Fic: Crush - Part 6 (Sam/Dean)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 4,800
Warnings: Weecest, first time, bareback, schmoop
Notes: Whew! Ok, I promises a big sex finale and here it is.
Summary - After months of waiting, it's finally time.
It's a miracle. Or a sign of the apocalypse. Or both. Can it be both? Sam's not really thinking clearly right now. Mainly because he's pretty sure his brother drugged their father or possibly blackmailed him, or maybe performed some kind of scary black magic ritual because Sam cannot think of any reason under normal circumstances that John Winchester would have gotten his sons their own room at a motel.
Not that their dad doesn't trust them or anything, he just generally prefers to keep them both in his line of sight at all times. Also, extra room = waste of money, not something that they can afford to be frivolous about. But somehow it's happened, and whatever Dean says, Sam's pretty sure his brother's the one that made it happen. Maybe Dean has heretofore unknown powers of persuasion.
Yeah, ok, Sam's going with black magic.
Still, they're alone. Totally alone, with the whole rest of the night to themselves since Dad turned in with admonishments to get some sleep. Yeah, right.
Just the two of them, two beds and nothing to stop them from making good use of both. Sam's dick has been impersonating granite since Dad handed Dean the key.
Dean drops his duffle by the bed nearest the door and keeps right on walking until he gets to the wall on the other side of the room. Which he stares at, scrubbing at the skin on the back of his neck like he's trying to rub the hide off.
Ok, not exactly the ‘slammed up against the door, tearing each other's clothes off’ entrance Sam had been imagining - vividly - for the last several minutes, but that's alright. It's been less than twelve hours since the big 'no, I'm not ashamed of you' kiss in front of the whole freakin' school, so Dean's probably still a little unsettled. Not that he has any right to be, he was the one who went all PDA on Sam in the first place, but Dean's funny about shit sometimes. Okay, most times.
All he needs is a little motivation.
Sam tosses his bag on the floor too, toeing out of his shoes before he flops - with an exaggerated sigh, to make sure he has Dean's attention - onto the bed. Dean visibly flinches and when he turns around to face Sam it's slow and hesitant.
Dean's face is blushing furiously, way worse than it had this afternoon, worse even than the first time he kissed Sam; his freckles nothing but a cinnamon dusting over red skin. It's enough to make Sam worry, the bright bubble of excitement in his chest deflating right along with his cock.
"Dean, what's wrong?" he asks, leaning up on his elbows, then sitting all the way forward when Dean just shuffles his feet and stares down at the carpet.
His brother mumbles something under his breath and impossibly, manages to blush darker. Sam is officially freaked out.
"Dean, c'mon, talk to me!" Sam gets halfway to standing before he hears Dean mutter “fuck it” and then all of the air gets punched out of Sam's chest as his brother tackles him onto the bed. Seems like Dean's been doing a lot of tackling lately, they should probably talk about that sometime.
Not now though. Now he's got Dean's tongue shoved in his mouth and he damn well intends to keep it there. Broad, callused hands paw at Sam frantically, like they don't have the place all to themselves and Dad could walk in any minute.
Dean's moans spill across Sam's lips along with a half formed litany of what sounds like Sam's name and 'baby' and 'beautiful'. Which really is taking too far because Sam's bigger than Dean now and manly and, well, just way to gangly to be called beautiful. Also, he's not a freakin' girl, no matter how many times Dean says so. On the other hand, Dean makes a very persuasive argument by cupping Sam's once-again-hard cock through his jeans, so really, Dean can call him 'Claire' for all Sam cares.
They nearly topple off of the bed when Dean tries to remove both of their shirts at once and Sam can't help the burst of laughter that wells up as his brother flails wildly to regain his balance. He instantly regrets it because it seems to snap Dean out of whatever kind of sexy-making trance he was in and now he's just kneeling there on the bed, panting and shirtless, staring at Sam with wide green eyes.
Sam puts a hand on his brother's chest, trying to comfort him even though he seriously cannot figure out what the hell is going on. He's starting to wonder if he should go get Dad, despite the nausea inducing terror of that idea.
Dean catches his wrist, pulls Sam's hand up to his mouth and kisses across the knuckles gently before cupping Sam's palm to his lips and giving it the same treatment. This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to him.
He feels the "Love you, Sammy," as much as hears it, like's it's tingling from the skin Dean breathed it against all the way up to his heart to be pumped right out again into every inch of his body. He knows it, of course, could never begin to doubt that Dean loves him; it's just not something they say a lot, not outright, in those words, not without sex or serious injury involved.
"I love you too, Dean," he whispers back, urging his brother closer with a hand cupped to his jaw. He can actually see some of the tension bleed out of Dean and it hurts all over again to think that Dean could have doubted something that's as basic to Sam as breathing.
Dean's eyes catch Sam's, waver and shoot down to the bedspread again. "I wanna... I want..."
"What?" Sam soothes, bringing his reluctant big brother the rest of the way in so their foreheads rest together and he can stroke his thumb over the soft patch of skin behind Dean's ear.
"I wanna be... with you. I mean..." Dean fumbles, growling his frustration into Sam's hair, "Fuck! It's not supposed to be this hard!'
He tries to pull away, but Sam holds on tight refuses to give an inch even if Dean still won't look him in the eye.
"You mean, like, in me?" Sam's voice sounds small, choked out around the sudden clench of his throat and he can't decide whether it's fear or excitement that’s stealing his breath. "Like, you wanna have sex?"
Dean makes a pained sound, tries to wrench himself away again, but Sam just tucks his legs around his brother too, clings like a baby possum. He used to do it when he was little and wanted something Dean thought he shouldn’t have but now he’s big enough to actually keep Dean in place.
Dean's hands hover just shy of actually touching him, the heat radiating out from his palms into the bare expanse of Sam's ribs.
"I want to," Sam assures him, pressing with words into the prickly silk of Dean's hair, "I want to so bad, Dean."
The burn of Dean's fingers on him his like permission to release the breath Sam hadn't even realized he was holding. Slowly, Dean's eyes turn toward him, searching and worried and hungry all at once. It's a look Dean wears a lot.
"What was your first time like?" It's out of Sam's mouth before he can think of all of the ways it might screw this up; that damnedable curiosity overwhelming him again because somehow this seems like the kind of thing he should know even if this is probably the worst possible time to ask. The corner of Dean's mouth twitches and when he answers the tone is a little flat, like when he's running down the stats from morgue reports.
"Fast. Messy. It was behind this arcade in Iowa somewhere. Girl's name was Christy, or Chrissy. Didn't mean anything." Dean doesn't say 'not like this' because Sam doesn't need him to. He know it the same way he know the sky will still be blue tomorrow and the sun will still rise in the east and bacon will still be delicious; he's special to Dean, in a way that nobody else will ever be - not girls he hooks up with, or waitresses he flirts with, not hunters he admires or Steve McQueen characters he tries to be like or even Dad. Sam's special to Dean, and everything they do, everything they ever have of ever will do, means something. And he knows that's why Dean's freaking out.
"This time'll be better." Sam smiles, bumping his nose against his brother's gently, not quite a nuzzle. Dean grins despite himself and ruffles Sam's hair.
"Damn straight, Sammy."
When their lips come together this time it's gentle, but deep; all slow burning heat that replaces Sam's marrow and seeps out all the way through him. For a long while that's all there is, those slow smooth kisses that shut Sam's brain down and make him forget why his body's so eager. He's not sure how they ended up laying down of when they got rid of their pants, the suckle of Dean's mouth and the warm strength of his brother against him taking up all of his consciousness.
Then Dean breaks the kiss - that habit's getting old by the way - and says, voice rumbling through his chest right into Sam, "I want you to go first. To t-take me". Sam's still got that brain-shut-down thing happening, but fortunately Dean gets it - always does - so he takes Sam's hand and slides it down behind him until Sam's fingers just brush the cleft of Dean's ass.
Sam's startled enough that he gasps and jerks his hand back which his balls immediately start trying to eat him alive for. But it's just. Well. It's new. Like really new. Not that he's never thought about it or anything, it's just not how they work and Sam's always enjoyed the stuff they do so he's never seen any point in complaining. And now Dean's wants to...
"Have you ever?" Sam tentatively lets his hand slide of the curve of Dean's backside, just rubbing over the firm fullness of the cheek. Dean shakes his head 'no' but scoots in just a fraction closer like an encouragement. Carefully Sam slips just one finger along the warm divide, stupidly shocked when he finds Dean's hole, as though he really hadn't expected it to be there or something. But it is, right there, tight and furled and pretty much exactly like his own, except this time he's only feeling it from one side and that's kind of strange.
"I'm not doing it to you unless I know its ok," Dean says resolutely, and Sam bites back the retort on the tip of his tongue about all of the other stuff Dean's done with him. "Not gonna hurt you, Sammy."
Leave it to Dean to be issuing ultimatums when Sam's got a finger poised over his asshole. It's enough to make Sam smile wryly and slowly nod his head, because there’s no point in arguing - once Dean's dug in his heels, there's no way around it.
Dean smirks and Sam can't resist pressing just a little bit with his finger - not enough to enter, but plenty to wipe that smug smile off of his brother's face.
Rolling his eyes, Dean pushes Sam's hand away momentarily to scoot over to the side of the bed and root through his duffle for the bottle of lube he keeps hidden in a rolled up pair of underwear. He tosses it to Sam easily, as if he didn't just insist that his little brother fuck him up the ass and settles back down on his side, next to Sam.
The cap on the lube is suddenly eight billion times more complicated than it used to be; he's starting to think that maybe Dean superglued it on and this is all just a big joke. He twists hard and the cap goes flying off, sails clear across the room to clatter against the wall. Yeah, Sam's a suave motherfucker.
Dean's biting his lips to cover what sounds suspiciously like a snicker, so Sam doesn't feel too bad when he squirts way too much lube onto his fingers and presses the tip of the first one in without warning. This is turning out to be an awesome way to shut Dean up, maybe they should do this more often.
Then, of course, his mind actually locks in on how warm and tight it is inside Dean, how different it feels when he's only getting the sensation from his fingers and wow, no wonder Dean likes doing this to him so much. There's only a little bit of resistance as the first finger slides home, still enough that he can feel Dean clenching up all over, so Sam paints soft kisses up Dean's neck, across his shoulder until some of the tension eases. His mouth finds that little spot under Dean's jaw that makes him go all twitchy and gets his eyelashes fluttering and concentrates there.
His brother moans, baring his neck more for Sam and the tight muscle around Sam's slowly moving finger relents enough that he can tease around the edge with a second digit and carefully slide it in too. God, it's so silky inside, so hot and strong and clearly Sam has not been giving Dean enough credit for not fucking him through the mattress long before now because without the sting and the stretch and the white-hot little jolts from his sweet spot, all Sam can think about is how good that would feel around his dick.
And oh, hey, sweet spot, he should probably figure out where that is. It only takes a minute of rubbing around inside - which makes Dean sort of squirm and make these pleased, kind of confused noises - to figure out where it is and then Dean's bucking his hips forward so hard Sam's pretty sure he's going to have a bruise on his own where they collide.
"Oh fucking fuck," Dean gasps, disbelief clear in his voice, "Do that again."
Grinning, Sam does exactly as his brother says, teasing the little bit of flesh between his fingers and Dean actually whimpers, fingers clawing at the bed. Sam figures that's as good a time as any to get a third finger inside. A quiet whine builds in Dean's throat and Sam knows that feeling too, so he captures his brother's lips and fucks his tongue slowly in and out of Dean's mouth in time to what his fingers are doing in Dean's ass - just the way he likes it when Dean does this to him. Dean's hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place with a grip twisted up in his hair and then it's back to moaning.
Sam's dick is all but screaming at him to get on with it, or at least get a hand on himself, but as soon as he tries Dean bats it away, pulling at Sam's other hand too until he's free to scoot a little way up the bed and lay out flat on his back, legs spread open.
Ok.
Ok.
It takes a good thirty seconds for Sam's brain to reboot from that because Jesus Effing Christ, nothing has ever been that sexy before. Ever. In the annals of human history, this shall go down as the hottest moment of all time and Sam feels truly privileged to be here for it.
Dean, however, does not seem to appreciate the historical significance and is giving Sam his 'come on, fucktard' look. Well, fine then.
"Um," Sam hesitates for a second, surveying the bed in case he just overlooked something, "Shouldn't we- Aren't you supposed to... you know, use a... thing?"
Dean's smirk is back full force and the angle’s all wrong for Sam to just shove his fingers in Dean's ass to wipe it away again. "A thing, Sammy? Like a dick? 'Cause I thought you had one between your legs, but I guess I was wrong and you are a big ol' girl after all."
His fist makes a satisfying thud against Dean's shoulder but his brother refuses to flinch even though Sam knows for sure that hurt. Like his dick. God, his dick hurts; it’s like his whole lower body is cramping in sympathy. They really need to get on with this.
"A condom, jerk," he snorts, arms crossed over his chest. Admittedly, the fact that he's naked and so hard his dick's flat against his belly probably detracts from his pout somewhat.
"Bitch," Dean says automatically, jumping in before Sam can snap back at him, "Dude, how many times have you swallowed for me? You really think I've got anything you don't? You really think I'd have ever let you swallow if there was even a chance that I had something?" Dean's glare is still pretty intimidating despite the naked and spread out like a chick thing, so maybe Sam was being too hard on himself about the pout. "I'm careful, ok. I've never gone bareback with anybody before - ever. Now if you don't hurry the hell up I'm gonna take back the offer and make you go jack it in the bathroom, twerp."
It's an idle threat and they both know it, so Sam doesn't even spare a thought for it. Instead he lets that warm feeling from earlier flow through him because that's one more first that Sam gets to have with Dean - because Dean wants it that way. He's probably grinning like a loon, but he doesn't care.
The lube seems to be on a mission to thwart Sam losing his virginity - holy crap, he's actually losing his virginity! - but he finally manages to grope around and find it, slicking himself with one hand while the rest of his attention is dedicated to kissing Dean within an inch of his life.
It's like a string pulls tight inside of him as he presses the dripping tip of his cock to Dean's hole, everything pulling taut until he can't breathe around the tension, is literally shaking with it. He jerks in surprise when Dean's hand covers his around the base of his dick, guiding him forward. Sam's eyes dart up to his brother's and it's the same look Dean's given him a thousand times, calm and supportive and proud, and yet totally different too because there's never been anything like this before and it's all mixed up with want and love and nerves and Dean's... Dean's right there with him. Not invulnerable or experienced or any of that stuff that seems like it's supposed to matter, because this is all new for them both and Dean's hand is shaking too.
Together they hold Sam's steady as he pushes in and then Dean's eyes slam closed, jaw clenched as he grits his teeth. It takes everything Sam has to ignore the hot, satiny flesh around his, the grip so tight it almost hurts, and concentrate instead on gentling Dean through it with caressing sweeps of his hands and soft, wet kisses all over his chest.
Slowly he feels the muscles start to give as he buries himself deep and holds there for what feels like a couple dozen eternities until Dean experimentally shifts his hips. Then it's Sam's turn to clamp his eyes closed because if he doesn't start moving soon he might just spontaneously combust from all of the heat welling up from his groin.
"Move, Sam," Dean chokes out, and rolls his hips again, more certainly this time. Like hell Sam's going to question an order like that.
Thrusting into Dean's body is perfect, nothing could ever match it, and Sam never ever wants to stop. Dean's legs pull him in close so the thrusts are deeps and every few strokes he can hear his brother's breath catch when he finds the right spot. It's so good, so right, Sam feels like he's losing his mind, like every second of his life up until right now has been a complete waste because he had no idea what feeling even was until he fucked Dean.
He's so far into it that he barely registers the cool slickness on his skin until Dean's finger presses inside of him. His brother's arm is bent at an odd angle, supporting himself on his other elbow to reach around behind Sam - when the hell did he slick his fingers up? - and use the momentum of Sam's own thrusts to finger him open. And he was wrong, he didn't know what feeling was until right the fuck now.
Oh God, oh shit, it's going to be over stupidly fast and there's nothing Sam can do to stop it, orgasm barreling down on his like a freight train and he's tied to the tracks. Dean's hole milking his cock and Dean's fingers - two or three or eight, who the hell can count at a time like this? - slamming his hot spot on every push and yes, just fuck yes!
It hits him hard, more than breath stealing; his body actually forgets HOW to breathe. He'd put money down his heart stopped beating for a second there too. In fact, the only sign of life at all is the lightning strike of pleasure frying his nerves and the burning, slick pulse of his own come all around him, filling Dean up.
Sam returns to reality on his back, staring up at the hazy, grinning face of his big brother. Sam's trembling so hard it may qualify as a seizure and he's completely useless as Dean tries to rearrange him, limbs flopping limp as a dead fish. It all still feels pretty damn good.
Dean laughs deep in his chest, and pets Sam's thigh while his other hand strokes lube onto his angry red cock. Oh. Yeah. Sam was probably supposed to have done something about that during the fucking. Damn, he sucks at this!
Although Dean seems to have plans of his own, so maybe Sam doesn't need to feel so bad.
One of Sam's knees ends up settled over Dean's shoulder as his brother leans in to kiss him fiercely once before Sam feels the blunt press that has to be Dean's cock. Instinctually Sam tightens up, but in his fucked out state, even tightened up is pretty loose, so Dean slides right in like that's where he belongs. It's full, much fuller than when it was Dean's fingers. There's that shocky burn and the stretch and it's bizarrely good in a dull sort of way.
Damn, fucking hell damn. Sam had just come to grips with the fact that Dean laid out for him was the hottest thing ever and now his brother had to go and rewrite history again.
Dean throws his head back when he's all the way inside, hissing with pleasure and biting his already blood-heavy lip. His mouth looks so red and so plump and Sam just wants to lean up and suck on it for a little while. Or possibly forever, whichever comes first.
Then Dean moves, actually moves and the fullness inside of him shift and oh... Sam's toes curl and his back arches and blood rushes hot and painful into his dick, hardening again. Sam's hasn't got control over any of it. Jesus, how can anything possibly feel that good after what he just went through; he'd think his body would be maxed out of pleasure right now.
"Ung, yeah. Fuck, Sammy. So good," Dean's breaths are hot gusts against his face, words rasped out in a stuttered counterpoint to the steadily increasing power of his thrusts. "So tight, baby."
Sam locks his legs around Dean’s pulling him in closer just the way he had done to Sam and his calves meet cool wetness on the back of Dean’s thighs. His come. God, his come, leaking out of Dean body. His dick spurts a sloppy glob of precome onto his belly and he slicks his legs up and down the back of Dean’s thighs just to relish the feel.
Dean's voice crawls up into a whine, barely audible over the pounding of blood in Sam's ears as it spikes every time Dean hits the right angle. His thrusts go sloppy erratic, his hands pawing at Sam again like he's going to crawl inside his little brother’s skin and then he groans urgently, "Fuck, Sammy, fuck! Sam!". Dean's body crashes down on top of him, hips pressing in as close as he can to Sam and then somehow even closer so that the soft pulses of heat Sam can feel inside of himself go deep. That feeling and the sweet, sweat-slick friction of Dean’s stomach is enough to get Sam to the peak again, muscles clamping tight around the girth inside of him as he comes, dragging a strangled noise from his brother.
He doesn’t know if it’s the whir of his heartbeat or just how quietly Dean’s saying it, but sometime over the next few panting, come-sticky minutes he realizes that the breaths Dean is huffing into the curve of his neck are all colored with the word ‘mine’. Sam can’t do anything but nod his head slowly in agreement.
At last, with a grunt of effort Dean pulls out and Sam doesn’t quite cover the wince at how tender his body feels now. A minute later his brother’s wiping him down with a warm washcloth, sweeping up the mess on his stomach and gingerly wiping at the mess of lube and come at his hole. It’s probably weird that he likes the feel of it slowly trickling from his own hole just as much as he did when it was leaking out of Dean’s, but Sam’s starting to make peace with the fact that he’s really screwed up.
Sweat-tacky heat presses up against his side and for once it’s Dean’s head buried against Sam’s shoulder, not the other way around. “Thank you,” Dean whispers, almost too soft for Sam to hear. He pulls an arm around his older brother, tucking close to the body that for so much of his life seemed so impossibly bigger and stronger than his own.
“That was awesome,” Sam purrs once he’s finally found his voice, nose buried in the top of Dean’s head. All he gets in return is a ‘hmm’, but he knows Dean well enough to know that a smile goes along with that noise. He lets his fingers play up and down the length of Dean’s spine, idly tracing the edges of scars, remembering the story that goes along with each one.
“So how long do you think before you can get it up again, old man?” Sam grins at the ceiling, giddy, listening to the low growl build up in his brother’s voice.
“Least I’ve got staying power, baby boy.” Dean curls a finger against his thumb and Sam realizes a second too late what’s about to happen. He yelps loud enough Dad could probably hear it two rooms over, cupping his hands over his crotch to protect it from any more unwarranted flicking, but all that does is leave his face open to the soft smack of a pillow.
Sam recovers quickly, groping around to find his own pillow in the mess they’ve made of the sheets while Dean pummels him with the one in his hand. It’s totally worth it for the look on Dean’s face when Sam’s finally got himself armed and sneaks in a powerful headshot the rumples Dean’s hair every which way and nearly knocks him off the bed.
By the end of it, one of the pillows is completely trashed, fluffy little remnants of it scattered across the floor, and the poly-fill is all shoved down into the end of the other so it’s more like a brick in a pillow case, but they had already devolved into a wrestling match by then so it didn’t matter. That in turn devolved into kissing and now it’s just lazy making out as Dean’s cock starts coming back to life against Sam’s thigh.
It’s nice, even if it’s weird, or should be weird, or whatever. It’s just them, and no matter how much changes, Sam knows that this is always going to be the same.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 4,800
Warnings: Weecest, first time, bareback, schmoop
Notes: Whew! Ok, I promises a big sex finale and here it is.
Summary - After months of waiting, it's finally time.
It's a miracle. Or a sign of the apocalypse. Or both. Can it be both? Sam's not really thinking clearly right now. Mainly because he's pretty sure his brother drugged their father or possibly blackmailed him, or maybe performed some kind of scary black magic ritual because Sam cannot think of any reason under normal circumstances that John Winchester would have gotten his sons their own room at a motel.
Not that their dad doesn't trust them or anything, he just generally prefers to keep them both in his line of sight at all times. Also, extra room = waste of money, not something that they can afford to be frivolous about. But somehow it's happened, and whatever Dean says, Sam's pretty sure his brother's the one that made it happen. Maybe Dean has heretofore unknown powers of persuasion.
Yeah, ok, Sam's going with black magic.
Still, they're alone. Totally alone, with the whole rest of the night to themselves since Dad turned in with admonishments to get some sleep. Yeah, right.
Just the two of them, two beds and nothing to stop them from making good use of both. Sam's dick has been impersonating granite since Dad handed Dean the key.
Dean drops his duffle by the bed nearest the door and keeps right on walking until he gets to the wall on the other side of the room. Which he stares at, scrubbing at the skin on the back of his neck like he's trying to rub the hide off.
Ok, not exactly the ‘slammed up against the door, tearing each other's clothes off’ entrance Sam had been imagining - vividly - for the last several minutes, but that's alright. It's been less than twelve hours since the big 'no, I'm not ashamed of you' kiss in front of the whole freakin' school, so Dean's probably still a little unsettled. Not that he has any right to be, he was the one who went all PDA on Sam in the first place, but Dean's funny about shit sometimes. Okay, most times.
All he needs is a little motivation.
Sam tosses his bag on the floor too, toeing out of his shoes before he flops - with an exaggerated sigh, to make sure he has Dean's attention - onto the bed. Dean visibly flinches and when he turns around to face Sam it's slow and hesitant.
Dean's face is blushing furiously, way worse than it had this afternoon, worse even than the first time he kissed Sam; his freckles nothing but a cinnamon dusting over red skin. It's enough to make Sam worry, the bright bubble of excitement in his chest deflating right along with his cock.
"Dean, what's wrong?" he asks, leaning up on his elbows, then sitting all the way forward when Dean just shuffles his feet and stares down at the carpet.
His brother mumbles something under his breath and impossibly, manages to blush darker. Sam is officially freaked out.
"Dean, c'mon, talk to me!" Sam gets halfway to standing before he hears Dean mutter “fuck it” and then all of the air gets punched out of Sam's chest as his brother tackles him onto the bed. Seems like Dean's been doing a lot of tackling lately, they should probably talk about that sometime.
Not now though. Now he's got Dean's tongue shoved in his mouth and he damn well intends to keep it there. Broad, callused hands paw at Sam frantically, like they don't have the place all to themselves and Dad could walk in any minute.
Dean's moans spill across Sam's lips along with a half formed litany of what sounds like Sam's name and 'baby' and 'beautiful'. Which really is taking too far because Sam's bigger than Dean now and manly and, well, just way to gangly to be called beautiful. Also, he's not a freakin' girl, no matter how many times Dean says so. On the other hand, Dean makes a very persuasive argument by cupping Sam's once-again-hard cock through his jeans, so really, Dean can call him 'Claire' for all Sam cares.
They nearly topple off of the bed when Dean tries to remove both of their shirts at once and Sam can't help the burst of laughter that wells up as his brother flails wildly to regain his balance. He instantly regrets it because it seems to snap Dean out of whatever kind of sexy-making trance he was in and now he's just kneeling there on the bed, panting and shirtless, staring at Sam with wide green eyes.
Sam puts a hand on his brother's chest, trying to comfort him even though he seriously cannot figure out what the hell is going on. He's starting to wonder if he should go get Dad, despite the nausea inducing terror of that idea.
Dean catches his wrist, pulls Sam's hand up to his mouth and kisses across the knuckles gently before cupping Sam's palm to his lips and giving it the same treatment. This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to him.
He feels the "Love you, Sammy," as much as hears it, like's it's tingling from the skin Dean breathed it against all the way up to his heart to be pumped right out again into every inch of his body. He knows it, of course, could never begin to doubt that Dean loves him; it's just not something they say a lot, not outright, in those words, not without sex or serious injury involved.
"I love you too, Dean," he whispers back, urging his brother closer with a hand cupped to his jaw. He can actually see some of the tension bleed out of Dean and it hurts all over again to think that Dean could have doubted something that's as basic to Sam as breathing.
Dean's eyes catch Sam's, waver and shoot down to the bedspread again. "I wanna... I want..."
"What?" Sam soothes, bringing his reluctant big brother the rest of the way in so their foreheads rest together and he can stroke his thumb over the soft patch of skin behind Dean's ear.
"I wanna be... with you. I mean..." Dean fumbles, growling his frustration into Sam's hair, "Fuck! It's not supposed to be this hard!'
He tries to pull away, but Sam holds on tight refuses to give an inch even if Dean still won't look him in the eye.
"You mean, like, in me?" Sam's voice sounds small, choked out around the sudden clench of his throat and he can't decide whether it's fear or excitement that’s stealing his breath. "Like, you wanna have sex?"
Dean makes a pained sound, tries to wrench himself away again, but Sam just tucks his legs around his brother too, clings like a baby possum. He used to do it when he was little and wanted something Dean thought he shouldn’t have but now he’s big enough to actually keep Dean in place.
Dean's hands hover just shy of actually touching him, the heat radiating out from his palms into the bare expanse of Sam's ribs.
"I want to," Sam assures him, pressing with words into the prickly silk of Dean's hair, "I want to so bad, Dean."
The burn of Dean's fingers on him his like permission to release the breath Sam hadn't even realized he was holding. Slowly, Dean's eyes turn toward him, searching and worried and hungry all at once. It's a look Dean wears a lot.
"What was your first time like?" It's out of Sam's mouth before he can think of all of the ways it might screw this up; that damnedable curiosity overwhelming him again because somehow this seems like the kind of thing he should know even if this is probably the worst possible time to ask. The corner of Dean's mouth twitches and when he answers the tone is a little flat, like when he's running down the stats from morgue reports.
"Fast. Messy. It was behind this arcade in Iowa somewhere. Girl's name was Christy, or Chrissy. Didn't mean anything." Dean doesn't say 'not like this' because Sam doesn't need him to. He know it the same way he know the sky will still be blue tomorrow and the sun will still rise in the east and bacon will still be delicious; he's special to Dean, in a way that nobody else will ever be - not girls he hooks up with, or waitresses he flirts with, not hunters he admires or Steve McQueen characters he tries to be like or even Dad. Sam's special to Dean, and everything they do, everything they ever have of ever will do, means something. And he knows that's why Dean's freaking out.
"This time'll be better." Sam smiles, bumping his nose against his brother's gently, not quite a nuzzle. Dean grins despite himself and ruffles Sam's hair.
"Damn straight, Sammy."
When their lips come together this time it's gentle, but deep; all slow burning heat that replaces Sam's marrow and seeps out all the way through him. For a long while that's all there is, those slow smooth kisses that shut Sam's brain down and make him forget why his body's so eager. He's not sure how they ended up laying down of when they got rid of their pants, the suckle of Dean's mouth and the warm strength of his brother against him taking up all of his consciousness.
Then Dean breaks the kiss - that habit's getting old by the way - and says, voice rumbling through his chest right into Sam, "I want you to go first. To t-take me". Sam's still got that brain-shut-down thing happening, but fortunately Dean gets it - always does - so he takes Sam's hand and slides it down behind him until Sam's fingers just brush the cleft of Dean's ass.
Sam's startled enough that he gasps and jerks his hand back which his balls immediately start trying to eat him alive for. But it's just. Well. It's new. Like really new. Not that he's never thought about it or anything, it's just not how they work and Sam's always enjoyed the stuff they do so he's never seen any point in complaining. And now Dean's wants to...
"Have you ever?" Sam tentatively lets his hand slide of the curve of Dean's backside, just rubbing over the firm fullness of the cheek. Dean shakes his head 'no' but scoots in just a fraction closer like an encouragement. Carefully Sam slips just one finger along the warm divide, stupidly shocked when he finds Dean's hole, as though he really hadn't expected it to be there or something. But it is, right there, tight and furled and pretty much exactly like his own, except this time he's only feeling it from one side and that's kind of strange.
"I'm not doing it to you unless I know its ok," Dean says resolutely, and Sam bites back the retort on the tip of his tongue about all of the other stuff Dean's done with him. "Not gonna hurt you, Sammy."
Leave it to Dean to be issuing ultimatums when Sam's got a finger poised over his asshole. It's enough to make Sam smile wryly and slowly nod his head, because there’s no point in arguing - once Dean's dug in his heels, there's no way around it.
Dean smirks and Sam can't resist pressing just a little bit with his finger - not enough to enter, but plenty to wipe that smug smile off of his brother's face.
Rolling his eyes, Dean pushes Sam's hand away momentarily to scoot over to the side of the bed and root through his duffle for the bottle of lube he keeps hidden in a rolled up pair of underwear. He tosses it to Sam easily, as if he didn't just insist that his little brother fuck him up the ass and settles back down on his side, next to Sam.
The cap on the lube is suddenly eight billion times more complicated than it used to be; he's starting to think that maybe Dean superglued it on and this is all just a big joke. He twists hard and the cap goes flying off, sails clear across the room to clatter against the wall. Yeah, Sam's a suave motherfucker.
Dean's biting his lips to cover what sounds suspiciously like a snicker, so Sam doesn't feel too bad when he squirts way too much lube onto his fingers and presses the tip of the first one in without warning. This is turning out to be an awesome way to shut Dean up, maybe they should do this more often.
Then, of course, his mind actually locks in on how warm and tight it is inside Dean, how different it feels when he's only getting the sensation from his fingers and wow, no wonder Dean likes doing this to him so much. There's only a little bit of resistance as the first finger slides home, still enough that he can feel Dean clenching up all over, so Sam paints soft kisses up Dean's neck, across his shoulder until some of the tension eases. His mouth finds that little spot under Dean's jaw that makes him go all twitchy and gets his eyelashes fluttering and concentrates there.
His brother moans, baring his neck more for Sam and the tight muscle around Sam's slowly moving finger relents enough that he can tease around the edge with a second digit and carefully slide it in too. God, it's so silky inside, so hot and strong and clearly Sam has not been giving Dean enough credit for not fucking him through the mattress long before now because without the sting and the stretch and the white-hot little jolts from his sweet spot, all Sam can think about is how good that would feel around his dick.
And oh, hey, sweet spot, he should probably figure out where that is. It only takes a minute of rubbing around inside - which makes Dean sort of squirm and make these pleased, kind of confused noises - to figure out where it is and then Dean's bucking his hips forward so hard Sam's pretty sure he's going to have a bruise on his own where they collide.
"Oh fucking fuck," Dean gasps, disbelief clear in his voice, "Do that again."
Grinning, Sam does exactly as his brother says, teasing the little bit of flesh between his fingers and Dean actually whimpers, fingers clawing at the bed. Sam figures that's as good a time as any to get a third finger inside. A quiet whine builds in Dean's throat and Sam knows that feeling too, so he captures his brother's lips and fucks his tongue slowly in and out of Dean's mouth in time to what his fingers are doing in Dean's ass - just the way he likes it when Dean does this to him. Dean's hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place with a grip twisted up in his hair and then it's back to moaning.
Sam's dick is all but screaming at him to get on with it, or at least get a hand on himself, but as soon as he tries Dean bats it away, pulling at Sam's other hand too until he's free to scoot a little way up the bed and lay out flat on his back, legs spread open.
Ok.
Ok.
It takes a good thirty seconds for Sam's brain to reboot from that because Jesus Effing Christ, nothing has ever been that sexy before. Ever. In the annals of human history, this shall go down as the hottest moment of all time and Sam feels truly privileged to be here for it.
Dean, however, does not seem to appreciate the historical significance and is giving Sam his 'come on, fucktard' look. Well, fine then.
"Um," Sam hesitates for a second, surveying the bed in case he just overlooked something, "Shouldn't we- Aren't you supposed to... you know, use a... thing?"
Dean's smirk is back full force and the angle’s all wrong for Sam to just shove his fingers in Dean's ass to wipe it away again. "A thing, Sammy? Like a dick? 'Cause I thought you had one between your legs, but I guess I was wrong and you are a big ol' girl after all."
His fist makes a satisfying thud against Dean's shoulder but his brother refuses to flinch even though Sam knows for sure that hurt. Like his dick. God, his dick hurts; it’s like his whole lower body is cramping in sympathy. They really need to get on with this.
"A condom, jerk," he snorts, arms crossed over his chest. Admittedly, the fact that he's naked and so hard his dick's flat against his belly probably detracts from his pout somewhat.
"Bitch," Dean says automatically, jumping in before Sam can snap back at him, "Dude, how many times have you swallowed for me? You really think I've got anything you don't? You really think I'd have ever let you swallow if there was even a chance that I had something?" Dean's glare is still pretty intimidating despite the naked and spread out like a chick thing, so maybe Sam was being too hard on himself about the pout. "I'm careful, ok. I've never gone bareback with anybody before - ever. Now if you don't hurry the hell up I'm gonna take back the offer and make you go jack it in the bathroom, twerp."
It's an idle threat and they both know it, so Sam doesn't even spare a thought for it. Instead he lets that warm feeling from earlier flow through him because that's one more first that Sam gets to have with Dean - because Dean wants it that way. He's probably grinning like a loon, but he doesn't care.
The lube seems to be on a mission to thwart Sam losing his virginity - holy crap, he's actually losing his virginity! - but he finally manages to grope around and find it, slicking himself with one hand while the rest of his attention is dedicated to kissing Dean within an inch of his life.
It's like a string pulls tight inside of him as he presses the dripping tip of his cock to Dean's hole, everything pulling taut until he can't breathe around the tension, is literally shaking with it. He jerks in surprise when Dean's hand covers his around the base of his dick, guiding him forward. Sam's eyes dart up to his brother's and it's the same look Dean's given him a thousand times, calm and supportive and proud, and yet totally different too because there's never been anything like this before and it's all mixed up with want and love and nerves and Dean's... Dean's right there with him. Not invulnerable or experienced or any of that stuff that seems like it's supposed to matter, because this is all new for them both and Dean's hand is shaking too.
Together they hold Sam's steady as he pushes in and then Dean's eyes slam closed, jaw clenched as he grits his teeth. It takes everything Sam has to ignore the hot, satiny flesh around his, the grip so tight it almost hurts, and concentrate instead on gentling Dean through it with caressing sweeps of his hands and soft, wet kisses all over his chest.
Slowly he feels the muscles start to give as he buries himself deep and holds there for what feels like a couple dozen eternities until Dean experimentally shifts his hips. Then it's Sam's turn to clamp his eyes closed because if he doesn't start moving soon he might just spontaneously combust from all of the heat welling up from his groin.
"Move, Sam," Dean chokes out, and rolls his hips again, more certainly this time. Like hell Sam's going to question an order like that.
Thrusting into Dean's body is perfect, nothing could ever match it, and Sam never ever wants to stop. Dean's legs pull him in close so the thrusts are deeps and every few strokes he can hear his brother's breath catch when he finds the right spot. It's so good, so right, Sam feels like he's losing his mind, like every second of his life up until right now has been a complete waste because he had no idea what feeling even was until he fucked Dean.
He's so far into it that he barely registers the cool slickness on his skin until Dean's finger presses inside of him. His brother's arm is bent at an odd angle, supporting himself on his other elbow to reach around behind Sam - when the hell did he slick his fingers up? - and use the momentum of Sam's own thrusts to finger him open. And he was wrong, he didn't know what feeling was until right the fuck now.
Oh God, oh shit, it's going to be over stupidly fast and there's nothing Sam can do to stop it, orgasm barreling down on his like a freight train and he's tied to the tracks. Dean's hole milking his cock and Dean's fingers - two or three or eight, who the hell can count at a time like this? - slamming his hot spot on every push and yes, just fuck yes!
It hits him hard, more than breath stealing; his body actually forgets HOW to breathe. He'd put money down his heart stopped beating for a second there too. In fact, the only sign of life at all is the lightning strike of pleasure frying his nerves and the burning, slick pulse of his own come all around him, filling Dean up.
Sam returns to reality on his back, staring up at the hazy, grinning face of his big brother. Sam's trembling so hard it may qualify as a seizure and he's completely useless as Dean tries to rearrange him, limbs flopping limp as a dead fish. It all still feels pretty damn good.
Dean laughs deep in his chest, and pets Sam's thigh while his other hand strokes lube onto his angry red cock. Oh. Yeah. Sam was probably supposed to have done something about that during the fucking. Damn, he sucks at this!
Although Dean seems to have plans of his own, so maybe Sam doesn't need to feel so bad.
One of Sam's knees ends up settled over Dean's shoulder as his brother leans in to kiss him fiercely once before Sam feels the blunt press that has to be Dean's cock. Instinctually Sam tightens up, but in his fucked out state, even tightened up is pretty loose, so Dean slides right in like that's where he belongs. It's full, much fuller than when it was Dean's fingers. There's that shocky burn and the stretch and it's bizarrely good in a dull sort of way.
Damn, fucking hell damn. Sam had just come to grips with the fact that Dean laid out for him was the hottest thing ever and now his brother had to go and rewrite history again.
Dean throws his head back when he's all the way inside, hissing with pleasure and biting his already blood-heavy lip. His mouth looks so red and so plump and Sam just wants to lean up and suck on it for a little while. Or possibly forever, whichever comes first.
Then Dean moves, actually moves and the fullness inside of him shift and oh... Sam's toes curl and his back arches and blood rushes hot and painful into his dick, hardening again. Sam's hasn't got control over any of it. Jesus, how can anything possibly feel that good after what he just went through; he'd think his body would be maxed out of pleasure right now.
"Ung, yeah. Fuck, Sammy. So good," Dean's breaths are hot gusts against his face, words rasped out in a stuttered counterpoint to the steadily increasing power of his thrusts. "So tight, baby."
Sam locks his legs around Dean’s pulling him in closer just the way he had done to Sam and his calves meet cool wetness on the back of Dean’s thighs. His come. God, his come, leaking out of Dean body. His dick spurts a sloppy glob of precome onto his belly and he slicks his legs up and down the back of Dean’s thighs just to relish the feel.
Dean's voice crawls up into a whine, barely audible over the pounding of blood in Sam's ears as it spikes every time Dean hits the right angle. His thrusts go sloppy erratic, his hands pawing at Sam again like he's going to crawl inside his little brother’s skin and then he groans urgently, "Fuck, Sammy, fuck! Sam!". Dean's body crashes down on top of him, hips pressing in as close as he can to Sam and then somehow even closer so that the soft pulses of heat Sam can feel inside of himself go deep. That feeling and the sweet, sweat-slick friction of Dean’s stomach is enough to get Sam to the peak again, muscles clamping tight around the girth inside of him as he comes, dragging a strangled noise from his brother.
He doesn’t know if it’s the whir of his heartbeat or just how quietly Dean’s saying it, but sometime over the next few panting, come-sticky minutes he realizes that the breaths Dean is huffing into the curve of his neck are all colored with the word ‘mine’. Sam can’t do anything but nod his head slowly in agreement.
At last, with a grunt of effort Dean pulls out and Sam doesn’t quite cover the wince at how tender his body feels now. A minute later his brother’s wiping him down with a warm washcloth, sweeping up the mess on his stomach and gingerly wiping at the mess of lube and come at his hole. It’s probably weird that he likes the feel of it slowly trickling from his own hole just as much as he did when it was leaking out of Dean’s, but Sam’s starting to make peace with the fact that he’s really screwed up.
Sweat-tacky heat presses up against his side and for once it’s Dean’s head buried against Sam’s shoulder, not the other way around. “Thank you,” Dean whispers, almost too soft for Sam to hear. He pulls an arm around his older brother, tucking close to the body that for so much of his life seemed so impossibly bigger and stronger than his own.
“That was awesome,” Sam purrs once he’s finally found his voice, nose buried in the top of Dean’s head. All he gets in return is a ‘hmm’, but he knows Dean well enough to know that a smile goes along with that noise. He lets his fingers play up and down the length of Dean’s spine, idly tracing the edges of scars, remembering the story that goes along with each one.
“So how long do you think before you can get it up again, old man?” Sam grins at the ceiling, giddy, listening to the low growl build up in his brother’s voice.
“Least I’ve got staying power, baby boy.” Dean curls a finger against his thumb and Sam realizes a second too late what’s about to happen. He yelps loud enough Dad could probably hear it two rooms over, cupping his hands over his crotch to protect it from any more unwarranted flicking, but all that does is leave his face open to the soft smack of a pillow.
Sam recovers quickly, groping around to find his own pillow in the mess they’ve made of the sheets while Dean pummels him with the one in his hand. It’s totally worth it for the look on Dean’s face when Sam’s finally got himself armed and sneaks in a powerful headshot the rumples Dean’s hair every which way and nearly knocks him off the bed.
By the end of it, one of the pillows is completely trashed, fluffy little remnants of it scattered across the floor, and the poly-fill is all shoved down into the end of the other so it’s more like a brick in a pillow case, but they had already devolved into a wrestling match by then so it didn’t matter. That in turn devolved into kissing and now it’s just lazy making out as Dean’s cock starts coming back to life against Sam’s thigh.
It’s nice, even if it’s weird, or should be weird, or whatever. It’s just them, and no matter how much changes, Sam knows that this is always going to be the same.