Ficcy goodness
Title: No Prayers Nor Bells
Author: mgbutterfly
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Category: Porn/angst/did I mention Porn?
Spoilers: Possibly for Salvation and In My Time of Dying
Summary: This is how Dean did it, time and time again. When he thought he would come untethered, unwind like a ball of yarn, everything that made him Sam scattered on the wind, this is what Dean did.
Prompt: Written for From Ashes... My first ever fic-a-thon. I got #3: Fight the Good Fight
Disclaimer: I own nothing and I have no money.
A/N: Title taken from Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen
None of this could be possible without barkeep and her KICK ASS Beta-Fu.
Sam’s never been an easy person. He’s always questioned, argued, fought. It’s what makes him who he is.
But no matter how hard Sam fights, how much he questions, how well he argues, there’s one thing that shatters his defenses. All the walls crumble and he’s just Sam.
Dean.
A single word from Dean can lay Sam bare. A single gesture, and Sam falls silent, in reverence. A single look and Sam goes to his knees in prayer or supplication or begging for mercy.
And this is what makes him. This is how he comes undone and is reassembled time after time. Through the hunts, the fights, the drives, the rituals, the endless days and the lonely nights.
Broken into tiny puzzle pieces, almost dust... then Dean places him back together one speck at a time. Perfectly. Without hesitation.
Sam needs Dean like... well, he doesn't need anything like he needs Dean.
Which is why leaving him is going to be so god damn hard. Leaving Dean, again. This time, though, Sam can’t come back. If they’re going to get through this he has to stay gone, off the radar.
This fight, this war, it’s about Sam, and staying with Dean only puts them both in more danger.
When they’re together, all the lines are blurred. Sam knows right from wrong, but when you throw Dean into the mix, everything becomes shades of gray. And that’s not a bad thing... it just makes it harder to do what needs to be done. And what needs to be done is already hard enough.
Dean had left the motel room about a half an hour ago to find food and refuel the Impala. Sam started packing his things the second Dean closed the door behind him. If he was going to do this, it had to be now and it had to be fast, otherwise, Sam would never follow through.
Sam had his hand on the door, ready to leave, when he heard the familiar roar of the muscle car’s engine. He listened as Dean pulled into a parking spot in front of the room and cut the engine. Fuck. Sam froze in indecision for a moment then started walking back across the room, duffle in hand, when Dean came through the door. Sam turned and faced his brother with something like an apology on his face.
It wasn't as much an apology as it was a defiant appeal for Dean to just accept that this was something Sam had to do.
Dean stopped just inside the door and stared at Sam. There was a long moment of silence so thick it seemed hard to breathe. Finally, Dean walked the rest of the way into the room and threw a greasy brown paper bag onto the rickety table.
“Whatcha doin’, Sammy?” Sam could feel the accusation in the question.
“Dean, look. I know you don’t understand, but I have to leave. I have to. This is going to kill us. It’s for your own good,” Sam started walking toward Dean and the door.
Dean started toward Sam at a determined pace. Coming face to face, Dean shoved Sam back a few paces making Sam lose his grip on the duffle.
“Fuck you, Sam. You’re not leaving. And like hell it’s for my own good. You’re just scared and I’m not going to sit by and let you kill yourself by walking out that door.”
Sam pulled himself up to his full height and steeled himself for the yelling match that was about to commence, “Dean, damn it, don’t you get it? As long as we’re together the demon is going to come after you to get to me. It’s going to keep trying to take you away from me, just like it took everyone else away from me. It’s going to keep sending its minions or it's children until it finally kills you, or worse, makes you do something you can never forgive yourself for. I’m not going to sit here and let that happen, not when I can do something about it. I’m leaving. I can’t... I can’t lose you too, Dean. I can’t.”
A little of his height seemed to leave as the weight of his decision pressed on Sam’s shoulders. Dean hadn’t moved since he’d shoved Sam and now he was watching his enormous brother become nothing but shadow, burdened by this weight in his soul to do what he thought was right. Even if what Sam thought was right was absolutely wrong.
“Sam, if you leave now, we have no chance of winning. We have to do this together. It can’t use me to make you turn. It can’t use me to bend you to its will. I know you, Sammy. You’re stronger than that. You control your own destiny," Dean rolled his eyes as the last word came out of his mouth. "Christ, that sounds cheesy. But, dude, there is nothing this demon can do to make you go all Vader on my ass. You know why? Because I won’t let it. And you won’t let it. You’re stuck with me,” Dean said stepping close enough to put his hands on Sam’s shoulders.
Sam looked down into his brother’s eyes. Fuck, he was going to lose this battle.
“All the people... all the people that we know and love, they die. We get close to people, they die. They die because the demon wants me and the others like me. Uses them to get to me. Mom, Dad, Jess, Pastor Jim, Caleb... they’re all dead. And how many others? How many others have to die because the demon wants me? It’ll keep happening unless I do something about it, Dean. I can’t let this happen anymore. I just want this to be over,” Sam turned his eyes away from Dean’s, afraid that if he stared too long he’d lose all composure.
“Not just you Sam. It’s not just after you. You have to fight this. We’ve paid a high price, Sam, I know. We’ve lost people we love, we lost mom and dad. But if you give in, if you give up, then we’ll have paid the price for nothing. Sam, look at me...,” Dean raised his hands and gripped Sam’s face gently, turning it to face him, “Nothing is ever easy, Sam. We know that better than anyone else in this wide world. But we can make it through this.”
“How can you say that, Dean? Everything crumbles around us, everyone dies. How can you think that we can continue this way and win this war? Because from everything I’ve seen, we’re losing.
Dean was quiet for a moment, his hands still holding Sam’s face lightly. His right thumb started to stroke softly over Sam’s cheek bone. He turned his face down and away, as if in resignation. Then, with complete resolve, brought his eyes up to meet Sam’s, “Because I have faith in you, Sammy.”
Sam stood looking into Dean’s eyes and was overcome with the determination he saw there. This is how Dean did it, time and time again. When he thought he would come untethered, unwind like a ball of yarn, everything that made him Sam scattered on the wind, this is what Dean did. He trusted, he believed, he built, he healed. He didn’t even know he was doing it. He never realized how his heart shone through in moments like this.
Sam reached up and gripped Dean’s wrists. Dean was pleading with his eyes, he hadn’t realized that he’d once again won the fight. Sam really needed to work on his defenses.
Sam leaned down and in, pausing inches away from Dean’s face. They stayed like that for a moment, breathing in the same air, feeling their breaths flit across each other’s lips. Finally, Sam pressed his mouth to Dean's and slowly ran his tongue over the other man's lips, dipping inside, tasting the sweet triumph that Dean had yet to realize he held.
The kiss was slow and sweet and, to Dean, it felt like goodbye.
Dean felt his world begin to splinter as Sam pulled away and reached down for his duffle. "Sam?" Dean would never admit to the raw need in his voice at that moment.
Sam tossed the duffle on the bed, unzipped it and pulled out his pajama pants. With a defeated, over-dramatic sigh he said, “I’m going to take a shower. You should take one, too. You stink.”
Without missing a beat, Dean punched Sam in the arm, “It’s your fault I stink, you know. If you’d been paying attention you could have shot that damn ghost before I got covered in it’s ectoplasm.”
Sam rolled his eyes and headed to the bathroom.
When he emerged with a towel around his waist, trailing steam behind him, Dean was sitting at the old table eating something the gas station was trying to pass off as a hot dog. At least the bag of chips was recognizable. He stuffed the last bit of “hot dog” into his mouth and got up to take over the bathroom.
Dean paused at the door and looked back at Sam. He was standing naked at the foot of his bed getting ready to pull on his sleeping clothes. Sam glanced over to see Dean watching him, “I’ll be here when you get out. I promise, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”
Dean tossed him a knowing nod and shit-eating smirk, effectively masking the concern that lay just under the surface. "I was just worried you were gonna eat all my chips, dude. I'm saving them for later," Dean said as he disappeared into the bathroom.
Sam finished pulling on his pants and stretched out on his stomach on top of the covers. He started mentally going over the events of the last few minutes, trying to figure out exactly when he dropped his guard and let Dean move in for the kill.
Because I have faith in you, Sammy.
He played it over and over again in his head. A mantra that lulled him into a dreamless sleep.
~ -|- ~
Dean held his breath as he exited the bathroom, afraid that Sam had left while he was washing the stink of ectoplasm away. He let some of the tension roll off his shoulders when he saw the sleeping form of his brother stretched out on the bed. Dean walked over to the bed, dropping the towel from his waist. He stood staring at his brother for a moment, letting the image of a relaxed Sam seep into his memory.
He sat down on the side of the bed, placing a hand gently on Sam’s back between his shoulder blades. Sam twitched and opened his eyes, moving into the touch.
“Dean,” Sam’s voice was rough with sleep. He tried to twist onto his back to face Dean, but Dean pressed his hand into Sam’s back and forced him to stay put.
Using the hand on Sam’s back as leverage, Dean pushed himself up off the bed and turned to lower himself back down to stradle Sam’s back. Again, Sam tried to raise himself up only to be pushed back down by Dean’s warm hand.
Dean worked his way down Sam’s back. Licking and biting and breathing on all the tender places from the back of his neck to the base of his spine. Sam was trying to squirm up into Dean’s lips, writhe into Dean’s mouth. Dean placed his left hand between Sam’s shoulder blades and pressed down, cementing Sam again, however temporarily, to the mattress.
Dean’s other hand ran down Sam’s right side, from shoulder to ribs to the hollow at Sam’s waist, down over his hip, up the inside of Sam’s thigh.
Sam moaned, low and guttural, twisting his hips and urging Dean lower. Lower. Lower.
And then Dean was there. His hands on Sam’s ass kneading and smoothing and pinching and spreading. Sam felt Dean pause, take a breath, and linger over his entrance. Sam went still in anticipation when he felt Dean’s hot breath caress the crease of his ass. Dean’s hands started spreading him wide, the cool air of the room making Sam tense up just a bit. Then Dean’s tongue was there.
Sam whimpered, actually whimpered, at the feel of Dean’s tongue on his ass. Slick and smooth and so god damn hot that Sam thought he might come right then and there. Dean was licking him like he was the only thing in the world, the only thing that mattered. Dean’s hands caressed his ass and waist and thighs, taking inventory of all things Sam.
Dean reached up with his left hand, smoothing over Sam’s taut muscles, until he came to Sam’s mouth. Sam opened his lips to Dean’s fingers and sucked. He moved his tongue around Dean’s fingers, coating them with spit. When Dean finally pulled them free, a disappointed noise crawled its way out of the back of Sam's throat.
Dean pulled himself away from Sam’s ass, and for a moment Sam panicked at the loss of Dean’s tongue. Then, carefully, Dean sent one finger slowly into Sam. Pushing as far into him as possible and crooking it just so, causing Sam to moan into the pillow.
Dean moved his finger slowly in and out of Sam while using his free hand to smooth over Sam’s body. Absorbing every scar, every hurt, every cut, scrape and bruise Sam had ever owned. Sam’s hands were curling into the sheets, flexing and relaxing, not sure if it was pleasure or pain. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was all that and more.
Dean added another finger and Sam pushed back onto Dean like he couldn’t get enough. And he couldn’t. It was all too much and not enough. Sam groaned, “Dean. Dean, I want you. You inside me.”
“Shhh, Sam. I know what you want,” Dean voice was right next to Sam’s ear, soft, lustful and full of heat.
Dean reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of lube. He made quick but efficient work of slicking himself up for Sam. When Dean withdrew his fingers, Sam turned his head and looked back at his brother. Dean was kneeling over him with his shiny, smooth dick in his hands. The needy sound that escaped Dean’s lips when he met Sam’s eyes was one that he'd deny to his dying day.
“Dean. Oh, god, Dean,” it was barely a whisper on Sam’s lips.
Dean positioned himself between Sam’s legs and lowered his head down so that he could whisper obscenities into his brother’s ear. He scooped his left arm under Sam’s chest and pulled him up to his knees, all the while licking and biting at his neck and ear.
Sam felt the head of Dean’s cock nestled between his cheeks, the agony of anticipation gnawing away at his calm. He moaned and unconsciously ground his hips back toward Dean’s cock, willing silently for Dean to just do it already.
Dean took the hint, pressing the head of his dick slowly, inexorably, into Sam in one long, smooth, drawn out motion. When he was finally all the way to the hilt, he paused, lowering his lips to the back of Sam’s neck and biting and sucking until he left a black and blue mark that said, Mine. All mine.
Sam reached back and grabbed Dean’s hair, urging him to move. When he spoke, his voice was rough with need, "Just move for fuck’s sake."
Dean began the tortuously slow thrusts in and out, biting and sucking and whispering in Sam’s ear. He reached his right hand around Sam’s body and grabbed hold of Sam’s cock, hard and ready for release.
Dean’s was moving slowly, taking his time, drawing it out. His hand found a steady rhythm to match the movement of his hips. Sam was tensing up, and Dean knew it wouldn't be long now before he pulled Sam over the brink. He reached up with his free hand and curled his fingers into Sam’s hair. With a wicked, dirty noise, he pulled Sam’s head back and leaned in to bite his neck. Hard.
“Dean... oh fuck.... oh god... Dean... DEAN ” Sam came with such force he's pretty sure his brains just came out his dick. His body clenching and releasing around Dean inside him.
Dean wanted to revel in this, in Sam's trust and need. He wanted Sam to feel their connection as deeply as he did, feel the total freedom that came from absolution.
Sam's legs started to give out under him, so Dean guided him down to lie flat on the mattress.
Kissing Sam’s neck, just behind his ear, Dean whispered, “All for you, Sam.”
One, two, three slow, deep thrusts and Dean was taken over the edge by the sound of his name on Sam’s lips. He pulsed deep inside his brother, shaking and trembling until he was wrung out and completely spent.
He lowered himself onto Sam’s back, still buried inside him but going soft as the moments passed. Sam sighed and turned his head to try to see Dean’s face, now resting between Sam’s shoulder blades.
“Dean,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Mmmmm, yeah, Sammy?” Dean mumbled; a boneless heap on top of Sam.
“You’re heavy.”
The laugh Dean let escape was a rumble felt all the way to Sam's soul. He rolled off of Sam onto his side and pulled Sam along with him so that Sam’s back was nestled against Dean’s chest. Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he really does like to cuddle.
Sam wiggled to get himself comfy and Dean slapped him on the ass when he decided it was taking too long.
“Jerk,” Sam said, but there was no venom in his voice.
“Bitch,” Dean whispered against his neck.
They’d spoken this language all their lives. Nothing was ever lost in translation.
Author: mgbutterfly
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Category: Porn/angst/did I mention Porn?
Spoilers: Possibly for Salvation and In My Time of Dying
Summary: This is how Dean did it, time and time again. When he thought he would come untethered, unwind like a ball of yarn, everything that made him Sam scattered on the wind, this is what Dean did.
Prompt: Written for From Ashes... My first ever fic-a-thon. I got #3: Fight the Good Fight
Disclaimer: I own nothing and I have no money.
A/N: Title taken from Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen
None of this could be possible without barkeep and her KICK ASS Beta-Fu.
Sam’s never been an easy person. He’s always questioned, argued, fought. It’s what makes him who he is.
But no matter how hard Sam fights, how much he questions, how well he argues, there’s one thing that shatters his defenses. All the walls crumble and he’s just Sam.
Dean.
A single word from Dean can lay Sam bare. A single gesture, and Sam falls silent, in reverence. A single look and Sam goes to his knees in prayer or supplication or begging for mercy.
And this is what makes him. This is how he comes undone and is reassembled time after time. Through the hunts, the fights, the drives, the rituals, the endless days and the lonely nights.
Broken into tiny puzzle pieces, almost dust... then Dean places him back together one speck at a time. Perfectly. Without hesitation.
Sam needs Dean like... well, he doesn't need anything like he needs Dean.
Which is why leaving him is going to be so god damn hard. Leaving Dean, again. This time, though, Sam can’t come back. If they’re going to get through this he has to stay gone, off the radar.
This fight, this war, it’s about Sam, and staying with Dean only puts them both in more danger.
When they’re together, all the lines are blurred. Sam knows right from wrong, but when you throw Dean into the mix, everything becomes shades of gray. And that’s not a bad thing... it just makes it harder to do what needs to be done. And what needs to be done is already hard enough.
Dean had left the motel room about a half an hour ago to find food and refuel the Impala. Sam started packing his things the second Dean closed the door behind him. If he was going to do this, it had to be now and it had to be fast, otherwise, Sam would never follow through.
Sam had his hand on the door, ready to leave, when he heard the familiar roar of the muscle car’s engine. He listened as Dean pulled into a parking spot in front of the room and cut the engine. Fuck. Sam froze in indecision for a moment then started walking back across the room, duffle in hand, when Dean came through the door. Sam turned and faced his brother with something like an apology on his face.
It wasn't as much an apology as it was a defiant appeal for Dean to just accept that this was something Sam had to do.
Dean stopped just inside the door and stared at Sam. There was a long moment of silence so thick it seemed hard to breathe. Finally, Dean walked the rest of the way into the room and threw a greasy brown paper bag onto the rickety table.
“Whatcha doin’, Sammy?” Sam could feel the accusation in the question.
“Dean, look. I know you don’t understand, but I have to leave. I have to. This is going to kill us. It’s for your own good,” Sam started walking toward Dean and the door.
Dean started toward Sam at a determined pace. Coming face to face, Dean shoved Sam back a few paces making Sam lose his grip on the duffle.
“Fuck you, Sam. You’re not leaving. And like hell it’s for my own good. You’re just scared and I’m not going to sit by and let you kill yourself by walking out that door.”
Sam pulled himself up to his full height and steeled himself for the yelling match that was about to commence, “Dean, damn it, don’t you get it? As long as we’re together the demon is going to come after you to get to me. It’s going to keep trying to take you away from me, just like it took everyone else away from me. It’s going to keep sending its minions or it's children until it finally kills you, or worse, makes you do something you can never forgive yourself for. I’m not going to sit here and let that happen, not when I can do something about it. I’m leaving. I can’t... I can’t lose you too, Dean. I can’t.”
A little of his height seemed to leave as the weight of his decision pressed on Sam’s shoulders. Dean hadn’t moved since he’d shoved Sam and now he was watching his enormous brother become nothing but shadow, burdened by this weight in his soul to do what he thought was right. Even if what Sam thought was right was absolutely wrong.
“Sam, if you leave now, we have no chance of winning. We have to do this together. It can’t use me to make you turn. It can’t use me to bend you to its will. I know you, Sammy. You’re stronger than that. You control your own destiny," Dean rolled his eyes as the last word came out of his mouth. "Christ, that sounds cheesy. But, dude, there is nothing this demon can do to make you go all Vader on my ass. You know why? Because I won’t let it. And you won’t let it. You’re stuck with me,” Dean said stepping close enough to put his hands on Sam’s shoulders.
Sam looked down into his brother’s eyes. Fuck, he was going to lose this battle.
“All the people... all the people that we know and love, they die. We get close to people, they die. They die because the demon wants me and the others like me. Uses them to get to me. Mom, Dad, Jess, Pastor Jim, Caleb... they’re all dead. And how many others? How many others have to die because the demon wants me? It’ll keep happening unless I do something about it, Dean. I can’t let this happen anymore. I just want this to be over,” Sam turned his eyes away from Dean’s, afraid that if he stared too long he’d lose all composure.
“Not just you Sam. It’s not just after you. You have to fight this. We’ve paid a high price, Sam, I know. We’ve lost people we love, we lost mom and dad. But if you give in, if you give up, then we’ll have paid the price for nothing. Sam, look at me...,” Dean raised his hands and gripped Sam’s face gently, turning it to face him, “Nothing is ever easy, Sam. We know that better than anyone else in this wide world. But we can make it through this.”
“How can you say that, Dean? Everything crumbles around us, everyone dies. How can you think that we can continue this way and win this war? Because from everything I’ve seen, we’re losing.
Dean was quiet for a moment, his hands still holding Sam’s face lightly. His right thumb started to stroke softly over Sam’s cheek bone. He turned his face down and away, as if in resignation. Then, with complete resolve, brought his eyes up to meet Sam’s, “Because I have faith in you, Sammy.”
Sam stood looking into Dean’s eyes and was overcome with the determination he saw there. This is how Dean did it, time and time again. When he thought he would come untethered, unwind like a ball of yarn, everything that made him Sam scattered on the wind, this is what Dean did. He trusted, he believed, he built, he healed. He didn’t even know he was doing it. He never realized how his heart shone through in moments like this.
Sam reached up and gripped Dean’s wrists. Dean was pleading with his eyes, he hadn’t realized that he’d once again won the fight. Sam really needed to work on his defenses.
Sam leaned down and in, pausing inches away from Dean’s face. They stayed like that for a moment, breathing in the same air, feeling their breaths flit across each other’s lips. Finally, Sam pressed his mouth to Dean's and slowly ran his tongue over the other man's lips, dipping inside, tasting the sweet triumph that Dean had yet to realize he held.
The kiss was slow and sweet and, to Dean, it felt like goodbye.
Dean felt his world begin to splinter as Sam pulled away and reached down for his duffle. "Sam?" Dean would never admit to the raw need in his voice at that moment.
Sam tossed the duffle on the bed, unzipped it and pulled out his pajama pants. With a defeated, over-dramatic sigh he said, “I’m going to take a shower. You should take one, too. You stink.”
Without missing a beat, Dean punched Sam in the arm, “It’s your fault I stink, you know. If you’d been paying attention you could have shot that damn ghost before I got covered in it’s ectoplasm.”
Sam rolled his eyes and headed to the bathroom.
When he emerged with a towel around his waist, trailing steam behind him, Dean was sitting at the old table eating something the gas station was trying to pass off as a hot dog. At least the bag of chips was recognizable. He stuffed the last bit of “hot dog” into his mouth and got up to take over the bathroom.
Dean paused at the door and looked back at Sam. He was standing naked at the foot of his bed getting ready to pull on his sleeping clothes. Sam glanced over to see Dean watching him, “I’ll be here when you get out. I promise, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”
Dean tossed him a knowing nod and shit-eating smirk, effectively masking the concern that lay just under the surface. "I was just worried you were gonna eat all my chips, dude. I'm saving them for later," Dean said as he disappeared into the bathroom.
Sam finished pulling on his pants and stretched out on his stomach on top of the covers. He started mentally going over the events of the last few minutes, trying to figure out exactly when he dropped his guard and let Dean move in for the kill.
Because I have faith in you, Sammy.
He played it over and over again in his head. A mantra that lulled him into a dreamless sleep.
~ -|- ~
Dean held his breath as he exited the bathroom, afraid that Sam had left while he was washing the stink of ectoplasm away. He let some of the tension roll off his shoulders when he saw the sleeping form of his brother stretched out on the bed. Dean walked over to the bed, dropping the towel from his waist. He stood staring at his brother for a moment, letting the image of a relaxed Sam seep into his memory.
He sat down on the side of the bed, placing a hand gently on Sam’s back between his shoulder blades. Sam twitched and opened his eyes, moving into the touch.
“Dean,” Sam’s voice was rough with sleep. He tried to twist onto his back to face Dean, but Dean pressed his hand into Sam’s back and forced him to stay put.
Using the hand on Sam’s back as leverage, Dean pushed himself up off the bed and turned to lower himself back down to stradle Sam’s back. Again, Sam tried to raise himself up only to be pushed back down by Dean’s warm hand.
Dean worked his way down Sam’s back. Licking and biting and breathing on all the tender places from the back of his neck to the base of his spine. Sam was trying to squirm up into Dean’s lips, writhe into Dean’s mouth. Dean placed his left hand between Sam’s shoulder blades and pressed down, cementing Sam again, however temporarily, to the mattress.
Dean’s other hand ran down Sam’s right side, from shoulder to ribs to the hollow at Sam’s waist, down over his hip, up the inside of Sam’s thigh.
Sam moaned, low and guttural, twisting his hips and urging Dean lower. Lower. Lower.
And then Dean was there. His hands on Sam’s ass kneading and smoothing and pinching and spreading. Sam felt Dean pause, take a breath, and linger over his entrance. Sam went still in anticipation when he felt Dean’s hot breath caress the crease of his ass. Dean’s hands started spreading him wide, the cool air of the room making Sam tense up just a bit. Then Dean’s tongue was there.
Sam whimpered, actually whimpered, at the feel of Dean’s tongue on his ass. Slick and smooth and so god damn hot that Sam thought he might come right then and there. Dean was licking him like he was the only thing in the world, the only thing that mattered. Dean’s hands caressed his ass and waist and thighs, taking inventory of all things Sam.
Dean reached up with his left hand, smoothing over Sam’s taut muscles, until he came to Sam’s mouth. Sam opened his lips to Dean’s fingers and sucked. He moved his tongue around Dean’s fingers, coating them with spit. When Dean finally pulled them free, a disappointed noise crawled its way out of the back of Sam's throat.
Dean pulled himself away from Sam’s ass, and for a moment Sam panicked at the loss of Dean’s tongue. Then, carefully, Dean sent one finger slowly into Sam. Pushing as far into him as possible and crooking it just so, causing Sam to moan into the pillow.
Dean moved his finger slowly in and out of Sam while using his free hand to smooth over Sam’s body. Absorbing every scar, every hurt, every cut, scrape and bruise Sam had ever owned. Sam’s hands were curling into the sheets, flexing and relaxing, not sure if it was pleasure or pain. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was all that and more.
Dean added another finger and Sam pushed back onto Dean like he couldn’t get enough. And he couldn’t. It was all too much and not enough. Sam groaned, “Dean. Dean, I want you. You inside me.”
“Shhh, Sam. I know what you want,” Dean voice was right next to Sam’s ear, soft, lustful and full of heat.
Dean reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of lube. He made quick but efficient work of slicking himself up for Sam. When Dean withdrew his fingers, Sam turned his head and looked back at his brother. Dean was kneeling over him with his shiny, smooth dick in his hands. The needy sound that escaped Dean’s lips when he met Sam’s eyes was one that he'd deny to his dying day.
“Dean. Oh, god, Dean,” it was barely a whisper on Sam’s lips.
Dean positioned himself between Sam’s legs and lowered his head down so that he could whisper obscenities into his brother’s ear. He scooped his left arm under Sam’s chest and pulled him up to his knees, all the while licking and biting at his neck and ear.
Sam felt the head of Dean’s cock nestled between his cheeks, the agony of anticipation gnawing away at his calm. He moaned and unconsciously ground his hips back toward Dean’s cock, willing silently for Dean to just do it already.
Dean took the hint, pressing the head of his dick slowly, inexorably, into Sam in one long, smooth, drawn out motion. When he was finally all the way to the hilt, he paused, lowering his lips to the back of Sam’s neck and biting and sucking until he left a black and blue mark that said, Mine. All mine.
Sam reached back and grabbed Dean’s hair, urging him to move. When he spoke, his voice was rough with need, "Just move for fuck’s sake."
Dean began the tortuously slow thrusts in and out, biting and sucking and whispering in Sam’s ear. He reached his right hand around Sam’s body and grabbed hold of Sam’s cock, hard and ready for release.
Dean’s was moving slowly, taking his time, drawing it out. His hand found a steady rhythm to match the movement of his hips. Sam was tensing up, and Dean knew it wouldn't be long now before he pulled Sam over the brink. He reached up with his free hand and curled his fingers into Sam’s hair. With a wicked, dirty noise, he pulled Sam’s head back and leaned in to bite his neck. Hard.
“Dean... oh fuck.... oh god... Dean... DEAN ” Sam came with such force he's pretty sure his brains just came out his dick. His body clenching and releasing around Dean inside him.
Dean wanted to revel in this, in Sam's trust and need. He wanted Sam to feel their connection as deeply as he did, feel the total freedom that came from absolution.
Sam's legs started to give out under him, so Dean guided him down to lie flat on the mattress.
Kissing Sam’s neck, just behind his ear, Dean whispered, “All for you, Sam.”
One, two, three slow, deep thrusts and Dean was taken over the edge by the sound of his name on Sam’s lips. He pulsed deep inside his brother, shaking and trembling until he was wrung out and completely spent.
He lowered himself onto Sam’s back, still buried inside him but going soft as the moments passed. Sam sighed and turned his head to try to see Dean’s face, now resting between Sam’s shoulder blades.
“Dean,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Mmmmm, yeah, Sammy?” Dean mumbled; a boneless heap on top of Sam.
“You’re heavy.”
The laugh Dean let escape was a rumble felt all the way to Sam's soul. He rolled off of Sam onto his side and pulled Sam along with him so that Sam’s back was nestled against Dean’s chest. Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he really does like to cuddle.
Sam wiggled to get himself comfy and Dean slapped him on the ass when he decided it was taking too long.
“Jerk,” Sam said, but there was no venom in his voice.
“Bitch,” Dean whispered against his neck.
They’d spoken this language all their lives. Nothing was ever lost in translation.