Love That's Gonna Break Me In Two - (Sam/Dean, NC-17)

[britomart_is]

Title: Love That’s Gonna Break Me In Two
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean gets drunk. Sex ensues. Sam is walking a little funny the next day.
Word Count: ~4500.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Contains sloppy, imperfect sex and rimming, among other things. Porn, humor, brotherly love of both the porny and fluffy varieties. No spoilers.
Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to my betas adaisical, cyndrarae and thelonejuliet. Title lyric by Bad Company.



\\

Before they even got through the door, Dean had Sam’s shirt off and was pressed up against him from behind, working a hand under the waistband of his jeans. Brain fuzzy from a couple of beers and Dean’s very distracting hands, Sam fumbled with the key, almost dropping it before he could get the door open and drag Dean inside by his belt loops. Inside, Sam took a deep breath and turned, pressing Dean up against the closed door with the weight of his own body.

“Slow down,” Sam whispered. He kissed Dean slow and deep, forcing him to follow that pace with a large hand on each side of his jaw. Dean groaned into the kiss, his own hands fluttering over Sam’s body, trying to touch him everywhere at once. He broke away and stared at Sam with dilated pupils and a slightly open mouth.

“Fuck slow.”

Dean’s hands finally settled, one on Sam’s ass to grind their hips closer together and the other twining in Sam’s hair, pulling him in. Dean didn’t kiss him, just brushed his nose and lips along Sam’s face, breathing in his scent. He nipped at Sam’s jaw, feral and possessive.

“You wanted slow and romantic and fucking flowers, you shouldn’t have left me sitting there with a bottle while you were off letting that asshole eye-fuck you.”

“You’re the one who told me to go over there - ah!” Dean’s teeth had closed on one of Sam’s earlobes. “Since you somehow manage to piss off every person we meet, I’m the one who gets stuck going up to sleazy middle-aged men in bars to get information. Men old enough to be telling us about murders that happened in the 1960’s.”

“Sam, you’re fucking talking too much. And he was staring at your ass.”

“Well, it’s a nice ass.” Sam gave up. Dean drunk was even more of a stubborn jackass than Dean sober.

“Fuck yes, it is. It’s a fantastic ass, and it’s mine. So fucking bend over.”

“Okay, but bending me over might be more fun if we were, y’know, on a bed. Or not wearing pants.”

“That can happen. Bed. Pants. Check.”

Dean’s hands moved to unzip Sam’s jeans, groping along the way. Sam leaned heavy on him, awkwardly toeing off his sneakers. He melted against Dean’s body when Dean got his fly open and cupped him through his briefs.

“Get your boots off,” Sam mumbled against his brother’s throat.

“Hmm?”

Dean’s eyes were locked onto the teasing movement of his fingers over Sam’s crotch. Sam heaved a sigh and dropped to his knees, lifting one of Dean’s feet to begin unlacing a boot. Dean rested back against the door, head lolling and eyes dreamy. Sam tossed away one boot, then the other, and struggled to stand up again. Dean’s eyes had fallen closed, a smile playing over his face.

“Hey now, no falling asleep on me. We’ve got better things to do.”

Dean’s eyes flickered open, a predatory heat in his gaze. Wordlessly, he pushed off the door, swaying a little, and buried his face in Sam’s neck. Dean’s hands came up to Sam’s hips, hooking thumbs into his waistband. He tugged, slowly but firmly, at Sam’s remaining clothing until the denim and cotton were out of his way. Dean slid his hands to Sam’s bare ass, cupping each cheek possessively.

“Mine. This here? It’s mine. No one else’s.”

He punctuated his statement with a sharp nip to Sam’s throat and a firm squeeze to his ass.

“Yeah, Dean. It’s yours. What are you gonna do with it?”

Dean growled and shoved.

Sam stumbled, pants around his ankles, as Dean’s hands pushed at him, urging him clumsily toward the unmade bed. Dean pressed his body tightly against Sam’s as he walked them backwards. His mouth was firmly attached to the sensitive flesh behind Sam’s right ear, nibbling and sucking. The tiny bites and wet suckling sounds Dean was making sent a jolt of heat straight down Sam’s spine and into his hardening cock.

Sam gasped as he struggled to keep his balance, clutching Dean’s shoulders. He awkwardly kicked his feet loose from the tangle of pants and boxers around his ankles. Sam’s light pressure on Dean’s shoulders was enough to unbalance the drunken man, and they both fell to the already rumpled bed. Sam’s breath flew out of him in a grunt as his brother’s full weight landed on his chest, one of Dean’s knees narrowly avoiding making painful contact with Sam’s groin.

Dean hardly seemed to notice the change in position, busying himself with licking at Sam’s throat and rubbing his hips lazily against his body. Sam groaned and struggled to shift their tangle of limbs to a more comfortable position on the bed. He managed to drag them both up towards the pillows, pulling Dean back down half on top of him. Then he sighed and let his head drop back to the sheets when Dean’s mouth found a nipple and latched on, lavishing the sensitive skin with single-minded attention.

“Dean …” Sam murmured.

Dean hummed and started kissing sloppily down Sam’s stomach. Sam’s overexcited muscles twitched as he restrained himself from just shoving Dean’s face down to where he wanted it. God, the sounds Dean was making! But no, as hot as it was to be pinned naked under a fully clothed Dean, Sam had better ideas.

“Dean,” Sam said more firmly, and tugged on his collar.

With a look of petulant irritation, Dean looked up, gaze softening and eyes darkening when he took in his brother’s flushed face.

“What?”

“Get up here,” Sam said. He pulled Dean’s shirt up farther, determined to enjoy the body hidden under those layers. Dean obligingly raised his arms as he crawled further up Sam’s body and straddled his waist. Sam tossed the shirt to the floor and watched as Dean fumbled clumsily with his own belt buckle. Rolling his eyes, Sam pushed Dean’s hands aside and unbuckled it himself. He went on to pop the buttons of Dean’s fly and plunge one hand down the front of his already precome-damp boxer briefs.

Dean slurred something unintelligible and rocked his hips into Sam’s hand, hard. Sam stroked deliberately lightly along Dean’s straining erection.

“How you can even get it up right now, I have no idea.”

“Ah, Sammy, always underestimatin’ me…”

Dean’s voice trailed off into a groan, thrusting up as Sam thumbed the underside of the head of his cock. Sam sat up, still pumping Dean with one hand, and he locked eyes with his brother. He licked his lips, slowly. Dean’s gaze flitted down to Sam’s mouth and he swallowed hard.

Sam pressed up against him and spoke directly into his mouth.

“I think you should get those pants off. Right. Now.”

Dean panted and shivered for a long moment, then seemed spurred into action.

“Fuck, yeah.”

Moving quickly, Dean shimmied his jeans and underwear off his hips to join the pile of clothing on the floor. He stretched himself out as he lay back down on top of his brother, shamelessly humping against the hollow of Sam’s hip. Sam luxuriated in the feel of Dean’s bare skin sliding against his own from head to toe. Dean’s face and chest were flushed and a sheen of sweat was starting to form on his body, slicking and easing his movements against Sam. Sam’s own hips jerked up of their own accord, pressing his cock up against Dean’s belly.

One of Dean’s hands snaked down between Sam’s legs and grasped his erection in a tight grip, stroking hard and rough. Sam’s head pressed back against the bed, back and neck arching as his mouth opened in a choked groan. Dean leapt at the opportunity, mouthing at the long stretch of Sam’s throat. When he bit down hard just above Sam’s collarbone, Sam’s whole body began to shake.

Sam’s alcohol-fuzzed mind was quickly falling further into incoherence from the sweet blessed friction of Dean’s hand on his cock. He began rocking his hips mindlessly into the circle of Dean’s fist, aching for more substantial stimulation. His skin was burning up and he could smell whiskey and leather and pre-come in the air, Dean’s smell surrounding him and soaking into his skin. Before he even realized he was speaking, Sam heard his own desperate whisper.

“Please, please, please Dean …”

Reduced to begging, Sam wondered when he had so completely lost control of the situation. Writhing under the ministrations of Dean’s right hand, Sam didn’t even notice the stealthy movement of his left until Dean’s finger was already pressing deep into his ass.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck!”

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah, come on …”

Dean’s other hand left off stroking Sam’s cock to support his weight as he leaned over him, a drop of sweat falling from his collarbone to hit Sam’s chest. Sam rolled his hips, adjusting to the feel of Dean’s finger working inside of him, stroking him so intimately. Dean’s inebriated coordination left something to be desired, so Sam shifted his own body until Dean’s movements were brushing against his prostate. When he felt a second finger pressing against his entrance, though, he came out of his haze long enough to smack Dean’s shoulder.

“No way are you fucking me dry, man.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Dean said, something hot and dangerous running through his voice.

Sam twisted around, eyelids fluttering shut when Dean’s finger slid out of him. Sam rolled to his knees and was reaching for the nightstand drawer and the lube, when suddenly a heavy weight hit his back and he was forced to collapse onto the bed. He found himself pinned face down to the mattress, Dean’s full body weight pressing down on him, rubbing his cock against the curve of Sam’s ass.

“Seriously, Dean, what the hell?” Sam demanded weakly, trying to inject some force into his voice, but involuntarily humping into the mattress instead. There was movement behind him. Dean’s fingers were digging into his hips, pulling him up onto his knees and then spreading his cheeks.

“I thought you-fuck!”

Holy fucking hell, that was Dean’s tongue. Dean’s tongue, drawing a broad, wet stripe across Sam’s sensitive entrance.

In an instant, Sam’s state went from pleasantly aroused to struggling not to come. After months of refusals from Dean and coaxing from Sam, Dean was actually doing it, fulfilling one of Sam’s biggest kinks.

“God, Dean, what- oh God, what happened to…”-Sam’s voice faltered- “to ‘never in a million years’? What ha-oh, Christ, right there-what happened to ‘the wrong kind of filthy’?”

“You complaining?”

“No. Not complaining, no … yes, fuck, keep doing that!”

A low chuckle.

“Good,” Dean said, and he buried his face deeper into Sam’s ass.

His licks were short, still a little tentative, lapping back and forth over the puckered hole. When he groaned, Sam felt it against his skin. Dean’s tongue probed gently inside his entrance and Sam’s hips snapped back uncontrollably, trying to force that soft, warm touch deeper into his body. Dean responded enthusiastically, working his tongue deeper, wriggling and stroking until Sam had to frantically squeeze around the base of his cock to keep himself under control.

Sam decided he kind of loved whiskey.

“Dean, Dean … fuck, I need to get you drunk more often.”

Dean didn’t stop to respond, just let one hand rise up and then fall heavily, the palm smacking against one cheek of Sam’s ass. Sam jerked and gasped at the sting. He pressed the side of his face into the sheets, screwing his eyes shut. With each heaved-in breath, he could smell the cheap motel bleach and the traces of the previous night’s sex.

Dean’s nose, chin, lips and tongue all pressed against Sam, moving and driving him insane. Sam felt saliva drip down and over his balls. Dean was ravishing his ass, working him wet and loose with obvious pleasure. He slurped and sucked, and Sam was pushed to the edge just from the filthy, debauched sounds of it.

Breathless, trembling, Sam forced out a plea. “Dean …”

He practically convulsed when Dean pressed a finger in alongside his tongue. Sam was beginning to feel wobbly on his knees, barely able to support himself. He could feel himself opening up, desperate to be filled. A glance between his splayed legs showed Dean fisting his own cock as he worked Sam open with mouth and hand.

Sam shivered. “Please, Dean. I can’t … I need more.”

Dean’s face pulled away and he leaned over Sam’s shaking frame, fingers still plunged deep and working his ass.

“Yeah, Sammy, okay. Okay. Just …”

Dean’s fingers pulled out. Sam bit back a whine at the sudden emptiness. He spread his knees wider as Dean reached down.

With drunken aim, Dean guided his cock to penetrate Sam, fumbling repeatedly and slipping away. Sam stored that away for blackmail material for another time, sometime when he wasn’t so desperately aroused by the blunt tip of Dean’s cock brushing over his spit-slick hole.

Finally, Dean’s hand steadied in the right position and Sam grunted into the sheets at the feeling of being stretched wide around the head of Dean’s cock. Dean pressed in at slightly the wrong angle, making the long slow slide to the hilt somewhat uncomfortable for Sam.

“Wait, Dean, if you could just … a little …”

Sam didn’t have a moment to adjust; Dean’s hips were already humping steadily into him in shallow thrusts, barely pulling out before rocking back in.

Sam whimpered with discomfort and he shifted awkwardly, trying to find a better position. Dean was resting nearly his full weight on Sam, curved over his back, every inch of skin pressed together and sliding in sweat. Dean’s panting breaths were hot against Sam’s neck.

When Dean gave one particularly hard thrust, Sam’s knees finally gave out, and he collapsed flat to the bed. Dean fell heavily on top of him and-oh fuck, fuck, fuck, his cock slid so unbelievably deep into Sam, pressing hard against his prostate at this new angle. Sam desperately writhed beneath Dean, struggling to press back onto his cock, but completely without leverage in his pinned position.

Dean kept fucking into him with a focused, animal intent. He made no indication of noticing Sam’s collapse; he slumped lazily on top of him, not moving except for the roll of his hips.

Sam gasped, struggling to take in enough air under the pressure of Dean’s body on his torso. He rocked in tiny movements - the only motion he could manage in this position-back onto Dean’s cock and forward to press his own cock into the tangled sheets. Dean fucked him relentlessly into the mattress, sliding against his prostate on every other thrust and driving him closer and closer to orgasm.

Sam’s muscles began to tense as Dean’s thrusts grew faster and sloppier, losing any semblance of rhythm. Sam tried to speed up his own pace, feeling himself teetering on the edge of coming, not quite there but so, so close. His vision went white for a moment when Dean slammed into him, deeper than he thought possible, and stilled. Sam groaned, so hypersensitive that he could feel Dean’s come tickling inside of him.

Sam gave Dean a moment to come down, though he was twitching and panting with the need for his own release. His skin burned and prickled from the heat of his arousal and of Dean’s body blanketing his own. Sam flexed his hips a little. His cock lay trapped, unbearably hard and leaking precome, between his stomach and the sheets.

“Uh, Dean?”

Dean’s body was limp and loose-limbed on top of him.

“Dean?”

A light snore sounded next to Sam’s ear.

For a moment Sam was silent, too shocked to respond. Then he exploded.

“Come on, you fucker! Dean! Wake up! Wake the fuck up and fuck me!” Dean remained completely motionless, dead to the world. Sam let his forehead drop to rest against the mattress, breathing deeply to contain his frustration.

“Dean, I am never letting you drink again.”

Still hard and aching, Sam resigned himself to finishing himself off with his own hand. When he tried to move to get up, he quickly discovered two very serious flaws in that plan. First, with Dean passed out on top of him, Sam had absolutely no leverage with which to get out from under his brother. Second, the slightest movement brought it to his attention that Dean’s cock was still buried very deep inside his ass, and oh God-Dean was still hard.

Sam whimpered into the sheets. He wriggled his hips, trying to dislodge Dean, but he only managed to press Dean’s cock into his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through his body.

Sam froze.

He took a moment to evaluate his situation. The facts: he was trapped underneath his snoring brother, impaled on his cock, on the verge of orgasm. The options: he could wait for himself to go soft and for Dean to either wake up or roll off of him, or he could … get himself off on his unconscious brother’s cock.

Sam’s body made the decision for him. Hell, Dean was out like a light, he would never know. Sam pressed back again experimentally. Dean’s boneless weight pushed down on him, driving deep. Sam pressed forward again. Then back. Forward and back, forward and back, rubbing his cock against the sheets and rubbing his ass back into the pressure of Dean’s penetration. Sam kept his rhythmic movements slow, and felt himself steadily pushing towards the edge anyway. His orgasm, when it came, was a gentle full-body wave of pleasure. Sam spurted sticky onto his stomach and the sheets, his limbs flooding with tingling warmth.

Sam relaxed into the mattress, sighing softly. His eyelids were becoming so very heavy. Dimly, Sam realized he could feel the throb of Dean’s heartbeat. The comforting rhythm pulsed in the muscled chest pressed heavy against Sam’s back, and also lower, where Dean’s warm, softening cock still connected their bodies. If Sam hadn’t been so utterly fucked out and dreamy, he might have found that sensation strange. He might have struggled out from under Dean. Instead, he let his eyelids drop closed, and he fell deeply and peacefully asleep to the thrum of his brother all around him.

\

As consciousness returned to him, Sam became aware of a tensed up body draped over him and of Dean’s low, concerned voice speaking into his ear. That couldn’t be good.

“Sammy … just … don’t move, all right?”

“Dean, what is it?”

Sam tried to move to face him and instantly regretted it very, very much. “Shitfuckfuckingcocksuckingsonofa …”

“I told you not to move, Sam!” Dean’s voice edged into quiet hysteria. He shifted uncomfortably, which only further irritated the sensitive tissues of Sam’s ass - Sam’s rather sore, very well-fucked ass that was still clenched tight around Dean’s flaccid cock.

“You stop moving! Fuck!” Sam buried his face in the sheets, muffling a groan of discomfort. He felt his face heating with embarrassment.

“Look … we … we’ve gotta do this one way or another, right?” Dean reasoned, trying not to move at all. He rested his weight on his hands on either side of Sam, breathing against the back of his neck. “It’s like pulling off a band-aid, I’ll just-”

“It is not like pulling off a band-aid,” Sam growled. “Trust me.”

“Well what do you want me to do, Sam? Just stay like this? ‘Cause I’m really feeling that whiskey and if I don’t get off you and get into the bathroom soon this is going to get even more awkward.”

Sam hated whiskey. Hated it.

“Fine,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He twined his fingers into the sheets so he’d have something to grip. “Just … fucking be careful.”

Dean sighed with exasperation, but traced his fingers softly through Sam’s hair before levering his torso up, shifting to get his legs underneath him as much as possible. Sam jerked in pain at the movement, swallowing down a whimper.

Dean let out a long breath, then pressed a steadying, reassuring hand against the small of Sam’s back. He pulled out slowly, as gently as he could, his soft cock tugging against the unlubricated tightness of Sam’s hole. For all Dean’s caution, Sam was still blinking back tears by the time Dean’s cock was fully withdrawn from his body.

Sam gasped into the sheets, trying to control his breathing until the pain settled down. He didn’t even register Dean moving from the bed until he heard violent retching emanating from the adjoining bathroom. Liquor was bad, Sam concluded. Bad, bad, bad.

He pulled himself up to his hands and knees, and even that little movement aggravated his soreness. He didn’t even want to try sitting right now. Sam revised his previous theory: liquor was evil and should be salted and burned. Dean was still heaving in the bathroom.

“Dean, I am never letting you get drunk again!” A moment of silence.

“Fair enough,” Dean croaked.

He sounded miserable. Sam almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Sam crawled carefully to the edge of the bed, feeling ridiculous. He dropped one foot to the floor, then the next, and pulled himself to standing. He moved slowly across the room to his bag. The worst of the pain of Dean pulling out was gone, but Sam was still acutely aware of his sore ass with every step. On top of that, his ribs were definitely complaining about being crushed by Dean’s weight all night.

At the bottom of his duffel Sam located his dirty sweatpants; they would have to do. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be wearing anything as tight or rough as denim for the next few days. He stepped into them, grimacing at the stretch and burn of sore muscle and tissue. Self-consciously bow-legged, he crossed the room to lean against the bathroom doorframe.

Dean knelt naked on the tile with his forehead against the rim of the toilet. That couldn’t be sanitary, Sam thought. Before he could say so, Dean lurched up and dry-heaved into the toilet, his stomach already empty. He remained braced above the bowl, swaying on his knees. A trail of spit and bile trailed from his mouth to the toilet.

“You know this is karmic retribution, right?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Dean rasped. He coughed and wiped his mouth.

“I’m serious. Hangovers are God’s way of making you suffer along with me when I can’t sit down for the rest of the day.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but was overtaken by another wave of dry heaves. When it passed, he spat into the toilet and groaned. He dropped back to lean against the sink, shutting his eyes against the light. Sighing, Sam filled a plastic cup with water and pressed it to Dean’s lips.

Dean cracked one eye open and squinted at Sam incredulously. He reached one shaky hand up to grab the cup. “I’m not a fucking invalid.”

“No, you’re just my asshole brother.”

“Good morning to you, too, Sunshine.”

“Next time you get wasted, you’re bottoming.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“We’ll see.”

Sam could accept that. Almost sounded like a challenge. He hooked both arms under Dean’s and lifted. “Get up. Bed and Tylenol for you, you baby.”

Dean swayed for a moment, balancing with one hand on the sink before he found his footing. He shook his head clear and blinked at Sam, eyes scanning him, lingering on his sweatpants and awkward stance. “You’re not hung over?”

“No, and that’s ‘cause I didn’t try to drink the bar out of business. Unlike some.”

“But you’re …” Dean trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the lower half of Sam’s body and looking uncomfortable.

“A little sore? Yeah.” Sam thought he had rather a knack for understatement. Dean looked a little too guilty, though, so Sam added, “I’ll live.”

Dean’s face relaxed at that. His mouth quirked up at the side. “Left you high and dry, too. Guess I owe you one.”

Sam flushed, and prayed that Dean wouldn’t notice. “Guess so.”

Dean, oblivious, wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, pulling him in. “I’ll make it up to you.” He leaned in, and was stopped by Sam’s hand pushing against his chest.

“Dude. Vomit. It’s called a toothbrush.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he turned to the sink and fumbled with the brush and toothpaste. “For once I try for a romantic gesture and you’re gonna ruin it by complaining about a little puke,” he griped.

“I don’t love you that much, Dean.”

Dean paused for a split second, eyes flicking up to meet Sam’s in the mirror, and then looked back down, grinning around his toothbrush. He scrubbed, spat, rinsed and turned back to Sam. “Better?”

“Oh, yeah. You’re the picture of wholesomeness now.” Sam smiled at his naked brother.

Letting his arm come back to encircle Sam’s waist, Dean pressed a kiss against his lips. Stubble scratched against Sam’s face as he lazily kissed back. Dean’s hand stroked up and down along his back and side. Dean pulled away first, still holding onto his brother.

“So, my head feels like it’s gonna fall right off my shoulders. And I’m not letting you walk anywhere today. I’m thinking bed now.”

“I like the way you think.” Sam winced on his first step and felt Dean’s arm tighten around him.

They staggered out to the bed together, Sam trying not to grimace and Dean looking a little green every time they lurched. Dean collapsed onto the rumpled sheets with a groan while Sam shook two Tylenol out of the bottle on the bedside table. He handed them over and Dean swallowed them dry.

Sam paused for a moment, not sure how to get back into bed without pain and embarrassment. Before he could start moving, Dean noticed his hesitation and was reaching out, guiding him onto the mattress with strong arms and steady hands. Sam settled delicately on his stomach. A moment later, he felt hands tugging down his sweatpants.

“Uh, Dean?”

“Shh. We’re sleeping, remember?” Dean planted a careful kiss on the cheek of Sam’s bare ass, and then pulled the sweatpants back up. Sam snorted laughter into the pillow, strangely touched.

Dean pulled the sheets up to cover them and thumped down beside Sam on the pillow. He grumbled and blinked irritably at the sunlight streaming through the drapes. Wanting to touch, Sam flung an arm out, pulling him closer. Dean turned into Sam’s body, hiding his eyes away from the light by burrowing his face in Sam’s neck.

Sam was still too uncomfortable to fall asleep, but with his brother curled around him, he found that he really didn’t care.

\\