Fic: These Things Happen (Dean/Sam)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam or Sam/Dean, whichever
Rating NC-17
Warnings: drunk boys, angst, frottage
Summary - Things always get hot and heavy when the boys drink - which is an excellent reason for them to do it! (Also see Dean's POV on this in Always)
Dean's lips are hot and wet on his, the leftover sting of whisky still bright on the roof of his mouth when Dean starts licking at the hard line of Sam’s teeth. This always happens when they drink - not just a beer at the bar while they ask a few questions drinking, but real drinking; buying a bottle for themselves and setting up at a table drinking. Doesn't matter if Dean's pounding them back alone or it's both of them - Sam can't remember the last time he drank without his brother - whichever way it goes, this always happens.
The kisses start slow and honey-thick, anticipation crawling up his spine on pin-and-needle legs. Dean's always been physical - even when he can't say a word about the feelings gnawing him in two, the half-accidental brush of skin talks for him - so it shouldn't be a surprise that it gets amped up to 11 when liquor crumbles his walls. But it's always a shock anyway, enough so that sometimes Sam's certain that he just imagined all the times before; certain right up until Dean's lips are soft against his, tongue ember-hot and slick as it coaxes Sam into opening for his brother.
There's a twist in his gut every time that nags at him that Dean's going to stop, any second now he's going to realize he's got his tongue shoved half-way down his little brother's throat and he'll pull back and call Sam sick for letting it happen. Except that never happens, even if it feels so real sometimes it's like Sam's swimming in it.
Dean makes this sound in the back of his throat like a moan and it pulls at something buried low in Sam's body, makes him feel like he's nothing but heat, like he's trembling from the inside out. Dean's pulse is shivering under his fingertips as Sam cups a hand softly along the curve of Dean's jaw; a sick thrill when the breaths puffing against Sam's skin quicken.
Everything feels thick: thick, booze-laden air dragged into his lungs in gulps; thick, swollen lips pressed against his mouth so hard he can feel his brother's heartbeat there too; thick fingers fumbling at the small of his back to dig their way down to bare skin; thick cock pressed against his thigh through layers of denim because he always seems to end up part-way on top of Dean. Luckily they're in the motel room tonight - a night in, watch the game, they'd said - and not some redneck bar where an idiot would probably try to hand them their asses and they'd have to stop making out to grind him into the dirt. It would probably be over after that, the moment lost on a fight, which makes this about eight billion times better in Sam's book, even if a part of him does love kissing Dean in public so everyone can see they're together.
Except they're not really together, not like it seems now with Dean sucking a bruise to the sensitive spot below Sam’s ear and whispering little nonsense sounds into his flesh. This is the only time they do this, and sometimes Sam wonders if it's the reason Dean likes to drink so much.
Still, they're alone, and that's something. Something that gets Dean pulling off Sam's shirt before he lays them both out flat on the creaking bed. The kid in Sam freaks out a little at the old springs because people will fucking HEAR them, while the perv in Sam does a little dance because people will HEAR them fucking! The smell and feel and heat of Dean's sliding under his skin, going right to his head and messing him up too bad to argue about it even if he wanted to.
Sweat prickles at his scalp when Dean's finger wind into his hair and he's touching every inch of his brother he can get to. Dean's got their dicks lined up through the jeans and is pumping his hips in a slow, bone-deep roll that says everything Sam needs to hear. He wants more, wants to be closer, to feel Dean's blood-rich length sliding like velvet sin against his own but it doesn't work like that between them yet, even though he thinks someday it probably will.
Instead he settles for slipping his hands into Dean's back pockets and holding on while his brother humps against him and breathes hot and wet into his neck. The pressure like this is almost too rough, too much weight, not enough friction. It’s just this side of painful and it slinks through his veins like an infection, nesting in every part of him until there's nothing left that doesn't ache with 'Dean'.
His brother's whispering sweet, filthy ideas against his ear like promises Sam knows he won't keep. He’s growling about fucking Sam over the hood of the car, cold, smooth metal rubbing against Sam’s dick while Dean makes him take it dry and thank him for it after; talking about putting a mark on him, burning something permanent into his skin so Sam'll always have Dean on him wherever he goes. Sam can barely breathe around how good it is, feels, sounds and if he weren’t already spread out on the bed, the raw kick of need would have laid him out flat.
As the drag-thrust of their cocks speeds up, goes sloppy, winding fast toward the moment when neither of them will be able to take anymore, Dean's words break down. It's not obscenities anymore, it's fucking begging; pleading for Sam to stay, never leave him again, promising to be good enough, be perfect, be everything Sam needs if he'll just stay, please stay. The words make Sam's eyes burn, so he shuts them against the sting of tears he won't let Dean see like this and whispers back everything he can think of around the knot his lungs have tied themselves into. He tells Dean that he's everything to him, all he could ever need, he swear to stay with him, take care of him, be his, all his, forever.
His skin is tingling, singing with lust and need and pain and other things that nobody's ever bothered to come up with words for or maybe nobody's ever felt before because nobody else has ever been Dean's brother. Sam's broken into a rasped, choked repetition of "yours, I'm yours, always yours" and hears Dean gasp around the thickness in his throat before he feels the warm damp spread against his groin. Sam's right on the edge of it too, rolling his hips up and soothing his palms over Dean's sides as he rides out his brother's climax.
There's a ragged sound that might be a sob against Sam's shoulder and then Dean's teeth are there, biting down hard enough that Sam can feel the warm tickle of blood on his skin just before the sensation ratchets him up so far that he couldn't keep from coming if he wanted to.
He's hot and sticky inside his shorts, thin boxers cooling uncomfortably in the moments his desperate bids for air make the fabric pull away from his skin. It's kind of disgusting, but he's still got Dean on top of him and he's not going to make them move until they're both ready.
For now he's content just to lean his head back against the pillow, wipe away the wet tendrils of hair clinging to his forehead and let Dean lap up the thin stream of blood still seeping from the wound. The fiery press of Dean's mouth against the broken skin is a raw jolt every time and he noses against Dean's temple and closes his eyes so he can relax and enjoy it.