Happy (belated) birthday...
... to alli_everyday and sanyin!!!
I know it's late, but y'know, if I wasn't such a horrible procrastinator, this would have been decent and on time. But I am a horrible procrastinator. And I don't want this to be any later than it already is- so I'll dedicate something better to you in the future, I promise.
Title: Under Pressure
Pairing/Rating: Sam/Dean, NC-17
Warnings: Teh sex and teh dirty talk- no plot.
Summary: Dean gives Sam a massage, Sammy's a persuasive sweet-talker, things take a turn. You know the drill.
Thank you: to the freakin' amazing candygramme for some of the best beta-work ever.
Sam was still fast asleep when Dean pulled into the parking lot. Still asleep when he returns from the front desk with room key in hand, Sam’s bag on one shoulder, and his own on the other. But when he nudges Sam to wake up, he’s glad to see that Sam’s eyes are dark but clear, not glassy and unfocused the way they were when he was still running a fever.
Dean had given Sam the first shower, knowing that, if it'd been him scrunched up in the back of the car for 9 hours, and probably not quite yet over the flu, he would have killed for it. When Sam emerged he seemed steadier on his feet, and Dean couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief, glad that he didn't have to worry about Sam upchucking all over his backseat for awhile, glad that Sam was feeling better. When he asked, Sam managed a smile, saying that the shower had worked wonders, the food had stayed down for hours now, and the sleep had helped, and he was pretty sure he'd be up and about tomorrow.
So when Dean came out of the shower and found Sam sitting on the edge of the bed just where he had left him, hair dripping onto his face and knees, towel still wrapped around his waist, he began to feel the anxiety for his leather interior all over again.
"Sam?"
His fingers were pressing hard into the base of his neck, and the features of his face were scrunched together.
"You all right?"
Sam looked up at him, trying to twist his back and roll his shoulders at the same time and winced.
"Yeah...'m fine... just," he started, still rubbing, "don't really fit-" and broke off, obviously trying to work through a particularly tight knot that his freakishly long arms couldn't bend enough to get at.
Dean had felt bad enough about staying on the move with Sam in his condition, but with werewolves in Montana, and the full moon two days away, they both knew they didn't have much of a choice. So he smacked Sam's hand away.
"I got it, I got it..." he muttered, kneeling one leg on the bed behind Sam and trying to figure out where that particular spot had been.
"Dean, it's okay, I can-" but his back arched, and he sucked in a breath, and Dean could feel the muscle balled beneath his fingertips. Dean rubbed his thumb over it in circles, willing the knot to relax. He didn't know what he was doing, but with each pass the muscle seemed to give a little, and Sam wasn't complaining, so...
"Thanks," Sam finally muttered, and Dean grunted, a wordless 'you're welcome', before getting up and pulling a shirt over his damp head. He was rummaging through his bag for a pair of clean boxers when he realized Sam hadn't moved and was now rubbing at another spot higher up.
"You want some advil?"
"Took some," Sam muttered, fingers still moving.
"Still hurts?"
"I'll be fine."
Sam was just so stubborn sometimes.
"Lie down, Sam," Dean chuckled, tossing his bag aside.
"Dean, I'm-"
"Don't be a jackass."
So, Sam conceded a part of his masculinity and lay face down on the bed, while Dean chalked up a point for himself.
He grabbed Sam’s shoulders, pushing his fingertips hard into Sam's flesh. Sam hissed, drawing in breath through his teeth.
"Too hard?"
Sam shook his head, "No, that's..." he sighed, eyelids drooping, "That's good.”
Dean tried to remember what he'd seen people do in movies, using his thumbs on either side of Sam's spine, pushing the heel of his hand below Sam's shoulder blades, kneading and rubbing, slow but firm.
Sam’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped. "Right there!"
Dean tried to replicate what he had just done, and apparently it worked, because Sam smiled and moaned, sighing into the sheets beneath his cheek.
"Shut up."
"But it feels so good Dean...right...there..." Sam trailed off into a soft groan.
"Oh God, spare me," Dean muttered, although he couldn't help but be glad that it was working. Sam really needed to sleep well tonight, if he was going to shake this bug, and the noises he was making were giving Dean that added incentive to make the recovery process as quick as possible.
Dean continued his ministrations, kind of getting the hang of where Sam was sore, and how much pressure was needed based on how tight the muscles clenched. The only problem was that Sam wouldn't shut up. At first it was just entertaining, already filed away for the next time he had to take care of things himself, but now it was downright distracting. Sam was moaning, groaning, gasping, sighing- Dean could feel the vibrations underneath his fingers- and it was totally fucking with his concentration.
"Jesus Sam- you work down in Chatsworth to make ends meet while you were at school?" Dean tried for levity, but concentration? Yeah, that would have helped.
Sam tensed beneath him, and Dean kept rubbing anyway, somewhat afraid to stop. It had been three days of having to avoid even breathing the same air as Sam, and he just couldn't seem to help it.
"Sorry, I'll- OH, right there!"
Dean backed away as far as he could, stretching his arms to reach Sam's shoulder blades, wishing he were wearing ANYTHING besides or in addition to his boxers. The last cry had sealed the deal: he was hard as a rock and ready to jump right back in the shower. And Sam hadn't kept his promise, because he was still making these little whimpering noises that caught in the back of his throat, and Dean couldn't help but think of other things he'd like to get caught back there before he realized that Sam hadn't even promised to be quiet. His own throat was too dry to form words anymore, which was probably good considering his eyes were glued to the gleaming skin of Sam's back, still damp from the shower, and arching into his touch.
"Sam, really, you-"
"Mmmm… that feels so good, Dean..." And really, that was right up there on the top 5 list of things Dean did NOT need to hear right now.
"That's what they all say, Sammy," Dean managed, which was quite the achievement all things considered, so he didn't feel quite so bad that he couldn't conceal the waver in his voice. And Sam was mumbling now, halfway between words and moans, and Dean was so tense from trying not to listen that he needed his own massage pretty desperately at this point.
"Harder...right there, Dean... harder..."
Which meant that, 'that feels so good, Dean,' was instantly knocked down a few pegs, and a certain something else was knocked up a few pegs, and Dean just sat up straighter to comply with Sam's request, because the noises Sam was making were echoing through his head instead of coherent thought.
"Yeah... harder..." and Dean needed more leverage, so he scooted closer to Sam's body, having forgotten why he'd moved away in the first place. And Sam was grunting with each press of his fingers, so he really couldn't care.
"Just... a bit...more..." he moaned. So, without thinking, Dean straddled him, really kneading Sam's flesh with all of his strength, with a tried and exasperated: “Shut up, Sam!" and then all of his work was for naught, because Sam's entire body tensed into rock, and Dean remembered why he had been trying to back away slowly.
Shit.
Sam's breathing was harsh, but Dean was pretty sure his was more so. He clambered off quickly, almost falling to the ground. He cleared his throat. This was still his younger brother- whom he’d nursed back to full strength countless times in the past. For all the fucked up things they’d done recently, there was still a place he had to draw the line, even if his dick didn’t like it.
"Better?"
And Sam didn't look at him, not saying a word. Dean just wanted off that bed, away from the noise in his ears, and out of that state more than anything in the world right then. Sam’s goddamn voice was gonna keep him up for weeks, and he didn’t want to deal with it, accept it, or even think about it any time soon.
"Lower," Sam murmured. Dean's stomach flipped.
"What?"
"Lower," Sam repeated, same soft voice breaking the deadly quiet. Dean couldn't help but think of the last time he'd had his hands located where Sam was currently directing them, knees against the hard floor, weight pressing Sam's hips against the wall.
"I want you to, Dean."
Somehow, Dean could recognize what Sam was-well, fuck- asking for, but he couldn't just... things were already too fucked up and he wasn't going to make them any worse. All that...stuff they had done before, they were just guys, right? He backed off the bed.
"Sam, you're sick..."
"I'm feeling better." And Sam pushed himself up to stand, closing in as fast as Dean backed away.
"You're just getting over the-"
"I am over it." The towel dropped.
"You're high on over the counter-"
"I haven't taken anything since this morning," he said evenly, grabbing the hem of Dean's shirt.
"Sam, I'm sorry, but¬-"
"Just shut up, Dean," and Sam shut him up. With his mouth. And Dean resisted. It was a big brother thing to do. But Sam's grip was firm, and his tongue was nimble and forceful, and Dean couldn't deny that Sam's strength was back. So, he kissed him back, but that was it, that was as far as he would let it go tonight.
And then Sam manhandled him back to the bed, his boxers having vanished somewhere along the way. Sam was pressing Dean's chest into his own, hard nipples gliding against smooth skin, lips soft and breath damp, fingers expert in tracing the contours of toned muscle.
Then Sam pressed their hips together, and Dean felt Sam's dick brush against his own, and he had to concede that if Sam was that hard, he had to be feeling better. At least, that's what he told himself, because he wasn’t sure he could stop now, and really, it was sound logic. And, seriously, it wasn't fair that feeling Sam's gigantic hands on his hips, pulling him close, was almost as good as the feeling of Sam's gigantic hands on his dick. Not fair.
But, life wasn't fair- and this was one of those things he could totally live with. But no more, after this. They weren't going any further.
"So about that massage..." Sam whispered, kissing down Dean's body, turning them both over, and again, it wasn't fair, because Sam knew that he could get anything he wanted when he pulled Dean up against his body like that. So, Dean lost himself in Sam's lips again, drawing throaty groans from him instead, and Sam bit back, hands everywhere. And all too soon Sam's hand was around his cock, large palms sliding against the smooth skin, and Dean could feel Sam's breath against his ear as he whispered.
"Come on, Dean... please?"
Dean groaned, but hoped that the resounding, "no," behind it was clear.
"But it would... feel so... so good... come on..."
So Dean pinched his nipple, hard: short-hand for "No, you fucker, it'll hurt like hell."
"But Dean..." Sam kept talking, more frantic, kisses more fierce, "the pressure..." he gasped, "it'll make it- oh Dean... won't hurt...promise... know I'll like it..."
And Sam was rubbing his hands down Dean's back, fingers rubbing insistent circles, farther and farther down, just edging over to the other side of pain as he went. The endorphins were kicking in as the pain ebbed away.
Sam would've made a really great lawyer...
"Please Dean..." and Sam was just pleading, and Dean felt something inside him snap, and it was probably a combination of Sam's voice sounding like that, that and his impenetrable logic, and-
"Okay," he stopped, and everything was still, and the harsh breathing was the only sound in the room, and Dean's cock was throbbing, urging him on. So did the feel of Sam smiling against his cheek. And when Sam rolled over and spread his legs for Dean, well shit, Dean knew he was just helpless, like a moth to the flame.
There was lube in his hand, before he could think, (which was all for the best, really,) and when Sam started squirming against the finger that was rubbing the same firm circles around his opening as they had on his back, all doubts were pushed from Dean’s mind. So he slid one slick finger into Sam, and all he could think was that Sam was just so tight. Dean swore, if it hadn't been for the incoherent soundtrack Sam was providing that screamed affirmative, he would've stopped, but in truth, Sam was just so tight, and that was all he could compute at the moment, so he was glad the soundtrack was there.
"Yeah Dean..." and as Dean rubbed Sam's insides the volume got louder, and the pleas more desperate, "Fuck Dean, that feels... oh my god, feels so good..." Dean added another finger, and Sam groaned while he worked it in, but it wasn't long, before the same series of curses and whimpers started up again.
"God, yes, Dean... told you... feels so good, want... want you now..." and he was twisting, trying to feel more, and Dean would be damned if there was a sight hotter than Sam writhing on his fingers like that.
Sam was snarling now, "Fuck Dean... oh god, need to... Dean... fuck me please... now...fuck me now..."
Dean didn't need telling twice, and grabbed Sam’s thighs with a hiss.
He slowly pushed his way inside, little by little, because really, Sam felt so good that it wasn't legal, couldn't be, and there was no need to rush. When he stopped the first time, Sam wrapped his legs around Dean’s torso, which was a feeling that would definitely be haunting Dean's dreams for weeks, and every time after that he felt Sam's heels dig into his back, and that pressure on the small of his back sent even more blood straight to his cock. Sam still hadn't shut up, and Dean wished there was enough blood in his brain to hear what he was saying, because he was pretty damn sure it was some of the dirtiest, sexiest filth that had ever christened his ears, and that was what had started this whole mess in the first place.
When he felt himself hit bottom, Sam arched up with a gasp, and all the white noise stopped. Sam was panting, sweat glistening on his skin beneath him, and Dean leaned forward to kiss him. Everything just felt so perfect right now, and even though a little voice in his mind was reminding him that Sam would have an, "I told you so," moment later, he wouldn't have traded all the tea in China for what they had going right now.
And Sam, of course, just started talking.
"Does it feel good Dean? Feel good to be inside me...?" his voice all breathy, so soft, slowly rocking his hips, seeking out whatever friction he could get.
And a broken: "Yeah, Sammy... oh god... oh yeah..." was all he could manage in response. Sometime during the kiss Dean had started thrusting, without even realizing. He could feel that pressure rising inside him, low in his body, racing towards his breaking point. He slowed; he didn't want it to end. This had to be the first and last time. Sam grabbed at him, pulling him down.
"No-don'tstop-feelstoogood-soclose," he rasped, all in one breath, before Dean could slam into him again, and Sam cried out this time, keening loud, hips bucking wildly.
"Right there! Again-oh, please Dean..."
Dean mustered up the rest of his shredded concentration to comply with Sam's request. He slid out and slammed home, relishing that delicious friction of Sam's muscle all around him. He pulled out again, so slick and wet and warm, and he rushed to rebury himself, and Sam cried out his name in a broken gasp, writhing and coming, and with that perfectly gorgeous and beautiful and oh god, just ridiculously hot sight- Sam was clenching around him, and Dean lasted one more time, before he had to cry out himself, electricity ripping through his body.
They were still panting when Dean slid out. Sam was on him in a heartbeat, thanking him with kisses, even when they were both still gulping for air. He ran his fingers through Sam's hair, tingling, and spent, and he was exhausted, but Sam wouldn't stop kissing him, and he couldn't stop kissing Sam.
"Oh Dean... I told you..." Sam murmured, words heavy on his tongue, "I told you so..."
And, for once, Dean thought that maybe he’d listen to his little brother more often.
P.S. It's all Sam's fault, I swear. I started writing and he just wouldn't shut up and he just took over, and- yeah. All Sam's fault.
I know it's late, but y'know, if I wasn't such a horrible procrastinator, this would have been decent and on time. But I am a horrible procrastinator. And I don't want this to be any later than it already is- so I'll dedicate something better to you in the future, I promise.
Title: Under Pressure
Pairing/Rating: Sam/Dean, NC-17
Warnings: Teh sex and teh dirty talk- no plot.
Summary: Dean gives Sam a massage, Sammy's a persuasive sweet-talker, things take a turn. You know the drill.
Thank you: to the freakin' amazing candygramme for some of the best beta-work ever.
Sam was still fast asleep when Dean pulled into the parking lot. Still asleep when he returns from the front desk with room key in hand, Sam’s bag on one shoulder, and his own on the other. But when he nudges Sam to wake up, he’s glad to see that Sam’s eyes are dark but clear, not glassy and unfocused the way they were when he was still running a fever.
Dean had given Sam the first shower, knowing that, if it'd been him scrunched up in the back of the car for 9 hours, and probably not quite yet over the flu, he would have killed for it. When Sam emerged he seemed steadier on his feet, and Dean couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief, glad that he didn't have to worry about Sam upchucking all over his backseat for awhile, glad that Sam was feeling better. When he asked, Sam managed a smile, saying that the shower had worked wonders, the food had stayed down for hours now, and the sleep had helped, and he was pretty sure he'd be up and about tomorrow.
So when Dean came out of the shower and found Sam sitting on the edge of the bed just where he had left him, hair dripping onto his face and knees, towel still wrapped around his waist, he began to feel the anxiety for his leather interior all over again.
"Sam?"
His fingers were pressing hard into the base of his neck, and the features of his face were scrunched together.
"You all right?"
Sam looked up at him, trying to twist his back and roll his shoulders at the same time and winced.
"Yeah...'m fine... just," he started, still rubbing, "don't really fit-" and broke off, obviously trying to work through a particularly tight knot that his freakishly long arms couldn't bend enough to get at.
Dean had felt bad enough about staying on the move with Sam in his condition, but with werewolves in Montana, and the full moon two days away, they both knew they didn't have much of a choice. So he smacked Sam's hand away.
"I got it, I got it..." he muttered, kneeling one leg on the bed behind Sam and trying to figure out where that particular spot had been.
"Dean, it's okay, I can-" but his back arched, and he sucked in a breath, and Dean could feel the muscle balled beneath his fingertips. Dean rubbed his thumb over it in circles, willing the knot to relax. He didn't know what he was doing, but with each pass the muscle seemed to give a little, and Sam wasn't complaining, so...
"Thanks," Sam finally muttered, and Dean grunted, a wordless 'you're welcome', before getting up and pulling a shirt over his damp head. He was rummaging through his bag for a pair of clean boxers when he realized Sam hadn't moved and was now rubbing at another spot higher up.
"You want some advil?"
"Took some," Sam muttered, fingers still moving.
"Still hurts?"
"I'll be fine."
Sam was just so stubborn sometimes.
"Lie down, Sam," Dean chuckled, tossing his bag aside.
"Dean, I'm-"
"Don't be a jackass."
So, Sam conceded a part of his masculinity and lay face down on the bed, while Dean chalked up a point for himself.
He grabbed Sam’s shoulders, pushing his fingertips hard into Sam's flesh. Sam hissed, drawing in breath through his teeth.
"Too hard?"
Sam shook his head, "No, that's..." he sighed, eyelids drooping, "That's good.”
Dean tried to remember what he'd seen people do in movies, using his thumbs on either side of Sam's spine, pushing the heel of his hand below Sam's shoulder blades, kneading and rubbing, slow but firm.
Sam’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped. "Right there!"
Dean tried to replicate what he had just done, and apparently it worked, because Sam smiled and moaned, sighing into the sheets beneath his cheek.
"Shut up."
"But it feels so good Dean...right...there..." Sam trailed off into a soft groan.
"Oh God, spare me," Dean muttered, although he couldn't help but be glad that it was working. Sam really needed to sleep well tonight, if he was going to shake this bug, and the noises he was making were giving Dean that added incentive to make the recovery process as quick as possible.
Dean continued his ministrations, kind of getting the hang of where Sam was sore, and how much pressure was needed based on how tight the muscles clenched. The only problem was that Sam wouldn't shut up. At first it was just entertaining, already filed away for the next time he had to take care of things himself, but now it was downright distracting. Sam was moaning, groaning, gasping, sighing- Dean could feel the vibrations underneath his fingers- and it was totally fucking with his concentration.
"Jesus Sam- you work down in Chatsworth to make ends meet while you were at school?" Dean tried for levity, but concentration? Yeah, that would have helped.
Sam tensed beneath him, and Dean kept rubbing anyway, somewhat afraid to stop. It had been three days of having to avoid even breathing the same air as Sam, and he just couldn't seem to help it.
"Sorry, I'll- OH, right there!"
Dean backed away as far as he could, stretching his arms to reach Sam's shoulder blades, wishing he were wearing ANYTHING besides or in addition to his boxers. The last cry had sealed the deal: he was hard as a rock and ready to jump right back in the shower. And Sam hadn't kept his promise, because he was still making these little whimpering noises that caught in the back of his throat, and Dean couldn't help but think of other things he'd like to get caught back there before he realized that Sam hadn't even promised to be quiet. His own throat was too dry to form words anymore, which was probably good considering his eyes were glued to the gleaming skin of Sam's back, still damp from the shower, and arching into his touch.
"Sam, really, you-"
"Mmmm… that feels so good, Dean..." And really, that was right up there on the top 5 list of things Dean did NOT need to hear right now.
"That's what they all say, Sammy," Dean managed, which was quite the achievement all things considered, so he didn't feel quite so bad that he couldn't conceal the waver in his voice. And Sam was mumbling now, halfway between words and moans, and Dean was so tense from trying not to listen that he needed his own massage pretty desperately at this point.
"Harder...right there, Dean... harder..."
Which meant that, 'that feels so good, Dean,' was instantly knocked down a few pegs, and a certain something else was knocked up a few pegs, and Dean just sat up straighter to comply with Sam's request, because the noises Sam was making were echoing through his head instead of coherent thought.
"Yeah... harder..." and Dean needed more leverage, so he scooted closer to Sam's body, having forgotten why he'd moved away in the first place. And Sam was grunting with each press of his fingers, so he really couldn't care.
"Just... a bit...more..." he moaned. So, without thinking, Dean straddled him, really kneading Sam's flesh with all of his strength, with a tried and exasperated: “Shut up, Sam!" and then all of his work was for naught, because Sam's entire body tensed into rock, and Dean remembered why he had been trying to back away slowly.
Shit.
Sam's breathing was harsh, but Dean was pretty sure his was more so. He clambered off quickly, almost falling to the ground. He cleared his throat. This was still his younger brother- whom he’d nursed back to full strength countless times in the past. For all the fucked up things they’d done recently, there was still a place he had to draw the line, even if his dick didn’t like it.
"Better?"
And Sam didn't look at him, not saying a word. Dean just wanted off that bed, away from the noise in his ears, and out of that state more than anything in the world right then. Sam’s goddamn voice was gonna keep him up for weeks, and he didn’t want to deal with it, accept it, or even think about it any time soon.
"Lower," Sam murmured. Dean's stomach flipped.
"What?"
"Lower," Sam repeated, same soft voice breaking the deadly quiet. Dean couldn't help but think of the last time he'd had his hands located where Sam was currently directing them, knees against the hard floor, weight pressing Sam's hips against the wall.
"I want you to, Dean."
Somehow, Dean could recognize what Sam was-well, fuck- asking for, but he couldn't just... things were already too fucked up and he wasn't going to make them any worse. All that...stuff they had done before, they were just guys, right? He backed off the bed.
"Sam, you're sick..."
"I'm feeling better." And Sam pushed himself up to stand, closing in as fast as Dean backed away.
"You're just getting over the-"
"I am over it." The towel dropped.
"You're high on over the counter-"
"I haven't taken anything since this morning," he said evenly, grabbing the hem of Dean's shirt.
"Sam, I'm sorry, but¬-"
"Just shut up, Dean," and Sam shut him up. With his mouth. And Dean resisted. It was a big brother thing to do. But Sam's grip was firm, and his tongue was nimble and forceful, and Dean couldn't deny that Sam's strength was back. So, he kissed him back, but that was it, that was as far as he would let it go tonight.
And then Sam manhandled him back to the bed, his boxers having vanished somewhere along the way. Sam was pressing Dean's chest into his own, hard nipples gliding against smooth skin, lips soft and breath damp, fingers expert in tracing the contours of toned muscle.
Then Sam pressed their hips together, and Dean felt Sam's dick brush against his own, and he had to concede that if Sam was that hard, he had to be feeling better. At least, that's what he told himself, because he wasn’t sure he could stop now, and really, it was sound logic. And, seriously, it wasn't fair that feeling Sam's gigantic hands on his hips, pulling him close, was almost as good as the feeling of Sam's gigantic hands on his dick. Not fair.
But, life wasn't fair- and this was one of those things he could totally live with. But no more, after this. They weren't going any further.
"So about that massage..." Sam whispered, kissing down Dean's body, turning them both over, and again, it wasn't fair, because Sam knew that he could get anything he wanted when he pulled Dean up against his body like that. So, Dean lost himself in Sam's lips again, drawing throaty groans from him instead, and Sam bit back, hands everywhere. And all too soon Sam's hand was around his cock, large palms sliding against the smooth skin, and Dean could feel Sam's breath against his ear as he whispered.
"Come on, Dean... please?"
Dean groaned, but hoped that the resounding, "no," behind it was clear.
"But it would... feel so... so good... come on..."
So Dean pinched his nipple, hard: short-hand for "No, you fucker, it'll hurt like hell."
"But Dean..." Sam kept talking, more frantic, kisses more fierce, "the pressure..." he gasped, "it'll make it- oh Dean... won't hurt...promise... know I'll like it..."
And Sam was rubbing his hands down Dean's back, fingers rubbing insistent circles, farther and farther down, just edging over to the other side of pain as he went. The endorphins were kicking in as the pain ebbed away.
Sam would've made a really great lawyer...
"Please Dean..." and Sam was just pleading, and Dean felt something inside him snap, and it was probably a combination of Sam's voice sounding like that, that and his impenetrable logic, and-
"Okay," he stopped, and everything was still, and the harsh breathing was the only sound in the room, and Dean's cock was throbbing, urging him on. So did the feel of Sam smiling against his cheek. And when Sam rolled over and spread his legs for Dean, well shit, Dean knew he was just helpless, like a moth to the flame.
There was lube in his hand, before he could think, (which was all for the best, really,) and when Sam started squirming against the finger that was rubbing the same firm circles around his opening as they had on his back, all doubts were pushed from Dean’s mind. So he slid one slick finger into Sam, and all he could think was that Sam was just so tight. Dean swore, if it hadn't been for the incoherent soundtrack Sam was providing that screamed affirmative, he would've stopped, but in truth, Sam was just so tight, and that was all he could compute at the moment, so he was glad the soundtrack was there.
"Yeah Dean..." and as Dean rubbed Sam's insides the volume got louder, and the pleas more desperate, "Fuck Dean, that feels... oh my god, feels so good..." Dean added another finger, and Sam groaned while he worked it in, but it wasn't long, before the same series of curses and whimpers started up again.
"God, yes, Dean... told you... feels so good, want... want you now..." and he was twisting, trying to feel more, and Dean would be damned if there was a sight hotter than Sam writhing on his fingers like that.
Sam was snarling now, "Fuck Dean... oh god, need to... Dean... fuck me please... now...fuck me now..."
Dean didn't need telling twice, and grabbed Sam’s thighs with a hiss.
He slowly pushed his way inside, little by little, because really, Sam felt so good that it wasn't legal, couldn't be, and there was no need to rush. When he stopped the first time, Sam wrapped his legs around Dean’s torso, which was a feeling that would definitely be haunting Dean's dreams for weeks, and every time after that he felt Sam's heels dig into his back, and that pressure on the small of his back sent even more blood straight to his cock. Sam still hadn't shut up, and Dean wished there was enough blood in his brain to hear what he was saying, because he was pretty damn sure it was some of the dirtiest, sexiest filth that had ever christened his ears, and that was what had started this whole mess in the first place.
When he felt himself hit bottom, Sam arched up with a gasp, and all the white noise stopped. Sam was panting, sweat glistening on his skin beneath him, and Dean leaned forward to kiss him. Everything just felt so perfect right now, and even though a little voice in his mind was reminding him that Sam would have an, "I told you so," moment later, he wouldn't have traded all the tea in China for what they had going right now.
And Sam, of course, just started talking.
"Does it feel good Dean? Feel good to be inside me...?" his voice all breathy, so soft, slowly rocking his hips, seeking out whatever friction he could get.
And a broken: "Yeah, Sammy... oh god... oh yeah..." was all he could manage in response. Sometime during the kiss Dean had started thrusting, without even realizing. He could feel that pressure rising inside him, low in his body, racing towards his breaking point. He slowed; he didn't want it to end. This had to be the first and last time. Sam grabbed at him, pulling him down.
"No-don'tstop-feelstoogood-soclose," he rasped, all in one breath, before Dean could slam into him again, and Sam cried out this time, keening loud, hips bucking wildly.
"Right there! Again-oh, please Dean..."
Dean mustered up the rest of his shredded concentration to comply with Sam's request. He slid out and slammed home, relishing that delicious friction of Sam's muscle all around him. He pulled out again, so slick and wet and warm, and he rushed to rebury himself, and Sam cried out his name in a broken gasp, writhing and coming, and with that perfectly gorgeous and beautiful and oh god, just ridiculously hot sight- Sam was clenching around him, and Dean lasted one more time, before he had to cry out himself, electricity ripping through his body.
They were still panting when Dean slid out. Sam was on him in a heartbeat, thanking him with kisses, even when they were both still gulping for air. He ran his fingers through Sam's hair, tingling, and spent, and he was exhausted, but Sam wouldn't stop kissing him, and he couldn't stop kissing Sam.
"Oh Dean... I told you..." Sam murmured, words heavy on his tongue, "I told you so..."
And, for once, Dean thought that maybe he’d listen to his little brother more often.
P.S. It's all Sam's fault, I swear. I started writing and he just wouldn't shut up and he just took over, and- yeah. All Sam's fault.