Desperation - WINCEST (Supernatural)
Title: Desperation
Author: mands_angelfox
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 3,381
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: For the "Crossroad Blues" episode in particular
Feedback: Feedback? Is love. No. Seriously, it is.
Summary: Dean reacts to what happened with that demon and Sam decides to show Dean just how important he is to him.
Author's Note: I would like to say that this is my very first attempt at WINCEST and I totally blame the Sam to my Dean and my very wonderful friend and beta-reader dea_liberty. She has gone over this so any mistakes you see are all mine.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Eric Kripke and all the good souls over at the CW. I am not making any profit from this so please don't sue me, I am a poor young English woman.
Desperation
It’s only been four hours since Dean cranked up the volume and answered Sam’s question without even saying a word.
Dean doesn’t look at or speak to Sam because he knows - knows Sam will want to talk about this, and there is nothing to talk about. So what if he’d considered it? Wasn’t dad’s life worth the sacrifice? Dad was in hell and that was all Dean’s fault; nothing Sam or anyone else could say would ever make that okay.
It can never be okay because dad made a deal with the demon and now he’s dead, and Dean’s alive and kicking. He’s living on two borrowed lives and while most people would see this as a blessing, it feels like a curse to Dean. Too much pressure on already burdened shoulders.
He’d grown up too quickly, had too much responsibility thrust on him with no way of saying no because, seriously, what kind of a son or brother refuses to look after blood? A really shitty one. Dean might be a lot of things but he’s always been a good son and a damn good brother.
Sam’s been looking at him, trying to fix him with his big old puppy dog eyes but Dean isn’t biting, not this time. Not that he’s ever really given in, not these days anyways. In the past he always folded like a deck of cards whenever Sam used those eyes.
What Dean needs right now is a drink to help him forget everything that bitch of a demon said to him - and to wash her taste from his mouth. She’d tasted like death and empty promises; all the things Dean had been running from for as long as he could remember.
Fortunately for Dean, Sam doesn’t say a word when he pulls the Impala over in front of the first bar he sees. Sam doesn’t do much of anything, just sits there and stares at the dash like it’s somehow going to tell him everything he’s ever wanted to know. Dean knows that what he’s doing right now is selfish, that he’s letting his feelings of pain, guilt and anger overcome him but he doesn’t know what else to do.
Yes, he said anger.
You wouldn’t expect that from a man grieving for his father now, would you? But damn if Dean isn’t angry. He resents the choice his father made, how it’s okay for his father to bend the rules but god forbid anyone else do it. But most of all he’s angry with himself. Angry that he wasn’t strong enough to fight death the same way he usually could and that his father had to be the one to die in order to save him.
Dean can almost feel the hellhounds on his heels, biting and snapping. How long until the expiry date on his father’s soul runs out and they come to collect? Too long. It’s not right and it’s not fair; his father was meant to live a long life - and Dean was meant to die. That was supposed to be the natural way of things, but whatever had been natural about Dean’s battle between life and death stopped being that the moment his father made that deal.
He sits himself at the bar, orders the strongest liquor they have in the hopes that it’ll chase away the thoughts and burn a hole through him. Maybe even kill him - if he’s lucky. People say he’s a lucky man to have lived through the things he has, but luck’s relative and Dean’s beginning to think he’s lived too long and he should have died younger.
It isn’t until he’s about five glasses into it that Sam joins him. Doesn’t say a word, just sits down beside him and reaches for a glass. This is the Winchester way: silent and strong, just the way their father had raised them. Dean knows no other way to be, not like Sam. Sam’s always been free to express himself in whatever way he wanted because he was the baby, the one that needed to be taken care of and anything he needed or wanted he got.
The problem now is that Dean doesn’t know where the beginning and the end are.
Before it was clear: he had a goal, a purpose, at the end of the very long road he’d been walking. It was simple - supposed to be anyways: when all of this was over his family was meant to be a family again. But that’s not happening. Not with one down and the other being of the leaving sort. Dean knows what his end will be. Maybe he’s always known it, so maybe that’s why he feels robbed. Robbed of a chance to breathe, to simply be, and to enjoy what he’s never known much at all: peace.
It doesn’t matter what Sam says, the only thing that matters is the voice in his head. The one that tells him he isn’t fit to be alive, that he shouldn’t be walking the earth in those boots of his and that he’s robbed two people of their lives.
He isn’t sure how many glasses it takes but soon the world’s a blur, a mass of grey and white, and it isn’t until Sam slams him up against the nearest wall and hisses, “you’re a fucking idiot,” that Dean realises something’s not right.
Dean just laughs. What else can he do? He’s drunk and hysteria doesn’t look that far off. “Whatever, man.”
Only that doesn’t get rid of Sam like it usually does and Dean’s officially confused.
“How could you even think about making a deal with that thing?” Sam’s voice is strained, his eyes open and glistening with tears just like before, just like in the car.
Dean narrows his eyes, pushes Sam away from him not caring about how hard he pushes but knows he needs to put some distance between him and the only person that’s ever broken him. “How could I?” He barks out, sharp and painful even to his own ear. “How could dad? How could he make a deal with the demon?”
“He did it for you!”
Dean just laughs and mutters, “Bullshit.” He steps up, more like stumbles, and gets right in Sam’s face. “He did it for himself. He did it so he didn’t have to live without me.”
Sam’s eyes flash, something indiscernible in the hazel depths, but whatever he was thinking or feeling it’s gone in a blink and he’s shaking his head. “No, Dean. Dad did this because he wanted you to live. He wanted you to be okay.”
Dean can’t accept that, won’t accept that. He just shakes his head. “He never should’ve made that deal, Sam. He should’ve left me to die.”
“And what about me?” Sam fires back. It’s unfair but it isn’t like Dean’s playing by the rules so why should Sam? “You ever stop to consider that maybe dad knew I needed you? You ever stop to consider that dad made the choice that he did because he knew that you’re the one I look to for answers? You’re the one that keeps me safe?”
“You’re not a kid anymore, Sammy. You can tie your own frigging shoelaces.”
Sam lets loose with this sound that’s caught somewhere between angry and frustrated, and he manhandles Dean back against the wall until they’re toe to toe and eye to eye. “I can’t lose you, Dean.”
Dean wants to fire off a sharp comeback, a nasty retort that’ll have Sam reeling for days and possibly even weeks - but everything dies in the back of his throat when he sees that look in Sam’s eyes.
Sam just shakes his head, his hands trembling as they grip Dean’s shirt like it’s his lifeline and if he holds on just hard enough and for long enough he can bring Dean back to him. “Do you hear me, Dean?” He lifts his eyes and looks Dean in the eye. “I can’t lose you. Not now and not ever.”
Dean opens his mouth to say something but Sam’s mouth stops everything in its tracks - and his head starts to spin, spinning in a way that’s no way related to the alcohol in his veins and everything to do with his baby brother’s lips.
This is wrong, fucked up, beyond insane and yet he isn’t jerking away like he thought he would and like he really should. He’s officially damned, going to hell, never coming back and it’s the thought of his father that has him pushing Sam away.
“Sam! What the fuck?” He demands, enthusing as much anger as he’s capable of into those words.
Sam doesn’t look ashamed, frightened or like he’s sorry but he does look like he wants to do again, which sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. And that should not happen, not when it’s your own brother.
“Do you get it now?” is all that Sam asks as he steps back in and literally backs Dean up against the wall.
Dean swallows, holds his ground, and notes how sobering this entire experience is. “Do I get what?”
Sam just touches Dean’s sides - feather light and barely there - but the touch grows bolder when Dean doesn’t push him away and it slides upwards until it’s around Dean’s neck and in his hair. “How much you mean to me.”
“Sam…” Dean starts, a warning on the edge of his tongue but he’s not fighting as hard as he should be fighting because Sam’s hands are warm and he’s been cold ever since the hospital.
Sam just shakes his head, leaning in and kissing Dean in a way a brother should not kiss another brother. It’s all lips, tongue and teeth, like Sam’s desperate to prove a point.
Dean’s hands come up to push Sam away but his brother’s kissing him so deeply that it’s getting harder to think let alone breathe. There’s a constant repetition of ‘wrong!’ in his head but Sam’s lips are silencing it one beat at a time until Dean’s succumbing, giving in - and enjoying every fucked up second of it.
Somewhere along the line this kiss became less Sam and more Dean-and-Sam. Dean’s hands are fisted in Sam’s shirt and his tongue’s duelling with his brother’s like they’re competing for territory and neither one is going down without a fight. It doesn’t matter that it’s wrong because it feels right, like it’s supposed to happen and honestly Dean needs this and Sam does as well. All they’ve ever known is this - each other - familiar with one another like they are with any weapon they use to kill the things that try to kill them.
“Now do you get it?” Sam repeats, gentle and soft against Dean’s bruised lips.
Dean flicks his tongue out, touches his lips and touches Sam’s at the same time, and all he can manage is a muted nod before he’s taking the initiative and crushing his mouth to his brother’s. He needs to taste Sam, is already imagining running his lips over every inch of his baby brother’s skin and already wondering what he tastes like. Has he always been this fucked up? No need to answer that; Dean knows it already.
Sam groans, arches into the kiss because he’s been waiting for this; waiting for Dean to take control. Because he’s always followed Dean’s lead. Always. Their kisses are all open mouthed and desperate, each brother seeking warmth and comfort that’s been denied to them for far too long. Sam tingles every time Dean touches him, briefly wondering if this is how every woman his brother’s ever been with has felt, and if so he can see why Dean’s so popular. Only the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, which he washes away by sucking Dean’s tongue in. He’s never liked the thought of sharing Dean with anyone.
Somewhere amidst the kissing, one of them suggests finding a motel - and dear God are they really doing this? Obviously they are because it takes them less than thirty minutes to find a place to stay and it isn’t long until Sam’s up against a wall with Dean’s lips wrapped around his cock.
Sam doesn’t know how they got to where they are, isn’t even sure how Dean seems to know every single way to set him on fire but he does and Sam doesn’t care because Dean’s mouth is so hot and wet around him that thinking seems pointless.
There’s a million different ways that this is wrong but Dean can’t think of even one so he doesn’t try, just focuses on sucking his brother off. He has no idea what he’s doing, working off instinct alone, and judging by the noises Sam is making he has to be doing something right.
Sam has no words to describe what it’s like to watch Dean’s mouth slide over him like that and he has no other sounds aside from moans that can ever do the feeling justice. He doesn’t mean to, he thrusts once then twice into Dean’s mouth; he just can’t help himself.
Dean nearly chokes and his eyes water but fuck that’s sexy, shouldn’t be, but it is. He slips and slides his mouth over Sam a couple more times, determined to wring a climax out of his brother. It doesn’t take any more than five strokes of his tongue and Sam’s coming.
Sam’s writhing, gripping and fisting at the short strands of Dean’s hair, and shuddering with every lick Dean gives to him as he guides him through climax. When he finally stops shaking, he reaches for Dean pulling him closer and kissing him to taste himself on his brother’s tongue.
Dean opens his mouth, lets Sam possess him for only as long as it takes for them to fall onto the bed. Sam whispers his name, pulls Dean’s shirt off and ducks his head to kiss along his brother’s golden brown skin. Dean arches into him, gasps a little when Sam licks and sucks at some scars he knows and others he doesn’t.
There’s a shift of power and control. Dean allows Sam to dominate him and encourages him to touch any part of him that his brother wants by curling a hand in Sam’s hair and whispering the pet name that Sam has always reviled.
“Can’t.” Sam drops a kiss against Dean’s neck. “Lose.” Another kiss to his brother’s chest. “You.” One more kiss and this time his lips are on Dean’s abdomen and his breathing’s short and irregular. “Never, Dean.” He pulls away the belt and slides his brother’s jeans and boxers away until he’s able to traverse the naked skin that he’s always wanted but never had the balls to take before.
Dean’s never been more beautiful than he is in this moment and Sam wants to say it out loud - but he knows Dean wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment so he doesn’t. He just lifts his head and slides his mouth down over Dean’s length one very slow inch at a time.
Dean groans, tries not to arch his hips and blinks through the haze. Dean’s had a lot of blowjobs in his life and they’ve never been as sloppy or as fucking good. “Sam, fuck…” He mutters as he tips his head back and desperately tries to bring air into an already burning chest.
Sam swallows as much of Dean as he can and uses his hand to jerk off the rest of his brother’s cock, slow and determined strokes and strong persistent movements of his lips and tongue. God, he never knew that this could feel so good and Dean’s so there, heavy and thick against his tongue. He just hopes he’s doing it right. First time for everything.
“So good, just like that…” Dean purrs encouragement as he runs his hands through Sam’s hair and he writhes beneath his brother’s mouth. He’s curled one leg, spread the other and gingerly moved his hips to sink into the wet heat of Sam’s mouth. Every movement sends a tingle down his spine, causes heat to pool in his stomach and makes it hard to breathe.
Dean’s ragged breathing echoes off the motel walls and his groan as he comes would have been heard three rooms away but that’s not what really stands out. What stands out is the way he whispers Sam’s name and the creak of the springs that follows when Dean moves.
Sam groans Dean's name, pulls him closer and Dean slants his mouth over Sam's, his tongue hungrily exploring the depths of his brother's mouth. Their bodies slide together, rubbing slowly against one another until every nerve ending is alive and each new sensation is higher than the last. Sam's practically begging for it by the time Dean's managed to work them both into a frenzy.
He murmurs Sam's name against his neck before encouraging his brother to spread his legs, which he does willingly because it's Dean and right now Sam can't deny Dean anything. Sam's the most beautiful thing Dean's ever seen and it strips him bare until he's unable to do anything but thrust into Sam and there's soon a short sharp pained cry from the youngest Winchester.
Sam’s got his legs curled, his knees and thighs pressed against Dean’s sides and he’s blinking back tears, releasing soft shaky sounds as Dean kisses him slowly and thrusts into him in short shallow bursts. It hurts, hurts more than anything Sam’s ever felt but he knows and he has faith that it’s going to get better.
And get better it does. Dean kisses him and tangles his hands in his brother’s hair and then grinds his hips in a way that has Sam seeing stars. “Fuck…” Sam doesn’t know what prompts him to lift his legs higher but he does and - holy shit - that has Dean sinking into him at a whole new angle, deeper than before and all Sam can do is groan.
Dean kisses Sam’s neck, licks away a bead of sweat and basks in the hard sleek lines of his brother’s flesh slipping over him with every thrust he gives. Sam is tight around him, muscles contracting, and Dean’s never felt anything like it and kissing Sam is all he can do to stop from losing all rhythm and slamming into Sam with a vengeance that’s frightening.
“Dean,” Sam breathes out, rolling his hips now that the burn is gone and it feels too damn good to stop. “Do you …do you get it now?” He asks, reaching for Dean’s hair to drag him into a searing kiss. “Can’t lose you.”
Dean arches his hips, grips at Sam’s thigh and uses it to push deeper, rubs against Sam until he’s gasping for breath. “I get it,” Dean manages breathlessly as his pace is shot to hell and there’s nothing more than a couple jerky movements to his rhythm. Sam’s like no one he’s ever been with, so responsive, and it’s messed up but right now, inside Sam, it’s the most complete he’s felt in a very long time.
Sam bites his bottom lip, arching his neck back as Dean seems to hit a spot that has his entire body wracked with shivers. “Love you too much to lose you,” Sam whispers quietly, kissing Dean one more time before he’s coming for a second time in the space of only a few minutes.
Dean watches his brother break apart and that’s all it takes. He smothers his groan against Sam’s mouth and allows his hips to jerk once more before, finally, they’re both shaking through the aftershock and all Dean can do is cushion himself on his forearms to avoid coming down hard on Sam.
Sam seems perfectly content with this, wraps his arms around Dean and combs fingers through sweat soaked blonde hair. There’re no words that Dean can say that’ll ever make this okay, but lying where he is with Sam wrapped so tightly around him in every sense of the word, maybe he doesn’t need words, maybe he just needs this. Just needs his brother in a way he never thought he’d have him.
Maybe all he needs at the end of the day is Sam.
Author: mands_angelfox
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 3,381
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: For the "Crossroad Blues" episode in particular
Feedback: Feedback? Is love. No. Seriously, it is.
Summary: Dean reacts to what happened with that demon and Sam decides to show Dean just how important he is to him.
Author's Note: I would like to say that this is my very first attempt at WINCEST and I totally blame the Sam to my Dean and my very wonderful friend and beta-reader dea_liberty. She has gone over this so any mistakes you see are all mine.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Eric Kripke and all the good souls over at the CW. I am not making any profit from this so please don't sue me, I am a poor young English woman.
Desperation
It’s only been four hours since Dean cranked up the volume and answered Sam’s question without even saying a word.
Dean doesn’t look at or speak to Sam because he knows - knows Sam will want to talk about this, and there is nothing to talk about. So what if he’d considered it? Wasn’t dad’s life worth the sacrifice? Dad was in hell and that was all Dean’s fault; nothing Sam or anyone else could say would ever make that okay.
It can never be okay because dad made a deal with the demon and now he’s dead, and Dean’s alive and kicking. He’s living on two borrowed lives and while most people would see this as a blessing, it feels like a curse to Dean. Too much pressure on already burdened shoulders.
He’d grown up too quickly, had too much responsibility thrust on him with no way of saying no because, seriously, what kind of a son or brother refuses to look after blood? A really shitty one. Dean might be a lot of things but he’s always been a good son and a damn good brother.
Sam’s been looking at him, trying to fix him with his big old puppy dog eyes but Dean isn’t biting, not this time. Not that he’s ever really given in, not these days anyways. In the past he always folded like a deck of cards whenever Sam used those eyes.
What Dean needs right now is a drink to help him forget everything that bitch of a demon said to him - and to wash her taste from his mouth. She’d tasted like death and empty promises; all the things Dean had been running from for as long as he could remember.
Fortunately for Dean, Sam doesn’t say a word when he pulls the Impala over in front of the first bar he sees. Sam doesn’t do much of anything, just sits there and stares at the dash like it’s somehow going to tell him everything he’s ever wanted to know. Dean knows that what he’s doing right now is selfish, that he’s letting his feelings of pain, guilt and anger overcome him but he doesn’t know what else to do.
Yes, he said anger.
You wouldn’t expect that from a man grieving for his father now, would you? But damn if Dean isn’t angry. He resents the choice his father made, how it’s okay for his father to bend the rules but god forbid anyone else do it. But most of all he’s angry with himself. Angry that he wasn’t strong enough to fight death the same way he usually could and that his father had to be the one to die in order to save him.
Dean can almost feel the hellhounds on his heels, biting and snapping. How long until the expiry date on his father’s soul runs out and they come to collect? Too long. It’s not right and it’s not fair; his father was meant to live a long life - and Dean was meant to die. That was supposed to be the natural way of things, but whatever had been natural about Dean’s battle between life and death stopped being that the moment his father made that deal.
He sits himself at the bar, orders the strongest liquor they have in the hopes that it’ll chase away the thoughts and burn a hole through him. Maybe even kill him - if he’s lucky. People say he’s a lucky man to have lived through the things he has, but luck’s relative and Dean’s beginning to think he’s lived too long and he should have died younger.
It isn’t until he’s about five glasses into it that Sam joins him. Doesn’t say a word, just sits down beside him and reaches for a glass. This is the Winchester way: silent and strong, just the way their father had raised them. Dean knows no other way to be, not like Sam. Sam’s always been free to express himself in whatever way he wanted because he was the baby, the one that needed to be taken care of and anything he needed or wanted he got.
The problem now is that Dean doesn’t know where the beginning and the end are.
Before it was clear: he had a goal, a purpose, at the end of the very long road he’d been walking. It was simple - supposed to be anyways: when all of this was over his family was meant to be a family again. But that’s not happening. Not with one down and the other being of the leaving sort. Dean knows what his end will be. Maybe he’s always known it, so maybe that’s why he feels robbed. Robbed of a chance to breathe, to simply be, and to enjoy what he’s never known much at all: peace.
It doesn’t matter what Sam says, the only thing that matters is the voice in his head. The one that tells him he isn’t fit to be alive, that he shouldn’t be walking the earth in those boots of his and that he’s robbed two people of their lives.
He isn’t sure how many glasses it takes but soon the world’s a blur, a mass of grey and white, and it isn’t until Sam slams him up against the nearest wall and hisses, “you’re a fucking idiot,” that Dean realises something’s not right.
Dean just laughs. What else can he do? He’s drunk and hysteria doesn’t look that far off. “Whatever, man.”
Only that doesn’t get rid of Sam like it usually does and Dean’s officially confused.
“How could you even think about making a deal with that thing?” Sam’s voice is strained, his eyes open and glistening with tears just like before, just like in the car.
Dean narrows his eyes, pushes Sam away from him not caring about how hard he pushes but knows he needs to put some distance between him and the only person that’s ever broken him. “How could I?” He barks out, sharp and painful even to his own ear. “How could dad? How could he make a deal with the demon?”
“He did it for you!”
Dean just laughs and mutters, “Bullshit.” He steps up, more like stumbles, and gets right in Sam’s face. “He did it for himself. He did it so he didn’t have to live without me.”
Sam’s eyes flash, something indiscernible in the hazel depths, but whatever he was thinking or feeling it’s gone in a blink and he’s shaking his head. “No, Dean. Dad did this because he wanted you to live. He wanted you to be okay.”
Dean can’t accept that, won’t accept that. He just shakes his head. “He never should’ve made that deal, Sam. He should’ve left me to die.”
“And what about me?” Sam fires back. It’s unfair but it isn’t like Dean’s playing by the rules so why should Sam? “You ever stop to consider that maybe dad knew I needed you? You ever stop to consider that dad made the choice that he did because he knew that you’re the one I look to for answers? You’re the one that keeps me safe?”
“You’re not a kid anymore, Sammy. You can tie your own frigging shoelaces.”
Sam lets loose with this sound that’s caught somewhere between angry and frustrated, and he manhandles Dean back against the wall until they’re toe to toe and eye to eye. “I can’t lose you, Dean.”
Dean wants to fire off a sharp comeback, a nasty retort that’ll have Sam reeling for days and possibly even weeks - but everything dies in the back of his throat when he sees that look in Sam’s eyes.
Sam just shakes his head, his hands trembling as they grip Dean’s shirt like it’s his lifeline and if he holds on just hard enough and for long enough he can bring Dean back to him. “Do you hear me, Dean?” He lifts his eyes and looks Dean in the eye. “I can’t lose you. Not now and not ever.”
Dean opens his mouth to say something but Sam’s mouth stops everything in its tracks - and his head starts to spin, spinning in a way that’s no way related to the alcohol in his veins and everything to do with his baby brother’s lips.
This is wrong, fucked up, beyond insane and yet he isn’t jerking away like he thought he would and like he really should. He’s officially damned, going to hell, never coming back and it’s the thought of his father that has him pushing Sam away.
“Sam! What the fuck?” He demands, enthusing as much anger as he’s capable of into those words.
Sam doesn’t look ashamed, frightened or like he’s sorry but he does look like he wants to do again, which sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. And that should not happen, not when it’s your own brother.
“Do you get it now?” is all that Sam asks as he steps back in and literally backs Dean up against the wall.
Dean swallows, holds his ground, and notes how sobering this entire experience is. “Do I get what?”
Sam just touches Dean’s sides - feather light and barely there - but the touch grows bolder when Dean doesn’t push him away and it slides upwards until it’s around Dean’s neck and in his hair. “How much you mean to me.”
“Sam…” Dean starts, a warning on the edge of his tongue but he’s not fighting as hard as he should be fighting because Sam’s hands are warm and he’s been cold ever since the hospital.
Sam just shakes his head, leaning in and kissing Dean in a way a brother should not kiss another brother. It’s all lips, tongue and teeth, like Sam’s desperate to prove a point.
Dean’s hands come up to push Sam away but his brother’s kissing him so deeply that it’s getting harder to think let alone breathe. There’s a constant repetition of ‘wrong!’ in his head but Sam’s lips are silencing it one beat at a time until Dean’s succumbing, giving in - and enjoying every fucked up second of it.
Somewhere along the line this kiss became less Sam and more Dean-and-Sam. Dean’s hands are fisted in Sam’s shirt and his tongue’s duelling with his brother’s like they’re competing for territory and neither one is going down without a fight. It doesn’t matter that it’s wrong because it feels right, like it’s supposed to happen and honestly Dean needs this and Sam does as well. All they’ve ever known is this - each other - familiar with one another like they are with any weapon they use to kill the things that try to kill them.
“Now do you get it?” Sam repeats, gentle and soft against Dean’s bruised lips.
Dean flicks his tongue out, touches his lips and touches Sam’s at the same time, and all he can manage is a muted nod before he’s taking the initiative and crushing his mouth to his brother’s. He needs to taste Sam, is already imagining running his lips over every inch of his baby brother’s skin and already wondering what he tastes like. Has he always been this fucked up? No need to answer that; Dean knows it already.
Sam groans, arches into the kiss because he’s been waiting for this; waiting for Dean to take control. Because he’s always followed Dean’s lead. Always. Their kisses are all open mouthed and desperate, each brother seeking warmth and comfort that’s been denied to them for far too long. Sam tingles every time Dean touches him, briefly wondering if this is how every woman his brother’s ever been with has felt, and if so he can see why Dean’s so popular. Only the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, which he washes away by sucking Dean’s tongue in. He’s never liked the thought of sharing Dean with anyone.
Somewhere amidst the kissing, one of them suggests finding a motel - and dear God are they really doing this? Obviously they are because it takes them less than thirty minutes to find a place to stay and it isn’t long until Sam’s up against a wall with Dean’s lips wrapped around his cock.
Sam doesn’t know how they got to where they are, isn’t even sure how Dean seems to know every single way to set him on fire but he does and Sam doesn’t care because Dean’s mouth is so hot and wet around him that thinking seems pointless.
There’s a million different ways that this is wrong but Dean can’t think of even one so he doesn’t try, just focuses on sucking his brother off. He has no idea what he’s doing, working off instinct alone, and judging by the noises Sam is making he has to be doing something right.
Sam has no words to describe what it’s like to watch Dean’s mouth slide over him like that and he has no other sounds aside from moans that can ever do the feeling justice. He doesn’t mean to, he thrusts once then twice into Dean’s mouth; he just can’t help himself.
Dean nearly chokes and his eyes water but fuck that’s sexy, shouldn’t be, but it is. He slips and slides his mouth over Sam a couple more times, determined to wring a climax out of his brother. It doesn’t take any more than five strokes of his tongue and Sam’s coming.
Sam’s writhing, gripping and fisting at the short strands of Dean’s hair, and shuddering with every lick Dean gives to him as he guides him through climax. When he finally stops shaking, he reaches for Dean pulling him closer and kissing him to taste himself on his brother’s tongue.
Dean opens his mouth, lets Sam possess him for only as long as it takes for them to fall onto the bed. Sam whispers his name, pulls Dean’s shirt off and ducks his head to kiss along his brother’s golden brown skin. Dean arches into him, gasps a little when Sam licks and sucks at some scars he knows and others he doesn’t.
There’s a shift of power and control. Dean allows Sam to dominate him and encourages him to touch any part of him that his brother wants by curling a hand in Sam’s hair and whispering the pet name that Sam has always reviled.
“Can’t.” Sam drops a kiss against Dean’s neck. “Lose.” Another kiss to his brother’s chest. “You.” One more kiss and this time his lips are on Dean’s abdomen and his breathing’s short and irregular. “Never, Dean.” He pulls away the belt and slides his brother’s jeans and boxers away until he’s able to traverse the naked skin that he’s always wanted but never had the balls to take before.
Dean’s never been more beautiful than he is in this moment and Sam wants to say it out loud - but he knows Dean wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment so he doesn’t. He just lifts his head and slides his mouth down over Dean’s length one very slow inch at a time.
Dean groans, tries not to arch his hips and blinks through the haze. Dean’s had a lot of blowjobs in his life and they’ve never been as sloppy or as fucking good. “Sam, fuck…” He mutters as he tips his head back and desperately tries to bring air into an already burning chest.
Sam swallows as much of Dean as he can and uses his hand to jerk off the rest of his brother’s cock, slow and determined strokes and strong persistent movements of his lips and tongue. God, he never knew that this could feel so good and Dean’s so there, heavy and thick against his tongue. He just hopes he’s doing it right. First time for everything.
“So good, just like that…” Dean purrs encouragement as he runs his hands through Sam’s hair and he writhes beneath his brother’s mouth. He’s curled one leg, spread the other and gingerly moved his hips to sink into the wet heat of Sam’s mouth. Every movement sends a tingle down his spine, causes heat to pool in his stomach and makes it hard to breathe.
Dean’s ragged breathing echoes off the motel walls and his groan as he comes would have been heard three rooms away but that’s not what really stands out. What stands out is the way he whispers Sam’s name and the creak of the springs that follows when Dean moves.
Sam groans Dean's name, pulls him closer and Dean slants his mouth over Sam's, his tongue hungrily exploring the depths of his brother's mouth. Their bodies slide together, rubbing slowly against one another until every nerve ending is alive and each new sensation is higher than the last. Sam's practically begging for it by the time Dean's managed to work them both into a frenzy.
He murmurs Sam's name against his neck before encouraging his brother to spread his legs, which he does willingly because it's Dean and right now Sam can't deny Dean anything. Sam's the most beautiful thing Dean's ever seen and it strips him bare until he's unable to do anything but thrust into Sam and there's soon a short sharp pained cry from the youngest Winchester.
Sam’s got his legs curled, his knees and thighs pressed against Dean’s sides and he’s blinking back tears, releasing soft shaky sounds as Dean kisses him slowly and thrusts into him in short shallow bursts. It hurts, hurts more than anything Sam’s ever felt but he knows and he has faith that it’s going to get better.
And get better it does. Dean kisses him and tangles his hands in his brother’s hair and then grinds his hips in a way that has Sam seeing stars. “Fuck…” Sam doesn’t know what prompts him to lift his legs higher but he does and - holy shit - that has Dean sinking into him at a whole new angle, deeper than before and all Sam can do is groan.
Dean kisses Sam’s neck, licks away a bead of sweat and basks in the hard sleek lines of his brother’s flesh slipping over him with every thrust he gives. Sam is tight around him, muscles contracting, and Dean’s never felt anything like it and kissing Sam is all he can do to stop from losing all rhythm and slamming into Sam with a vengeance that’s frightening.
“Dean,” Sam breathes out, rolling his hips now that the burn is gone and it feels too damn good to stop. “Do you …do you get it now?” He asks, reaching for Dean’s hair to drag him into a searing kiss. “Can’t lose you.”
Dean arches his hips, grips at Sam’s thigh and uses it to push deeper, rubs against Sam until he’s gasping for breath. “I get it,” Dean manages breathlessly as his pace is shot to hell and there’s nothing more than a couple jerky movements to his rhythm. Sam’s like no one he’s ever been with, so responsive, and it’s messed up but right now, inside Sam, it’s the most complete he’s felt in a very long time.
Sam bites his bottom lip, arching his neck back as Dean seems to hit a spot that has his entire body wracked with shivers. “Love you too much to lose you,” Sam whispers quietly, kissing Dean one more time before he’s coming for a second time in the space of only a few minutes.
Dean watches his brother break apart and that’s all it takes. He smothers his groan against Sam’s mouth and allows his hips to jerk once more before, finally, they’re both shaking through the aftershock and all Dean can do is cushion himself on his forearms to avoid coming down hard on Sam.
Sam seems perfectly content with this, wraps his arms around Dean and combs fingers through sweat soaked blonde hair. There’re no words that Dean can say that’ll ever make this okay, but lying where he is with Sam wrapped so tightly around him in every sense of the word, maybe he doesn’t need words, maybe he just needs this. Just needs his brother in a way he never thought he’d have him.
Maybe all he needs at the end of the day is Sam.