And I'd Do Anything To Make You Stay
The alcohol was always a great addition to their nights, not that they didn't drink almost constantly. Dean rarely drank anything besides whiskey or beer these days, he was sure his tongue permanently tasted of it, but it was just something of a character flaw. Sam drank too, of course, but he didn't use it like a crutch. He'd been there with something far worse.
The last of a bottle of vodka was being passed back and forth, and Sam finished it off with two large gulps, dropping the bottle on the floor with a thud and eyeing his older brother across the small gap they'd left between each other on the couch.
Bobby's house was quiet with just the two of them living there. Dean would never admit to getting so bored while he was injured and while Sam was in his wheelchair that he'd gone around and cleaned up for sometime to do, but he had, and now things didn't really have a layer of dust, but it wouldn't be long before it was back, once they got into hunting again.
"You're starin'," Dean slurred out, raking a hand down his face and pulling himself to his feet, having to push himself up with a hand on Sam's knee. The younger of the two snagged hold of his wrist, nearly knocking Dean off balance. Sam followed suit, standing up and reaching both hands to hold onto Dean's shoulders, though both wandered quickly, thumbs sliding harshly over cheekbones.
The large time difference weighed on them both, at times. Dean looked a bit more worn, held a bit less faith in the world, and still needed Sam, because Sam was all he had. In turn, Sam was gearing up for what he knew would happen, now he'd been told everything. Hell, with Lucifer, Michael, and Adam. Having no soul, then the Leviathans. Neither of them could catch a break, and even when Dean tried to be normal, with Lisa, it hadn't worked out. Sam didn't know if he'd ever get that normal life he wanted either, maybe one day, but for now here they were. Him, holding Dean by the face, watching his big brother's green eyes searching him for what the problem was.
"Sammy?"
Dean curled his left hand around one of Sam's wrists, his broken arm hanging at his side with a dull pain throbbing through it. He tried to pull back, because it was unsettling to be stared at at the best of times but even worse when he was actually drunk-- something of a rare occurrence now.
He didn't get far. Sam's lips pressed to his and Dean wondered, in the split second it took for him to respond, if tonight would be the night he would call an end to what was between them. He wanted Sam to be happy but he knew that if Sam had that normal life then he'd leave the hunter life, and Dean didn't know if he was prepared for that, even now, after everything, so he clung, he gasped, and he told himself not this time, not tonight.
The kiss was quick and rough, the harsh press of lips, Sam's teeth tugging on Dean's full bottom lip, his hands slipping down to fist in the tuxedo jacket Dean still wore, and every moment of it sent sparks through both of them. It wasn't normal, they both knew that, but it was what it was. They didn't need to talk about it. Sam's aggressive desire was obvious, Dean's need for it was as blatant, and that was all they had to think about for now. Normal could come later.
Dean broke the kiss with and grunt and just curled his hand in the front of Sam's shirt, tugging him along and towards the stairs. He and Sam had stayed here countless times, there was a bed upstairs they'd both used, separately and together as children, and he wasn't about to let Sam screw him on Bobby's couch or in Bobby's bed. He still had some class about where his incestual encounters took place, thank you very much.
Sam was all hands as Dean pulled him along. He ran his strong fingers over Dean's hips, his mouth trying to find Dean's neck, but the older of the two was determined to get them upstairs first. The second they were off the top step, Sam had Dean against the wall. Dean's head thudded against it and he could have sworn he heard the whole house rattle just a bit, but the sharp teeth on his throat and the imposing, hard wall Sam made had him distracted quickly.
A short gasp came and Dean curled his fingers in Sam's hair. It was shorter than he was used to, even if it was still ridiculous and long. He couldn't help thinking that the six years age gap might be a bit much this time but Sam still knew him, knew what he liked, what he absolutely hated, and he hissed as Sam pressed his thigh against Dean's hardening cock, rocking their bodies together steadily, like the alcohol hadn't had even a bit of an effect on him.
Sam's mind always raced when he and Dean were doing these kinds of things. He could remember every tell and every noise like he could recite an exorcism in Latin as simply as breathing, but he couldn't ever get it out of his head that Dean had those reservations of his. That he wasn't protecting Sam if he let him fall into something this far off the reservation. Despite that, he found a peacefulness when he was this close to Dean. He had no one else and being so intimate with Dean made them seem that bit more invincible.
"Sam;" Dean's tone held warning, a breathiness that threatened to become a growl if they didn't get off the damn wall. Dean's neck was marred with bruises, something he could pass off as war wounds on a regular day, and Sam sucked another mark into his skin just for good measure, earning a low moan from his older brother.
Kisses were easy to fall into and Sam's tongue slid against Dean's as he staggered them into the spare room upstairs, kicked the door shut on instinct, and hefted his older sibling onto the bed, leaving Dean sprawled, flushed, and scowling at Sam with his suit a mess and his desperation obvious. Sam's grin was playful as he stripped his jacket off, dropping it on the floor and crawling over Dean's body, finding his place easily between his older brother's thighs.
He knew Dean didn't do this with other guys. He didn't either. Neither of them really swung that way, but each other was a different situation entirely. This wasn't about sex, not entirely at least, and it wasn't about them casting off the last of the social norms they'd never really followed. It was about need and love and desperation and fear. It was about the fire and mom, it was about 4th of July 1996; it was about the faith healer in Nebraska, it was about the car accident in 2006 and dad's death; it was about the psychic children showdown in Cold Oak, it was about Sam dying, Dean's deal and Hell. It was about Ruby and the demon blood. It was about Castiel raising Dean from perdition. It was about the apocalypse and being dragged around by destiny and angels, about God abandoning them and all the things Sam hadn't seen yet that Dean wanted to keep him safe from. It was about the Impala.
It was about those words -- "Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!" -- and how Sam was Dean's to protect and how somehow Dean had become Sam's to protect too.
Sam's tie was unfastened easily by Dean's quick fingers and he groaned into the kiss when his little brother ground down against him, his skin prickling with heat. The tie was tossed aside and Dean's hands were up the back of Sam's shirt just as quickly as the shirt was untucked. He raked at his skin, knowing Sam liked to be rough and willing to give him what he wanted. Sam was a predator, even if he repeatedly tried to be a regular person, and Dean was willing prey when he was like this. Sam had control over it all, but above that, Dean had his grip on the situation and kept them both grounded through it.
Sam didn't take his time to undress Dean like he usually did. He undid the bow tie, still amused at it, and the jacket was still left on. His shirt was shoved up and Sam found immense enjoyment in leaving more marks, biting and kissing and licking over wounds left from Dean being tortured by that demon bastard, someone he'd rip to shreds if he got near-- demon smiting powers or not, no one fucked with his big brother.
There wasn't any lubricant for this at hand, both of them knew that, but Dean took pain like a professional. Sam already had Dean's pants worked open and down his thighs. A large hand was circled around Dean's cock and he ran his fingertips against every sensitive inch, feeling his brother's pulse against his palm, watching him writhe. Dean was vocal, Sam had learned, and he took pleasure in making Dean choke on every breath he took. His fingers were slick with precome, easing the glide of his hand over the engorged flesh, and he smirked a bit at how Dean clutched at his sides, fingers pressing into his ribs.
"Sam, quit it-- just get on with it," he hissed out, the pupils of green eyes blown so wide he very nearly looked possessed. Sam laughed against Dean's jaw, his hands coming away to free his own dick from his suit pants. Dean's precome and a little of his own, as well as some spit, were all the lube that Sam could care to get for them and he slicked himself up, pushing at Dean without so much as a thought for preparation. He liked the tightness, he likes the way Dean's body fought him on the issue, and neither of them wanted to stop and wait for more foreplay.
"Fuck... Dean--" Sam's breath hitched and he hung his head, eyes shielded by the long hair framing his face. He didn't think to wait and Dean's ragged noises were both incredible and heart-wrenching. His hips snapped hard against Dean, both of them shaking at how damn uncomfortable the position was, how their bodies protested movement, and how they were both so desperate for each other. Dean kept his cast arm against Sam's back, the other hand burying in his hair, tangled amongst strands of it, tugging it and cradling his head at the very same moment. They were contradictions, the two of them. Sam was quiet and kind by day and near savage when he had his hands on someone like this. Dean, on the other hand, was loud and abrasive but could gladly go for ages in drawn out foreplay and hard and slow sex. He could torture Sam, some days, with how meticulous he was.
Pressure rose between them, shirts sticking to sweat soaked skin, Sam's hair damp, Dean's eyes shut tight, and every breath was rough and wild, Sam's hips slamming into Dean, his cock making Dean feel so full and so pained, but he didn't tell him to stop even once. It was what he liked about it; the raw pain it brought to the surface, the vulnerability. He could cry in front of Sam for a week and never feel as exposed and honest with him as he felt right now.
Tongues sliding against straining flesh, hands clawing and clinging, Dean found his way to Sam's mouth and kissed him in reverence, he kissed him with apology. He could only ever apologise for this, for everything, for keeping him and needing him, and he'd never quite understand Sam's need to be normal the same as Sam would never really understand Dean's reluctance to give up hunting once he could, but they knew each other better than they knew anyone else or anyone else knew them and that made it all okay.
Everything was okay.
Dean's breath hitched and Sam knew he'd found that moment, that place, and he didn't stop, couldn't if he tried. Every thrust had Dean almost mad with pleasure, a sharp noise coming at every push, and Sam's heart thundered against his chest as he felt himself throbbing all over, every bit of him aching and screaming internally. It was seconds, minutes maybe, and Dean was first to go running head first off the brink of his sanity, a wretched noise torn from his hoarse throat. Sam followed mere moments later, every inch of Dean claimed as his, and he breathed hard against his brother's neck, feeling Dean's fingers lazily petting his hair. He'd move, soon enough, but for now they needed to simply breathe, exist, and follow one another's lead, find the equality and peace resonate between them as they fell into stillness.
The last of a bottle of vodka was being passed back and forth, and Sam finished it off with two large gulps, dropping the bottle on the floor with a thud and eyeing his older brother across the small gap they'd left between each other on the couch.
Bobby's house was quiet with just the two of them living there. Dean would never admit to getting so bored while he was injured and while Sam was in his wheelchair that he'd gone around and cleaned up for sometime to do, but he had, and now things didn't really have a layer of dust, but it wouldn't be long before it was back, once they got into hunting again.
"You're starin'," Dean slurred out, raking a hand down his face and pulling himself to his feet, having to push himself up with a hand on Sam's knee. The younger of the two snagged hold of his wrist, nearly knocking Dean off balance. Sam followed suit, standing up and reaching both hands to hold onto Dean's shoulders, though both wandered quickly, thumbs sliding harshly over cheekbones.
The large time difference weighed on them both, at times. Dean looked a bit more worn, held a bit less faith in the world, and still needed Sam, because Sam was all he had. In turn, Sam was gearing up for what he knew would happen, now he'd been told everything. Hell, with Lucifer, Michael, and Adam. Having no soul, then the Leviathans. Neither of them could catch a break, and even when Dean tried to be normal, with Lisa, it hadn't worked out. Sam didn't know if he'd ever get that normal life he wanted either, maybe one day, but for now here they were. Him, holding Dean by the face, watching his big brother's green eyes searching him for what the problem was.
"Sammy?"
Dean curled his left hand around one of Sam's wrists, his broken arm hanging at his side with a dull pain throbbing through it. He tried to pull back, because it was unsettling to be stared at at the best of times but even worse when he was actually drunk-- something of a rare occurrence now.
He didn't get far. Sam's lips pressed to his and Dean wondered, in the split second it took for him to respond, if tonight would be the night he would call an end to what was between them. He wanted Sam to be happy but he knew that if Sam had that normal life then he'd leave the hunter life, and Dean didn't know if he was prepared for that, even now, after everything, so he clung, he gasped, and he told himself not this time, not tonight.
The kiss was quick and rough, the harsh press of lips, Sam's teeth tugging on Dean's full bottom lip, his hands slipping down to fist in the tuxedo jacket Dean still wore, and every moment of it sent sparks through both of them. It wasn't normal, they both knew that, but it was what it was. They didn't need to talk about it. Sam's aggressive desire was obvious, Dean's need for it was as blatant, and that was all they had to think about for now. Normal could come later.
Dean broke the kiss with and grunt and just curled his hand in the front of Sam's shirt, tugging him along and towards the stairs. He and Sam had stayed here countless times, there was a bed upstairs they'd both used, separately and together as children, and he wasn't about to let Sam screw him on Bobby's couch or in Bobby's bed. He still had some class about where his incestual encounters took place, thank you very much.
Sam was all hands as Dean pulled him along. He ran his strong fingers over Dean's hips, his mouth trying to find Dean's neck, but the older of the two was determined to get them upstairs first. The second they were off the top step, Sam had Dean against the wall. Dean's head thudded against it and he could have sworn he heard the whole house rattle just a bit, but the sharp teeth on his throat and the imposing, hard wall Sam made had him distracted quickly.
A short gasp came and Dean curled his fingers in Sam's hair. It was shorter than he was used to, even if it was still ridiculous and long. He couldn't help thinking that the six years age gap might be a bit much this time but Sam still knew him, knew what he liked, what he absolutely hated, and he hissed as Sam pressed his thigh against Dean's hardening cock, rocking their bodies together steadily, like the alcohol hadn't had even a bit of an effect on him.
Sam's mind always raced when he and Dean were doing these kinds of things. He could remember every tell and every noise like he could recite an exorcism in Latin as simply as breathing, but he couldn't ever get it out of his head that Dean had those reservations of his. That he wasn't protecting Sam if he let him fall into something this far off the reservation. Despite that, he found a peacefulness when he was this close to Dean. He had no one else and being so intimate with Dean made them seem that bit more invincible.
"Sam;" Dean's tone held warning, a breathiness that threatened to become a growl if they didn't get off the damn wall. Dean's neck was marred with bruises, something he could pass off as war wounds on a regular day, and Sam sucked another mark into his skin just for good measure, earning a low moan from his older brother.
Kisses were easy to fall into and Sam's tongue slid against Dean's as he staggered them into the spare room upstairs, kicked the door shut on instinct, and hefted his older sibling onto the bed, leaving Dean sprawled, flushed, and scowling at Sam with his suit a mess and his desperation obvious. Sam's grin was playful as he stripped his jacket off, dropping it on the floor and crawling over Dean's body, finding his place easily between his older brother's thighs.
He knew Dean didn't do this with other guys. He didn't either. Neither of them really swung that way, but each other was a different situation entirely. This wasn't about sex, not entirely at least, and it wasn't about them casting off the last of the social norms they'd never really followed. It was about need and love and desperation and fear. It was about the fire and mom, it was about 4th of July 1996; it was about the faith healer in Nebraska, it was about the car accident in 2006 and dad's death; it was about the psychic children showdown in Cold Oak, it was about Sam dying, Dean's deal and Hell. It was about Ruby and the demon blood. It was about Castiel raising Dean from perdition. It was about the apocalypse and being dragged around by destiny and angels, about God abandoning them and all the things Sam hadn't seen yet that Dean wanted to keep him safe from. It was about the Impala.
It was about those words -- "Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!" -- and how Sam was Dean's to protect and how somehow Dean had become Sam's to protect too.
Sam's tie was unfastened easily by Dean's quick fingers and he groaned into the kiss when his little brother ground down against him, his skin prickling with heat. The tie was tossed aside and Dean's hands were up the back of Sam's shirt just as quickly as the shirt was untucked. He raked at his skin, knowing Sam liked to be rough and willing to give him what he wanted. Sam was a predator, even if he repeatedly tried to be a regular person, and Dean was willing prey when he was like this. Sam had control over it all, but above that, Dean had his grip on the situation and kept them both grounded through it.
Sam didn't take his time to undress Dean like he usually did. He undid the bow tie, still amused at it, and the jacket was still left on. His shirt was shoved up and Sam found immense enjoyment in leaving more marks, biting and kissing and licking over wounds left from Dean being tortured by that demon bastard, someone he'd rip to shreds if he got near-- demon smiting powers or not, no one fucked with his big brother.
There wasn't any lubricant for this at hand, both of them knew that, but Dean took pain like a professional. Sam already had Dean's pants worked open and down his thighs. A large hand was circled around Dean's cock and he ran his fingertips against every sensitive inch, feeling his brother's pulse against his palm, watching him writhe. Dean was vocal, Sam had learned, and he took pleasure in making Dean choke on every breath he took. His fingers were slick with precome, easing the glide of his hand over the engorged flesh, and he smirked a bit at how Dean clutched at his sides, fingers pressing into his ribs.
"Sam, quit it-- just get on with it," he hissed out, the pupils of green eyes blown so wide he very nearly looked possessed. Sam laughed against Dean's jaw, his hands coming away to free his own dick from his suit pants. Dean's precome and a little of his own, as well as some spit, were all the lube that Sam could care to get for them and he slicked himself up, pushing at Dean without so much as a thought for preparation. He liked the tightness, he likes the way Dean's body fought him on the issue, and neither of them wanted to stop and wait for more foreplay.
"Fuck... Dean--" Sam's breath hitched and he hung his head, eyes shielded by the long hair framing his face. He didn't think to wait and Dean's ragged noises were both incredible and heart-wrenching. His hips snapped hard against Dean, both of them shaking at how damn uncomfortable the position was, how their bodies protested movement, and how they were both so desperate for each other. Dean kept his cast arm against Sam's back, the other hand burying in his hair, tangled amongst strands of it, tugging it and cradling his head at the very same moment. They were contradictions, the two of them. Sam was quiet and kind by day and near savage when he had his hands on someone like this. Dean, on the other hand, was loud and abrasive but could gladly go for ages in drawn out foreplay and hard and slow sex. He could torture Sam, some days, with how meticulous he was.
Pressure rose between them, shirts sticking to sweat soaked skin, Sam's hair damp, Dean's eyes shut tight, and every breath was rough and wild, Sam's hips slamming into Dean, his cock making Dean feel so full and so pained, but he didn't tell him to stop even once. It was what he liked about it; the raw pain it brought to the surface, the vulnerability. He could cry in front of Sam for a week and never feel as exposed and honest with him as he felt right now.
Tongues sliding against straining flesh, hands clawing and clinging, Dean found his way to Sam's mouth and kissed him in reverence, he kissed him with apology. He could only ever apologise for this, for everything, for keeping him and needing him, and he'd never quite understand Sam's need to be normal the same as Sam would never really understand Dean's reluctance to give up hunting once he could, but they knew each other better than they knew anyone else or anyone else knew them and that made it all okay.
Everything was okay.
Dean's breath hitched and Sam knew he'd found that moment, that place, and he didn't stop, couldn't if he tried. Every thrust had Dean almost mad with pleasure, a sharp noise coming at every push, and Sam's heart thundered against his chest as he felt himself throbbing all over, every bit of him aching and screaming internally. It was seconds, minutes maybe, and Dean was first to go running head first off the brink of his sanity, a wretched noise torn from his hoarse throat. Sam followed mere moments later, every inch of Dean claimed as his, and he breathed hard against his brother's neck, feeling Dean's fingers lazily petting his hair. He'd move, soon enough, but for now they needed to simply breathe, exist, and follow one another's lead, find the equality and peace resonate between them as they fell into stillness.