
“You owe me this?” Sam asks, never having been good at being quiet when others told him not to talk back.
“Yeah.”
“Why? Don’t think I’m injured because of you. That’s total bullshit.” Sam tries to calm, to soothe. He turns around to look Dean in the eyes, but immediately after their eyes meet, Dean looks down, not being able to hold his brother’s gaze.
“Sammy, please. I…Let’s…ah, let’s just forget it, ok?”
Dean’s hesitant, somehow he’d like to tell Sam and apologise, but that means that he has to explain, that he has to let himself be vulnerable and talk about his feelings…for Sammy. The feelings that changed just recently, becoming so much stronger. Strong enough that he felt an indescribable pain in his guts when he saw Sam kiss that girl.
Sure, he had told Sam to go for it, to make a move on Sarah, but he never imagined what this would provoke within himself.
The want for Sam, the need for Sam. Sam to be his and only his.
Eventually, Dean starts to tell…
***
Ever since they left New York, Dean has been quiet and if he said something, he was being cranky and moody. So unlike him.
They headed north, some town in Maine might have gotten itself a werewolf. At least, all evidence pointed to it, the way people died there combined with the times of the attacks - full moons, some of the bodies badly deformed as if something had chewed them for ages, leaving not much more than the bones - made it impossible that it was simply a big bear. They’ve been investigating the whole thing, talked to rangers and bereaved, done the usual research on the area, both in the local library and the nearby woods themselves, until they were 100 percent sure what they were dealing with. Eventually, they strayed said woods to find the fucker and kill it.
Silver bullet in the heart.
Dean snorted; at least that bit was true about all the stupid Hollywood interpretations, whereas the rest had not much to do with the truth behind all that, the real urban legends. Turning into a werewolf after a bite? Ha! Dean could only laugh about it, it takes a whole lot more of dark magic to become one of those fuckers and besides, the remains of the previous victims certainly weren’t anything but a disgusting mass of bones and flesh, certainly not turning into a werewolf after the bites. Not that it mattered much right now.
Those last few days, Sam probably felt the tension between them, and since this was Sam, he must have brooded a lot about it, not quite knowing what it was, what could have made Dean so mad that he was hardly talking to him anymore, trying to figure everything out. He couldn’t recall doing anything wrong and he certainly would have to ask Dean about it. At least try to ask him about it, rather more.
But first that werewolf-son-of-a-bitch.
They kept sneaking through the woods, trying to find the place where it hid and when they came closer to that old, abandoned hut, Dean had told Sam in that I-know-better-than-you-so-follow-my-orders voice that he’ll need to watch out now.
If only he’d followed his own advice…
Slowly, they approached, Dean walking ahead of him, randomly turning around to check whether everything was fine back there. Both carried their guns - 45s and their silver bullets - to be prepared for the moment of attack. Dean felt his neck tighten, the way it does out of habit whenever they’re in a dangerous situation. That hard tension from the nape that creeps down the spine like ice cold hands sliding over his back until it reaches the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades, making his whole upper back hard and stiff.
He heard the wood crack, but hey, they were in a forest and isn’t the wood supposed to scrunch there? He should have known better, and if he hadn’t been so enraged about Sam and that weird feeling in his guts, then he’d probably paid more attention, like he usually would.
As he was walking he kept being distracted by the memory of Sam kissing that girl when they were about to leave New York. It was like a mini-movie that was put on repeat in his head, seeing it again and again and again how Sam kissed her, softly on the lips, how he stroked her face with his big, but slick hand. It was like torture and even though, Dean never would admit it - not to Sam or anyone, not even to himself - he was jealous.
He’d thought a lot about Sam, the way he moved, laughed, smiled, brooded or angsted. The way his expressions - not only his face, but also his whole body language - would change when he’s happy or upset, when he’s uncomfortable or at ease. The way he’d lick his lips or fidget with anything when he was nervous. The way his eyes would sparkle when he is telling Dean something that he found utterly funny. The wrinkles on his cheek from the pillow after he had a short nap back at their motels, for once sleeping not completely hunted by nightmares.
The change occupied his thoughts day and night, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
And that’s when it happened.
Dean was brought back to where he - they - was as soon as he heard Sam’s desperate and throaty cry. When he turned around his eyes sprang wide open. Fuck, fuck, fuck! While he had been busy contemplating, the beast had ambuscaded, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Now it was sitting on top of Sammy and when Dean shouted at it - hey, son of a bitch! -when it looked up, Dean could see blood dripping from its muzzle. Huge claws on Sam’s chest, cutting through Sam’s jacket and hoodie, pressing into the delicate skin, leaving marks, breaking the skin until droplets of blood gushed out, teeth sharp as daggers coated with dark red liquid, teeth that just sank into Sammy’s flank, Dean couldn’t see how deep. Sharp, dangerous eyes gazing at him, glowing and fixating him as if to say “when I’m finished here, I’ll taste you”. He didn’t hesitate one second, pulling the trigger one, two, three times, making sure to kill the beast. One bullet into the shoulder, one into the forehead and the third one into the heart.
This would do.
Quickly, he ran over to Sam, kicking the beast hard off the little Winchester. As soon as Sam could he started holding his side, where the fucker got him. When Dean removed the hand, shoving it carefully away there was more blood and Dean had to swallow hard in order not to do anything like break out in tears or throw up.
He’d seen a lot of blood in his life. But seeing his family bleed like this? That was a totally different league.
The minutes that it took to burn the werewolf seemed like ages to Dean and he cursed in a way that others would wrinkle their noses at or wash out his mouth with soap. All the time, he never kept his eyes from his younger brother, who was lying wrapped up, curled into a little ball of pain (Dean never thought that Sam would be able to curl up like this, be that flexible, despite his considerable height), next to him, moaning and shivering in agony.
Dean had tried to take care of the wound as best as he could, but there was no doubt that Sam would need professional help as the blood kept soaking up the t-shirt he used as a makeshift bandage, turning it from light grey to mud green.
***
When he finishes his story, his reasons why he didn’t pay enough attention, didn’t protect Sammy enough which only lead to Sammy being hurt, when he opened up, feeling utterly vulnerable and weak, Dean can’t look at his brother. It’s not only the guilt that has been killing him those last few days, but also the fact that he definitely cannot deny his inappropriate feelings for his brother.
He somehow got used to the latter and that he’ll have to deal with them and will have to learn how to live with them. Ignore them. Accept that sooner or later Sam will find himself a girl that he’ll settle down with and have 1.6 kids and a dog. But the fact that all this lead to Dean not behaving in the way he should and not only risking Sam’s but also his own life is something that makes him feel miserable. It’s like forgetting everything his father ever taught him.
He used those last few days that Sam has mainly slept to conclude that there is nothing he can do against his feelings for his brother, that, well, they are there and all that’s left for him is try and ignore them as best as possible to not screw things up even more and hope that they’ll go away themselves sooner or later.
Yeah, that’s how it’ll be.
“Oh, I didn’t know that…Dean…that you…erm,” Sam stutters, but Dean is quick to interrupt him.
“Dude, you promised if I told you, you’d shut up.”
And Sam indeed does keep quiet for once as he lets Dean use the showerhead to wet his body from waist down. They don’t speak for a while and Sam simply tries to enjoy the sensation from the warm water running down his belly, into his pubes, along his cock, over his butt and thighs until it finally reaches his calves and feet. The water has a comfortable temperature, the heat turning his skin slightly red, steam surrounding his legs like a mysterious fog. He loves the feeling of cleanness and how it soothes him, lulls him and makes him a little bit sleepy again.
But when he feels the rough washcloth against his skin his eyes spring wide open. Dean must have put the soap onto it already, working a well-smelling lather over his body. Sam steals a glance at his brother, who bites his lips in concentration.
It never occurred to Sam that Dean might be jealous because he kissed a girl and he never imagined that Dean might have not only brotherly feelings for him. He knows that this is going to be trouble and that, sooner or later, they will have to talk about it, whether Dean wants to or not. One thing that Sam can say for sure is that the awkwardness of this all will destroy them both and what they have if they don’t talk things through.
Suddenly, Sam can’t help but laugh out loud. His soft laughter turns into a full roar when he sees the bemused and tensed expression on Dean’s face. He has to hold his injured side, because laughing hurts him, but he just can’t stop.
“What’s so funny, Sammy?” Dean sounds extremely pissed off. This whole situation is fucked up enough - he knows he shouldn’t want his brother, naked like this, sprawled out on a bed and do all the dirty things to him that are currently running wild in his imagination, neither should he be bathing his 22 year old brother and washing him with a washcloth - and now Sammy laughing at him doesn’t make things any better.
“Dude, I so not knew you felt like that. If only I’d known sooner, we could have saved a lot of this crap.” Sam chuckles.
“What? You could have made fun out of me already months ago? Great, college boy.”
If there’s one thing that Dean absolutely cannot stand then it’s being laughed at. Especially if the person means as much to him as Sam does.
“No, Dean. You know, when I said back at the motel in New York that,” Sam pauses for a second, blushing slightly, “that Jess…” he pauses again, fiddling with his fingers as if that made it easier to find the right words, “that Jess was only one of the reasons why I didn’t want to make a move on Sarah, then…”
Sam licks his lips and the suddenly he turns around and presses a firm kiss on his brother’s mouth.
Dean is totally taken aback and can’t react for a moment. The attack on his full lips caught him by surprise, but he sort of likes it. The feel of Sam’s lips on his, the sensation of Sammy’s tongue running along his plump bottom lip, caressing it softly, that’s nice.
Wait, no, they shouldn’t be doing this.
But then, it’s really nice.
No.
Nice.
Brain.
Cock.
Hm.
Shutting down his brain, he makes his choice.
Passionately, Dean kisses Sam back, pushes his tongue back against his little brother’s. It’s wet and their tastes mix, it’s good and in this moment it feels like everything Dean ever wanted. One of his hands - the one not covered by the washcloth - finds its way into Sammy’s chestnut mop, running through the strands, combing them softly. His other hand continues the work it’s supposed to do as it carefully rubs the rough fabric over Sam’s skin. It slips over Sam’ strong thighs, over his awakening cock, down between his buttcheeks.
Sam gasps as he feels the terry cloth scrap over his most sensitive area, stimulating, tickling his eager body. God, yeah. He breaks their kiss and moves a few inches away as he notices that Dean leans forward, going for his lips again.
“Undress and come in,” Sam whispers seductively.
“You sure?” Dean asks, part of him is wishing that Sam says “no” and that all this turns out to be just a bad dream and that, in fact, they still are normal - in a Winchester sort of way - and part of him is wishing that Sam says “yes” and that he finally gets to touch Sam - for real - like he has been longing to.
“Yeah. After all, you’re not done with your job and I think you can wash me more easily when you are in here with me.”
Dean hesitates another moment, thinking about all this, before he grins, “Sounds logical.”
He doesn’t have to be asked another time to step in. Quickly, he discards all guilt and “oh Jesus fucking Christ, so wrong” thoughts and starts undressing. He thinks that those thoughts definitely can wait until later when both him and Sammy came to their senses. At the moment, it’s clear that neither is using them, driven by lust and want, by arousal and the need for sweet release.
But undressing’s not so easy with only one hand - his other hand not leaving Sammy’s body, in order to keep his still dizzy brother (well, his body is still dizzy, his brain clearly not) steady. Eventually, he’s standing behind Sam in the bathtub, softly pressing against his brother from behind.
Sam gasps again when Dean’s length pokes into his lower back, announcing that it’s there too. Slowly, Dean continues his ministrations, lets the washcloth slide over Sam’s body, careful and sensual. He shivers slightly as Sam leans back against him - wet and sticky skin against wet and sticky skin - and as his hand makes contact with Sam’s erection.
Dean rubs in little circles, making sure that he’s touching ever inch of Sam’s body beneath the bandage. He watches carefully as the well-smelling and cleansing lather is being applied to Sam’s cock, captured in his pubes, how it’s dripping between his buttcheeks, cleaning the sensitive area there. Dean makes sure that he’s stroking it over Sam’s firm butt, along the little curve where arse and back of the thigh embrace. His touches are soft and almost bashful. The last thing that Dean wants is to apply too much pressure on Sam’s most sensitive parts, does not want to ruin this, but make this good for Sammy, after all the time that he had to suffer. He wants to make up for every second that Sam had to endure pain because of Dean’s stupid behaviour. Time to spoil Sammy a little. When he moves over to Sam’s thighs his strokes become a bit more forceful and then one of Sam’s hands moves back, grabbing Dean’s neck, clinging to him as if he needed the grip to keep himself steady. Sam shifts a bit, spreading his thighs a little more, giving Dean easier access. And then, Dean suddenly drops the washcloth before he uses his bare hand to work the soap into his little brother’s skin.
They both hold their breaths as Dean cups Sam’s balls, stroking them with his slick thumb only, teasingly light, but strong enough to make Sam’s knees weak so that he has to tighten his grip on Dean’s neck. Sam quickly turns his face until his lips find the older Winchester’s throat, licking and lapping it greedily. He sucks it, nibbling and biting the skin that he never knew just how soft and vulnerable it is there, that little, sweet spot just below Dean’s jaw. He can feel, no hear, the blood rushing through Dean’s veins, what all this does to his older brother. Maybe he’s doing it a bit too hard, the way he bites and nibbles Dean’s skin, but in this very moment Sam is so aroused that he cannot help it.
“Fuck, man,” Sam moans as Dean firmly starts running his hand up and down Sam’s cock.
“Dean.”
Dean doesn’t answer, instead his hand around Sam’s waist, the one that is holding him tight and up straight, pulls him further towards his own body - his own hard cock - while the hand on Sam’s cock keeps caressing him, with a little squeeze now whenever it runs over the glistening head.
“Dean,” Sam repeats, more desperate.
Sam needs another try before he can finally tell Dean what it is that he wants.
“Dean, finish washing me and let’s get flat on the bed.”
Dean smirks against his brother’s shoulder before a slick tongue pokes out to lap at the white skin. Quickly, he reaches for the showerhead again, turning the water tap open until the clear water flows out. He waits a few moments for the temperature to rise.
“Good?” Dean asks as he starts rinsing Sam’s calves and shins.
“Yeah, good.”
Sam shivers again as Dean once more touches the most intimate places of his body with the washcloth, trying to get rid of the soap. Dean then uses it to clean Sam’s chest and back and the ticklish spots underneath his arms, watching carefully not to allow any kind of contact to the wound and the bandage. After all, that’s why he did all this in the first place - though if one looked at Dean’s hard-on, one could interpret his “selfless” and “altruistic” behaviour differently.
Once they’re done, Dean helps Sam out of the bathtub, wrapping him in a towel and sitting him down on the toilet seat before he steps back in and washes himself quickly too. Sam’s eyes follow his every movement curiously as his brother cleans himself and when Dean’s hands glide over his own wet, glistening skin, stroking himself softly, Sam licks his lips unconsciously.
Dean reaches for another one of the big, cheap (and a little too rough) motel towels for himself and uses it to tousle it through his short, ash blond hair, just to dry away the little drops of water and tie it around his hips. Next he walks over to Sammy again, who sits still on the toilet seat, sleep in his eyes, smiling softly and gratefully.
Dean uses both hands to carefully pull his brother up. He has to laugh to himself as he once more gets down on his knees in front of Sam and when he once more sees what this provokes within Sam. Tenderly, he dabs off the clear water pearls from the younger Winchester’s skin, again paying extra attention to not get the stitches and wound wet or rub over them with the towel to firmly.
Once Dean dried a little spot on Sam’s skin, he presses his lips to it, kissing it. His tongue licks across it and Dean has to grin as he hears Sam release short pants. Steadily he moves up Sam’s legs until he stops just in the moment before he is to touch his little brother’s half-hard cock. Dean smirks, looking up from underneath his lashes, stealing a quick glance at Sam, seeing that Sam’s biting his lower lip hard and releasing even more heavy pants.
Carefully at first, Dean starts stroking Sam, then a bit more firmly as the cock grows fully erect in his hand. He uses his thumb to rub over the head, smearing the clear and sticky liquid flowing out.
Dean smirks, surprised just how much this all turns him on, him on his knees, in front of his brother - who unconsciously dropped a hand on Dean’s head to keep him in place - and his hard cock, just inches away from his lips. Sammy’s skin is covered in goosebumps as Dean keeps stroking him.
Yet Sam was right.
They need to get more comfortable. Sam doesn’t look as if could stand there for ages, his body exhausted and tired, his senses sharp as ever though.
Quickly, Dean stands up and when he looks into Sam’s eyes he can see that they spring wide open, glistening with boiling lust, just in the moment when Dean licks his thumb, exactly the thumb coated by Sam’s pre-come. It tastes manly and musky, raw and so very Sam. The way Dean’s own hard-on kicks tells him that he needs more of that and that he needs it soon.
He doesn’t lose more time as he leads Sam over to one of their motel beds. Carefully, he lays him down. Sam smiles at him, his hand moving up to softly caress his brother’s cheek.
“Sammy,” Dean whispers as he bends down to place a tender kiss on his brother’s lips, “Are you sure you want this? I mean,” Dean pauses, licking his own lips, tasting Sammy on them, “I mean, it’s going to be awkward if we do this now and you don’t want it. We still could, you know, stop, I guess. If you want to.”
Sam doesn’t answer, instead he reaches for Dean, pulling him down until he lies between Sam’s eagerly spread thighs. He doesn’t speak, but the way he pushes up against Dean, his groin against Dean’s, cock against cock, says it all.
“Does this feel as if I didn’t want this?”
Dean grins before he captures Sam’s lips in a fierce kiss. Their tongues are battling, tangling and probing, while hands are carefully exploring this new territory, the texture of the other’s skin, the strength of the muscles underneath it. Dean thinks that he could lie here for ages, tasting, stroking Sam, his life feels strangely complete as if this was all he ever wanted.
Slowly, he shifts from Sam until he’s lying next to him, pressed close. His hand wanders over the younger Winchester’s body, starting from his face, over to the soft lips, down his throat to his chest. As soon as it rests on Sam’s abdomen, feeling the heat of Sam’s rigid cock that is pressed to Sam’s waist, he lets his lips follow, starting at Sam’s lips too.
This time Dean is kissing Sam slowly and heavily, sucking at his tongue, his lips, everything that comes across his way. Sam’s hand finds the nape of Dean’s neck again, playing with the short hairs there, twirling them with his fingers, tugging them gently. Sam rests patiently, letting his brother spoil him, enjoying the sensation of Dean’s burning touches and kisses.
He knows that this’ll give him a lot to brood about, something that will stick to his mind and make him think about for ages. He knows that he’ll try to figure out what they’ve just done, touching, kissing, sleeping with each other. Two men, two brothers. But strangely enough, he couldn’t care any less right now, not when having Dean so close like he never had before, feels so warm and wonderful, makes him calm and wanted like he hadn’t felt for a long, long time. Dean sucking his skin, stroking his body is absolutely blissful and Sam doesn’t want it to end. Ever.
Carefully, Dean’s caressing his chest now, scraping short nails over hard, little nipples that grow even harder from the touches. Dean bends down to suck them softly at first, with more urgency as Sam’s hand fists his hair. And when he’s adding a little bite, a teasing little bite, sharp, yet careful, Sam gasps out loud, definitely loving the sensation.
Dean’s hand slowly travels further down until it rests on the bandage around Sam’s waist, on the flank where the wound is, as if his hand would heal. His mouth follows as he places dry kisses on top of it, apologising to Sam and all this, saying sorry without saying it, but with his lips only. Sam continues stroking his older brother’s hair, his neck and broad, manly shoulders, accepting Dean’s apologies and saying, “It’s ok” without saying it either.
To Sam it seems ages that they lie there, kissing, stroking and the little bites. Dean’s currently licking Sam’s bellybutton, dipping his tongue, teasing and caressing the sensitive skin with short pecks. There is one, long constant hum that escapes Sam’s throat, acknowledging that he very much likes this treatment. Dean snorts against Sam’s belly, his breath tickling his little brother.
Dean’s hands knead Sam’s thighs, not too much, running up and down the inner side. Whenever they’re on their way upwards, coming carefully close to Sam’s crotch, his most private area, Dean can feel how Sammy tenses underneath him, how he holds his breath. For a moment, Dean’s unsure - after all, this is the first time he’s doing something like that to Sam and it’s no wonder that he doesn’t know yet how to read the younger Winchester’s body language - for a moment Dean doesn’t know whether Sam tenses because he’s anticipating the touches on his cock that are to follow or whether he feels uncomfortable and nervous.
“You ok, Sammy?” he whispers against the glistening skin.
Sam doesn’t answer, instead he only nods. His fingers continue stroking the back of Dean’s head, playing with his brother’s hair as he looks at him with big, big eyes that are full of lust.
“I mean, Sammy,” Dean pauses to lick his full, wanton lips, in that sensual way that it almost looks porny (no, wait, it does…), “You know, if you’re uncomfortable, we can leave it to that. No, erm, need to rush things.”
And then, suddenly, Sam starts laughing again. Judging from the totally bemused expression on Dean’s face, he totally misses what’s so funny.
“Dean,” Sam smiles, “You never talk that fucking much. Why do you have to do it now?”
The grip in Dean’s hair tightens as Sam pulls his brother up to kiss him once more passionately. Dean’s laughing now too, but the sounds are swallowed by Sam’s mouth, until they’re more of a pant in the end.
“Let’s get on with this then.”
He shifts until he’s in his previous position, a bit further down on the bed, lying between Sam’s spread thighs, pressing wet, suckling kisses to his lower abdomen. With his teeth Dean plays with Sam’s happy trail, tugging the dark hairs gently, further down, further down and further down until he reaches Sam’s pubic hair.
On his way south, Dean can feel Sam’s hard and leaking cock pressed against his skin, bouncing against his throat, as if it was to say, “Hey, I’m here. Suck me now.”
Not yet.
Dean concludes that it’s a bit more time for teasing, so he lazily starts stroking Sam’s hard-on, making sure not to apply too much pressure. He’s running his hand up and down the length and when he feels Sam’s cock in his hand, how it twitches because of the contact, Dean’s own cock kicks. He almost forgot about it as he was having so much fun, spoiling and stimulating Sam’s gorgeous body. But now, it’s once more acknowledging its presence and that someone - preferably Sammy - will have to take care of it.
Later.
Sam moans Dean’s name and Dean finds it a beautiful sound. He adds once more that soft squeeze when his hand reaches the tip, the same soft squeeze that - back in the bathroom - drove Sam almost insane. Once more, Dean uses his thumb to smear the pre-come, spreading it over the whole cock, using it as some kind of lube. His hand is already slick and sticky and he decides to slow down a bit, to make Sam last a bit longer. Dean’s other hand runs up and down Sam’s firm thighs, the nails once more at work, leaving red stripes where they just scratched Sam.
“Dean, don’t tease,” Sam pleads, bucking his hips into Dean’s firm grip to search for the friction on his cock that he’ll need for sweet, sweet release.
“Right,” Dean smirks and as looks up, he sees the lust and longing in Sam’s eyes, he’s tempted to simply suck Sammy off and end it, but he doesn’t.
“I have an idea. Stay where you are.”
With finishing the sentence Dean gets up, leaving Sam behind on the bed. Immediately, Sam feels cold, wanting Dean back by his side - between his thighs - his warm and comforting touches. He watches Dean walk over towards the little kitchenette, focusing carefully on his brother’s long, strong back, his gaze wanders down to his curvy butt, perceiving how Dean’s muscles flex when he walks. He also watches as Dean opens the fridge, bending over, sticking out his naked butt. Sam’s mouth waters and all he’d want now is a little bite on one of those firm cheeks.
It doesn’t take Dean long to return, a little container in his hands. Sam can’t see what’s in there and the way Dean smirks at him doesn’t make this any better either.
“Close your eyes, Sammy,” he whispers before he settles back next to his little brother on the bed.
For once Sam does as he’s told without questioning the person to give him an order like he usually would. He can feel Dean shift next to him and suddenly, there’s something cold against his lips. It melts against his warm skin and when he pokes out his tongue to find out what it is, he can taste only water.
Sam opens his eyes and he can see that once more Dean is smirking at him. Slowly, Dean takes the ice cube from the little Winchester’s lips, just to rub it against his throat the next moment.
Sam shivers but smiles. He bites his lips as Dean slides the cold object further down until it rests in the little curve above Sam’s collarbone. Due to Sam’s incredible body heat it doesn’t take long until the ice melts and almost immediately Dean bends down to lick the fresh water from his brother’s skin.
He takes another cube, repeating the procedure as he rubs it gently over Sam’s collarbone, further down to dark little nipples. Sam doesn’t say a word but judging from the way his eyes shine - and seduce - Dean can tell that he likes it. A little hiss as Dean orbits one of his little brother’s hard nipples with a fresh ice cube, teasing the hot skin. The hiss is followed by a moan when Dean bends down to lick the water and suck and nibble Sam’s nipple passionately. In contrast to the chill of the ice, Dean’s warm and wanton lips feel even hotter.
The ministrations with the ice cubes continue as Dean rubs them all over Sam’s strong chest, his abdomen, further down and yet further down. Sam gasps out loud as Dean lets one little cube slide over his cock, attacking his sensitive skin with the coldness. He thinks he’s dying from an overkill of sexual arousal and pleasure as Dean teases the head with yet another piece of that wicked stuff he’s treating Sam with. Sam’s ability to express himself is reduced to needy whimpers, his brain refusing to form coherent sentences or even complete words.
“Dean, please…”
Eventually, Dean takes pity on his little brother. He smirks before he bends down to finally give Sam what he wants, what he desires so much that he started begging. Quickly, Dean licks his lips, moisturising them thoroughly.
One of his hands holds Sam’s cock as Dean opens his mouth to engulf both the ice cube and the tip. Thoroughly, he starts sucking cube and cock, making porny, little sounds when doing so. Due to all the water in his mouth he hardly can taste Sammy, the melt water diluting Sam’s fluids. Dean swallows, trying to get rid of the water and taste more of Sam, but it’s a bit too much for him to take, as some of the liquid wells out between his lips slowly, along Sam’s cock, making it glisten.
In the moment when Dean’s mouth takes Sam in, the little brother gasps so hard that he almost forgets to breathe. Once more the contrast between the ice cube and Dean’s hot lips is incredible, this time even more intense because of his cock’s sensitivity.
And then, Dean opens his mouth a little further, allowing for Sam’s cock to slip in just another inch. The pressure of Dean’s tongue is delicate as it massages the underside of Sam’s hard-on. Dean feels the thick vain there, pulsating against his tongue and just how soft the skin there seems to be. Sam releases this incredibly loud moan that makes Dean smirk, makes him also proud that he can provoke those kinds of reactions within his little brother and make him lose it and let go for once.
The hand that was holding Sam’s cock previously is now placed on the younger Winchester’s hip in order to press him down and prevent him from thrusting into Dean’s mouth. After all, Dean is very new to this - and even though he’d never admit it, because this is just sex - he’s a bit nervous and certainly doesn’t need Sam shoving that thing uncontrollably down his throat, but needs to be the one in charge.
As he’s getting more comfortable with all this - Sam’s desperate moans, telling Dean that he’s doing well definitely help - he slips yet further down on Sam’s cock, taking even more of it into his mouth. He’s also using his teeth now, careful to put not too much pressure, scraping them over the hard flesh.
With his free hand, Dean grabs another one of those ice cubes and rubs it over Sam’s balls, stimulating them softly. Sam, once more, gasps out and moans, “Oh, Dean, fuck, that’s good,” spurting him on. And when Dean slips his little toy past Sam’s balls and into the intimate crevice between Sam’s buttcheeks, steadily further towards Sam’s most intimate spot, Sam cries out loud.
Sam’s thighs are spread as wide as they would spread as he loops his legs around his brother’s torso, just to keep him there, to keep him doing that. For a split second, Sam wonders whether someone can die from too much pleasure. If that’s possible, he’s dangerously close.
Fuck.
He cries out again as he feels something against his entrance and since his brain already feels like pudding it takes him a while to realise that Dean is rubbing another fresh ice cube against him and that - fuck again - he’s slowly shoving that thing into him.
Dean never stops moving his lips up and down Sam’s painfully hard shaft, even as he feels Sam’s whole body quiver and tremble, telling him that it won’t take Sam much more to come. Carefully, he pushes the ice cube past the tight ring of muscles, letting his index follow. Paying much attention to not hurt Sam even more, he starts moving the finger back and forth.
From underneath his lashes, Dean can see how Sam’s eyes spring wide open as his finger hits a sweet spot that sends a flash right through Sam’s body, while his sounds are reduced to needy grunts and incomprehensible words. Sam feels like being torn apart in pleasure and it’s too much to take for him.
Dean hits that same spot again and again and finally Sam loses it, desperately trying to thrust up into the warm and comfortable wetness that is Dean’s mouth.
Dean’s taken aback, despite Sam’s warning - his whimper, “Fuck, Dean” and shuddering - as Sam comes hard in his mouth, shooting his sweet come. Sam’s cock erupts a few times, releasing several spurts of creamy liquid. Dean coughs, totally not prepared for this, but eventually he swallows everything that’s in his mouth.
It tastes like Sam’s pre-come with the only difference that the taste is a lot stronger, even manlier and muskier and rawer and even more like Sam. Dean continues sucking Sam’s spent cock, that’s still quivering slightly. Carefully, he pulls out his finger, just to softly scrape his nails over Sam’s trembling thigh.
Sam pets the back of Dean’s head in an affectionate manner, running his long and agile fingers through the soft hair. When Dean eventually releases his cock, letting it slip out of his mouth and looks up, Sammy smiles, beckoning his brother close with the gesture of his finger. Dean smiles too and just in the moment he is about to lock lips with Sam, the younger brother turns his head slightly so that he’s kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth and the little wrinkle down, leading to his chin. Sam’s tongue pokes out to lick it and when Dean looks at him, confused, he whispers seductively, “You didn’t catch everything.”
Dean thinks that he just died a bit, alone from the imagination that Sam just licked away his own come from his brother’s face. He doesn’t even know what to say, and that means something for someone like Dean Winchester.
Sam writhes underneath him, smiling, grateful and satisfied. Slowly, Dean starts stroking his brother’s face, the soft and flushed cheek. They kiss deeply as Dean lies down next to Sam, half-lying on top of him, pressing himself against his younger brother’s uninjured side.
Sam shoves a leg between Dean’s thighs and only now Dean realises that he’s still hard, almost painful so, the sight of Sam coming, letting go, spoiling Sam’s body like this totally turned him on.
One of Sam’s hands strokes Dean’s strong chest, not hesitating as he grabs Dean’s cock for the first time, fisting it carefully.
“Sammy, you don’t have to…”
Dean doesn’t have much chance to finish his sentence as Sam whispers seductively, “But what if I desperately want to?”
This puts an end to Dean’s protests and he simply lies back, letting Sam roll him over. Dean sees Sam grit his teeth as he tries to sit up to move over his brother.
“Be careful, Sam,” he warns, his voice a bit sterner than he intended to.
Sam only looks at him with big eyes, but eventually gives up trying to move much. He can’t help it that his side hurts like motherfucker, now that the painkillers are totally worn off. Usually, he’d tell himself not to be a baby and go on with it, because he’s been in worse pain and walked through it, but when Dean says that he definitely does not want anything to happen to that wound, Sam softens and only rolls a little until he’s laying on his healthy side.
Teasingly light Sam starts stroking Dean’s hard cock, trying to put his nervousness aside. Dean licks his lips and closes his eyes, smiling to himself.
“That’s good, keep doing that,” he moans.
Trying to remember what Dean did to him and how good it felt, Sam dedicates his whole concentration on his hand running over Dean’s hard-on and how it feels. As the sees Dean squeeze his eyes shut as if he were in pain - his desperate whimper giving away though that he’s far from that - Sam becomes just a little bolder, his grip tightening on Dean, tugging Dean’s cock carefully.
Dean gasps, his arms sprawling, searching for something to hold on to, to tear apart in his high state of lust. Desperately he pulls the sheets underneath them as his hips automatically push up, into Sammy’s firm grip.
Fuck, yeah.
With one final groan - “Harder, Sammy.” - he comes in several white splashes, all over Sam’s hand and his own body. Still panting heavily, he turns his head to look at Sam and kiss him once more. Sam smiles shyly and before Dean can reach him with his lips, Sam brings his sticky fingers up to his lips, licking them clean, thoroughly and sensually. He pants as Dean’s come coats his tongue, the strong, new scent of his brother in his mouth.
Dean smirks, his hand stroking the back of Sam’s head as he asks, “Do I taste good?”
It’s supposed to unsettle, to tease Sam a little bit, to make him blush again, but when Sam only smirks back, one of his fingers running through the slowly cooling come on Dean’s body, wiping it away and bringing the coated finger to Dean’s mouth with the words “Taste it yourself,” Dean’ the one that’s unsettled. Giving his brother a seducing look, Sam rubs it against Dean’s lower lip. Dean hesitates a split second before he pokes out his tongue, licking away the sticky cream. He then captures Sam’s finger, sucking it greedily into his mouth.
Suddenly and almost at the same time, the brothers start roaring, laughing at the whole absurdity of this situation. They kiss again, heavily and sensually and if the world were to end now neither would mind all that much.
Dean feels how Sam tries to snuggle against him, how he’s searching for warmness and comfort. Sam’s breathing becomes calmer and slower, probably he’s simply exhausted and wants to go back to sleep a bit more.
“I’ll get you something to wear and a few painkillers,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against Sam’s temple.
Sam smiles gratefully and nods. As soon as Dean got up from the bed, his arms feel empty and as if something was missing.
“I’m fine without the painkillers,” he says as he watches Dean’s naked back and butt once more, his eyes following the gracious movements of his older brother. “A glass of water, though?”
When Dean returns, a jar of water and some clean clothes in his hand Sam again smiles gratefully. He empties the glass in one long drink before he lets Dean dress him.
“You ok, little brother?” Dean smiles as he puts one of the blankets over Sam, tucking him in tenderly. “I mean, with what we just did. Any remorse?”
Sam only shakes his head, one of his hands finding his older brother’s. “No, no regrets so far, apart from one.”
Dean frowns, not quite getting what Sam is trying to hint.
“Dude, the only thing that pisses me off is that it took all this,” he pats his injured flank, “all this to find out, I’m not the only one with those feelings.”
“Right,” Dean laughs before he bends down to place a soft peck on Sammy’s lips.
Sam closes his eyes, being exhausted from everything they just did, the pain of the last few days, too many pills and those new emotions. It doesn’t take him long until he falls into a deep and restorative sleep.