Two-Headed Boy: Twenty-three
They’ve been dancing around it, around each other, for days. It feels like it’s time, like it’s overdue, even, and Dean’s dick seems to agree.
It agrees loudly every time Sam sits a little too close, every time Sam reaches over for his hand in the car, every time he looks over at him with that dirty-innocent little fox-eyed face that makes Dean want to cream his jeans like a teenager.
Dean’s had a few beers in him, just enough to make his hips loose, to make his bones feel all good inside of of his own body, to make him feel like he wants nothing more than to get his baby brother on all fours back in that motel by the highway and slide his dick right up into that virgin ass.
Shit. Fuckin’ hard again.
“--Saw a motel about five miles back.” Sam’s standing up from the sticky table, long legs stretching as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket. Reality hits Dean then, smacks him in the face. Shit, this might actually happen. Like, really happen. Not just be another fantasy that Dean spanks it to in the shower involving his little brother that gets him off in under five minutes, every fucking time.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy. Let’s have another round.” Dean’s heart is pounding in his throat and his voice sounds a little hysterical in his own mind, like his fear is right there for Sam to see, like Dean’s a virgin and he’s nervous about giving Sam his special flower or something.
But Sam’s shoving all of his papers and research into a messy pile, money on the table, eyes on Dean, his smile all-knowing and holding Dean where he stands.
“We should get an early start.” The words are underlined, bolded, heavy with implications. Sam is staring him down, all but begging in his annoying little brother way, in the only way he can in public with a bunch of rowdy rednecks around them. Dean holds on tight to the dart in his hand, the texture of it imprinting into his palm.
“Yeah, you really know how to have fun, don’t you, Grandma?” It’s a last-ditch effort, like maybe there’s a chance Sam will give in and let them put it off for a few more hours, maybe another night, see if Dean will have the courage then. Jesus, why is he being such a fucking girl about this?
And there are those eyes again, that smile pulling at Sammy’s cheeks, dimples winking at Dean and he’s gone, so gone. Knees shaking, stomach tightening, heart leaping into his throat gone.
“Alright, I’ll meet you outside. Gotta take a leak.” He tosses the last dart, hitting the bullseye just for show. Grabs his jacket, giving Sam one last look before he turns toward the bathroom, keeping it together until he’s got the bathroom door closed behind him, alone for the moment.
“Shit,” he sighs, hands bracing on either side of the questionably clean sink, head hanging down heavy as his eyes fall closed.
He wants it. Has wanted it maybe for too long, much longer than he’ll admit it to himself with only three beers in him. Has been downright obsessed with it lately, since he got his first taste of Sam’s mouth, since he got his hands on that warm body and realized he was allowed to touch, that he was being given all the permission he could ever want to just savor.
This won’t just be sex. It’s going to be getting as close to Sam as he can. As close as bodies will let them get. As close to those dreams he used to have about Sam melting into him as he can ever have.
And fuck, when did he turn into a Celine Dion song?
He takes a piss because he actually needs to, washes his hands and puts his jacket on. He stares into the mirror as he adjusts his collar, squinting critically at his face, at the few lines on either side of his eyes, at the dark haunt of circles under them, at the messy sprawl of his hair. He pushes at the slightly sweaty strands, trying to style them in the dim light, almost like he’s trying to look good for Sam. So Sam will have a good memory of him when Dean finally makes his move.
Nevermind that Sam’s seen him at his absolute worst, his ugliest, his meanest, his most awkward. Sam had seen Dean as a teenager, for fuck’s sake. And he’d loved him anyway, in spite of it all. Maybe he won’t care how Dean’s hair looks right now.
Dean smirks at himself, shaking his head in self-deprecation, tugging on his collar one last time before he sets his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and heads out, out to Sam.
Dad’s journal’s just laying on the trunk of the car, out in the open.
It makes Dean’s blood run cold. Sam would never walk away, never just leave it there, not for anything. No matter what Sam says about Dad, he knows. Knows it’s the closest they have to a bible, that it’s sacred, not to be left laying around casually where anybody could just see it.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, panic rising up to the surface way too quickly. Something’s wrong.
Sam’s gone.
He knows it even as he yanks open the car door, even as he looks around the gravel parking lot. He stalks around it in circles, the horror growing in his gut, making him want to grab every single person he sees and shake them until they give him an answer.
No one knows, no one’s seen him.
Sammy’s gone.
He dials his number, gets his voicemail immediately.
“S-Sammy, where the fuck are you?” He’s practically growling, his breath leaving in harsh, shuddering gasps, like he’s about to have a panic attack. “I’m in the parking lot, and you left the journal just layin’ out! Where the fuck did you go? I can’t. I can’t find you.”
Tears spring to his eyes, hot, helpless tears. He clutches his phone until the plastic whines, threatens to crack. “Sammy-babe, please. Please. Please be okay.”
Dean pauses then, standing on the side of the road in the now mostly-empty lot, right under the streetlight, phone pressed to his ear like it’s his last connection to Sam, like hanging up would be giving up, would be letting go. His chin trembles as he finally snaps his phone closed.
Sam.
Two nights later, he’s tied to a chair, tears sliding down his cheeks, surrounded by the smell of decay and death, a knife held to his eye by a dirty-skinned little girl named Missy.
Seven.
He’s heard seven gunshots since nasty Grandpa ordered Sam to be killed. Seven gunshots and five people out there. He can’t help but hope but he knows there’s not much of a chance that one of those shots hadn’t hit his brother.
“If you let me go, I promise you won’t get in trouble. I promise none of this’ll be your fault.” Dean flinches when the girl surges closer, his eyes falling closed when her knife gets close enough to graze his eyelashes.
“Shut up,” she hisses, her breath putrid, like she’s a scavenger, like she eats decay to survive. The very tip of her knife drags over his trembling eyelid, and he holds his breath, waits for the puncture. “Don’t you try to make me turn on my kin. You think you matter to me? You think I care if you don’t die tonight?”
“I know you don’t,” Dean grits out, the burn on his chest hurting so bad he feels nauseous, the smell of his own burning flesh enough to bring bile up his throat. “They’ve fucked with your head so much, you’re barely even human.”
“I think I’m gonna ask for first choice when we cook you up. Bet you’d taste real good. ‘Specially these eyes.” Knife presses in a little more, making Dean jerk in the chair, flinching back as far away as he can from her and then suddenly the knife is gone, Missy’s voice muffled as she struggles.
Dean’s eyes fly open, and there’s Sam.
Missy’s knife clatters to the ground and Sam’s got one hand over her mouth, the other arm around her to lift her up.
“Sam! Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean gasps, struggling even harder against the restraints, rope burning into his wrists as he fights. Sam disappears with Missy, the sounds of her muffled screams driving a shudder up Dean’s spine. A door in the hallway opens and then closes, a heavy piece of furniture scraping over the floor and Missy’s fists pounding from inside what is apparently a closet, her screams shrill, a scared animal.
Sam comes back, comes right for him, their eyes locked the second he turns the corner.
Tears jump back into Dean’s eyes, his whole body straining forward, his chest heaving.
“Sammy, please--”
“Shh, calm down. Dean, calm down. It’s okay.” Sam sinks down to his knees, too graceful in this horror house, his hands covering Dean’s where they’re strapped to the chair. Relief floods Dean’s veins at the touch, at the feel of Sam’s skin on his. He closes his eyes again, letting out a sigh that makes him feel boneless.
“I thought. I-I thought--”
“I know,” Sam whispers, hands moving now to tug at the ropes, working at the knots but his mouth is ghosting over Dean’s, words brushing Dean’s lips. “But I’m here. I’m alright.”
Sam gets one knot undone and Dean’s hand flies up, grabs onto the back of Sam’s head, hauls him forward and into a kiss. Dean’s other hand flutters helplessly, still trapped, aching to touch, too.
“God, you gotta let me up. Gotta let me touch you. Scared me so much. Sam, I was about to go outta my fuckin’ mind,” He pulls against the rope even as Sam’s fingers tug at it, mouth still sliding over Dean’s, their tongues licking at each other, desperate, as feral and instinctive as Missy’s raw-throated screams through the rotting wooden walls.
They get him free finally, finally, and Dean’s hand clamps down on Sam’s shoulder, the other still buried in his hair, keeping him right where he fucking is for a minute so he can eat at his mouth. Dean’s burnt, his head bleeding, the fear coursing through him almost driving him to exhaustion, to not be able to do anything but slump against Sam, but just stay where he is and accept his solid, warm body.
“We gotta go, Dean,” Sam whispers into his mouth after he gets Dean’s legs and waist free, moving until he’s crouched now, arms around Dean’s waist to help pull him up. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here. Please.”
Dean stands up, pressed against Sam, head tipped up just as Sam’s tips down, their foreheads pressing hard, sticking together with the blood dripping from Dean’s temple. It’s absurd, indulgent, staying here like this, just touching, arms wrapped around each other. But it’s better than a shot of morphine, better than all the adrenaline rushes in the world, better than sleeping on a pillowtop mattress. It’s fucking vital.
Another gunshot, this one closer, makes them both jump. Sam’s hands dig into the back of Dean’s jacket, clutching at him, digging his forehead into Dean’s one last time before he lets go, heading for the front door. Dean stands still just for a second, gathering up every last shred of warmth he’d just gotten and keeping it close to get him through the final stretch of this nightmare.
“Think she can still see us?” Dean glances behind them, back to the dark house where they’d left Kathleen before the other cops showed up. Sam turns and looks with him, doesn’t see her white shirt anymore, doesn’t see anything but the high, wild grass and gravel between them and the house. The highway is stretched out in front of them, and they take a left onto it.
“No,” Sam replies, stepping in closer to Dean immediately, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, tucking him in underneath his arm. Dean pushes in against him, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, forefinger tucking into one of his belt loops and holding on.
“Smell like shit,” Dean mumbles, resting his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam can feel it when Dean relaxes, hears him out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding in for days. Sam gives a silent huff of laughter, his hand sliding up over Dean’s neck to hold on, warm and possessive.
“You don’t smell like a peach yourself, asshole. ‘Sides, m’cold.” It’s a cool night, and Sam’s arms are unnaturally bare, not really used to going anywhere without his layers, without the familiar weight of his jacket, at the very least. Dean hums, the sound musing, interested. His hand slides up under Sam’s thin t-shirt, makes its way up over his ribs and his stomach, fingers stroking up over the sharp point of Sam’s already painfully hard nipple.
He hisses, jerks, chest pushing up into that hand as his footsteps falter, not really sure how to keep walking forward while Dean’s rubbing at his nipple like that, fingers pulling, twisting it in a slow, savoring torture.
“You are cold, aren’t you?” Dean’s head is turned and obviously he’s no longer concerned with walking either because he’s nuzzling at the sweat-dirty side of Sam’s neck, lips so soft and warm when he starts to kiss there. Sam swallows down a whimper, his hand spanning Dean’s cheek to keep his mouth where it’s now sucking a bruise on his neck. Dean turns, pressing up against his side completely where they’re now standing out in the middle of the open night on the side of the highway, his dick already hard and hot where it’s digging into Sam’s hip, already so fucking good that Sam can almost taste it.
“Gotta let me suck on it, Dean,” Sam whispers, gasping when Dean pinches his nipple hard, tugging on it until Sam whines. “Please, Dean, gotta let me taste it.”
It’s reckless and fucking stupid and probably the worst timing in the whole world, but he doesn’t care. He’s dumb with the relief of being saved, with having Dean okay and beside him, with having Dean touch him like this after so many years of wanting, of hurting himself as punishment for wanting. It’s dark, no streetlights out this far in the country, and they don’t hear police sirens yet.
They ease over to the side of road just like they would if they were in the car, and Sam’s knees hit the grass the second they stop walking. Dean’s hand sinks back into his hair, firm and commanding, and Sam brings his hands up to Dean’s hips just to hold on, letting his neck go lax, letting Dean control this.
Dean drags him in close, pulls Sam’s face right up to his dick. Sam’s eyes close just as Dean rocks his hips forward, rubbing his denim-covered dick against Sam’s face, all over his mouth, his chin, his nose. Sam’s mouth opens in full, firm kisses, nuzzling in hard when the head of Dean’s cock rubs at his mouth.
“This what you want?” Dean’s voice is a low whisper, already breathless but still so in charge, and Sam’s entire body is loose with submission, with just doing what Dean says.
“Yes,” Sam sighs, lips closing in to suck at the head of his dick through his jeans, hands sliding down to hold onto the back of Dean’s thighs. He can smell Dean even through the denim, can smell sex and salt and he’s soaking Dean’s jeans with spit, with his begging kisses. “Please let me. Please.”
Dean’s free hand slides down, works his belt open, the metal clicking loud in the quiet around them. Sam’s breathing hard already, kissing Dean’s fingers while he thumbs the button of his jeans open, while he edges the zipper down, kisses at torn cuticles and busted knuckles, at filthy skin. He moans when Dean pushes two fingers into his mouth, fucks them over his tongue, letting Sam suck on them to distract him while he pushes into his underwear and pulls his dick out. The smell of it fills Sam’s nostrils, making them flare with hunger and he holds on tight to Dean’s thighs, pushing in closer to his body.
Dean pulls his fingers out of Sam’s mouth and threads them through his hair to take control of Sam’s head again, making sure Sam doesn’t just dive right in to suck on him. Dean grips his dick hard in his other hand, slapping at the side of Sam’s mouth with it, rubbing it against his cheek, his balls pressed up tight against Sam’s chin, his bottom lip. Sam opens his mouth to lick at them, to suck open-mouthed kisses at whatever skin Dean’s letting him taste.
“Gimme that mouth, Sammy. Gimme that fuckin’ mouth.” Dean’s tipping his dick forward, sliding it right up into Sam’s mouth, straight over his spit-slick tongue. Sam moans, breath rushing hot over Dean’s pubes as Dean tightens his hand in his hair and hauls him forward, shoving his dick in deep. Sam chokes when it hits the back of his throat and keeps going, forcing its way into his throat.
“Yeah, like that,” Dean growls, his hips fucking forward, balls slapping at Sam’s chin and Sam’s entire world is Dean’s cock, so big where it’s trapped in the first couple of inches of his throat and filling his mouth, his nose nestled in the soft tangle of hair around his dick, the smell of him overwhelming, everywhere, thick and earthy and Dean. Sam can’t stop gagging, can’t keep it in, but it makes Dean moan every time, makes him spill slick into Sam’s throat, and God, it’s exactly what Sam’s always wanted, wanted to be trained on Dean’s dick, just like this. Wanted Dean to fuck the perfect space into his mouth, made for Dean and Dean alone. Train Sam how to take exactly his length, exactly the fat width of him, make him perfect for this, for him.
He’s gagging, coughing spit up around Dean’s cock but he won’t let him go, won’t force him out, never ever. It’s dripping down his chin and soaking into his shirt and he’s in heaven, can’t draw in enough air so he feels dizzy and he’s never felt this good, this powerful. Dean yanks him off suddenly, pulls him back and Sam’s panting, gasping, his mouth dripping and open.
“Look at it,” Dean orders, his voice wrecked, quiet. He renews his grip on Sam’s hair and gives him a little shake to wake him from his dick-induced stupor, to get him to listen. Sam’s eyes fly open, coming into sharp focus on the dick so hard it’s swaying in front of him, precome still oozing from the tip, the entire length covered with saliva and whatever Dean’s fucked out of Sam’s throat, dripping and pink-tipped and primed for fucking. Sam angles for it, tries to get it back in his mouth, a petulant whimper leaving his mouth.
“I said to look. Just fuckin’ look at it, Sammy.”
Sam’s eyes flutter at the power in Dean’s voice, the hardness of it. He stares at Dean’s cock, his own dick so hard that he’s flexing his hips back and forth, aching for movement, for friction, all of it so fucking painful and he loves it. Craves it.
“I love it, Dean,” he whispers, tongue sliding out to lick at his mouth, breaking the webs of spit connecting it to Dean’s dick. He rests his cheek against Dean’s still-covered thigh, breath rushing out in a hot sigh over that cock. “God, I love it. Need it so bad.”
“Wanna be fucked with it?”
“Yes,” Sam gasps, straining forward against Dean’s grip on him, trying to take it back in his mouth, tongue sliding out and just barely catching on Dean’s slit. “Yes, Dean, fuck.”
“Want it in your ass, Sam? W-Want me to. Christ, want me to fuck you?” Dean pushes his dick back at Sam’s mouth, just barely letting his lips close over the tip, just letting him suck at the head. Dean groans, so close that Sam can taste it.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs, his ass clenching tight, his guts hurting with the need to be fucked open. He shivers when he hears police sirens in the distance, the chaos of them hurtling toward them.
“Hurry up and get me clean. Lick all that off and get up.” He lets Sam at him then and Sam obeys like a zealot, keeps his mouth soft as he sucks at the sides of Dean’s heavy cock, tongue working deft and starved at the underside of him, sucking at the long, thick vein and drinking down every drop of spit he put there, every drop of liquid Dean’s dick is dripping with. He wants to just wrap his lips around him, make Dean fuck his throat until he comes.
The sirens are getting closer, and the rebellious boy in Sam, the daring one who loves how dangerous Dean feels right now draws Dean back into his mouth, sucks down the first several inches of him and tightens his hands on Dean’s legs, willing him to come.
Dean growls, actually growls, both hands going into Sam’s hair and he pulls on it hard, hard enough to make Sam gasp, make him let go of Dean’s dick and Dean’s yanking him off again and dragging Sam to his feet, both of them stumbling deeper into the woods at the side of the road, Sam fuck-drunk and Dean with his jeans trapped around his thighs.
Sam’s breath leaves his body when he’s slammed back against a tree just as the police cars roar by in a terrifying flash of red and blue and white and the scream of sirens that remind him too much of Missy’s voice.
Dean’s mouth is on his, his dick still out and so hard it has to hurt but he’s shoving it against Sam, the head of it pushing beneath Sam’s t-shirt to rub at his bare stomach. Dean’s drinking down the collected spit and pre-come on in Sam’s mouth, kissing him with a greedy tongue and Sam wraps his arms around him and hauls him forward, forcing Dean to grind against him.
“You think I’m gonna do it right here, gonna fuck you for the first time right here?” Dean’s hands gentle then, fingers pushing hair from Sam’s forehead, stroking down over his cheeks. Sam drinks down Dean’s sigh, his hands spreading out to rub at Dean’s back.
“Don’t care. Waited long enough. It doesn’t matter, Dean. I promise.”
“Well, you’re gonna wait a little longer. Because I care. I want you in a bed. You deserve that, at the very least, you hear me? You’re worth waiting for, just a little bit longer.”
The words make Sam’s throat tighten up, make him kiss Dean a little harder, love bordering on obsession coursing through his veins. Dean takes hold of Sam’s hands, guides them down to his pants, silently ordering Sam to tuck him back into his pants. Sam does, knows it has to hurt when he tugs Dean’s underwear back up over his hard dick, when he buttons and zips his jeans back up, the outline of him visible through the denim.
“Please hurry,” he begs, doesn’t care how pathetic, how young he sounds. How he feels like he’s been stuck at sixteen, waiting for Dean, waiting for this night. How he still feels small when Dean’s hands are on him, when he’s like this, when he’s being Sam’s big brother, the one Sam’s been in love with for most of his life in one way or another. “You’ll never know how much I need you, Dean. I-I just. You’ll never know.”
The sirens are gone, stopped. The night’s gone quiet again, nothing but the sound of their breath rushing together, but the gentle drag of the breeze through the trees. Dean doesn’t tease him, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t try to laugh his way through this. Just cups Sam’s cheeks, stretching up to press his lips to the middle of Sam’s forehead, keeping them there until tears burn at Sam’s closed eyes, his body already shaking with too much emotion. But that’s always there, always been there between them: too much. It’s always too much and never enough. Maybe tonight, it’ll finally be enough.
“C’mon, Sammy. C’mon, baby brother,” Dean mumbles against his skin, almost too quiet for it to be for Sam, for him to hear. “I got you.”
They separate just enough to be able to walk, arms going back around each other, Sam leaning on Dean this time as they emerge from the woods, their feet finding the highway again, the night big and deceptively beautiful around them, but they know better.
They track the car down at the police station and finally find that motel they’d talked about two nights before, the last time they were together. Dean’s still got a bloody forehead and they both reek of death but the guy behind the counter at the motel barely looks at them, just shoves a piece of paper at Dean and takes his credit card, an old episode of Night Court playing on the tiny television behind the counter.
“You coulda stayed in the car,” Dean says softly as he fills out the form, his handwriting sloping and elegant and Sam presses in tight against him, presses a kiss to the side of his neck, his eyes on the the back of the motel employee as he runs the card.
“Couldn’t stand to be away from you,” Sam tells him, not in seduction but in all honesty. He kisses up to Dean’s ear and sighs before he kisses at the lobe of it, nuzzling with the curve of his nose. “Do you remember when we were younger and you told me about how girls have that ache in ‘em? How it’s deep inside and you’ve gotta fuck it out of ‘em?”
Dean’s pen stops on the paper in the middle of his fake signature - Henry James Edwardson, Jr. - his breath held. He nods, a single movement, the air around them absolutely still. The receipt for their credit card whines from the machine.
“I’ve had that ache in me for so long, Dean. Had it for so many years, and I’m just waiting on you. I’ve just needed you. Need you to fuck it out of me. Cause you’re the only one who can reach it.” He’s got his arms around Dean’s waist now, fingers clasped on his opposite hip. He’s kissing at his neck now, not giving a shit that the guy’s turning back around now, that he’s got his eyes on them as he slams the receipt down in front of Dean for him to sign.
“Shit, Sammy,” Dean whispers, his hands visibly shaking where he’s scratching a name on the paper and pushing it back toward the guy, hand out for the key. The guy stands in front of them, key dangling from his fingers over Dean’s palm, his eyebrows raised.
“You boys break anything in the room, you pay for it,” the guy finally says, the keys jingling when they land in Dean’s palm. Dean turns to face Sam, his pupils blown wide, eyes on Sam like he’s going to tear into him right here.
“You hear that, little brother? You break it, you buy it.” He lifts up and takes Sam’s mouth in a hard, dirty kiss, breaking away with a devious grin on his face. Sam’s cheeks are scarlet when he looks up at the guy, catches his slack-jawed, confounded expression.
“Have a good night, man!” Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s waist and pulls him out of the lobby and back out into the night. He starts to head for the car, for the trunk to get their shit, but Sam shakes his head, grabs Dean by the arm and pulls him toward the line of motel rooms.
“Nope, not now.” Sam snags the keys from Dean’s hand and finds the right room, number five, hand trembling only a little as he tries to get the key in the lock.
“But our bags--”
“Do you need anything in the bags right now?” Sam’s got the door to the room open and he’s turned to look at Dean, his eyebrows raised impatiently. Dean’s face flushes and he looks down, looks so stupidly pretty there with his bloody face and the mouth that Sam’s made so pink.
“Got some lube and condoms in mine.”
Sam’s eyes widen and he ducks his head just like Dean had, grinning down at his shoes.
“Okay. Just. Just hurry, Dean.”
He tears his eyes away from his brother and steps into the room, flicking the light on, the one bed in the middle of the room making him stop dead in his tracks. He hadn’t been listening to Dean talk to the guy in there, had been too busy fussing over his burnt jacket, over the hurt skin underneath to notice that they’d just gotten a big king bed.
He feels seventeen again, like that one time Dad and Dean left him in Granville, Ohio in the room with one bed. That one bed had just been for him, had been a jail sentence, had been Dean going away, leaving Sam alone.
This one bed is for the two of them, is symbolic and important and Sam is stupidly touched that Dean even thought of it.
“You weirded out?” Dean is right behind him, his arms wrapping around Sam from behind, plastic bag rustling from his hand. “I’ve just. I’ve wanted just one for awhile, and--”
Sam turns around in his arms and grabs hold of Dean’s jacket to turn both of them together until he’s got his own back pressed up against the door and Dean comes right along, easy and like he can read Sam’s thoughts, shoving Sam back up against the door hard enough to close it, their eyes locked.
He’s terrified here in this second, standing on the knife’s edge of their relationship. This feels different, like a marriage, like a devotion. He can see it in Dean’s eyes, too, in the softness there, in the way his tongue soothes over his lips, can see how nervous he is.
“Having second thoughts?” Sam has to ask, has to give Dean a chance to back out gracefully. He reaches up to stroke across Dean’s cheek with a gentle hand, thumb just barely touching at the tiny puncture on his left eyelid, right where Missy’s knife had been when he’d come into the house. He wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and tugs him forward until their bodies are pressed up together, his mouth the perfect height to kiss that little hurt, to suck soft at the skin over Dean’s trembling eyelid.
“If you think we’re leaving this room for the next three days, you’re wrong, Sammy.” Dean’s hands are wide and explorative, dragging Sam’s shirt up over his head and throwing it down, dropping his bag of supplies. He runs his hands over Sam’s back and down into his jeans, under his briefs and he massages Sam’s ass, every muscle in him aching from being tucked into that cage for so long. He whines with relief, eyes falling closed as he lowers his head, blindly seeking out Dean’s mouth with his own.
Dean sinks a long middle finger into Sam’s ass, just slides right in dry like he’s done before, like he can’t help it. Sam’s dick throbs in his jeans, been half-hard for what feels like hours but this, something inside of him, so close to being what he wants, and he’s afraid he’s going to come before Dean even gets inside.
“I heard you that one time,” he says against Dean’s mouth while Dean fucks that finger slowly in and out of him. “W-when I was eleven, you telling your friends the story of how you lost your virginity. I was in my room, but I heard you. It. It was the first time I realized.”
“Realized what?” Dean’s voice is so soft, like he’s touched, like he’s a little raw inside this moment. Sam’s hands shove up under Dean’s jacket to rub at the curve of his back, stroking up his spine. They kiss a little more, just a few soft licks before Sam finds his words again.
“How I loved you. How jealous I was of that girl. That I wanted it to be me. Because she didn’t know you, didn’t know how. How special you are. She couldn’t take care of you like I could’ve.”
Dean’s voice drops down low when he groans for that, his hands leaving Sam’s pants to slide down even lower, gripping the back of Sam’s thighs and pulling until Sam has no choice but to lift up, to wrap a leg around Dean’s body. Dean hauls the other one up and Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, legs wrapped around his waist, leaning back on the door, his heart racing.
“You gonna take care of me, Sammy? Hm? Gonna take care of my dick?”
Sam just nods, all his words gone, his entire body flushed hot and he cradles Dean’s head closer, leaning down and kissing him, their tongues nudging at each other as Dean turns them, lifts Sam up away from the door and walks them back toward the bed.
Dean drops Sam down on it and Sam keeps a hold of him, pulls Dean down right on top of him, shoving at Dean’s jacket and his shirts, wanting them off now. Dean grunts when he shrugs the shirts off, the burn on his chest not letting him lift his arm too high. Sam frowns and sits up a little, grabbing the left sleeve of his t-shirt and helping his arm through, helping him get the shirt over his head and off.
The burn is about as long as Sam’s forefinger and a deep, angry red. Dean strokes Sam’s hair back as Sam just stares at it, rubbing a finger just under the burn, not wanting to touch it.
“You need to get it cleaned. Put some aloe on it.” Sam lies back on the bed and pulls Dean down on him again, staring up into his eyes.
“I’ll do it later. Promise.” Dean’s eyes are dark again and he’s got his hands on Sam’s waist, tugging on his jeans until they just slip right off his slim hips, his underwear going with them. Sam puts his legs together and straightens them so Dean can pull his shoes and socks off and shed him of his jeans all in one go. Sam scoots up on the bed, head finding a pillow, his eyes on Dean as he spreads his legs as wide as he can, showing Dean his hole, shameless and safe here under those eyes.
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean whispers, his hands stroking over the length of Sam’s legs, squeezing at the meaty softness of his thighs before he pushes them up, tipping Sam’s ass up to himself and bending down to latch onto Sam’s hole with a hungry, sucking mouth.
Sam’s legs strain back, knees touching his chest, his feet catching on the bar running lengthwise across the headboard so he can stay in that position, his ass up high and perfect for Dean. He closes his eyes and wraps a hand around his dick, the other hand pushes into Dean’s hair while Dean tongues his asshole.
“Dean, get the lube. God, please, just. Please.”
Dean grunts, ignores him for a couple of minutes while his tongue works on Sam’s ass, loosening up the tight clutch of it and licking around just inside of him when Sam finally opens up to him. He pulls back with a gasp, with a wet pop, licking his lips as he slides off the bed. Sam keeps his feet where they are on the headboard, his eyes watching his brother cross the room to find the bag while he strips the rest of his own clothes off, shucking his jeans and shoes and socks and underwear.
He comes back completely naked, his dick bobbing just as hard as it had been a few hours ago out on the side of the road when Sam had had it in his throat.
“Look at you, Sammy.” Dean slides right back into place, his dick sliding up right between Sam’s cheeks and rubbing at his hole. Sam gasps, his head tipping back just as Dean brings both hands down hard to slap his ass, palms stinging, massaging the sharp sting right down into his skin.
Sam pushes down into those hands, trying to beg for more without ever, ever having to say it out loud. Dean’s sucking on his own bottom lip, the head of his dick nudging at Sam’s hole, eyes trained on his own handiwork, at the bright pink imprints of his own hands in Sam’s skin.
“You like when it hurts, don’t you?” It’s not really a question, not really one he expects to be answered it seems because he’s slapping Sam’s ass again, even harder than before, hard enough that Sam tenses, lets out a high, hurting sob, eyebrows drawn up together in pain when Dean rubs it in again, hands spanning Sam’s entire ass.
Sam just nods, eyes flying open and finding Dean’s, wishing he could see the handprints clearly, wishing he could see what he looks like, such a fucking slut for his brother, just like he always knew he was.
“I just,” Sam tries, his voice shaking, feeling so exposed, so bared to the bone here. “It doesn’t have to always hurt w-with you. You don’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Okay?”
“Okay,” Dean whispers back, seeming to understand him through his stammering, pathetic excuse for a confession, curling down to press three wet kisses to Sam’s pink-slapped ass and then one kiss to his mouth before he’s turning his attention to the box of lube, frowning down at it as he rips it open, tearing off the seal and prying the lid up.
“That the only tube you bought?” Sam can’t hold in the smile when Dean looks up at him in surprise, his cheeks stained pink. Dean squeezes some out onto his fingers, grinning as he crawls back up to Sam, leaning down over him, their mouths hovering close as Dean pushes two slicked-up fingers inside of him.
“Think we need to buy stock in lube?” Dean spreads his fingers apart inside of Sam, digging up as far as he can get before he pulls them out again. Sam just whimpers, bearing down on Dean’s fingers while they fuck him open, when they rub so sweet and dirty at the rim of his asshole before pushing back in each time.
“Wanna be sore from you all the time. Want to feel you forever.” He feels safe saying this stuff here between their mouths, in the haven they’ve created out of this bed. Sam fumbles for the bottle of lube, pouring some onto his fingers blindly, probably making an absolute mess but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care about anything but the sound Dean makes when Sam wraps his hand around him, but the way his dick jumps against Sam’s palm when he starts to slick him up.
“Sammy, I got. I got condoms. Hold on. Lemme.” Dean pulls his fingers out, leaving Sam’s ass feeling open and empty as he reaches behind him for the other box. Sam remembers his brief but educational time with Dom, remembers Dom fingering him open, kissing sticky sweet endearments into his skin. Dom had warned him about these moments, about getting guys to use lots of lube, about never fucking without a condom, no matter how much the guy tells him he loves him.
But Dean’s not just any other guy, and Sam knows it.
Sam catches Dean’s wrist, doesn’t let him open the box. Dean turns to look at him, head tipped to the side in question.
“Did you use a condom with Cassie?”
Dean snorts, abandoning the box to drape himself over Sam again. He reaches up, pries Sam’s feet off the bar of the headboard so he can ease Sam’s legs down onto his shoulders. Sam sighs in relief, his free hand sliding up Dean’s arm, fingers bumping over scars, over the hard knot where a bullet once went through Dean’s skin, just before Christmas back in ‘02.
“Course I did,” Dean finally answers, wiping his fingers off on the bed so he can burrow down around Sam, his arms trapping Sam in a cocoon where he can see and feel and smell nothing but Dean.
“You’re not going to with me,” Sam replies, big words, scary ones, but he’s not afraid. Not with Dean. Their faces are so close that it should be awkward, weird to talk like this, but they’ve gotten so close lately, spent so much time talking with their mouths touching that Sam doesn’t even notice. “We don’t need them. But. But just us, okay?”
Dean’s nodding fast, his dick blurting out slick all over Sam’s fingers where he keeps jacking him off slow, thumb rubbing at the underside of his cock.
“Just us,” Dean echoes, staring at Sam like he’s a dream, like he’s not real. Sam’s heart is beating so loud in his ears that he can’t hear anything else, can’t hear his own whimper when Dean shifts his hips so that his dick is lined up, the tip pressing right up against Sam’s hole, feeling absolutely massive, impossible. Sam searches Dean’s eyes, feels for all the world like he’s young again, like he needs Dean to guide him through this, to take care of him.
“Put me in,” Dean whispers against his lips, their eyelashes tangling, dragging together, Dean’s breath hot and bitter on his tongue. Sam gives Dean’s dick one last stroke, making sure he’s completely coated with lube before he tightens his hand around the middle of it, the angle awkward but it’s ungodly intimate, being in control of this. His arm flexes when he presses Dean’s dick up, the head of him just barely breaching, just barely popping inside.
“Oh, shit,” Sam pants, his dick giving a dangerous jump on his belly, a shudder driving up his entire body. Dean’s leaking again, making it so messy, his hole already so sloppy-wet. Dean pushes his hips forward, sliding in a little more, just barely an inch, the fat head finally slipping all the way inside, making them both shiver, Sam’s asshole fluttering around him, Dean’s tongue flicking between Sam’s parted lips, fucking into his mouth just as surely as he is Sam’s ass.
Sam’s jerking off the part of Dean’s dick not in him yet, can’t help it, can’t stop touching him, worshiping him. He takes a deep breath as he finally lets go, his hand slimy so he wipes it on the bed like Dean had, needing both hands to stroke up over Dean’s back, over his sides, starting up the rhythm he can already feel thrumming in Dean’s hips.
Dean doesn’t need permission, doesn’t wait for instruction, just digs his knees into the bed and angles his hips down and in, fighting to get deeper inside of Sam, working through all of that virgin-tight muscle that just didn’t get touched when he’d let Jess fuck him. Not like this. It’s never, ever been like this.
“Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean,” he chants, his fingers digging in, clutching at his back, bruising his skin surely but he has to hold on, has to cling to him or he’s afraid Dean will just slip away, like this is just another vivid, beautiful dream. Dean lets out a whine, his whole body tensing as he just drops his hips, sinking the rest of the way in, his balls warm and heavy where they rest against Sam’s tailbone.
He’s in all the way, throbbing like a heartbeat in Sam’s guts, big and hard as steel but it’s like they’re melding together, like he just had to get right here to complete the process. Sam tightens around him just to feel him, feel exactly where he is, how deep. Dean sobs against his mouth, his arms wrapping under the pillow behind Sam’s head, cradling Sam up against him.
“God, don’t do that. Ohmygod, Sammy, you. You.” Dean’s hands are shaking as they rub up and down Sam’s legs, as they massage at Sam’s calves where they’re resting on his shoulders. Sam closes his eyes, a warmth spreading through him, driving straight up his spine and he’s coming before he realizes what’s happening, his insides quaking around Dean’s dick, his own dick spilling untouched between their bellies.
He’s shaking on Dean’s cock, his body jerking, trying so hard to milk him, like he can’t help it.
“I’m sorry. Oh, fuck, I. Dean, please, I.” His hands slide down to grip Dean’s ass, hauling him in closer, trying to get him to move, to fuck him through his embarrassingly quick orgasm.
“Jesus Christ, Sam. Fuck.” Dean lifts up, elbows pressing into the bed so he can get a little more control over this, so he can drop his lower body down and just let his hips work. Sam just watches him, so in love he could fucking die right here, right now.
Dean starts to fuck him then, just grits his teeth and fucks into Sam’s spasming insides, fucks right through the tightness of his orgasm and Sam writhes on his dick, arms wrapped around Dean’s neck now, clutching at him as his dick keeps dribbling out drop after drop of come.
“Can’t believe you just fucking came on my dick. So fuckin’ sexy, Sam. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, little brother.” Dean’s putting his ass into it now, his whole body into it as he starts to really pound Sam, his dick slopping in and out of his fuck-slack asshole. The bed is moving under them, whining and rocking with each expert thrust of Dean’s hips, and Sam knows somewhere in the back of his head that it’s not going to take much to break the frame.
Sam melts back into the bed when his orgasm finally, finally lets him go, when he can just focus on Dean, on the way his dick feels inside of him.
“Look at me, Sammy. Look at me. Hey, c’mon.” Dean’s fingers are so gentle in Sam’s hair, so sweet where they’re stroking sweat-slicked strands back out of his eyes, the direct antithesis of the pornstar-confident fuck of Dean’s hips. Sam meets his eyes then, finally, tears sliding down his cheeks because it’s so good, it’s everything, it’s more overwhelming than he could have ever, ever imagined.
He sobs with each thrust now, each rough slap of Dean’s body against his own, each hard rub of that cock against his over-sensitive prostate. His dick is already trying to get hard again, already straining from the perfect angle of Dean’s dick inside of him. He’s mindless now and there’s relief in the sounds he’s making, deep-rooted, aching relief as he just opens up for Dean, as he just takes him, takes it as hard and deep as Dean can give it to him.
“I know. I know,” Dean murmurs against his lips, feeding him soft, whispering kisses, fingers tangled in Sam’s hair now, clutching to hold on. He’s grinding his dick into Sam now, staying rooted inside of him for the most part, fucking in so deep that Sam can only gasp, shaking hard as he tries to grind down against him, tries to ride him and get him deeper, more. “God, baby, I know. Sammy. Sammy.”
Sam crosses his feet at the ankle at the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him down as close as he can get him, his own knees digging back into the pillow beside his head. He feels it when Dean comes in him, feels it, feels the way his hips stutter, feels the hot pulse of his balls, feels the warmth spreading through his insides, like Dean is emptying his entire body into Sam’s.
Sam finds Dean’s mouth and kisses him, feeds on the sounds Dean’s making, and it feels like the world is ending, like everything should be crumbling around them, like this was the very last thing that needed to happen before time just stopped. His dick is throbbing between them, mostly hard again and leaking into the mess on his belly, and Dean just can’t seem to stop moving, just can’t stop fucking him, his whole body trembling like a leaf on top of Sam, only whimpers escaping him now.
They stayed locked together just like that, Dean still tense like coming wasn’t enough, like he needs more. Sam cups his cheeks, fingers stroking under Dean’s eyes and finding the skin wet.
“Dean,” he soothes, kissing at Dean’s slack mouth, sucking at his bottom lip. “Dean, ‘m right here. I’m right here.”
“Need you, Sammy,” Dean finally whispers, breath shuddering against Sam’s face, the words kissed into his mouth. “I need you. Can. Can you.”
One of Dean’s hands pushes between their bodies, wraps around his dick. Sam jerks for the surprising touch, his dick throbbing to full hardness when Dean starts to stroke him, the question in his hand, in the timid way he’s touching him.
“You. You want me to fuck you.” If Sam sounds amazed, it’s because he is. His dick gives a hard pulse for the realization, slicking up the handjob he’s getting from Dean. He must tighten around Dean because Dean moans, presses his forehead to Sam’s.
“Yeah. Yeah, I just. Will you? Please?”
Dean’s blushing. He’s got his bare dick softening in Sam’s gaping ass, and he’s blushing. Sam moans, pushing up against Dean until Dean gives, lifts up, his dick leaving Sam’s ass with a slimy, wet slurp.
Sam grabs him by the waist and turns them until Dean’s sprawled out on the bed, his dick wet and soft on his stomach, his body red with exertion all the way down to his navel. Sam feels the come leaking out of his ass and down the insides of his thighs, and he wishes they’d thought to put a towel down, wishes he had enough confidence to straddle Dean’s face and sit on it long enough to make Dean eat all the come dripping out of him.
His dick sways hard, lifting and bobbing at the thought. Another day. Not now.
Dean’s staring up at him, watching Sam in the strangest, most sudden surrender, his legs splayed open almost as an afterthought, his body soft, waiting for Sam’s direction.
He realizes then, in that second, that Dom had been dead wrong about him. Sam is not a complete, subby little bottom. He just needs the right incentive to be a top. An incentive like Dean staring up at him, baring his belly to him, waiting for his dick.
“Spread your legs for me, Dean. Show me your hole.” Sam sinks back on his haunches, wiping his hand through the mess of come on his stomach so he can jack his dick with it. Dean squirms under Sam’s focused, greedy eyes, a brand new flush spreading across his body.
“Sammy,” he sighs, his legs sliding closed, like Dean Winchester is fucking demure. “I don’t. I don’t wanna. I just wanna get fucked.”
Sam raises his eyebrows at him, tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. “Okay. Turn over, then. Hands and knees.”
Dean chews on his bottom lip, looking a little doubtful now. He gives a sigh finally, pushing up so he can turn over on his belly, knees pressing into the bed, his upper body dropping down as he props up on his elbows.
Sam’s hand falls away from his dick, his mouth hanging open as he takes in the sight of Dean with his ass in the air, the long, gorgeous line of his back bared, broad shoulders, the naked, vulnerable nape of his neck flushed.
“Dean,” Sam breathes, hands coming up to cup his brother’s hips, giving his waist a squeeze before he strokes down over his ass, spreading his cheeks apart to finally look at Dean’s tight pink hole. “Ohmygod. Dean, I.”
“Sam, please. Later we can. Y-You can. I’ll be good later. I promise. Just. Just.” Dean’s hand slips up between his own legs, thick fingers pushing dry at his hole, edging inside with just in his fingertips.
“Okay,” Sam whispers, leaning down to kiss at Dean’s fingers where he’s prying himself open, licking in around them just to get a taste, just a quick taste. Dean’s hole clenches, pulling in tight when Sam slides his tongue in right alongside his fingers, getting them wet, making the push easier. Dean tastes so good, a little bitter, tastes just like his skin smells. Dean whimpers, pushes his ass back against Sam’s face like he can’t help it.
He pushes his fingers into Sam’s mouth, spreading that taste around on his tongue. Sam sucks on his fingers, thumbs rubbing at Dean’s asshole, massaging around the tightness of it.
“Love how you taste, Dean. Feed it to me. Feed me the taste of your ass.”
Dean whines, the sound muffled where he’s got his face buried in the pillow. He sinks his fingers back up inside of himself, going in easier this time because of Sam’s spit. He pulls them back out and feeds them back into Sam’s mouth, giving him even more of that taste, that delicious, dirty fucking taste that Sam’s already addicted to.
Sam looks around quickly, spotting the abandoned bottle of lube and grabbing it. He pops the cap and turns it over, squeezing out a sticky, long line of lube over Dean’s asshole, all over his fingers and down his crack. He closes it back up and tosses it away and dives into Dean’s ass with his own fingers, two of Dean’s and two of his own fucking him open, loosening him up. Sam can’t tear his eyes away, can’t believe what he’s seeing, what he’s doing.
“You ever done anything like this, Dean? Ever--”
“No.” Dean pulls his own hand away, wrapping his arms around the pillow, ass tipped up even more. Sam edges a third finger inside of him, curling them down and rubbing until Dean goes rigid, back arching hard. “Fuck!”
Sam growls, fucking at Dean’s prostate until Dean is moving with him, slamming his body back on Sam’s hand, trying to get him in deeper. Sam pulls his fingers out but it’s so hard to do, so fucking hard to stop. He wraps his hand around his dick again, getting it all wet with the lube slicking his fingers.
“If. If you need me to stop, Dean, you gotta tell me. Otherwise.” He grabs Dean’s thighs and spreads them even more, getting Dean’s body lower so he can line his dick up perfectly, rubbing the head of it over Dean’s loosened hole. “Otherwise I’m just gonna--”
“Fuck me,” Dean gasps, hand already on his own cock, the muscles in his right arm flexing hard as he jerks off. “Fuck me, Sammy, fuck me fuck me.”
Sam’s only fucked an ass once. It was Jess, and it was a night when they’d both smoked a little too much pot and she’d started asking questions about how it felt, what it was like. It had been awkward and messy and in the end, she hadn’t liked it as much as she was hoping. One and done. But Sam had loved it in secret, loved the tight clutch, the way it had felt decidedly different.
And now.
He holds onto his dick right behind the head, one hand on Dean’s soft, thick ass as he rubs against his hole, leaking slick all over him. He pushes in and Dean tenses up, his whole body pulling up, shying away.
“Sorry,” Dean pants, taking just a second to recover before he’s coming back, offering his ass up again, hand not on his dick anymore because he’s gripping the covers, face pushed completely into the pillow. “G-Go ahead.”
Sam slides his hand up to grip Dean’s hip, keeping him in place as he grits his teeth and presses in again, forcing the head inside even though Dean is tight as hell, tighter than anything Sam could ever imagine. Sam spreads his legs a little, ass tensing as he keeps on pushing, forcing his way in, fighting for every single inch.
“Goddamnit, Sam. Of course you have a fuckin’ horse dick. Jesus fucking Christ. Just. Just hold on. Shit.” Dean’s stays where he is, his back heaving as he pants, tries to recover. Sam just stays where he is, trying so hard not to move, not even all the way in yet but he doesn’t want to say that. He just runs his hands up and down Dean’s sides, rubs at his tensed stomach, both his hands moving down to wrap around Dean’s dick, one working just the head and the other rubbing at his balls, making Dean tense up around his cock, and Sam grits his teeth and just holds on.
Dean’s hips start to move after a minute, chasing after the hand that’s jerking him off. Sam starts to move with him, pulling back when Dean’s moving forward, each slide getting a little faster until Sam is actively moving his hips, letting Dean’s hand take over on his dick so he can grab Dean’s hips, rearing him back and onto his cock as he starts to fuck him in earnest.
He drapes himself over Dean’s back, letting Dean take some of his weight so he can get in even deeper, his balls finally resting against Dean’s warm body, slapping against him with every thrust. Dean’s being so quiet, like he’s concentrating, like Sam’s going to have to earn every sound he makes.
Sam pushes down on Dean until Dean more or less collapses on the bed, laid out prone on his belly. He spreads his legs out, trapping Dean’s body between them as he presses down on him completely, his belly nestled against Dean’s back, his dick buried so far inside of Dean that he swears he can feel the head of it bumping against the mattress beneath Dean.
“Fuck me with that big dick, Sammy. God, I fuckin’ need it.”
Sam kisses across Dean’s shoulders, mouthing his way up his neck as he starts to fuck Dean with all of his strength, with all the power in his body because he knows Dean can take it, knows he can take it like nobody else Sam’s ever been with. Dean feels like heaven inside, like a gift. He’s so grateful for this, for Dean letting him do this. For Dean asking for this. Sam never knew, never thought about--
There’s a shriek and then a shudder and the frame of the bed breaks, falling away from the headboard but not the footboard. They slide forward, stopped only when Sam’s hands come out and press against the wall, keeping them from falling anymore. Dean laughs, each stutter of it making him clench up over and over around Sam’s dick.
“You break it, you buy it.” Dean cranes up, turns around to meet Sam’s eyes, to give him a big, beautiful smile that Sam has to reach for, has to kiss. Dean’s jacking his cock again, pushing back on Sam’s dick and Sam stays dug up inside of him, letting Dean fuck back on him, letting him milk his dick as much as he wants.
“I ain’t buyin’ it,” Sam mumbles against his mouth. “Takin’ it outta your ass maybe.”
“Shut up and keep fuckin’ me. Maybe we can break the other end.” Dean props his ass up by getting his knees under him a little bit, getting enough leverage so Sam can start thrusting again, hard, rough slaps that keep him mostly buried inside, just letting him pack it in deep, letting him pound against Dean’s prostate.
Come is still dripping out of his ass, sliding down Dean’s balls as well as his own. He will never, ever get over this night. Not ever.
Dean gasps when he starts to come, his head hanging low, face buried into the pillow again as he really starts to tighten around Sam’s dick, milking at him over and over again until Sam has no choice but to come, but to push in as far as he can and let go, giving Dean as much come as he has left.
The other end of the bed finally breaks, the mattress and the boxsprings falling flat on the floor, the footboard collapsing back on the ground. Sam barely notices, barely reacts to it because Dean is shaking so hard Sam’s almost scared, he’s clutched up so tight around his dick that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get out again.
He rubs at Dean’s arms, strokes over his sides and kisses his neck over and over, his dick still working tiredly inside of Dean, like it can’t seem to let go either. Dean’s burning up inside and finally smooth, the glide easy and slick when Sam gives him a few more, slow thrusts, just wanting to draw a few more shudders out of Dean.
“Think you ruined me,” Dean finally mumbles, completely boneless on the broken bed, not even reacting to Sam kissing at his mouth. Sam smiles, gives a contented little hum, hands sliding down to Dean’s ass to give it an appreciative squeeze, a hard slap on either side. Dean grunts, jerks, relaxes again with a sigh.
“Think I just found a new hobby.” Sam grins when Dean grunts again, when he gathers enough energy to turn around and glare at Sam.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Ed. That thing’s only gettin’ near me on special occasions.”
Sam blushes even though his ego is near to exploding. He lifts up off of Dean carefully, his dick finally sliding free, completely soaked with come and hanging heavy, mostly soft. He climbs up out of the bed, doesn’t let himself look at Dean’s ass, doesn’t look at his ruined hole because he’ll just want to latch onto it and suck it clean, soothe at it with his tongue. He finds a towel in the bathroom without turning the light on, wiping his ass and his dick clean before he comes back into the room with a fresh towel.
“Here, um.” He has to get down low to sit on the mattress on the floor, the towel held out in his hand for Dean to take. Dean grunts again, doesn’t move.
“You do it. Can’t move.”
Sam takes a deep breath before he runs the towel up between Dean’s legs as gently as he can, wiping over his hole, his mouth flooded with saliva at the thought of getting his mouth on it.
“Lift up a little, Dean.”
Dean sighs but obeys, lifting up enough for them to tug the blanket off the bed, leaving the sheets on, Sam slips under the top sheet next to Dean and pulls it up over them, throwing the towel off the side of the bed. Dean is almost asleep by the time Sam presses up against his side, draping an arm and a leg over Dean, dropping a sleepy kiss to the skin just below his bloody temple.
“Gonna patch you up tomorrow,” he whispers, his eyes falling closed. “Okay?”
Dean makes a faint noise, his arm heavy as it slides over Sam’s waist, pulls him in closer.
“Was amazing, S’mmy.”
Sam smiles, taking a deep breath that he lets out in the slowest, most content sigh.
“Yeah. You were.”
Sam wakes up when he feels a dick pushing at him from behind, eyes dragging open as it slips inside, his asshole sore, raw. He whines when it pushes all the way up into him, slicked up only with what feels like spit and the rest of the come Dean left in him earlier. Dean’s pressed up against his back, Sam’s leg lifted and held in the crook of Dean’s arm.
There’s a mouth at the back of his neck, breath rushing hot and sour against his skin.
“Go back t’sleep, Sammy.”
Sam breathes out a laugh that comes out more like a moan, craning his head to look back at Dean who’s already starting to thrust, this angle apparently fucking perfect for prostates because goddamn.
“How’m I supposed to sleep while you’ve got your dick in me?”
“Sorry,” Dean kisses along his jaw, not really sounding in the least bit sorry. “It’s just. You know how sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and you want it but you can’t do anything about it? Well, now I. Fuck, you were just right there and you feel so fuckin’ good--”
“Harder, Dean. God, do it harder.”
Dean finally shuts up, hikes Sam’s leg up even higher and God, he gets in that much deeper, his dick pounding into Sam so good that Sam swears he can see stars. The lamp by the bed’s still on, dawn finally creeping up outside. It’s hot in the room, the air conditioner off, and Dean’s belly is sweaty when it slaps at Sam’s back.
Sam comes all over himself, the head of his dick caught in a tight circle made by his thumb and forefinger, Dean’s mouth sucking a bruise on his throat.
“You said you wanna feel me,” Dean growls, panting now, so close. “You said you want to be sore, that you wanna feel me. Gonna make sure you fuckin’ feel me.”
“I feel you,” Sam gasps, his body shuddering hard, sluggish, still half-asleep and ripped away by a fast, intense orgasm. “Ohmygod, Dean, I feel you so deep.”
Dean slams into him so hard Sam thinks there will be bruises on his ass in the morning, one, two, three brutal thrusts and he’s emptying into Sam again, second time before the sun comes up.
Sam’s out, asleep before Dean’s even done with him. Falls asleep with Dean’s dick still inside of him, with Dean still whimpering at his back, with his name on Dean’s lips.
next.
It agrees loudly every time Sam sits a little too close, every time Sam reaches over for his hand in the car, every time he looks over at him with that dirty-innocent little fox-eyed face that makes Dean want to cream his jeans like a teenager.
Dean’s had a few beers in him, just enough to make his hips loose, to make his bones feel all good inside of of his own body, to make him feel like he wants nothing more than to get his baby brother on all fours back in that motel by the highway and slide his dick right up into that virgin ass.
Shit. Fuckin’ hard again.
“--Saw a motel about five miles back.” Sam’s standing up from the sticky table, long legs stretching as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket. Reality hits Dean then, smacks him in the face. Shit, this might actually happen. Like, really happen. Not just be another fantasy that Dean spanks it to in the shower involving his little brother that gets him off in under five minutes, every fucking time.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy. Let’s have another round.” Dean’s heart is pounding in his throat and his voice sounds a little hysterical in his own mind, like his fear is right there for Sam to see, like Dean’s a virgin and he’s nervous about giving Sam his special flower or something.
But Sam’s shoving all of his papers and research into a messy pile, money on the table, eyes on Dean, his smile all-knowing and holding Dean where he stands.
“We should get an early start.” The words are underlined, bolded, heavy with implications. Sam is staring him down, all but begging in his annoying little brother way, in the only way he can in public with a bunch of rowdy rednecks around them. Dean holds on tight to the dart in his hand, the texture of it imprinting into his palm.
“Yeah, you really know how to have fun, don’t you, Grandma?” It’s a last-ditch effort, like maybe there’s a chance Sam will give in and let them put it off for a few more hours, maybe another night, see if Dean will have the courage then. Jesus, why is he being such a fucking girl about this?
And there are those eyes again, that smile pulling at Sammy’s cheeks, dimples winking at Dean and he’s gone, so gone. Knees shaking, stomach tightening, heart leaping into his throat gone.
“Alright, I’ll meet you outside. Gotta take a leak.” He tosses the last dart, hitting the bullseye just for show. Grabs his jacket, giving Sam one last look before he turns toward the bathroom, keeping it together until he’s got the bathroom door closed behind him, alone for the moment.
“Shit,” he sighs, hands bracing on either side of the questionably clean sink, head hanging down heavy as his eyes fall closed.
He wants it. Has wanted it maybe for too long, much longer than he’ll admit it to himself with only three beers in him. Has been downright obsessed with it lately, since he got his first taste of Sam’s mouth, since he got his hands on that warm body and realized he was allowed to touch, that he was being given all the permission he could ever want to just savor.
This won’t just be sex. It’s going to be getting as close to Sam as he can. As close as bodies will let them get. As close to those dreams he used to have about Sam melting into him as he can ever have.
And fuck, when did he turn into a Celine Dion song?
He takes a piss because he actually needs to, washes his hands and puts his jacket on. He stares into the mirror as he adjusts his collar, squinting critically at his face, at the few lines on either side of his eyes, at the dark haunt of circles under them, at the messy sprawl of his hair. He pushes at the slightly sweaty strands, trying to style them in the dim light, almost like he’s trying to look good for Sam. So Sam will have a good memory of him when Dean finally makes his move.
Nevermind that Sam’s seen him at his absolute worst, his ugliest, his meanest, his most awkward. Sam had seen Dean as a teenager, for fuck’s sake. And he’d loved him anyway, in spite of it all. Maybe he won’t care how Dean’s hair looks right now.
Dean smirks at himself, shaking his head in self-deprecation, tugging on his collar one last time before he sets his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and heads out, out to Sam.
Dad’s journal’s just laying on the trunk of the car, out in the open.
It makes Dean’s blood run cold. Sam would never walk away, never just leave it there, not for anything. No matter what Sam says about Dad, he knows. Knows it’s the closest they have to a bible, that it’s sacred, not to be left laying around casually where anybody could just see it.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, panic rising up to the surface way too quickly. Something’s wrong.
Sam’s gone.
He knows it even as he yanks open the car door, even as he looks around the gravel parking lot. He stalks around it in circles, the horror growing in his gut, making him want to grab every single person he sees and shake them until they give him an answer.
No one knows, no one’s seen him.
Sammy’s gone.
He dials his number, gets his voicemail immediately.
“S-Sammy, where the fuck are you?” He’s practically growling, his breath leaving in harsh, shuddering gasps, like he’s about to have a panic attack. “I’m in the parking lot, and you left the journal just layin’ out! Where the fuck did you go? I can’t. I can’t find you.”
Tears spring to his eyes, hot, helpless tears. He clutches his phone until the plastic whines, threatens to crack. “Sammy-babe, please. Please. Please be okay.”
Dean pauses then, standing on the side of the road in the now mostly-empty lot, right under the streetlight, phone pressed to his ear like it’s his last connection to Sam, like hanging up would be giving up, would be letting go. His chin trembles as he finally snaps his phone closed.
Sam.
Two nights later, he’s tied to a chair, tears sliding down his cheeks, surrounded by the smell of decay and death, a knife held to his eye by a dirty-skinned little girl named Missy.
Seven.
He’s heard seven gunshots since nasty Grandpa ordered Sam to be killed. Seven gunshots and five people out there. He can’t help but hope but he knows there’s not much of a chance that one of those shots hadn’t hit his brother.
“If you let me go, I promise you won’t get in trouble. I promise none of this’ll be your fault.” Dean flinches when the girl surges closer, his eyes falling closed when her knife gets close enough to graze his eyelashes.
“Shut up,” she hisses, her breath putrid, like she’s a scavenger, like she eats decay to survive. The very tip of her knife drags over his trembling eyelid, and he holds his breath, waits for the puncture. “Don’t you try to make me turn on my kin. You think you matter to me? You think I care if you don’t die tonight?”
“I know you don’t,” Dean grits out, the burn on his chest hurting so bad he feels nauseous, the smell of his own burning flesh enough to bring bile up his throat. “They’ve fucked with your head so much, you’re barely even human.”
“I think I’m gonna ask for first choice when we cook you up. Bet you’d taste real good. ‘Specially these eyes.” Knife presses in a little more, making Dean jerk in the chair, flinching back as far away as he can from her and then suddenly the knife is gone, Missy’s voice muffled as she struggles.
Dean’s eyes fly open, and there’s Sam.
Missy’s knife clatters to the ground and Sam’s got one hand over her mouth, the other arm around her to lift her up.
“Sam! Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean gasps, struggling even harder against the restraints, rope burning into his wrists as he fights. Sam disappears with Missy, the sounds of her muffled screams driving a shudder up Dean’s spine. A door in the hallway opens and then closes, a heavy piece of furniture scraping over the floor and Missy’s fists pounding from inside what is apparently a closet, her screams shrill, a scared animal.
Sam comes back, comes right for him, their eyes locked the second he turns the corner.
Tears jump back into Dean’s eyes, his whole body straining forward, his chest heaving.
“Sammy, please--”
“Shh, calm down. Dean, calm down. It’s okay.” Sam sinks down to his knees, too graceful in this horror house, his hands covering Dean’s where they’re strapped to the chair. Relief floods Dean’s veins at the touch, at the feel of Sam’s skin on his. He closes his eyes again, letting out a sigh that makes him feel boneless.
“I thought. I-I thought--”
“I know,” Sam whispers, hands moving now to tug at the ropes, working at the knots but his mouth is ghosting over Dean’s, words brushing Dean’s lips. “But I’m here. I’m alright.”
Sam gets one knot undone and Dean’s hand flies up, grabs onto the back of Sam’s head, hauls him forward and into a kiss. Dean’s other hand flutters helplessly, still trapped, aching to touch, too.
“God, you gotta let me up. Gotta let me touch you. Scared me so much. Sam, I was about to go outta my fuckin’ mind,” He pulls against the rope even as Sam’s fingers tug at it, mouth still sliding over Dean’s, their tongues licking at each other, desperate, as feral and instinctive as Missy’s raw-throated screams through the rotting wooden walls.
They get him free finally, finally, and Dean’s hand clamps down on Sam’s shoulder, the other still buried in his hair, keeping him right where he fucking is for a minute so he can eat at his mouth. Dean’s burnt, his head bleeding, the fear coursing through him almost driving him to exhaustion, to not be able to do anything but slump against Sam, but just stay where he is and accept his solid, warm body.
“We gotta go, Dean,” Sam whispers into his mouth after he gets Dean’s legs and waist free, moving until he’s crouched now, arms around Dean’s waist to help pull him up. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here. Please.”
Dean stands up, pressed against Sam, head tipped up just as Sam’s tips down, their foreheads pressing hard, sticking together with the blood dripping from Dean’s temple. It’s absurd, indulgent, staying here like this, just touching, arms wrapped around each other. But it’s better than a shot of morphine, better than all the adrenaline rushes in the world, better than sleeping on a pillowtop mattress. It’s fucking vital.
Another gunshot, this one closer, makes them both jump. Sam’s hands dig into the back of Dean’s jacket, clutching at him, digging his forehead into Dean’s one last time before he lets go, heading for the front door. Dean stands still just for a second, gathering up every last shred of warmth he’d just gotten and keeping it close to get him through the final stretch of this nightmare.
“Think she can still see us?” Dean glances behind them, back to the dark house where they’d left Kathleen before the other cops showed up. Sam turns and looks with him, doesn’t see her white shirt anymore, doesn’t see anything but the high, wild grass and gravel between them and the house. The highway is stretched out in front of them, and they take a left onto it.
“No,” Sam replies, stepping in closer to Dean immediately, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, tucking him in underneath his arm. Dean pushes in against him, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, forefinger tucking into one of his belt loops and holding on.
“Smell like shit,” Dean mumbles, resting his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam can feel it when Dean relaxes, hears him out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding in for days. Sam gives a silent huff of laughter, his hand sliding up over Dean’s neck to hold on, warm and possessive.
“You don’t smell like a peach yourself, asshole. ‘Sides, m’cold.” It’s a cool night, and Sam’s arms are unnaturally bare, not really used to going anywhere without his layers, without the familiar weight of his jacket, at the very least. Dean hums, the sound musing, interested. His hand slides up under Sam’s thin t-shirt, makes its way up over his ribs and his stomach, fingers stroking up over the sharp point of Sam’s already painfully hard nipple.
He hisses, jerks, chest pushing up into that hand as his footsteps falter, not really sure how to keep walking forward while Dean’s rubbing at his nipple like that, fingers pulling, twisting it in a slow, savoring torture.
“You are cold, aren’t you?” Dean’s head is turned and obviously he’s no longer concerned with walking either because he’s nuzzling at the sweat-dirty side of Sam’s neck, lips so soft and warm when he starts to kiss there. Sam swallows down a whimper, his hand spanning Dean’s cheek to keep his mouth where it’s now sucking a bruise on his neck. Dean turns, pressing up against his side completely where they’re now standing out in the middle of the open night on the side of the highway, his dick already hard and hot where it’s digging into Sam’s hip, already so fucking good that Sam can almost taste it.
“Gotta let me suck on it, Dean,” Sam whispers, gasping when Dean pinches his nipple hard, tugging on it until Sam whines. “Please, Dean, gotta let me taste it.”
It’s reckless and fucking stupid and probably the worst timing in the whole world, but he doesn’t care. He’s dumb with the relief of being saved, with having Dean okay and beside him, with having Dean touch him like this after so many years of wanting, of hurting himself as punishment for wanting. It’s dark, no streetlights out this far in the country, and they don’t hear police sirens yet.
They ease over to the side of road just like they would if they were in the car, and Sam’s knees hit the grass the second they stop walking. Dean’s hand sinks back into his hair, firm and commanding, and Sam brings his hands up to Dean’s hips just to hold on, letting his neck go lax, letting Dean control this.
Dean drags him in close, pulls Sam’s face right up to his dick. Sam’s eyes close just as Dean rocks his hips forward, rubbing his denim-covered dick against Sam’s face, all over his mouth, his chin, his nose. Sam’s mouth opens in full, firm kisses, nuzzling in hard when the head of Dean’s cock rubs at his mouth.
“This what you want?” Dean’s voice is a low whisper, already breathless but still so in charge, and Sam’s entire body is loose with submission, with just doing what Dean says.
“Yes,” Sam sighs, lips closing in to suck at the head of his dick through his jeans, hands sliding down to hold onto the back of Dean’s thighs. He can smell Dean even through the denim, can smell sex and salt and he’s soaking Dean’s jeans with spit, with his begging kisses. “Please let me. Please.”
Dean’s free hand slides down, works his belt open, the metal clicking loud in the quiet around them. Sam’s breathing hard already, kissing Dean’s fingers while he thumbs the button of his jeans open, while he edges the zipper down, kisses at torn cuticles and busted knuckles, at filthy skin. He moans when Dean pushes two fingers into his mouth, fucks them over his tongue, letting Sam suck on them to distract him while he pushes into his underwear and pulls his dick out. The smell of it fills Sam’s nostrils, making them flare with hunger and he holds on tight to Dean’s thighs, pushing in closer to his body.
Dean pulls his fingers out of Sam’s mouth and threads them through his hair to take control of Sam’s head again, making sure Sam doesn’t just dive right in to suck on him. Dean grips his dick hard in his other hand, slapping at the side of Sam’s mouth with it, rubbing it against his cheek, his balls pressed up tight against Sam’s chin, his bottom lip. Sam opens his mouth to lick at them, to suck open-mouthed kisses at whatever skin Dean’s letting him taste.
“Gimme that mouth, Sammy. Gimme that fuckin’ mouth.” Dean’s tipping his dick forward, sliding it right up into Sam’s mouth, straight over his spit-slick tongue. Sam moans, breath rushing hot over Dean’s pubes as Dean tightens his hand in his hair and hauls him forward, shoving his dick in deep. Sam chokes when it hits the back of his throat and keeps going, forcing its way into his throat.
“Yeah, like that,” Dean growls, his hips fucking forward, balls slapping at Sam’s chin and Sam’s entire world is Dean’s cock, so big where it’s trapped in the first couple of inches of his throat and filling his mouth, his nose nestled in the soft tangle of hair around his dick, the smell of him overwhelming, everywhere, thick and earthy and Dean. Sam can’t stop gagging, can’t keep it in, but it makes Dean moan every time, makes him spill slick into Sam’s throat, and God, it’s exactly what Sam’s always wanted, wanted to be trained on Dean’s dick, just like this. Wanted Dean to fuck the perfect space into his mouth, made for Dean and Dean alone. Train Sam how to take exactly his length, exactly the fat width of him, make him perfect for this, for him.
He’s gagging, coughing spit up around Dean’s cock but he won’t let him go, won’t force him out, never ever. It’s dripping down his chin and soaking into his shirt and he’s in heaven, can’t draw in enough air so he feels dizzy and he’s never felt this good, this powerful. Dean yanks him off suddenly, pulls him back and Sam’s panting, gasping, his mouth dripping and open.
“Look at it,” Dean orders, his voice wrecked, quiet. He renews his grip on Sam’s hair and gives him a little shake to wake him from his dick-induced stupor, to get him to listen. Sam’s eyes fly open, coming into sharp focus on the dick so hard it’s swaying in front of him, precome still oozing from the tip, the entire length covered with saliva and whatever Dean’s fucked out of Sam’s throat, dripping and pink-tipped and primed for fucking. Sam angles for it, tries to get it back in his mouth, a petulant whimper leaving his mouth.
“I said to look. Just fuckin’ look at it, Sammy.”
Sam’s eyes flutter at the power in Dean’s voice, the hardness of it. He stares at Dean’s cock, his own dick so hard that he’s flexing his hips back and forth, aching for movement, for friction, all of it so fucking painful and he loves it. Craves it.
“I love it, Dean,” he whispers, tongue sliding out to lick at his mouth, breaking the webs of spit connecting it to Dean’s dick. He rests his cheek against Dean’s still-covered thigh, breath rushing out in a hot sigh over that cock. “God, I love it. Need it so bad.”
“Wanna be fucked with it?”
“Yes,” Sam gasps, straining forward against Dean’s grip on him, trying to take it back in his mouth, tongue sliding out and just barely catching on Dean’s slit. “Yes, Dean, fuck.”
“Want it in your ass, Sam? W-Want me to. Christ, want me to fuck you?” Dean pushes his dick back at Sam’s mouth, just barely letting his lips close over the tip, just letting him suck at the head. Dean groans, so close that Sam can taste it.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs, his ass clenching tight, his guts hurting with the need to be fucked open. He shivers when he hears police sirens in the distance, the chaos of them hurtling toward them.
“Hurry up and get me clean. Lick all that off and get up.” He lets Sam at him then and Sam obeys like a zealot, keeps his mouth soft as he sucks at the sides of Dean’s heavy cock, tongue working deft and starved at the underside of him, sucking at the long, thick vein and drinking down every drop of spit he put there, every drop of liquid Dean’s dick is dripping with. He wants to just wrap his lips around him, make Dean fuck his throat until he comes.
The sirens are getting closer, and the rebellious boy in Sam, the daring one who loves how dangerous Dean feels right now draws Dean back into his mouth, sucks down the first several inches of him and tightens his hands on Dean’s legs, willing him to come.
Dean growls, actually growls, both hands going into Sam’s hair and he pulls on it hard, hard enough to make Sam gasp, make him let go of Dean’s dick and Dean’s yanking him off again and dragging Sam to his feet, both of them stumbling deeper into the woods at the side of the road, Sam fuck-drunk and Dean with his jeans trapped around his thighs.
Sam’s breath leaves his body when he’s slammed back against a tree just as the police cars roar by in a terrifying flash of red and blue and white and the scream of sirens that remind him too much of Missy’s voice.
Dean’s mouth is on his, his dick still out and so hard it has to hurt but he’s shoving it against Sam, the head of it pushing beneath Sam’s t-shirt to rub at his bare stomach. Dean’s drinking down the collected spit and pre-come on in Sam’s mouth, kissing him with a greedy tongue and Sam wraps his arms around him and hauls him forward, forcing Dean to grind against him.
“You think I’m gonna do it right here, gonna fuck you for the first time right here?” Dean’s hands gentle then, fingers pushing hair from Sam’s forehead, stroking down over his cheeks. Sam drinks down Dean’s sigh, his hands spreading out to rub at Dean’s back.
“Don’t care. Waited long enough. It doesn’t matter, Dean. I promise.”
“Well, you’re gonna wait a little longer. Because I care. I want you in a bed. You deserve that, at the very least, you hear me? You’re worth waiting for, just a little bit longer.”
The words make Sam’s throat tighten up, make him kiss Dean a little harder, love bordering on obsession coursing through his veins. Dean takes hold of Sam’s hands, guides them down to his pants, silently ordering Sam to tuck him back into his pants. Sam does, knows it has to hurt when he tugs Dean’s underwear back up over his hard dick, when he buttons and zips his jeans back up, the outline of him visible through the denim.
“Please hurry,” he begs, doesn’t care how pathetic, how young he sounds. How he feels like he’s been stuck at sixteen, waiting for Dean, waiting for this night. How he still feels small when Dean’s hands are on him, when he’s like this, when he’s being Sam’s big brother, the one Sam’s been in love with for most of his life in one way or another. “You’ll never know how much I need you, Dean. I-I just. You’ll never know.”
The sirens are gone, stopped. The night’s gone quiet again, nothing but the sound of their breath rushing together, but the gentle drag of the breeze through the trees. Dean doesn’t tease him, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t try to laugh his way through this. Just cups Sam’s cheeks, stretching up to press his lips to the middle of Sam’s forehead, keeping them there until tears burn at Sam’s closed eyes, his body already shaking with too much emotion. But that’s always there, always been there between them: too much. It’s always too much and never enough. Maybe tonight, it’ll finally be enough.
“C’mon, Sammy. C’mon, baby brother,” Dean mumbles against his skin, almost too quiet for it to be for Sam, for him to hear. “I got you.”
They separate just enough to be able to walk, arms going back around each other, Sam leaning on Dean this time as they emerge from the woods, their feet finding the highway again, the night big and deceptively beautiful around them, but they know better.
They track the car down at the police station and finally find that motel they’d talked about two nights before, the last time they were together. Dean’s still got a bloody forehead and they both reek of death but the guy behind the counter at the motel barely looks at them, just shoves a piece of paper at Dean and takes his credit card, an old episode of Night Court playing on the tiny television behind the counter.
“You coulda stayed in the car,” Dean says softly as he fills out the form, his handwriting sloping and elegant and Sam presses in tight against him, presses a kiss to the side of his neck, his eyes on the the back of the motel employee as he runs the card.
“Couldn’t stand to be away from you,” Sam tells him, not in seduction but in all honesty. He kisses up to Dean’s ear and sighs before he kisses at the lobe of it, nuzzling with the curve of his nose. “Do you remember when we were younger and you told me about how girls have that ache in ‘em? How it’s deep inside and you’ve gotta fuck it out of ‘em?”
Dean’s pen stops on the paper in the middle of his fake signature - Henry James Edwardson, Jr. - his breath held. He nods, a single movement, the air around them absolutely still. The receipt for their credit card whines from the machine.
“I’ve had that ache in me for so long, Dean. Had it for so many years, and I’m just waiting on you. I’ve just needed you. Need you to fuck it out of me. Cause you’re the only one who can reach it.” He’s got his arms around Dean’s waist now, fingers clasped on his opposite hip. He’s kissing at his neck now, not giving a shit that the guy’s turning back around now, that he’s got his eyes on them as he slams the receipt down in front of Dean for him to sign.
“Shit, Sammy,” Dean whispers, his hands visibly shaking where he’s scratching a name on the paper and pushing it back toward the guy, hand out for the key. The guy stands in front of them, key dangling from his fingers over Dean’s palm, his eyebrows raised.
“You boys break anything in the room, you pay for it,” the guy finally says, the keys jingling when they land in Dean’s palm. Dean turns to face Sam, his pupils blown wide, eyes on Sam like he’s going to tear into him right here.
“You hear that, little brother? You break it, you buy it.” He lifts up and takes Sam’s mouth in a hard, dirty kiss, breaking away with a devious grin on his face. Sam’s cheeks are scarlet when he looks up at the guy, catches his slack-jawed, confounded expression.
“Have a good night, man!” Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s waist and pulls him out of the lobby and back out into the night. He starts to head for the car, for the trunk to get their shit, but Sam shakes his head, grabs Dean by the arm and pulls him toward the line of motel rooms.
“Nope, not now.” Sam snags the keys from Dean’s hand and finds the right room, number five, hand trembling only a little as he tries to get the key in the lock.
“But our bags--”
“Do you need anything in the bags right now?” Sam’s got the door to the room open and he’s turned to look at Dean, his eyebrows raised impatiently. Dean’s face flushes and he looks down, looks so stupidly pretty there with his bloody face and the mouth that Sam’s made so pink.
“Got some lube and condoms in mine.”
Sam’s eyes widen and he ducks his head just like Dean had, grinning down at his shoes.
“Okay. Just. Just hurry, Dean.”
He tears his eyes away from his brother and steps into the room, flicking the light on, the one bed in the middle of the room making him stop dead in his tracks. He hadn’t been listening to Dean talk to the guy in there, had been too busy fussing over his burnt jacket, over the hurt skin underneath to notice that they’d just gotten a big king bed.
He feels seventeen again, like that one time Dad and Dean left him in Granville, Ohio in the room with one bed. That one bed had just been for him, had been a jail sentence, had been Dean going away, leaving Sam alone.
This one bed is for the two of them, is symbolic and important and Sam is stupidly touched that Dean even thought of it.
“You weirded out?” Dean is right behind him, his arms wrapping around Sam from behind, plastic bag rustling from his hand. “I’ve just. I’ve wanted just one for awhile, and--”
Sam turns around in his arms and grabs hold of Dean’s jacket to turn both of them together until he’s got his own back pressed up against the door and Dean comes right along, easy and like he can read Sam’s thoughts, shoving Sam back up against the door hard enough to close it, their eyes locked.
He’s terrified here in this second, standing on the knife’s edge of their relationship. This feels different, like a marriage, like a devotion. He can see it in Dean’s eyes, too, in the softness there, in the way his tongue soothes over his lips, can see how nervous he is.
“Having second thoughts?” Sam has to ask, has to give Dean a chance to back out gracefully. He reaches up to stroke across Dean’s cheek with a gentle hand, thumb just barely touching at the tiny puncture on his left eyelid, right where Missy’s knife had been when he’d come into the house. He wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and tugs him forward until their bodies are pressed up together, his mouth the perfect height to kiss that little hurt, to suck soft at the skin over Dean’s trembling eyelid.
“If you think we’re leaving this room for the next three days, you’re wrong, Sammy.” Dean’s hands are wide and explorative, dragging Sam’s shirt up over his head and throwing it down, dropping his bag of supplies. He runs his hands over Sam’s back and down into his jeans, under his briefs and he massages Sam’s ass, every muscle in him aching from being tucked into that cage for so long. He whines with relief, eyes falling closed as he lowers his head, blindly seeking out Dean’s mouth with his own.
Dean sinks a long middle finger into Sam’s ass, just slides right in dry like he’s done before, like he can’t help it. Sam’s dick throbs in his jeans, been half-hard for what feels like hours but this, something inside of him, so close to being what he wants, and he’s afraid he’s going to come before Dean even gets inside.
“I heard you that one time,” he says against Dean’s mouth while Dean fucks that finger slowly in and out of him. “W-when I was eleven, you telling your friends the story of how you lost your virginity. I was in my room, but I heard you. It. It was the first time I realized.”
“Realized what?” Dean’s voice is so soft, like he’s touched, like he’s a little raw inside this moment. Sam’s hands shove up under Dean’s jacket to rub at the curve of his back, stroking up his spine. They kiss a little more, just a few soft licks before Sam finds his words again.
“How I loved you. How jealous I was of that girl. That I wanted it to be me. Because she didn’t know you, didn’t know how. How special you are. She couldn’t take care of you like I could’ve.”
Dean’s voice drops down low when he groans for that, his hands leaving Sam’s pants to slide down even lower, gripping the back of Sam’s thighs and pulling until Sam has no choice but to lift up, to wrap a leg around Dean’s body. Dean hauls the other one up and Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, legs wrapped around his waist, leaning back on the door, his heart racing.
“You gonna take care of me, Sammy? Hm? Gonna take care of my dick?”
Sam just nods, all his words gone, his entire body flushed hot and he cradles Dean’s head closer, leaning down and kissing him, their tongues nudging at each other as Dean turns them, lifts Sam up away from the door and walks them back toward the bed.
Dean drops Sam down on it and Sam keeps a hold of him, pulls Dean down right on top of him, shoving at Dean’s jacket and his shirts, wanting them off now. Dean grunts when he shrugs the shirts off, the burn on his chest not letting him lift his arm too high. Sam frowns and sits up a little, grabbing the left sleeve of his t-shirt and helping his arm through, helping him get the shirt over his head and off.
The burn is about as long as Sam’s forefinger and a deep, angry red. Dean strokes Sam’s hair back as Sam just stares at it, rubbing a finger just under the burn, not wanting to touch it.
“You need to get it cleaned. Put some aloe on it.” Sam lies back on the bed and pulls Dean down on him again, staring up into his eyes.
“I’ll do it later. Promise.” Dean’s eyes are dark again and he’s got his hands on Sam’s waist, tugging on his jeans until they just slip right off his slim hips, his underwear going with them. Sam puts his legs together and straightens them so Dean can pull his shoes and socks off and shed him of his jeans all in one go. Sam scoots up on the bed, head finding a pillow, his eyes on Dean as he spreads his legs as wide as he can, showing Dean his hole, shameless and safe here under those eyes.
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean whispers, his hands stroking over the length of Sam’s legs, squeezing at the meaty softness of his thighs before he pushes them up, tipping Sam’s ass up to himself and bending down to latch onto Sam’s hole with a hungry, sucking mouth.
Sam’s legs strain back, knees touching his chest, his feet catching on the bar running lengthwise across the headboard so he can stay in that position, his ass up high and perfect for Dean. He closes his eyes and wraps a hand around his dick, the other hand pushes into Dean’s hair while Dean tongues his asshole.
“Dean, get the lube. God, please, just. Please.”
Dean grunts, ignores him for a couple of minutes while his tongue works on Sam’s ass, loosening up the tight clutch of it and licking around just inside of him when Sam finally opens up to him. He pulls back with a gasp, with a wet pop, licking his lips as he slides off the bed. Sam keeps his feet where they are on the headboard, his eyes watching his brother cross the room to find the bag while he strips the rest of his own clothes off, shucking his jeans and shoes and socks and underwear.
He comes back completely naked, his dick bobbing just as hard as it had been a few hours ago out on the side of the road when Sam had had it in his throat.
“Look at you, Sammy.” Dean slides right back into place, his dick sliding up right between Sam’s cheeks and rubbing at his hole. Sam gasps, his head tipping back just as Dean brings both hands down hard to slap his ass, palms stinging, massaging the sharp sting right down into his skin.
Sam pushes down into those hands, trying to beg for more without ever, ever having to say it out loud. Dean’s sucking on his own bottom lip, the head of his dick nudging at Sam’s hole, eyes trained on his own handiwork, at the bright pink imprints of his own hands in Sam’s skin.
“You like when it hurts, don’t you?” It’s not really a question, not really one he expects to be answered it seems because he’s slapping Sam’s ass again, even harder than before, hard enough that Sam tenses, lets out a high, hurting sob, eyebrows drawn up together in pain when Dean rubs it in again, hands spanning Sam’s entire ass.
Sam just nods, eyes flying open and finding Dean’s, wishing he could see the handprints clearly, wishing he could see what he looks like, such a fucking slut for his brother, just like he always knew he was.
“I just,” Sam tries, his voice shaking, feeling so exposed, so bared to the bone here. “It doesn’t have to always hurt w-with you. You don’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Okay?”
“Okay,” Dean whispers back, seeming to understand him through his stammering, pathetic excuse for a confession, curling down to press three wet kisses to Sam’s pink-slapped ass and then one kiss to his mouth before he’s turning his attention to the box of lube, frowning down at it as he rips it open, tearing off the seal and prying the lid up.
“That the only tube you bought?” Sam can’t hold in the smile when Dean looks up at him in surprise, his cheeks stained pink. Dean squeezes some out onto his fingers, grinning as he crawls back up to Sam, leaning down over him, their mouths hovering close as Dean pushes two slicked-up fingers inside of him.
“Think we need to buy stock in lube?” Dean spreads his fingers apart inside of Sam, digging up as far as he can get before he pulls them out again. Sam just whimpers, bearing down on Dean’s fingers while they fuck him open, when they rub so sweet and dirty at the rim of his asshole before pushing back in each time.
“Wanna be sore from you all the time. Want to feel you forever.” He feels safe saying this stuff here between their mouths, in the haven they’ve created out of this bed. Sam fumbles for the bottle of lube, pouring some onto his fingers blindly, probably making an absolute mess but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care about anything but the sound Dean makes when Sam wraps his hand around him, but the way his dick jumps against Sam’s palm when he starts to slick him up.
“Sammy, I got. I got condoms. Hold on. Lemme.” Dean pulls his fingers out, leaving Sam’s ass feeling open and empty as he reaches behind him for the other box. Sam remembers his brief but educational time with Dom, remembers Dom fingering him open, kissing sticky sweet endearments into his skin. Dom had warned him about these moments, about getting guys to use lots of lube, about never fucking without a condom, no matter how much the guy tells him he loves him.
But Dean’s not just any other guy, and Sam knows it.
Sam catches Dean’s wrist, doesn’t let him open the box. Dean turns to look at him, head tipped to the side in question.
“Did you use a condom with Cassie?”
Dean snorts, abandoning the box to drape himself over Sam again. He reaches up, pries Sam’s feet off the bar of the headboard so he can ease Sam’s legs down onto his shoulders. Sam sighs in relief, his free hand sliding up Dean’s arm, fingers bumping over scars, over the hard knot where a bullet once went through Dean’s skin, just before Christmas back in ‘02.
“Course I did,” Dean finally answers, wiping his fingers off on the bed so he can burrow down around Sam, his arms trapping Sam in a cocoon where he can see and feel and smell nothing but Dean.
“You’re not going to with me,” Sam replies, big words, scary ones, but he’s not afraid. Not with Dean. Their faces are so close that it should be awkward, weird to talk like this, but they’ve gotten so close lately, spent so much time talking with their mouths touching that Sam doesn’t even notice. “We don’t need them. But. But just us, okay?”
Dean’s nodding fast, his dick blurting out slick all over Sam’s fingers where he keeps jacking him off slow, thumb rubbing at the underside of his cock.
“Just us,” Dean echoes, staring at Sam like he’s a dream, like he’s not real. Sam’s heart is beating so loud in his ears that he can’t hear anything else, can’t hear his own whimper when Dean shifts his hips so that his dick is lined up, the tip pressing right up against Sam’s hole, feeling absolutely massive, impossible. Sam searches Dean’s eyes, feels for all the world like he’s young again, like he needs Dean to guide him through this, to take care of him.
“Put me in,” Dean whispers against his lips, their eyelashes tangling, dragging together, Dean’s breath hot and bitter on his tongue. Sam gives Dean’s dick one last stroke, making sure he’s completely coated with lube before he tightens his hand around the middle of it, the angle awkward but it’s ungodly intimate, being in control of this. His arm flexes when he presses Dean’s dick up, the head of him just barely breaching, just barely popping inside.
“Oh, shit,” Sam pants, his dick giving a dangerous jump on his belly, a shudder driving up his entire body. Dean’s leaking again, making it so messy, his hole already so sloppy-wet. Dean pushes his hips forward, sliding in a little more, just barely an inch, the fat head finally slipping all the way inside, making them both shiver, Sam’s asshole fluttering around him, Dean’s tongue flicking between Sam’s parted lips, fucking into his mouth just as surely as he is Sam’s ass.
Sam’s jerking off the part of Dean’s dick not in him yet, can’t help it, can’t stop touching him, worshiping him. He takes a deep breath as he finally lets go, his hand slimy so he wipes it on the bed like Dean had, needing both hands to stroke up over Dean’s back, over his sides, starting up the rhythm he can already feel thrumming in Dean’s hips.
Dean doesn’t need permission, doesn’t wait for instruction, just digs his knees into the bed and angles his hips down and in, fighting to get deeper inside of Sam, working through all of that virgin-tight muscle that just didn’t get touched when he’d let Jess fuck him. Not like this. It’s never, ever been like this.
“Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean,” he chants, his fingers digging in, clutching at his back, bruising his skin surely but he has to hold on, has to cling to him or he’s afraid Dean will just slip away, like this is just another vivid, beautiful dream. Dean lets out a whine, his whole body tensing as he just drops his hips, sinking the rest of the way in, his balls warm and heavy where they rest against Sam’s tailbone.
He’s in all the way, throbbing like a heartbeat in Sam’s guts, big and hard as steel but it’s like they’re melding together, like he just had to get right here to complete the process. Sam tightens around him just to feel him, feel exactly where he is, how deep. Dean sobs against his mouth, his arms wrapping under the pillow behind Sam’s head, cradling Sam up against him.
“God, don’t do that. Ohmygod, Sammy, you. You.” Dean’s hands are shaking as they rub up and down Sam’s legs, as they massage at Sam’s calves where they’re resting on his shoulders. Sam closes his eyes, a warmth spreading through him, driving straight up his spine and he’s coming before he realizes what’s happening, his insides quaking around Dean’s dick, his own dick spilling untouched between their bellies.
He’s shaking on Dean’s cock, his body jerking, trying so hard to milk him, like he can’t help it.
“I’m sorry. Oh, fuck, I. Dean, please, I.” His hands slide down to grip Dean’s ass, hauling him in closer, trying to get him to move, to fuck him through his embarrassingly quick orgasm.
“Jesus Christ, Sam. Fuck.” Dean lifts up, elbows pressing into the bed so he can get a little more control over this, so he can drop his lower body down and just let his hips work. Sam just watches him, so in love he could fucking die right here, right now.
Dean starts to fuck him then, just grits his teeth and fucks into Sam’s spasming insides, fucks right through the tightness of his orgasm and Sam writhes on his dick, arms wrapped around Dean’s neck now, clutching at him as his dick keeps dribbling out drop after drop of come.
“Can’t believe you just fucking came on my dick. So fuckin’ sexy, Sam. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, little brother.” Dean’s putting his ass into it now, his whole body into it as he starts to really pound Sam, his dick slopping in and out of his fuck-slack asshole. The bed is moving under them, whining and rocking with each expert thrust of Dean’s hips, and Sam knows somewhere in the back of his head that it’s not going to take much to break the frame.
Sam melts back into the bed when his orgasm finally, finally lets him go, when he can just focus on Dean, on the way his dick feels inside of him.
“Look at me, Sammy. Look at me. Hey, c’mon.” Dean’s fingers are so gentle in Sam’s hair, so sweet where they’re stroking sweat-slicked strands back out of his eyes, the direct antithesis of the pornstar-confident fuck of Dean’s hips. Sam meets his eyes then, finally, tears sliding down his cheeks because it’s so good, it’s everything, it’s more overwhelming than he could have ever, ever imagined.
He sobs with each thrust now, each rough slap of Dean’s body against his own, each hard rub of that cock against his over-sensitive prostate. His dick is already trying to get hard again, already straining from the perfect angle of Dean’s dick inside of him. He’s mindless now and there’s relief in the sounds he’s making, deep-rooted, aching relief as he just opens up for Dean, as he just takes him, takes it as hard and deep as Dean can give it to him.
“I know. I know,” Dean murmurs against his lips, feeding him soft, whispering kisses, fingers tangled in Sam’s hair now, clutching to hold on. He’s grinding his dick into Sam now, staying rooted inside of him for the most part, fucking in so deep that Sam can only gasp, shaking hard as he tries to grind down against him, tries to ride him and get him deeper, more. “God, baby, I know. Sammy. Sammy.”
Sam crosses his feet at the ankle at the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him down as close as he can get him, his own knees digging back into the pillow beside his head. He feels it when Dean comes in him, feels it, feels the way his hips stutter, feels the hot pulse of his balls, feels the warmth spreading through his insides, like Dean is emptying his entire body into Sam’s.
Sam finds Dean’s mouth and kisses him, feeds on the sounds Dean’s making, and it feels like the world is ending, like everything should be crumbling around them, like this was the very last thing that needed to happen before time just stopped. His dick is throbbing between them, mostly hard again and leaking into the mess on his belly, and Dean just can’t seem to stop moving, just can’t stop fucking him, his whole body trembling like a leaf on top of Sam, only whimpers escaping him now.
They stayed locked together just like that, Dean still tense like coming wasn’t enough, like he needs more. Sam cups his cheeks, fingers stroking under Dean’s eyes and finding the skin wet.
“Dean,” he soothes, kissing at Dean’s slack mouth, sucking at his bottom lip. “Dean, ‘m right here. I’m right here.”
“Need you, Sammy,” Dean finally whispers, breath shuddering against Sam’s face, the words kissed into his mouth. “I need you. Can. Can you.”
One of Dean’s hands pushes between their bodies, wraps around his dick. Sam jerks for the surprising touch, his dick throbbing to full hardness when Dean starts to stroke him, the question in his hand, in the timid way he’s touching him.
“You. You want me to fuck you.” If Sam sounds amazed, it’s because he is. His dick gives a hard pulse for the realization, slicking up the handjob he’s getting from Dean. He must tighten around Dean because Dean moans, presses his forehead to Sam’s.
“Yeah. Yeah, I just. Will you? Please?”
Dean’s blushing. He’s got his bare dick softening in Sam’s gaping ass, and he’s blushing. Sam moans, pushing up against Dean until Dean gives, lifts up, his dick leaving Sam’s ass with a slimy, wet slurp.
Sam grabs him by the waist and turns them until Dean’s sprawled out on the bed, his dick wet and soft on his stomach, his body red with exertion all the way down to his navel. Sam feels the come leaking out of his ass and down the insides of his thighs, and he wishes they’d thought to put a towel down, wishes he had enough confidence to straddle Dean’s face and sit on it long enough to make Dean eat all the come dripping out of him.
His dick sways hard, lifting and bobbing at the thought. Another day. Not now.
Dean’s staring up at him, watching Sam in the strangest, most sudden surrender, his legs splayed open almost as an afterthought, his body soft, waiting for Sam’s direction.
He realizes then, in that second, that Dom had been dead wrong about him. Sam is not a complete, subby little bottom. He just needs the right incentive to be a top. An incentive like Dean staring up at him, baring his belly to him, waiting for his dick.
“Spread your legs for me, Dean. Show me your hole.” Sam sinks back on his haunches, wiping his hand through the mess of come on his stomach so he can jack his dick with it. Dean squirms under Sam’s focused, greedy eyes, a brand new flush spreading across his body.
“Sammy,” he sighs, his legs sliding closed, like Dean Winchester is fucking demure. “I don’t. I don’t wanna. I just wanna get fucked.”
Sam raises his eyebrows at him, tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. “Okay. Turn over, then. Hands and knees.”
Dean chews on his bottom lip, looking a little doubtful now. He gives a sigh finally, pushing up so he can turn over on his belly, knees pressing into the bed, his upper body dropping down as he props up on his elbows.
Sam’s hand falls away from his dick, his mouth hanging open as he takes in the sight of Dean with his ass in the air, the long, gorgeous line of his back bared, broad shoulders, the naked, vulnerable nape of his neck flushed.
“Dean,” Sam breathes, hands coming up to cup his brother’s hips, giving his waist a squeeze before he strokes down over his ass, spreading his cheeks apart to finally look at Dean’s tight pink hole. “Ohmygod. Dean, I.”
“Sam, please. Later we can. Y-You can. I’ll be good later. I promise. Just. Just.” Dean’s hand slips up between his own legs, thick fingers pushing dry at his hole, edging inside with just in his fingertips.
“Okay,” Sam whispers, leaning down to kiss at Dean’s fingers where he’s prying himself open, licking in around them just to get a taste, just a quick taste. Dean’s hole clenches, pulling in tight when Sam slides his tongue in right alongside his fingers, getting them wet, making the push easier. Dean tastes so good, a little bitter, tastes just like his skin smells. Dean whimpers, pushes his ass back against Sam’s face like he can’t help it.
He pushes his fingers into Sam’s mouth, spreading that taste around on his tongue. Sam sucks on his fingers, thumbs rubbing at Dean’s asshole, massaging around the tightness of it.
“Love how you taste, Dean. Feed it to me. Feed me the taste of your ass.”
Dean whines, the sound muffled where he’s got his face buried in the pillow. He sinks his fingers back up inside of himself, going in easier this time because of Sam’s spit. He pulls them back out and feeds them back into Sam’s mouth, giving him even more of that taste, that delicious, dirty fucking taste that Sam’s already addicted to.
Sam looks around quickly, spotting the abandoned bottle of lube and grabbing it. He pops the cap and turns it over, squeezing out a sticky, long line of lube over Dean’s asshole, all over his fingers and down his crack. He closes it back up and tosses it away and dives into Dean’s ass with his own fingers, two of Dean’s and two of his own fucking him open, loosening him up. Sam can’t tear his eyes away, can’t believe what he’s seeing, what he’s doing.
“You ever done anything like this, Dean? Ever--”
“No.” Dean pulls his own hand away, wrapping his arms around the pillow, ass tipped up even more. Sam edges a third finger inside of him, curling them down and rubbing until Dean goes rigid, back arching hard. “Fuck!”
Sam growls, fucking at Dean’s prostate until Dean is moving with him, slamming his body back on Sam’s hand, trying to get him in deeper. Sam pulls his fingers out but it’s so hard to do, so fucking hard to stop. He wraps his hand around his dick again, getting it all wet with the lube slicking his fingers.
“If. If you need me to stop, Dean, you gotta tell me. Otherwise.” He grabs Dean’s thighs and spreads them even more, getting Dean’s body lower so he can line his dick up perfectly, rubbing the head of it over Dean’s loosened hole. “Otherwise I’m just gonna--”
“Fuck me,” Dean gasps, hand already on his own cock, the muscles in his right arm flexing hard as he jerks off. “Fuck me, Sammy, fuck me fuck me.”
Sam’s only fucked an ass once. It was Jess, and it was a night when they’d both smoked a little too much pot and she’d started asking questions about how it felt, what it was like. It had been awkward and messy and in the end, she hadn’t liked it as much as she was hoping. One and done. But Sam had loved it in secret, loved the tight clutch, the way it had felt decidedly different.
And now.
He holds onto his dick right behind the head, one hand on Dean’s soft, thick ass as he rubs against his hole, leaking slick all over him. He pushes in and Dean tenses up, his whole body pulling up, shying away.
“Sorry,” Dean pants, taking just a second to recover before he’s coming back, offering his ass up again, hand not on his dick anymore because he’s gripping the covers, face pushed completely into the pillow. “G-Go ahead.”
Sam slides his hand up to grip Dean’s hip, keeping him in place as he grits his teeth and presses in again, forcing the head inside even though Dean is tight as hell, tighter than anything Sam could ever imagine. Sam spreads his legs a little, ass tensing as he keeps on pushing, forcing his way in, fighting for every single inch.
“Goddamnit, Sam. Of course you have a fuckin’ horse dick. Jesus fucking Christ. Just. Just hold on. Shit.” Dean’s stays where he is, his back heaving as he pants, tries to recover. Sam just stays where he is, trying so hard not to move, not even all the way in yet but he doesn’t want to say that. He just runs his hands up and down Dean’s sides, rubs at his tensed stomach, both his hands moving down to wrap around Dean’s dick, one working just the head and the other rubbing at his balls, making Dean tense up around his cock, and Sam grits his teeth and just holds on.
Dean’s hips start to move after a minute, chasing after the hand that’s jerking him off. Sam starts to move with him, pulling back when Dean’s moving forward, each slide getting a little faster until Sam is actively moving his hips, letting Dean’s hand take over on his dick so he can grab Dean’s hips, rearing him back and onto his cock as he starts to fuck him in earnest.
He drapes himself over Dean’s back, letting Dean take some of his weight so he can get in even deeper, his balls finally resting against Dean’s warm body, slapping against him with every thrust. Dean’s being so quiet, like he’s concentrating, like Sam’s going to have to earn every sound he makes.
Sam pushes down on Dean until Dean more or less collapses on the bed, laid out prone on his belly. He spreads his legs out, trapping Dean’s body between them as he presses down on him completely, his belly nestled against Dean’s back, his dick buried so far inside of Dean that he swears he can feel the head of it bumping against the mattress beneath Dean.
“Fuck me with that big dick, Sammy. God, I fuckin’ need it.”
Sam kisses across Dean’s shoulders, mouthing his way up his neck as he starts to fuck Dean with all of his strength, with all the power in his body because he knows Dean can take it, knows he can take it like nobody else Sam’s ever been with. Dean feels like heaven inside, like a gift. He’s so grateful for this, for Dean letting him do this. For Dean asking for this. Sam never knew, never thought about--
There’s a shriek and then a shudder and the frame of the bed breaks, falling away from the headboard but not the footboard. They slide forward, stopped only when Sam’s hands come out and press against the wall, keeping them from falling anymore. Dean laughs, each stutter of it making him clench up over and over around Sam’s dick.
“You break it, you buy it.” Dean cranes up, turns around to meet Sam’s eyes, to give him a big, beautiful smile that Sam has to reach for, has to kiss. Dean’s jacking his cock again, pushing back on Sam’s dick and Sam stays dug up inside of him, letting Dean fuck back on him, letting him milk his dick as much as he wants.
“I ain’t buyin’ it,” Sam mumbles against his mouth. “Takin’ it outta your ass maybe.”
“Shut up and keep fuckin’ me. Maybe we can break the other end.” Dean props his ass up by getting his knees under him a little bit, getting enough leverage so Sam can start thrusting again, hard, rough slaps that keep him mostly buried inside, just letting him pack it in deep, letting him pound against Dean’s prostate.
Come is still dripping out of his ass, sliding down Dean’s balls as well as his own. He will never, ever get over this night. Not ever.
Dean gasps when he starts to come, his head hanging low, face buried into the pillow again as he really starts to tighten around Sam’s dick, milking at him over and over again until Sam has no choice but to come, but to push in as far as he can and let go, giving Dean as much come as he has left.
The other end of the bed finally breaks, the mattress and the boxsprings falling flat on the floor, the footboard collapsing back on the ground. Sam barely notices, barely reacts to it because Dean is shaking so hard Sam’s almost scared, he’s clutched up so tight around his dick that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get out again.
He rubs at Dean’s arms, strokes over his sides and kisses his neck over and over, his dick still working tiredly inside of Dean, like it can’t seem to let go either. Dean’s burning up inside and finally smooth, the glide easy and slick when Sam gives him a few more, slow thrusts, just wanting to draw a few more shudders out of Dean.
“Think you ruined me,” Dean finally mumbles, completely boneless on the broken bed, not even reacting to Sam kissing at his mouth. Sam smiles, gives a contented little hum, hands sliding down to Dean’s ass to give it an appreciative squeeze, a hard slap on either side. Dean grunts, jerks, relaxes again with a sigh.
“Think I just found a new hobby.” Sam grins when Dean grunts again, when he gathers enough energy to turn around and glare at Sam.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Ed. That thing’s only gettin’ near me on special occasions.”
Sam blushes even though his ego is near to exploding. He lifts up off of Dean carefully, his dick finally sliding free, completely soaked with come and hanging heavy, mostly soft. He climbs up out of the bed, doesn’t let himself look at Dean’s ass, doesn’t look at his ruined hole because he’ll just want to latch onto it and suck it clean, soothe at it with his tongue. He finds a towel in the bathroom without turning the light on, wiping his ass and his dick clean before he comes back into the room with a fresh towel.
“Here, um.” He has to get down low to sit on the mattress on the floor, the towel held out in his hand for Dean to take. Dean grunts again, doesn’t move.
“You do it. Can’t move.”
Sam takes a deep breath before he runs the towel up between Dean’s legs as gently as he can, wiping over his hole, his mouth flooded with saliva at the thought of getting his mouth on it.
“Lift up a little, Dean.”
Dean sighs but obeys, lifting up enough for them to tug the blanket off the bed, leaving the sheets on, Sam slips under the top sheet next to Dean and pulls it up over them, throwing the towel off the side of the bed. Dean is almost asleep by the time Sam presses up against his side, draping an arm and a leg over Dean, dropping a sleepy kiss to the skin just below his bloody temple.
“Gonna patch you up tomorrow,” he whispers, his eyes falling closed. “Okay?”
Dean makes a faint noise, his arm heavy as it slides over Sam’s waist, pulls him in closer.
“Was amazing, S’mmy.”
Sam smiles, taking a deep breath that he lets out in the slowest, most content sigh.
“Yeah. You were.”
Sam wakes up when he feels a dick pushing at him from behind, eyes dragging open as it slips inside, his asshole sore, raw. He whines when it pushes all the way up into him, slicked up only with what feels like spit and the rest of the come Dean left in him earlier. Dean’s pressed up against his back, Sam’s leg lifted and held in the crook of Dean’s arm.
There’s a mouth at the back of his neck, breath rushing hot and sour against his skin.
“Go back t’sleep, Sammy.”
Sam breathes out a laugh that comes out more like a moan, craning his head to look back at Dean who’s already starting to thrust, this angle apparently fucking perfect for prostates because goddamn.
“How’m I supposed to sleep while you’ve got your dick in me?”
“Sorry,” Dean kisses along his jaw, not really sounding in the least bit sorry. “It’s just. You know how sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and you want it but you can’t do anything about it? Well, now I. Fuck, you were just right there and you feel so fuckin’ good--”
“Harder, Dean. God, do it harder.”
Dean finally shuts up, hikes Sam’s leg up even higher and God, he gets in that much deeper, his dick pounding into Sam so good that Sam swears he can see stars. The lamp by the bed’s still on, dawn finally creeping up outside. It’s hot in the room, the air conditioner off, and Dean’s belly is sweaty when it slaps at Sam’s back.
Sam comes all over himself, the head of his dick caught in a tight circle made by his thumb and forefinger, Dean’s mouth sucking a bruise on his throat.
“You said you wanna feel me,” Dean growls, panting now, so close. “You said you want to be sore, that you wanna feel me. Gonna make sure you fuckin’ feel me.”
“I feel you,” Sam gasps, his body shuddering hard, sluggish, still half-asleep and ripped away by a fast, intense orgasm. “Ohmygod, Dean, I feel you so deep.”
Dean slams into him so hard Sam thinks there will be bruises on his ass in the morning, one, two, three brutal thrusts and he’s emptying into Sam again, second time before the sun comes up.
Sam’s out, asleep before Dean’s even done with him. Falls asleep with Dean’s dick still inside of him, with Dean still whimpering at his back, with his name on Dean’s lips.
next.