Fic: Bonds We Share (Dean/Sam)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic sex, masturbation
Summary - Sam and Dean are under a spell that lets them hear each other's thoughts. Things get kinky.
"Stop it," Sam snapped to the warm phantom weight he could feel from all the way across the room. He shuffled the pillow under his head again, even though he knew his discomfort was nothing physical.
"What?" Dean asked, innocently - as if such a thing were even possible.
"You know what. Knock it off." He grabbed one of his sneakers from the floor and aimlessly tossed it over his shoulder in the general direction of his brother's bed. Sam's own annoyance was colored by an alien smugness and he knew exactly what that was about too. Dean was enjoying getting to him, and the only consolation was that even though he was stuck dealing with bits of Dean's mind swirling around with his, Dean was having to struggle with parts of him too.
How did they always manage to do this? Sure, being hunters meant a significantly increased risk of getting maimed, turned or otherwise magically duped by paranormal whatsits, but surely other hunters didn't all have this much crap happen to them. And this, this... well, Bobby insisted it was a spell and it would wear off in a few days, but it sure as hell felt like a curse to Sam.
As if he didn't get enough of Dean just BEING THERE in the 17 hours of the day he was awake, now he had the dubious pleasure of having a deep psychic connection with his brother too. Which, ok, sounded pretty cool - except that it wasn't in any possible way. Mostly it was just confusing. Hell, he'd gone to the bathroom twice at lunch yesterday before he figured out Dean was the one who needed to pee.
It wasn't a constant thing - more like having a broken radio in his head, picking up signal at random intervals. The interplay of thoughts and images and emotions from Dean tended to hit him suddenly, leaving him trying to figure out what was and wasn't his - and, frighteningly - what Dean was and wasn't picking up from him. It was making Sam damn self-conscious; which of course, meant that he spent nearly all of his time thinking about all the things he DIDN'T want Dean to know he was thinking.
Then again, he wasn't sure he wouldn't rather just be self-conscious than be stuck with his brother's mental broadcasts. Sam was pretty sure Dean hadn't gone 15 minutes without a seriously pornographic thought in the last week. And Sam knew all of them. He officially knew more about his brother than he was comfortable with - and after all of the years they'd spent in close quarters, that was saying a hell of a lot.
Right on cue - Dean had probably been listening in, fucker! - Sam got the image of the blonde who had checked them in to the motel earlier, spread out on the front desk, begging to be fucked in some seriously creative ways. The way his cock twitched was definitely all Dean's fault - no way had that done anything for him. Most of the time he liked his trade a little rougher... and there was a line of thought he had been trying to stay away from. Quick, multiplication tables! 2x2=4, 2x3=6...
***
Dean was getting tired of the fucking multiplication tables. It had become Sam's go-to trick for whenever he started thinking about something he didn't want Dean to overhear - or at least that was what Dean guessed, so far he'd only managed to catch little blurs of whatever thought came before the rousing math tutorial. It was amazing how fast Sam could think. No wonder he always looked so intense; Dean had to concentrate just to keep up. Not that Dean was stupid or anything, it was just that Sam thought like he was in the mother fucking mental-Olympics 10K. Dean had had a headache for three days straight - since sometime after that particularly vivid image he'd pulled out about those twins back in Mississippi. For some reason that had really gotten Sam's inner monologue racing.
All of that would probably be ok - it wasn't like Sammy really thought about anything worth listening in on most of the time anyway - except his brother was also thought REALLY FUCKING LOUD. Like, stick you head inside a jet engine just for fun, loud. So, Dean's only real defense was to screw with Sam's head. Also, it was fun.
This would all be a lot easier if Sam would just give up the tight-ass act. Dean had mentally goaded him into getting hard for the last couple of nights in the hope that maybe just jacking off would help calm Sammy down enough that Dean could get some uninterrupted sleep - it was a real pain to get bits and pieces of Sam's freaky-ass dreams. No such luck though. No matter what Dean threw at his little brother - and he had been putting out some of his most prime jerk off fodder ever - Sam just launched into 5th grade arithmetic. It was becoming a point of pride - his was grade-A beat-off material, damnit!
"I am so fucking serious, Dean!" Sam growled over his shoulder when Dean gave him a full play by play featuring the older Winchester and the little blonde from the front desk. Even without the raw hit of lust he felt pouring in from Sam, just the fact that he'd got him to say 'fucking' would have been enough to convince Dean to keep it up.
"C'mon Sammy. Just trying to help you find your happy place," he grinned even though Sam couldn't see it. Dean got a sense that he could feel it.
"You're the soul of thoughtfulness," Sam grumbled, "Just go to sleep."
"Love to Sammy, love to. Think you could shut off that marathon you got going upstairs for a few minutes?"
Sam sighed, and rustled around in the sheets a-fucking-gain. Annoyed and horny wasn’t exactly a new combination for Dean, but it was kinda weird when he wasn't sure which parts of it were his own.
He briefly considered throwing in an image of Sam and the girl instead, just to rile his brother up, but somehow picturing Sam with the blonde was just way too freaky and... well, kind of strangely upsetting. Dean shook his head; must have been Sammy's prude brainwaves rubbing off on him.
And BAM! 'rubbing off on him' sent a veritable skin mag full of images of him and Sam in various compromising positions flying through Dean’s mind and sonofabitch, he was crazy-hard now. Was that him? No way that was him. That kind of speed had to be Sammy.
Dean could feel panic and lust pounding like waves against his skin from the other side of the room but all the coherent thoughts he was overhearing were the goddamn, mother fucking multiplication tables again.
"What the hell was that?" Dean shouted, more about the math than the porn - the porn had actually been pretty hot... which he did not just think.
“Just knock it the fuck off, Dean!” Sam yelled back and Dean could feel his brother’s terror and humiliation swimming around in his head like a physical being. He hated that anything could make Sam feel that way, and especially that it was him.
He opened his mouth to try to say something to make Sam feel better and felt his muscles tense up in an echo of his brother. So Sam didn’t want to talk? Fine, Dean could do that. He might not be the most touchy-feely guy around, - unlike his giant girl of a brother - but with a hardline to Sam wired directly into his brain, it wasn’t that tough to let his baby brother know that he was freaked out.
Dean searched his memory of the rapid-fire flash of images for something specific - there had been a couple of real standouts that he wouldn’t have minded getting a much closer look at - and finally picked one out, visualizing it in detail.
Sam’s mouth against his, half-open on a panting breath with Dean’s tongue flitting teasingly inside. Sam’s long fingers wrapped around both of their cocks, hot flesh rubbing together, jerking them off in tandem. They’re both naked and hard in the image and it takes a little supplementing from Dean’s imagination here because it’s not like he’s ever seen Sam hard but it’s still fucking sexy even if it’s just made-up.
The image shifted just a little bit and the proportions changed - Sam’s dick not quite as thick but almost an inch longer and it took Dean a second to figure out where the correction came from. He could feel Sam was still mortified, still wanted to crawl under the bed and try to borrow into the concrete foundation with his bare hands, but he was also still hard too and Dean could feel that almost as clearly as the throb of his own cock.
“Now you’re just bragging,” Dean joked, the mental image still floating at the back of his mind and it got that knot in Sam’s chest loosening a little on a surprised laugh. Dean decided to up the ante a little bit; hey, at least Sam was participating now, and that deserved a little reward.
Dean imagined himself kissing down Sam’s throat, sucking softy at the Adam’s apple as his brother jacked them nice and slow. Sam’s shiver rippled right down Dean’s spine and nested at the base of his cock, just getting better when Sammy couldn’t quite hold back a moan.
Some obnoxious, buzz-kill part of his mind - or maybe Sam’s, that would make sense - reminded him that this should be kinda weird since he was, you know, sharing in a seriously hard-core incestuous fantasy with his baby brother. Dean took a poll and his dick and balls all unanimously voted that that little thought could go fuck off and die. Wrong or not, this was pretty flooringly hot, and with Sammy just barely starting to stroke himself - sweet, jittery echoes of it sliding all over Dean’s skin like hot silk - stopping had officially become public enemy number one.
In the mental image, Sam’s free hand was tentatively sliding down to cup Dean’s ass and Dean arched his back, feeling a ghost of the weight of Sam’s fingers against him.
There was a mark sucked onto fantasy-Sam’s neck by now and Dean imagined himself moving lower, stopping briefly to tongue at the hollow of his brother’s throat. A wave of heat roared through Sam’s body and the blow-back had Dean gasping and clutching at the sheets.
He mentally licked a stripe over Sam’s nipple and got a hit like an electric shock in his own. Automatically his eyes shot over to Sam’s bed. His brother had turned onto his back, and though he was still covered by the sheet Dean could see the slow movement as he worked a big hand over his straining erection. The other hand was splayed out over Sammy’s chest, partially covering the reddened skin around his nipple.
That image got all mixed up with the one of him and Sam together and the real Sam pinched at his swollen nub just as Dean imagined him doing it. The same electric jolt of pleasure swept over him again and Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head on a moan.
“Fuck, yeah,” he gasped, “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Sam made a whining sound and another visual worked its way into the mix between him. This time Dean saw himself laid out on the bed exactly as he was, stroking himself and it wasn’t until the almost painful flash of hunger that accompanied it that Dean realized he hadn’t even put a hand on himself yet.
He immediately corrected that mistake, lust and need and physical pleasure doubling over on itself now that he had gotten in the game too. Fever-heat coiled low in his gut, little tendrils of it sweeping out to lick like flames up his spine, through his rib cage.
He imagined himself over on Sam’s bed with him, leaning over the long body of his baby brother. Imaginary-Sam tugged him down, bringing their bare skin together in a flushed, searing line and Dean really could feel the smoothness of Sam’s body against him, muscle firm against his hands. He could feel his hot panting breaths shunted back across his face by Sam’s skin, the mellow-salt taste of his brother’s flesh on his tongue.
Dean’s insides were tying themselves up in knots, liquefying into a teeming mass of need. Sam’s hands were rough against his thighs, his ass and - God! Ohholyfuckingchrist! He could suddenly feel Sam’s warm, clinging muscles wrapped around his dick; silky and slick and so tight, so good.
His hips bucked forward of their own volition into that sweet hot bliss and Dean wasn’t sure if the moan splitting the air was the real Sam or fantasy-Sam and he wasn’t sure he gave a fuck about the difference right now.
The muscles in his thighs were burning, straining and a dim part of him was aware that he was pumping up into his own fist hard enough that his body was lifting up off the bed, but it was Sam, Sam all around him and it didn’t matter if it was ‘real’ or not. He could feel his brother’s skin tingling, nerves firing off signals steady and sharp like Morse code. Dean could feel his balls tightening up, getting ready to slick Sam’s channel with liquid heat and there was a whole millisecond to imagine what that would be like before the lightning strike of Sammy coming drowned out everything but ‘YES!’
Dean must have come too, somewhere in the middle of the forty or fifty years that all of that sensation was lighting him up because when he finally remembered that oxygen was his friend he was covered in the sticky mess of his own spend.
The air was thick with the smell of sex and he sound of Sam gasping for breath too. He could still feel the sizzles of pleasure worming through Sam’s body, but more muted now, and for once his little brother’s mind was blissfully empty but for the soft hum of satisfaction.
“Told you,” Dean rumbled, “Happy place.”
***
Sam coughed a laugh through his dry throat. He was slowly regaining a sense of himself now that the weird - intense, spectacular - mesh he and Dean had somehow formed was fading out. As the come cooled on his hand and his belly, a sour taste started to creep up the back of his throat. He’d spent days - years, really - just trying to hide the fact that he sometimes went for guys from his brother and now he’d just… he’d just jacked off in front of, to, FOR Dean. Oh, God.
He slammed into the rage like a brick wall, everything else stopping in the wake of it. Before Sam had even had the chance to realize where it was coming from, Dean’s mouth was pressed harsh and hot and real over his. The tang of blood coated his tongue and Sam was too stunned to even swallow it; couldn’t move, couldn’t blink away the fuzzy view of Dean’s face from way too close.
After a second Dean pulled back from his resisting lips, big hand suddenly gripping his jaw painfully tight.
"Kiss me back, Sam,” he snarled, almost nose-to-nose with Sam, wet lips brushing his in a mockery of what Dean was demanding, “you fucking kiss me back."
Then Dean’s lips were back on him again, tongue sweeping, prodding, at Sam’s bottom lip. He could feel Dean wanting this, needing this; needing Sam to get lost in it again and see how this could be ok, they could be ok. Please.
The sickness building in Sam’s throat washed away, mouth opening for Dean, inviting his brother to explore it, claim it. And he did. Tongue lashing, tasting, fucking every smooth, slick inch and each move lit that fire up low in Sam’s body again. The older Winchester didn’t surrender the kiss until they were both scrambling for air again, grip finally loosening on Sam’s face. He was probably going to have marks from his brother’s fingers in a few hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.
He felt calm, soothed in the strangest possible way, and Dean smiled down at him.
“Fucking finally,” he smirked, nudging his way into bed next to Sam.
“Man, you’re going to get come everywhere,” Sam whined automatically. Whatever had just happened, Dean was still his big brother and it was Sam’s right to give him hell.
“Dude, just go ahead and bitch, you saw where that got you the last time.”
Dean shuffled them around, pulling and tugging at Sam until he was satisfied with the arrangement. Sam’s head rested on his brother’s chest, Dean’s arm resting lazily against his spine, one leg flopped over between Dean’s.
“Was that supposed to convince me NOT to bitch?”
“Not necessarily,” Dean grinned at Sam’s quirked eyebrow.
Sam ‘hmm’ed deep in his throat and settled against his brother’s chest. The steady throb of Dean’s heartbeat filled his ears and his breathing slowed to match as Dean rubbed gentle circles over his skin. Underneath the calm, he could feel hints that his brother maybe wasn’t as non-chalant about this whole thing as he was making out, but he was trying and if Dean could fight to make whatever this was work, then so could Sam.
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic sex, masturbation
Summary - Sam and Dean are under a spell that lets them hear each other's thoughts. Things get kinky.
"Stop it," Sam snapped to the warm phantom weight he could feel from all the way across the room. He shuffled the pillow under his head again, even though he knew his discomfort was nothing physical.
"What?" Dean asked, innocently - as if such a thing were even possible.
"You know what. Knock it off." He grabbed one of his sneakers from the floor and aimlessly tossed it over his shoulder in the general direction of his brother's bed. Sam's own annoyance was colored by an alien smugness and he knew exactly what that was about too. Dean was enjoying getting to him, and the only consolation was that even though he was stuck dealing with bits of Dean's mind swirling around with his, Dean was having to struggle with parts of him too.
How did they always manage to do this? Sure, being hunters meant a significantly increased risk of getting maimed, turned or otherwise magically duped by paranormal whatsits, but surely other hunters didn't all have this much crap happen to them. And this, this... well, Bobby insisted it was a spell and it would wear off in a few days, but it sure as hell felt like a curse to Sam.
As if he didn't get enough of Dean just BEING THERE in the 17 hours of the day he was awake, now he had the dubious pleasure of having a deep psychic connection with his brother too. Which, ok, sounded pretty cool - except that it wasn't in any possible way. Mostly it was just confusing. Hell, he'd gone to the bathroom twice at lunch yesterday before he figured out Dean was the one who needed to pee.
It wasn't a constant thing - more like having a broken radio in his head, picking up signal at random intervals. The interplay of thoughts and images and emotions from Dean tended to hit him suddenly, leaving him trying to figure out what was and wasn't his - and, frighteningly - what Dean was and wasn't picking up from him. It was making Sam damn self-conscious; which of course, meant that he spent nearly all of his time thinking about all the things he DIDN'T want Dean to know he was thinking.
Then again, he wasn't sure he wouldn't rather just be self-conscious than be stuck with his brother's mental broadcasts. Sam was pretty sure Dean hadn't gone 15 minutes without a seriously pornographic thought in the last week. And Sam knew all of them. He officially knew more about his brother than he was comfortable with - and after all of the years they'd spent in close quarters, that was saying a hell of a lot.
Right on cue - Dean had probably been listening in, fucker! - Sam got the image of the blonde who had checked them in to the motel earlier, spread out on the front desk, begging to be fucked in some seriously creative ways. The way his cock twitched was definitely all Dean's fault - no way had that done anything for him. Most of the time he liked his trade a little rougher... and there was a line of thought he had been trying to stay away from. Quick, multiplication tables! 2x2=4, 2x3=6...
***
Dean was getting tired of the fucking multiplication tables. It had become Sam's go-to trick for whenever he started thinking about something he didn't want Dean to overhear - or at least that was what Dean guessed, so far he'd only managed to catch little blurs of whatever thought came before the rousing math tutorial. It was amazing how fast Sam could think. No wonder he always looked so intense; Dean had to concentrate just to keep up. Not that Dean was stupid or anything, it was just that Sam thought like he was in the mother fucking mental-Olympics 10K. Dean had had a headache for three days straight - since sometime after that particularly vivid image he'd pulled out about those twins back in Mississippi. For some reason that had really gotten Sam's inner monologue racing.
All of that would probably be ok - it wasn't like Sammy really thought about anything worth listening in on most of the time anyway - except his brother was also thought REALLY FUCKING LOUD. Like, stick you head inside a jet engine just for fun, loud. So, Dean's only real defense was to screw with Sam's head. Also, it was fun.
This would all be a lot easier if Sam would just give up the tight-ass act. Dean had mentally goaded him into getting hard for the last couple of nights in the hope that maybe just jacking off would help calm Sammy down enough that Dean could get some uninterrupted sleep - it was a real pain to get bits and pieces of Sam's freaky-ass dreams. No such luck though. No matter what Dean threw at his little brother - and he had been putting out some of his most prime jerk off fodder ever - Sam just launched into 5th grade arithmetic. It was becoming a point of pride - his was grade-A beat-off material, damnit!
"I am so fucking serious, Dean!" Sam growled over his shoulder when Dean gave him a full play by play featuring the older Winchester and the little blonde from the front desk. Even without the raw hit of lust he felt pouring in from Sam, just the fact that he'd got him to say 'fucking' would have been enough to convince Dean to keep it up.
"C'mon Sammy. Just trying to help you find your happy place," he grinned even though Sam couldn't see it. Dean got a sense that he could feel it.
"You're the soul of thoughtfulness," Sam grumbled, "Just go to sleep."
"Love to Sammy, love to. Think you could shut off that marathon you got going upstairs for a few minutes?"
Sam sighed, and rustled around in the sheets a-fucking-gain. Annoyed and horny wasn’t exactly a new combination for Dean, but it was kinda weird when he wasn't sure which parts of it were his own.
He briefly considered throwing in an image of Sam and the girl instead, just to rile his brother up, but somehow picturing Sam with the blonde was just way too freaky and... well, kind of strangely upsetting. Dean shook his head; must have been Sammy's prude brainwaves rubbing off on him.
And BAM! 'rubbing off on him' sent a veritable skin mag full of images of him and Sam in various compromising positions flying through Dean’s mind and sonofabitch, he was crazy-hard now. Was that him? No way that was him. That kind of speed had to be Sammy.
Dean could feel panic and lust pounding like waves against his skin from the other side of the room but all the coherent thoughts he was overhearing were the goddamn, mother fucking multiplication tables again.
"What the hell was that?" Dean shouted, more about the math than the porn - the porn had actually been pretty hot... which he did not just think.
“Just knock it the fuck off, Dean!” Sam yelled back and Dean could feel his brother’s terror and humiliation swimming around in his head like a physical being. He hated that anything could make Sam feel that way, and especially that it was him.
He opened his mouth to try to say something to make Sam feel better and felt his muscles tense up in an echo of his brother. So Sam didn’t want to talk? Fine, Dean could do that. He might not be the most touchy-feely guy around, - unlike his giant girl of a brother - but with a hardline to Sam wired directly into his brain, it wasn’t that tough to let his baby brother know that he was freaked out.
Dean searched his memory of the rapid-fire flash of images for something specific - there had been a couple of real standouts that he wouldn’t have minded getting a much closer look at - and finally picked one out, visualizing it in detail.
Sam’s mouth against his, half-open on a panting breath with Dean’s tongue flitting teasingly inside. Sam’s long fingers wrapped around both of their cocks, hot flesh rubbing together, jerking them off in tandem. They’re both naked and hard in the image and it takes a little supplementing from Dean’s imagination here because it’s not like he’s ever seen Sam hard but it’s still fucking sexy even if it’s just made-up.
The image shifted just a little bit and the proportions changed - Sam’s dick not quite as thick but almost an inch longer and it took Dean a second to figure out where the correction came from. He could feel Sam was still mortified, still wanted to crawl under the bed and try to borrow into the concrete foundation with his bare hands, but he was also still hard too and Dean could feel that almost as clearly as the throb of his own cock.
“Now you’re just bragging,” Dean joked, the mental image still floating at the back of his mind and it got that knot in Sam’s chest loosening a little on a surprised laugh. Dean decided to up the ante a little bit; hey, at least Sam was participating now, and that deserved a little reward.
Dean imagined himself kissing down Sam’s throat, sucking softy at the Adam’s apple as his brother jacked them nice and slow. Sam’s shiver rippled right down Dean’s spine and nested at the base of his cock, just getting better when Sammy couldn’t quite hold back a moan.
Some obnoxious, buzz-kill part of his mind - or maybe Sam’s, that would make sense - reminded him that this should be kinda weird since he was, you know, sharing in a seriously hard-core incestuous fantasy with his baby brother. Dean took a poll and his dick and balls all unanimously voted that that little thought could go fuck off and die. Wrong or not, this was pretty flooringly hot, and with Sammy just barely starting to stroke himself - sweet, jittery echoes of it sliding all over Dean’s skin like hot silk - stopping had officially become public enemy number one.
In the mental image, Sam’s free hand was tentatively sliding down to cup Dean’s ass and Dean arched his back, feeling a ghost of the weight of Sam’s fingers against him.
There was a mark sucked onto fantasy-Sam’s neck by now and Dean imagined himself moving lower, stopping briefly to tongue at the hollow of his brother’s throat. A wave of heat roared through Sam’s body and the blow-back had Dean gasping and clutching at the sheets.
He mentally licked a stripe over Sam’s nipple and got a hit like an electric shock in his own. Automatically his eyes shot over to Sam’s bed. His brother had turned onto his back, and though he was still covered by the sheet Dean could see the slow movement as he worked a big hand over his straining erection. The other hand was splayed out over Sammy’s chest, partially covering the reddened skin around his nipple.
That image got all mixed up with the one of him and Sam together and the real Sam pinched at his swollen nub just as Dean imagined him doing it. The same electric jolt of pleasure swept over him again and Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head on a moan.
“Fuck, yeah,” he gasped, “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Sam made a whining sound and another visual worked its way into the mix between him. This time Dean saw himself laid out on the bed exactly as he was, stroking himself and it wasn’t until the almost painful flash of hunger that accompanied it that Dean realized he hadn’t even put a hand on himself yet.
He immediately corrected that mistake, lust and need and physical pleasure doubling over on itself now that he had gotten in the game too. Fever-heat coiled low in his gut, little tendrils of it sweeping out to lick like flames up his spine, through his rib cage.
He imagined himself over on Sam’s bed with him, leaning over the long body of his baby brother. Imaginary-Sam tugged him down, bringing their bare skin together in a flushed, searing line and Dean really could feel the smoothness of Sam’s body against him, muscle firm against his hands. He could feel his hot panting breaths shunted back across his face by Sam’s skin, the mellow-salt taste of his brother’s flesh on his tongue.
Dean’s insides were tying themselves up in knots, liquefying into a teeming mass of need. Sam’s hands were rough against his thighs, his ass and - God! Ohholyfuckingchrist! He could suddenly feel Sam’s warm, clinging muscles wrapped around his dick; silky and slick and so tight, so good.
His hips bucked forward of their own volition into that sweet hot bliss and Dean wasn’t sure if the moan splitting the air was the real Sam or fantasy-Sam and he wasn’t sure he gave a fuck about the difference right now.
The muscles in his thighs were burning, straining and a dim part of him was aware that he was pumping up into his own fist hard enough that his body was lifting up off the bed, but it was Sam, Sam all around him and it didn’t matter if it was ‘real’ or not. He could feel his brother’s skin tingling, nerves firing off signals steady and sharp like Morse code. Dean could feel his balls tightening up, getting ready to slick Sam’s channel with liquid heat and there was a whole millisecond to imagine what that would be like before the lightning strike of Sammy coming drowned out everything but ‘YES!’
Dean must have come too, somewhere in the middle of the forty or fifty years that all of that sensation was lighting him up because when he finally remembered that oxygen was his friend he was covered in the sticky mess of his own spend.
The air was thick with the smell of sex and he sound of Sam gasping for breath too. He could still feel the sizzles of pleasure worming through Sam’s body, but more muted now, and for once his little brother’s mind was blissfully empty but for the soft hum of satisfaction.
“Told you,” Dean rumbled, “Happy place.”
***
Sam coughed a laugh through his dry throat. He was slowly regaining a sense of himself now that the weird - intense, spectacular - mesh he and Dean had somehow formed was fading out. As the come cooled on his hand and his belly, a sour taste started to creep up the back of his throat. He’d spent days - years, really - just trying to hide the fact that he sometimes went for guys from his brother and now he’d just… he’d just jacked off in front of, to, FOR Dean. Oh, God.
He slammed into the rage like a brick wall, everything else stopping in the wake of it. Before Sam had even had the chance to realize where it was coming from, Dean’s mouth was pressed harsh and hot and real over his. The tang of blood coated his tongue and Sam was too stunned to even swallow it; couldn’t move, couldn’t blink away the fuzzy view of Dean’s face from way too close.
After a second Dean pulled back from his resisting lips, big hand suddenly gripping his jaw painfully tight.
"Kiss me back, Sam,” he snarled, almost nose-to-nose with Sam, wet lips brushing his in a mockery of what Dean was demanding, “you fucking kiss me back."
Then Dean’s lips were back on him again, tongue sweeping, prodding, at Sam’s bottom lip. He could feel Dean wanting this, needing this; needing Sam to get lost in it again and see how this could be ok, they could be ok. Please.
The sickness building in Sam’s throat washed away, mouth opening for Dean, inviting his brother to explore it, claim it. And he did. Tongue lashing, tasting, fucking every smooth, slick inch and each move lit that fire up low in Sam’s body again. The older Winchester didn’t surrender the kiss until they were both scrambling for air again, grip finally loosening on Sam’s face. He was probably going to have marks from his brother’s fingers in a few hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.
He felt calm, soothed in the strangest possible way, and Dean smiled down at him.
“Fucking finally,” he smirked, nudging his way into bed next to Sam.
“Man, you’re going to get come everywhere,” Sam whined automatically. Whatever had just happened, Dean was still his big brother and it was Sam’s right to give him hell.
“Dude, just go ahead and bitch, you saw where that got you the last time.”
Dean shuffled them around, pulling and tugging at Sam until he was satisfied with the arrangement. Sam’s head rested on his brother’s chest, Dean’s arm resting lazily against his spine, one leg flopped over between Dean’s.
“Was that supposed to convince me NOT to bitch?”
“Not necessarily,” Dean grinned at Sam’s quirked eyebrow.
Sam ‘hmm’ed deep in his throat and settled against his brother’s chest. The steady throb of Dean’s heartbeat filled his ears and his breathing slowed to match as Dean rubbed gentle circles over his skin. Underneath the calm, he could feel hints that his brother maybe wasn’t as non-chalant about this whole thing as he was making out, but he was trying and if Dean could fight to make whatever this was work, then so could Sam.