Supernatural - Let Your Brother Come
It felt so good to slip between the sheets, even if they were cheap sheets at an equally cheap motel. But they were clean, and that was what counted. They could have been remains of a burlap sack and John would have been satisfied. He took in a deep breath and sighed, letting it slowly out as his eyelids fell shut.
Being out with his sons also felt good. Sure, the cases recently hadn't been all that great. There was nothing earth-shattering in any of them, and they really hadn't been up against anything even one of them alone couldn't have handled, but it felt good to be with them.
And he knew he should have been more concerned than he was, that it should bother him more than it did, that the boys were...together.
Together together.
Oh, sure, they tried to hide it. Sam more than Dean. It wasn't that Dean didn't try, on reflection, it was just that he was never good at being subtle and always terrible at trying to lie. After years of avoiding physical contact with his brother -- perhaps avoiding temptation? -- in one day Dean seemed unable to keep his hands off his younger sibling, touching him, patting him, hugging him, brushing imaginary dust off him...
Sam constantly took up the slack and made it more convincing, but John hadn't survived to this point in his life by being easily convinced of anything. And even if he hadn't been much a part of their lives in some time and never really considered himself to have been even a mediocre father, he knew them enough to know.
He knew enough couples to know how they acted. He could remember how he acted, when unexpectedly he fell in love himself. A little smile played upon his lips. At least they'd both have someone. At least, when the chips were down, the bond of blood didn't give out. Each had come through for the other, time and again. On retrospect, John thought, it's a miracle they didn't get together sooner.
After so long of being alone, it did things to a person. He could attest to that personally; the solitude ate away at everything that made him the man they had once known, and it changed him irretrievably. There were still parts of him that he knew he would never see again. The loneliness was all he could thank for that.
All of these thoughts frustrated him. He had long heard that a troubled conscience made it difficult to sleep. It was true: a mind full of thoughts, concerns, and regrets all began to unwind and voice those grievances just as the defences of consciousness slipped away.
"Dean!" A soft, almost inaudible whisper drifted from Sam's lips.
Dean simply raised his finger to his lips, in a silent gesture.
"Dad's going to hear."
"Sammy," Dean barely mouthed, but a little louder than his brother, "Dad sleeps like a rock. We could get out the whips and it wouldn't wake him up."
John's eyes suddenly shot wide open.
Sam chuckled quietly. "If we had any."
"Right." Dean laughed too, leaning down for a soft kiss, then another.
John breathed out and let his eyes close again.
The boys, however, quickly occupied themselves with kissing, not even noticing their father rolling over to face the other way. People moved in their sleep, after all. And John smiled a little bit, again. The kissing reminded him of the tenderest moments in his memory. He missed kissing. He missed being kissed. His breath became shallow for a moment.
Then he could hear the sound of clothing sliding over muscular thighs and chests, followed by the sound of skin on skin. A distinct scent of mutual arousal rose in the air, but it was different to the one John knew; this one was completely male throughout. Oh well, he figured. He could shut it out. He was tired, and surely sleep would come soon enough.
Except it didn't. Several minutes passed, without the black oblivion leading to dreams, and he softly sighed and moved his leg up, stuffed his arm under the pillow, under his head.
The boys had begun to play in earnest. The old springs of the weathered mattress protested as Dean bounced around, erection slapping softly against his stomach and thigh, balls swinging. Sam's legs spread, and Dean sunk his lips down around the arousal pointing like a sundial.
The tiny little sounds of pleasure that escaped from Sam's throat were not lost amid the air conditioner kicking on from that noisy wall unit.
The room really wasn't that large, to begin with. All the movement had made it warmer inside. The bed continued to complain at the continued motion, but it didn't make Dean stop. He drew his mouth off in a loud pop, which made Sam wave his hands in alarm.
"Dad's gonna hear!" He excitedly hissed.
Dean just rolled his eyes, continuing on with the barest touch of a fingertip, tracing from under Sam's balls, over them, and then down the underside of his brother's erection, right to the head and the tip...then not quite an inch away, so that Sam could feel the presence of his finger, tracing the path back down, in the air.
Sam whimpered and arched his back, clutching at the bedclothes he could reach. It was almost too much.
"Dean," Sam murmured. "Please."
But Dean only brought the flat of his palm to Sam's lower stomach, pushing up, and the little hairs on his forearm almost -- not quite -- reached along the throbbing excitement. His thumb tickled along his brother's navel, up the centreline of his abdominals, and then he traced his first finger around the nub of an all-too-excited nipple.
Leaning down, he brought the tip of his tongue to it, and his body exuded warmth, especially from his crotch, so dangerously close to Sam's. The younger of the two bucked his hips upward, but Dean was too quick, drawing back and wiggling a finger.
"Please." Sam steepled his eyebrows. "Oh please. Please, Dean. Dean? Please."
Dean's heart leapt in his chest. Sam knew he couldn't resist that, not after this long. Not after all the things they had been through. The begging, the puppy-dog eyes. Oh, that was hitting below the belt. But his below the belt needed a hit of something. He could feel the coolness from the beads of excitement dripping off his slit.
"Sammy..." Dean flicked his tongue across his lips and leaned in, pressing mouth to mouth in a deep kiss.
Little moans, pleased sounds, traded between the two's tongues. A nuzzle, another kiss, soft brushing of lips to lips, and then Dean pulled back and took in a sharp breath. But a grin curled across his lips, and he slowly drew down again.
With that hand, that evil, wicked hand, he lightly traced the air around the crest of Sam's head, then down his length. He tickled some of the hairs that reached across the soft sac, and then his fingers rubbed at the perineum, and Sam could feel it. He was so ready. So ready.
"Please, Dean...please...I want...I want to feel you..."
Dean brought his fingers up to his lips and then pushed the first two into his mouth, opening it a bit just so Sam could see him licking them, then sucking on them. And then they slipped between his younger brother's buttocks and over his hole, tracing the outline of it, every wrinkle and contour, and pushing against it.
"Dean...please, I...please let me...please...!" Sam's voice grew a bit more desperate.
One finger began to push inward. It was almost too much for Sam, but his arousal only leapt, dribbling more. He felt like a leaky faucet, pointedly neglected. At first each drop nearly sizzled on his skin, but soon it brought sticky cold to the little hairs down his body.
"Please...I need...oh Dean...please...!"
"Jesus Christ Dean, just let your brother come already!"
The two froze in place. Then, as one, they turned their heads to take in the sight of their father, sitting up in bed with a gruff expression on his face. Not that the expression varied too much from his usual one.
John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen." He held up a hand. "It's...3.10 AM. We just finished a case, we can afford to sleep late. We can sleep to noon if you want. But I'd really like to get to sleep before 4."
"Uh..." Dean's entire face was glowing red, though the darkened room made it difficult to see. His mouth opened and closed a few times, not quite finding the words he wanted to say.
Sam, as usual, stepped up to cover for his brother's shortcomings. "Sorry. Uh, we'll be quiet..."
The brothers remained awkwardly still, despite being completely naked and above the covers. John at last shook his head, and his expression melted into a smile.
"No." He laughed and flopped back, lying back on the pillow. "No, I'm happy. Really. I don't understand it, but I am. Look, just...just forget about me. Dean, be good to your brother. Good night."
And with that, he turned over and fell into the deepest, most restful sleep he had experienced in years.
After a few minutes, Sam turned back to Dean, an unspoken question in his eyes. Dean brought a finger to his lips, then started to grin and sank between Sam's legs.
It surprised Sam how quickly he found himself hard again, and he rose his hips carefully. After a few seconds, his thrusts became anything but careful, and he happily began to shove his sizable length into his brother's throat.
But then Dean popped off again, and this time without the audible effect. He reached down under Sam's thighs and lifted his legs, leaning closer to him, closer to his face. Sam could feel him, at his entrance. He was wet, slick, and hard. It would be rough; always rough without much lube other than that produced naturally. But he liked to feel his brother. He liked it rough.
Even if it caught on every single piece of skin, even if it seemed to take some time before a rhythm could even be approached, Sam loved it. It was Dean, it felt like love that shot through his body, love that he would feel for days afterward. He felt himself quaking, a shiver shooting through his body. But he couldn't let go. It wasn't the time.
Dean wanted to moan, he wanted to cry out, like they would do if they were alone on one of their many trips. He pushed himself down farther, to take a kiss from Sam's lips. Sammy's sweet lips, he smiled and let his eyelids fall a bit. No kiss he had ever given or received could compare to them.
In the instant they touched, Dean lost himself in Sam, filling him inside, and at the same moment Sam shot up to his chin. Muscles tensed, skin covered with a thin film of sweat, the two could barely contain their sounds. They muffled themselves by pressing into a harder kiss.
John, deep in sleep and in the land of dreams, smiled to himself for reasons only he knew best.
Being out with his sons also felt good. Sure, the cases recently hadn't been all that great. There was nothing earth-shattering in any of them, and they really hadn't been up against anything even one of them alone couldn't have handled, but it felt good to be with them.
And he knew he should have been more concerned than he was, that it should bother him more than it did, that the boys were...together.
Together together.
Oh, sure, they tried to hide it. Sam more than Dean. It wasn't that Dean didn't try, on reflection, it was just that he was never good at being subtle and always terrible at trying to lie. After years of avoiding physical contact with his brother -- perhaps avoiding temptation? -- in one day Dean seemed unable to keep his hands off his younger sibling, touching him, patting him, hugging him, brushing imaginary dust off him...
Sam constantly took up the slack and made it more convincing, but John hadn't survived to this point in his life by being easily convinced of anything. And even if he hadn't been much a part of their lives in some time and never really considered himself to have been even a mediocre father, he knew them enough to know.
He knew enough couples to know how they acted. He could remember how he acted, when unexpectedly he fell in love himself. A little smile played upon his lips. At least they'd both have someone. At least, when the chips were down, the bond of blood didn't give out. Each had come through for the other, time and again. On retrospect, John thought, it's a miracle they didn't get together sooner.
After so long of being alone, it did things to a person. He could attest to that personally; the solitude ate away at everything that made him the man they had once known, and it changed him irretrievably. There were still parts of him that he knew he would never see again. The loneliness was all he could thank for that.
All of these thoughts frustrated him. He had long heard that a troubled conscience made it difficult to sleep. It was true: a mind full of thoughts, concerns, and regrets all began to unwind and voice those grievances just as the defences of consciousness slipped away.
"Dean!" A soft, almost inaudible whisper drifted from Sam's lips.
Dean simply raised his finger to his lips, in a silent gesture.
"Dad's going to hear."
"Sammy," Dean barely mouthed, but a little louder than his brother, "Dad sleeps like a rock. We could get out the whips and it wouldn't wake him up."
John's eyes suddenly shot wide open.
Sam chuckled quietly. "If we had any."
"Right." Dean laughed too, leaning down for a soft kiss, then another.
John breathed out and let his eyes close again.
The boys, however, quickly occupied themselves with kissing, not even noticing their father rolling over to face the other way. People moved in their sleep, after all. And John smiled a little bit, again. The kissing reminded him of the tenderest moments in his memory. He missed kissing. He missed being kissed. His breath became shallow for a moment.
Then he could hear the sound of clothing sliding over muscular thighs and chests, followed by the sound of skin on skin. A distinct scent of mutual arousal rose in the air, but it was different to the one John knew; this one was completely male throughout. Oh well, he figured. He could shut it out. He was tired, and surely sleep would come soon enough.
Except it didn't. Several minutes passed, without the black oblivion leading to dreams, and he softly sighed and moved his leg up, stuffed his arm under the pillow, under his head.
The boys had begun to play in earnest. The old springs of the weathered mattress protested as Dean bounced around, erection slapping softly against his stomach and thigh, balls swinging. Sam's legs spread, and Dean sunk his lips down around the arousal pointing like a sundial.
The tiny little sounds of pleasure that escaped from Sam's throat were not lost amid the air conditioner kicking on from that noisy wall unit.
The room really wasn't that large, to begin with. All the movement had made it warmer inside. The bed continued to complain at the continued motion, but it didn't make Dean stop. He drew his mouth off in a loud pop, which made Sam wave his hands in alarm.
"Dad's gonna hear!" He excitedly hissed.
Dean just rolled his eyes, continuing on with the barest touch of a fingertip, tracing from under Sam's balls, over them, and then down the underside of his brother's erection, right to the head and the tip...then not quite an inch away, so that Sam could feel the presence of his finger, tracing the path back down, in the air.
Sam whimpered and arched his back, clutching at the bedclothes he could reach. It was almost too much.
"Dean," Sam murmured. "Please."
But Dean only brought the flat of his palm to Sam's lower stomach, pushing up, and the little hairs on his forearm almost -- not quite -- reached along the throbbing excitement. His thumb tickled along his brother's navel, up the centreline of his abdominals, and then he traced his first finger around the nub of an all-too-excited nipple.
Leaning down, he brought the tip of his tongue to it, and his body exuded warmth, especially from his crotch, so dangerously close to Sam's. The younger of the two bucked his hips upward, but Dean was too quick, drawing back and wiggling a finger.
"Please." Sam steepled his eyebrows. "Oh please. Please, Dean. Dean? Please."
Dean's heart leapt in his chest. Sam knew he couldn't resist that, not after this long. Not after all the things they had been through. The begging, the puppy-dog eyes. Oh, that was hitting below the belt. But his below the belt needed a hit of something. He could feel the coolness from the beads of excitement dripping off his slit.
"Sammy..." Dean flicked his tongue across his lips and leaned in, pressing mouth to mouth in a deep kiss.
Little moans, pleased sounds, traded between the two's tongues. A nuzzle, another kiss, soft brushing of lips to lips, and then Dean pulled back and took in a sharp breath. But a grin curled across his lips, and he slowly drew down again.
With that hand, that evil, wicked hand, he lightly traced the air around the crest of Sam's head, then down his length. He tickled some of the hairs that reached across the soft sac, and then his fingers rubbed at the perineum, and Sam could feel it. He was so ready. So ready.
"Please, Dean...please...I want...I want to feel you..."
Dean brought his fingers up to his lips and then pushed the first two into his mouth, opening it a bit just so Sam could see him licking them, then sucking on them. And then they slipped between his younger brother's buttocks and over his hole, tracing the outline of it, every wrinkle and contour, and pushing against it.
"Dean...please, I...please let me...please...!" Sam's voice grew a bit more desperate.
One finger began to push inward. It was almost too much for Sam, but his arousal only leapt, dribbling more. He felt like a leaky faucet, pointedly neglected. At first each drop nearly sizzled on his skin, but soon it brought sticky cold to the little hairs down his body.
"Please...I need...oh Dean...please...!"
"Jesus Christ Dean, just let your brother come already!"
The two froze in place. Then, as one, they turned their heads to take in the sight of their father, sitting up in bed with a gruff expression on his face. Not that the expression varied too much from his usual one.
John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen." He held up a hand. "It's...3.10 AM. We just finished a case, we can afford to sleep late. We can sleep to noon if you want. But I'd really like to get to sleep before 4."
"Uh..." Dean's entire face was glowing red, though the darkened room made it difficult to see. His mouth opened and closed a few times, not quite finding the words he wanted to say.
Sam, as usual, stepped up to cover for his brother's shortcomings. "Sorry. Uh, we'll be quiet..."
The brothers remained awkwardly still, despite being completely naked and above the covers. John at last shook his head, and his expression melted into a smile.
"No." He laughed and flopped back, lying back on the pillow. "No, I'm happy. Really. I don't understand it, but I am. Look, just...just forget about me. Dean, be good to your brother. Good night."
And with that, he turned over and fell into the deepest, most restful sleep he had experienced in years.
After a few minutes, Sam turned back to Dean, an unspoken question in his eyes. Dean brought a finger to his lips, then started to grin and sank between Sam's legs.
It surprised Sam how quickly he found himself hard again, and he rose his hips carefully. After a few seconds, his thrusts became anything but careful, and he happily began to shove his sizable length into his brother's throat.
But then Dean popped off again, and this time without the audible effect. He reached down under Sam's thighs and lifted his legs, leaning closer to him, closer to his face. Sam could feel him, at his entrance. He was wet, slick, and hard. It would be rough; always rough without much lube other than that produced naturally. But he liked to feel his brother. He liked it rough.
Even if it caught on every single piece of skin, even if it seemed to take some time before a rhythm could even be approached, Sam loved it. It was Dean, it felt like love that shot through his body, love that he would feel for days afterward. He felt himself quaking, a shiver shooting through his body. But he couldn't let go. It wasn't the time.
Dean wanted to moan, he wanted to cry out, like they would do if they were alone on one of their many trips. He pushed himself down farther, to take a kiss from Sam's lips. Sammy's sweet lips, he smiled and let his eyelids fall a bit. No kiss he had ever given or received could compare to them.
In the instant they touched, Dean lost himself in Sam, filling him inside, and at the same moment Sam shot up to his chin. Muscles tensed, skin covered with a thin film of sweat, the two could barely contain their sounds. They muffled themselves by pressing into a harder kiss.
John, deep in sleep and in the land of dreams, smiled to himself for reasons only he knew best.