S9 wincest
"Dean. Dean." Sam takes Dean's arm gently and pulls him away from the door. "Look at me, man. We can't go out like this."
Dean stares at him blankly, then smiles. The blood around his mouth smears a little, and Dean laughs a little wildly. "Why not, Sam? Maybe we should let them see who I really am!" His voice rises hysterically on the last words, almost a shout, and Sam can see the terror in his brother's eyes, his fear and absolute belief that this might actually be who he is.
"No," Sam says firmly. His shirt is mostly clean, and he pulls it off, wiping the worst of the blood from Dean's face. Dean closes his eyes and lets him, and Sam pretends not to see the tear that slips out. Sam cleans Dean's hand next, though it's impossible to get the blood out of the creases in Dean's knuckles and fingernails.
When he's done, Sam tosses aside his ruined shirt then pulls Dean's shirt over his head, trying not to get any more blood on his face. "Should have done this first," he says ruefully when he fails, then gently rubs away the smudge on Dean's cheek.
Dean smiles, ghostly, barely there, and his voice cracks when he deadpans "You know, Sammy, if you just wanted to get my clothes off..."
"You know me so well," Sam says, rolling his eyes and smirking just a little. Dean's answering smile is a little wider, a little more himself, and Sam can't help himself. His mouth finds Dean's, perfect like it always is, and he feels his brother go still.
"I still want this, Dean," Sam says when he pulls back, his voice a little ragged. "I still want you. I still love you. There's nothing you can do to change that." He kisses Dean again, and this time Dean opens up, welcomes him almost desperately. He tastes familiar, like copper and iron, but Sam doesn't care. He licks away the taste of blood until all that's left is Dean, until they are both gasping and hard.
Dean pulls back first, hands still tangled in Sam's hair, foreheads pressed together. "Sam," he says, voice broken and rough, "Sam, Sammy, I--" Sam can feel him shaking, need and shock and want running through him all at once.
"Shh," Sam whispers. He steps back, back, back, pulling Dean with him, until he hits the wall. Dean presses against him, mouth dragging hot and open along Sam's throat has Sam fumbles to get Dean's belt and jeans open. Dean bites down, hard enough to leave a mark and Sam shudders, head falling back against the wall with a thud.
"Jesus, Dean," he gasps, and completely loses his train of thought when Dean shoves his leg between Sam's thighs, firm against his cock, and fuck that feels good. Dean ruts against him almost desperately, and it's painful to push him back a step. "Wait, wait," Sam says, and yanks his own jeans open, shoving them down just far enough that Dean can wrap his hand around them both. He kisses Dean, hard and fast, lacing their fingers together and squeezing, urging his brother on. Dean pulls back just far enough lick a hot, wet stripe up Sam's chest, sinking his teeth into the still-tender skin of his new tattoo and that's it. Sam comes with a shout, arching into Dean's mouth and his hand. He can hear Dean whispering yeah, Sammy, just like that, come on as he licks and bites his way back to Sam's mouth and pushes inside, no finesse, just need. Sam drags him close, like they could share a skin if Sam just tried hard enough, not even air left between them as Dean shudders and comes hot and sticky across Sam's chest.
They stay like that for a few moments, unable--unwilling--to move apart, until Dean sighs and takes a step back. They both eye the cooling mess between them, but it's Dean who says, completely serious, "I think we're out of shirts." Sam stares a him, uncomprehending, for a moment, before they both break into laughter.
"I never thought we'd have to worry about that," Dean says when they can breath again. He's smiling, a real smile if not as bright as Sam could wish. But there's hope in his eyes again, and faith and love, and that's all Sam needs to be happy.
Dean stares at him blankly, then smiles. The blood around his mouth smears a little, and Dean laughs a little wildly. "Why not, Sam? Maybe we should let them see who I really am!" His voice rises hysterically on the last words, almost a shout, and Sam can see the terror in his brother's eyes, his fear and absolute belief that this might actually be who he is.
"No," Sam says firmly. His shirt is mostly clean, and he pulls it off, wiping the worst of the blood from Dean's face. Dean closes his eyes and lets him, and Sam pretends not to see the tear that slips out. Sam cleans Dean's hand next, though it's impossible to get the blood out of the creases in Dean's knuckles and fingernails.
When he's done, Sam tosses aside his ruined shirt then pulls Dean's shirt over his head, trying not to get any more blood on his face. "Should have done this first," he says ruefully when he fails, then gently rubs away the smudge on Dean's cheek.
Dean smiles, ghostly, barely there, and his voice cracks when he deadpans "You know, Sammy, if you just wanted to get my clothes off..."
"You know me so well," Sam says, rolling his eyes and smirking just a little. Dean's answering smile is a little wider, a little more himself, and Sam can't help himself. His mouth finds Dean's, perfect like it always is, and he feels his brother go still.
"I still want this, Dean," Sam says when he pulls back, his voice a little ragged. "I still want you. I still love you. There's nothing you can do to change that." He kisses Dean again, and this time Dean opens up, welcomes him almost desperately. He tastes familiar, like copper and iron, but Sam doesn't care. He licks away the taste of blood until all that's left is Dean, until they are both gasping and hard.
Dean pulls back first, hands still tangled in Sam's hair, foreheads pressed together. "Sam," he says, voice broken and rough, "Sam, Sammy, I--" Sam can feel him shaking, need and shock and want running through him all at once.
"Shh," Sam whispers. He steps back, back, back, pulling Dean with him, until he hits the wall. Dean presses against him, mouth dragging hot and open along Sam's throat has Sam fumbles to get Dean's belt and jeans open. Dean bites down, hard enough to leave a mark and Sam shudders, head falling back against the wall with a thud.
"Jesus, Dean," he gasps, and completely loses his train of thought when Dean shoves his leg between Sam's thighs, firm against his cock, and fuck that feels good. Dean ruts against him almost desperately, and it's painful to push him back a step. "Wait, wait," Sam says, and yanks his own jeans open, shoving them down just far enough that Dean can wrap his hand around them both. He kisses Dean, hard and fast, lacing their fingers together and squeezing, urging his brother on. Dean pulls back just far enough lick a hot, wet stripe up Sam's chest, sinking his teeth into the still-tender skin of his new tattoo and that's it. Sam comes with a shout, arching into Dean's mouth and his hand. He can hear Dean whispering yeah, Sammy, just like that, come on as he licks and bites his way back to Sam's mouth and pushes inside, no finesse, just need. Sam drags him close, like they could share a skin if Sam just tried hard enough, not even air left between them as Dean shudders and comes hot and sticky across Sam's chest.
They stay like that for a few moments, unable--unwilling--to move apart, until Dean sighs and takes a step back. They both eye the cooling mess between them, but it's Dean who says, completely serious, "I think we're out of shirts." Sam stares a him, uncomprehending, for a moment, before they both break into laughter.
"I never thought we'd have to worry about that," Dean says when they can breath again. He's smiling, a real smile if not as bright as Sam could wish. But there's hope in his eyes again, and faith and love, and that's all Sam needs to be happy.