Fic: Take This Night (Wrap It Around Me Like A Sheet). Sam/Dean. R. For the SPN Spring Fling 2023
Title: Take This Night (Wrap It Around Me Like A Sheet)
Author: felisblanco
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R.
Word count: 2500 words
Summary: A rainy night in the Impala. S3 and Hell awaits only a few months away.
Warnings: None except for a bit of S3 pre-Hell angst.
Author's note: Written for stellamira for the 2023 spnspringfling and originally posted there on April 17th. First time in over a decade that I've participated in a fic challenge and I wrote it in one night! And then tinkered with it but you know, finished a story in one night, that's like a record for me since like forever, not counting drabbles (which I have been writing and will post some time soon). Beta'd by the lovely candygramme as always.
They ran through the rain, Dean cursing while wrestling the car keys out of the pocket of his soaked-through jeans that stuck to him like a second skin. Sam’s long legs kept patient pace with him, telling Dean just how worried Sam was about him, because the rain was relentless and the night freezing. Not that reaching the car faster would have done Sam any good, Dean granted, clutching the keys in his hand.
It took him a few tries to unlock the car, his fingers stiff and shaky from the cold, but Sam didn’t say anything, just stood hunched over, hair plastered to his head like a wet mop, until Dean finally got the door open and slid inside on a fast-forming puddle - Dammit, that was going to stain the vinyl! - with Sam tumbling in from the other side. Dean breathed out, wiped the rain from his face, and turned the key in the ignition.
Nothing happened.
For a moment they just sat there, speechless, water dripping everywhere. The rain pounded on the roof, with rivers streaming down the windows, but other than that it was quiet. They were miles from the main road, not that anyone would be stupid enough to be driving in this downpour, unless they were forced to, because stupid werewolves didn’t give a damn about the weather. There weren’t even any lights brightening the night, the farmhouse they’d just left having been abandoned decades ago, and rain, and trees and distance keeping whatever civilization might be out there hidden from view. There was of course the full moon, or there had been, before the sky became covered in thick angry clouds carrying deluges of rain aimed at innocent, hard-working hunters.
Well, innocent…
Dean glanced over. Sam had carded his hair away from his face, but it still hung, lank and dripping, adding to the body of water Sam’s triple layers had already soaked in like a sponge. He was quiet, not panting like Dean, who sure hoped he could outrun the hellhounds when they came calling but would be the first to admit he didn’t have his brother’s stamina when it came to distance running. In his experience, if you had to run that far, whatever was chasing you would eventually get you.
“You alright?” he asked, regretting it immediately when Sam straightened up and looked over, wide eyes glittering.
“Never mind me! Dean, you could have-” Sam stopped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You can’t keep doing this!”
“Saved your ass, didn’t I?” Dean huffed. “A thank you wouldn’t go amiss.”
Sam bristled, just like Dean knew he would. He’d take Sam’s bitching over his maudlin any day. “Sure. Thank you, Dean, for being a self-sacrificing idiot!”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Still here, aren’t I? Not even a scratch on me. I call that a win.” He decided not to mention the rather hard hit he’d taken to the head. He wasn’t seeing double, just had a mean headache, so he was pretty sure it wasn’t serious.
“I call it dumbass luck, that’s what I call it,” Sam bitched, but he settled down, the anger already fading. Guess he really was tired. They both were. Tired, and wet and goddamn freezing.
Dean tried the ignition again but still nothing. Dammit! He knew he should have checked that grinding sound before they left. “I’m not going out there,” he grumbled. With his luck he’d probably drown.
Sam sighed but he didn’t argue.
Dean shivered, and then it was like he just couldn’t stop, his body trembling so hard his teeth started rattling in his mouth. Sam looked at him in alarm, reaching over to touch Dean’s forehead, as if he could possibly have developed a fever in the few minutes they’d been sitting there. Dean swiped at him halfheartedly, although, the truth was Sam’s hand felt good on his ice-cold skin. How did Sam manage to be this warm when Dean was practically freezing his balls off?
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Sam said, pushing at Dean’s soaked-through jacket like he didn’t resemble a drowned rat himself.
“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” Dean joked, the words stuttering between clicking teeth. He looked up when Sam didn’t answer, catching the blush staining his little brother’s cheeks before he managed to look away. Dean grinned. “Sammy, really? Now?”
“Shut up,” Sam muttered, blushing even further. “Just trying to take care of your stupid ass. You’re gonna get hypothermia.”
Dean snorted. “Sure, sure, blame the weather. Pervert.”
He stowed his gun in the glove compartment while wondering how the hell they were going to get all that wet denim off in the front seat’s constricted space. Then he struggled out of his jacket and dropped it on the floor, before awkwardly reaching down around the wheel to unlace his boots. Beside him Sam was doing his own version of sumo wrestling to get out of his wet clothes, but Dean resolutely didn’t glance over, or he might die laughing, despite probably looking just as ridiculous himself.
The upper layers proved easy enough, even if he soon gave up on the buttons and just pulled, or rather peeled, the flannel and t-shirt off over his head. The cold air hit his naked torso like a shower of needles, making his skin pepper in goosebumps. The trembling instantly worsened. He was losing momentum fast, the cold making his fingers clumsy and his brain slow. He fumbled with his belt, tugging it loose, but the button on his jeans proved too challenging and he gave up, hands falling into his lap as he slumped, shaking uncontrollably.
“Here, let me,” Sam said, and Dean lifted drooping eyelids to find Sam gloriously naked, acres of golden skin filling up the small space. Christ, look at that! How was he still so beautiful after all the shit Dean had put him through?
“Dean, you’re not making any sense,” Sam said, sounding embarrassed but mostly worried. He always seemed worried these days. Or angry. Or sad. Or defeated. Dean hated that most of all. “C’mon, lift up.”
Dean’s naked ass hitting the wet vinyl woke him up some. He shoved at his left pant leg while Sam pulled at the other, and together they managed to wrestle Dean out of his jeans and underwear. The cold was starting to hurt, his toes felt like they might fall off and his fingers weren’t much better. Every old wound and broken bone were making themselves known, like a non-fun trip down memory lane recollecting his many mistakes and failures. His headache was getting worse. He closed his eyes.
“Dean, can you crawl over into the back. Dean? Wake up!”
“Not sleeping,” Dean mumbled, opening his eyes, his tongue numb in his mouth. Shit, even his teeth hurt. He kneeled clumsily on the wet seat, eyeing the backseat skeptically. He’d crawled over from there and to the front and back again more times than he could count - easily as a kid, slightly less so once he got bigger - but right now Sam might as well have asked him to climb a ten feet high barbed wire fence. Naked. Speaking of, how was he supposed to climb over without crushing his very precious equipment?
“Seriously?” Sam laughed. Guess Dean was thinking out loud again. “Fine, I’ll protect them for you. C’mon.”
Before Dean really knew what was happening, he was being heaved over the front seat with Sam’s large hand cupping the family jewels. Despite everything, Dean felt his dick try and perk up, which only made Sam laugh louder. Dean landed sprawled half on, half off the back seat. He was still trying to figure out how to get on the bench when Sam pulled him up and deposited him on the thankfully dry vinyl. Then Sam’s giant body descended upon him, cocooning them both in the old blanket that was scratchy as hell but warm and smelled like home.
“We’re getting too big for this,” Sam huffed, like he hadn’t outgrown the Impala, and Dean and this whole life years ago. “Jesus, stop bitching.”
Damn! Well, it was true even if Dean hadn’t meant to ever say it out loud. His whole world had been contained within the Impala ever since that night. She and Dad and Sam, they were all Dean ever had or wanted. Except Sam left, and then Dad died, and then Sam died… If he hadn’t had Baby, Dean probably would have ended it at that point. And what a waste of a soul that would have been.
“I came back,” Sam said softly. “And you’re not going anywhere.”
Shit. “Yeah, yeah.” Dean buried his face in Sam’s neck, breathing deep before pressing a kiss onto the soft spot under his ear. “Just talking crap.”
“Well, that’s nothing new,” Sam said.
He sounded fond so Dean didn’t punch him, just kissed him again then let his lips linger over Sam’s jugular, the steady heartbeat slowly lulling him into a doze. He didn’t want to sleep though, not yet. Lying there, all but crushed under Sam’s bulk, feeling Sam’s heat soak into his own cold skin, his cold bones, Dean wanted to stay awake as long as he could, branding this moment into his memory. If any of him would still be left, after they dragged him into the pit, he wanted to remember this. Sam’s big hands, rubbing heat into his skin, Sam’s warm breath tickling his face, Sam’s soft lips kissing him. Sam’s cock growing hard where it nestled against Dean’s hip. All of it, every touch, every second together, he was going to lock it up so deep within his heart, even the devil himself wouldn’t be able to claw it out of him.
His trembling was finally subsiding, only occasional shudders running through as each part of his body slowly relaxed. Sam was humming in his ear and Dean smiled when he realized his brother was singing Metallica’s Fade to Black, as off-key as ever.
“Dude,” he said, his teeth finally quiet. “I appreciate the effort but you’re butchering one of the greatest songs of the century.”
“Shut up,” Sam said, nuzzling behind Dean’s ear. “And it was last century, old man.”
“This one doesn’t count, it’s barely even started,” Dean dismissed, stretching his neck to give Sam better access. He tried not to think of how this was all he would see of the new millennium. Eight years and so far it wasn’t mounting up to much.
He untangled one arm from the cage of Sam’s limbs and ran his palm up Sam’s side, feeling the expanse of his ribcage, the ripple of muscles under the warm skin. Let his hand slide down again, into the dip of Sam’s lower back and then up to palm the swell of his ass. So small compared to his massive shoulders, it was a wonder he didn’t constantly tip over. Sam hummed again, this time in contentment, and wriggled his hips, his cock rubbing against Dean’s stomach just as his ass flexed under Dean’s fingers.
“You wanna?” Dean asked, spreading his knees, so Sam fit better in between. He was still sore, could feel the vinyl tug at his ass as he shifted, in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant, but their time was limited and he wanted to give Sam this as often as he could, while he still could. Adding another memory to that secret vault in his heart wouldn’t hurt either.
But Sam shook his head, wet hair threatening to slap Dean in the face. “Just this,” he mumbled, rocking his hips in a lazy circle that woke up Dean’s dick, trapped between his stomach and Sam’s thigh. Sam had one hand in Dean’s hair, stroking his forehead with his thumb, the other was wrapped around Dean’s bicep, keeping him from rolling onto the floor, seeing as Sam’s shoulder was wedged between Dean and the back of the seat. Sam was right, they were too big for this. Dean still wouldn’t trade it for the world.
They set up a rhythm, kissing slowly the way they almost never did, pulling away and breathing into each other’s necks when the intimacy proved too much. The windows steamed up. The Impala rocked steadily, well-oiled hinges hardly even creaking in the dark, empty night.
Dean came with a low grunt then just lay slack and sated, letting Sam do whatever he wanted. Sam took his time, like he always did these days, the added slick of Dean’s release making him slide a little easier.
Dean could tell when Sam started slipping into that dark place he resided in more often as Dean’s days ticked towards the end. Sam’s breathing went from harsh to hitching, his kisses grew more desperate and finally his hips stuttered to a halt.
“Hey, none of that.” Dean ran his fingers into Sam’s still damp hair, tugging gently. “I ain’t having you cry-fuck me, man.”
“I’m not fucking you, jerk,” Sam mumbled into Dean’s neck.
“Cry-hump me then, bitch. Whatever. Sammy, please. Don’t.”
Sam sucked in his breath and nodded, even if Dean could still feel him shaking. “Sorry,” he murmured then, “Fuck,” as Dean felt him softening.
Nuhuh. Not on his watch.
“Roll over. On your back. C’mon.”
“Dean, it doesn’t matter,” Sam protested but he still did as he was told, knees spread and bent to fit on the too short bench. Dean slid down and settled into the space between them, taking the blanket with him because he’d do anything for his brother, but he wasn’t a damn saint, and it was fucking freezing.
It didn’t take him long to get Sam fully hard again. He’d had years of learning just how Sam liked it, (and a few years of learning how others liked it, because a man has needs, and they don’t stop just because his little brother decides to fuck off to California.) and by now he could play Sam’s dick like a goddamn flute. Whatever grief he had - and would - cause his brother, at least he could do this. It didn’t make up for any of it, but it did help them forget, if only for a moment, what was coming just a few months down the road.
When Sam came with a quiet shudder, large hand cradling the back of Dean’s head like a child’s, Dean swallowed dutifully before shimmying back up to settle on Sam’s heaving chest. “You good?” he murmured.
“Mhm.” Sam tugged on the blanket until it covered them completely before slipping his arms underneath and pulling Dean even closer.
Outside the rain was dwindling, the clouds breaking apart to let the full moon shine down on them, its cold light reflected in the Impala’s rain-slick surface. Silence fell, except for an owl hooting somewhere in the dark, and their synced breathing slowing down as their earlier exhaustion returned.
They slept.
fin
Author: felisblanco
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R.
Word count: 2500 words
Summary: A rainy night in the Impala. S3 and Hell awaits only a few months away.
Warnings: None except for a bit of S3 pre-Hell angst.
Author's note: Written for stellamira for the 2023 spnspringfling and originally posted there on April 17th. First time in over a decade that I've participated in a fic challenge and I wrote it in one night! And then tinkered with it but you know, finished a story in one night, that's like a record for me since like forever, not counting drabbles (which I have been writing and will post some time soon). Beta'd by the lovely candygramme as always.
They ran through the rain, Dean cursing while wrestling the car keys out of the pocket of his soaked-through jeans that stuck to him like a second skin. Sam’s long legs kept patient pace with him, telling Dean just how worried Sam was about him, because the rain was relentless and the night freezing. Not that reaching the car faster would have done Sam any good, Dean granted, clutching the keys in his hand.
It took him a few tries to unlock the car, his fingers stiff and shaky from the cold, but Sam didn’t say anything, just stood hunched over, hair plastered to his head like a wet mop, until Dean finally got the door open and slid inside on a fast-forming puddle - Dammit, that was going to stain the vinyl! - with Sam tumbling in from the other side. Dean breathed out, wiped the rain from his face, and turned the key in the ignition.
Nothing happened.
For a moment they just sat there, speechless, water dripping everywhere. The rain pounded on the roof, with rivers streaming down the windows, but other than that it was quiet. They were miles from the main road, not that anyone would be stupid enough to be driving in this downpour, unless they were forced to, because stupid werewolves didn’t give a damn about the weather. There weren’t even any lights brightening the night, the farmhouse they’d just left having been abandoned decades ago, and rain, and trees and distance keeping whatever civilization might be out there hidden from view. There was of course the full moon, or there had been, before the sky became covered in thick angry clouds carrying deluges of rain aimed at innocent, hard-working hunters.
Well, innocent…
Dean glanced over. Sam had carded his hair away from his face, but it still hung, lank and dripping, adding to the body of water Sam’s triple layers had already soaked in like a sponge. He was quiet, not panting like Dean, who sure hoped he could outrun the hellhounds when they came calling but would be the first to admit he didn’t have his brother’s stamina when it came to distance running. In his experience, if you had to run that far, whatever was chasing you would eventually get you.
“You alright?” he asked, regretting it immediately when Sam straightened up and looked over, wide eyes glittering.
“Never mind me! Dean, you could have-” Sam stopped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You can’t keep doing this!”
“Saved your ass, didn’t I?” Dean huffed. “A thank you wouldn’t go amiss.”
Sam bristled, just like Dean knew he would. He’d take Sam’s bitching over his maudlin any day. “Sure. Thank you, Dean, for being a self-sacrificing idiot!”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Still here, aren’t I? Not even a scratch on me. I call that a win.” He decided not to mention the rather hard hit he’d taken to the head. He wasn’t seeing double, just had a mean headache, so he was pretty sure it wasn’t serious.
“I call it dumbass luck, that’s what I call it,” Sam bitched, but he settled down, the anger already fading. Guess he really was tired. They both were. Tired, and wet and goddamn freezing.
Dean tried the ignition again but still nothing. Dammit! He knew he should have checked that grinding sound before they left. “I’m not going out there,” he grumbled. With his luck he’d probably drown.
Sam sighed but he didn’t argue.
Dean shivered, and then it was like he just couldn’t stop, his body trembling so hard his teeth started rattling in his mouth. Sam looked at him in alarm, reaching over to touch Dean’s forehead, as if he could possibly have developed a fever in the few minutes they’d been sitting there. Dean swiped at him halfheartedly, although, the truth was Sam’s hand felt good on his ice-cold skin. How did Sam manage to be this warm when Dean was practically freezing his balls off?
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Sam said, pushing at Dean’s soaked-through jacket like he didn’t resemble a drowned rat himself.
“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” Dean joked, the words stuttering between clicking teeth. He looked up when Sam didn’t answer, catching the blush staining his little brother’s cheeks before he managed to look away. Dean grinned. “Sammy, really? Now?”
“Shut up,” Sam muttered, blushing even further. “Just trying to take care of your stupid ass. You’re gonna get hypothermia.”
Dean snorted. “Sure, sure, blame the weather. Pervert.”
He stowed his gun in the glove compartment while wondering how the hell they were going to get all that wet denim off in the front seat’s constricted space. Then he struggled out of his jacket and dropped it on the floor, before awkwardly reaching down around the wheel to unlace his boots. Beside him Sam was doing his own version of sumo wrestling to get out of his wet clothes, but Dean resolutely didn’t glance over, or he might die laughing, despite probably looking just as ridiculous himself.
The upper layers proved easy enough, even if he soon gave up on the buttons and just pulled, or rather peeled, the flannel and t-shirt off over his head. The cold air hit his naked torso like a shower of needles, making his skin pepper in goosebumps. The trembling instantly worsened. He was losing momentum fast, the cold making his fingers clumsy and his brain slow. He fumbled with his belt, tugging it loose, but the button on his jeans proved too challenging and he gave up, hands falling into his lap as he slumped, shaking uncontrollably.
“Here, let me,” Sam said, and Dean lifted drooping eyelids to find Sam gloriously naked, acres of golden skin filling up the small space. Christ, look at that! How was he still so beautiful after all the shit Dean had put him through?
“Dean, you’re not making any sense,” Sam said, sounding embarrassed but mostly worried. He always seemed worried these days. Or angry. Or sad. Or defeated. Dean hated that most of all. “C’mon, lift up.”
Dean’s naked ass hitting the wet vinyl woke him up some. He shoved at his left pant leg while Sam pulled at the other, and together they managed to wrestle Dean out of his jeans and underwear. The cold was starting to hurt, his toes felt like they might fall off and his fingers weren’t much better. Every old wound and broken bone were making themselves known, like a non-fun trip down memory lane recollecting his many mistakes and failures. His headache was getting worse. He closed his eyes.
“Dean, can you crawl over into the back. Dean? Wake up!”
“Not sleeping,” Dean mumbled, opening his eyes, his tongue numb in his mouth. Shit, even his teeth hurt. He kneeled clumsily on the wet seat, eyeing the backseat skeptically. He’d crawled over from there and to the front and back again more times than he could count - easily as a kid, slightly less so once he got bigger - but right now Sam might as well have asked him to climb a ten feet high barbed wire fence. Naked. Speaking of, how was he supposed to climb over without crushing his very precious equipment?
“Seriously?” Sam laughed. Guess Dean was thinking out loud again. “Fine, I’ll protect them for you. C’mon.”
Before Dean really knew what was happening, he was being heaved over the front seat with Sam’s large hand cupping the family jewels. Despite everything, Dean felt his dick try and perk up, which only made Sam laugh louder. Dean landed sprawled half on, half off the back seat. He was still trying to figure out how to get on the bench when Sam pulled him up and deposited him on the thankfully dry vinyl. Then Sam’s giant body descended upon him, cocooning them both in the old blanket that was scratchy as hell but warm and smelled like home.
“We’re getting too big for this,” Sam huffed, like he hadn’t outgrown the Impala, and Dean and this whole life years ago. “Jesus, stop bitching.”
Damn! Well, it was true even if Dean hadn’t meant to ever say it out loud. His whole world had been contained within the Impala ever since that night. She and Dad and Sam, they were all Dean ever had or wanted. Except Sam left, and then Dad died, and then Sam died… If he hadn’t had Baby, Dean probably would have ended it at that point. And what a waste of a soul that would have been.
“I came back,” Sam said softly. “And you’re not going anywhere.”
Shit. “Yeah, yeah.” Dean buried his face in Sam’s neck, breathing deep before pressing a kiss onto the soft spot under his ear. “Just talking crap.”
“Well, that’s nothing new,” Sam said.
He sounded fond so Dean didn’t punch him, just kissed him again then let his lips linger over Sam’s jugular, the steady heartbeat slowly lulling him into a doze. He didn’t want to sleep though, not yet. Lying there, all but crushed under Sam’s bulk, feeling Sam’s heat soak into his own cold skin, his cold bones, Dean wanted to stay awake as long as he could, branding this moment into his memory. If any of him would still be left, after they dragged him into the pit, he wanted to remember this. Sam’s big hands, rubbing heat into his skin, Sam’s warm breath tickling his face, Sam’s soft lips kissing him. Sam’s cock growing hard where it nestled against Dean’s hip. All of it, every touch, every second together, he was going to lock it up so deep within his heart, even the devil himself wouldn’t be able to claw it out of him.
His trembling was finally subsiding, only occasional shudders running through as each part of his body slowly relaxed. Sam was humming in his ear and Dean smiled when he realized his brother was singing Metallica’s Fade to Black, as off-key as ever.
“Dude,” he said, his teeth finally quiet. “I appreciate the effort but you’re butchering one of the greatest songs of the century.”
“Shut up,” Sam said, nuzzling behind Dean’s ear. “And it was last century, old man.”
“This one doesn’t count, it’s barely even started,” Dean dismissed, stretching his neck to give Sam better access. He tried not to think of how this was all he would see of the new millennium. Eight years and so far it wasn’t mounting up to much.
He untangled one arm from the cage of Sam’s limbs and ran his palm up Sam’s side, feeling the expanse of his ribcage, the ripple of muscles under the warm skin. Let his hand slide down again, into the dip of Sam’s lower back and then up to palm the swell of his ass. So small compared to his massive shoulders, it was a wonder he didn’t constantly tip over. Sam hummed again, this time in contentment, and wriggled his hips, his cock rubbing against Dean’s stomach just as his ass flexed under Dean’s fingers.
“You wanna?” Dean asked, spreading his knees, so Sam fit better in between. He was still sore, could feel the vinyl tug at his ass as he shifted, in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant, but their time was limited and he wanted to give Sam this as often as he could, while he still could. Adding another memory to that secret vault in his heart wouldn’t hurt either.
But Sam shook his head, wet hair threatening to slap Dean in the face. “Just this,” he mumbled, rocking his hips in a lazy circle that woke up Dean’s dick, trapped between his stomach and Sam’s thigh. Sam had one hand in Dean’s hair, stroking his forehead with his thumb, the other was wrapped around Dean’s bicep, keeping him from rolling onto the floor, seeing as Sam’s shoulder was wedged between Dean and the back of the seat. Sam was right, they were too big for this. Dean still wouldn’t trade it for the world.
They set up a rhythm, kissing slowly the way they almost never did, pulling away and breathing into each other’s necks when the intimacy proved too much. The windows steamed up. The Impala rocked steadily, well-oiled hinges hardly even creaking in the dark, empty night.
Dean came with a low grunt then just lay slack and sated, letting Sam do whatever he wanted. Sam took his time, like he always did these days, the added slick of Dean’s release making him slide a little easier.
Dean could tell when Sam started slipping into that dark place he resided in more often as Dean’s days ticked towards the end. Sam’s breathing went from harsh to hitching, his kisses grew more desperate and finally his hips stuttered to a halt.
“Hey, none of that.” Dean ran his fingers into Sam’s still damp hair, tugging gently. “I ain’t having you cry-fuck me, man.”
“I’m not fucking you, jerk,” Sam mumbled into Dean’s neck.
“Cry-hump me then, bitch. Whatever. Sammy, please. Don’t.”
Sam sucked in his breath and nodded, even if Dean could still feel him shaking. “Sorry,” he murmured then, “Fuck,” as Dean felt him softening.
Nuhuh. Not on his watch.
“Roll over. On your back. C’mon.”
“Dean, it doesn’t matter,” Sam protested but he still did as he was told, knees spread and bent to fit on the too short bench. Dean slid down and settled into the space between them, taking the blanket with him because he’d do anything for his brother, but he wasn’t a damn saint, and it was fucking freezing.
It didn’t take him long to get Sam fully hard again. He’d had years of learning just how Sam liked it, (and a few years of learning how others liked it, because a man has needs, and they don’t stop just because his little brother decides to fuck off to California.) and by now he could play Sam’s dick like a goddamn flute. Whatever grief he had - and would - cause his brother, at least he could do this. It didn’t make up for any of it, but it did help them forget, if only for a moment, what was coming just a few months down the road.
When Sam came with a quiet shudder, large hand cradling the back of Dean’s head like a child’s, Dean swallowed dutifully before shimmying back up to settle on Sam’s heaving chest. “You good?” he murmured.
“Mhm.” Sam tugged on the blanket until it covered them completely before slipping his arms underneath and pulling Dean even closer.
Outside the rain was dwindling, the clouds breaking apart to let the full moon shine down on them, its cold light reflected in the Impala’s rain-slick surface. Silence fell, except for an owl hooting somewhere in the dark, and their synced breathing slowing down as their earlier exhaustion returned.
They slept.
fin