[fic] Coast On Through (Wincest, NC-17)
Title: Coast On Through
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,857
Summary: A post-first-time fic. With a lot of sex.
Three weeks after Sam and Dean fuck for the first time, Dean spends the night with a woman he meets in a bar in Philadelphia. He catches Sam's eye from across the room, quirks one eyebrow, and Sam raises an eyebrow of his own and takes a sip of beer.
It doesn't bother Sam. Why should it? It's not like they're dating, not like they're in some exclusive relationship where Dean is the only person Sam can ever see himself loving or screwing or whatever. They're brothers. Sam figures dating your brother is too fucked up even for Winchesters.
The beer makes Sam more sleepy than he'd like, so he makes himself a pot of coffee when he gets back to the motel. The caffeine ends up keeping him awake all night. He watches infomercials and jerks off while George Foreman talks to him about grilling. Watching steaks cook reminds him of Dean, and then he's remembering the time he walked in on Dean fucking a pair of twins, the look on Dean's face, how Dean probably looks like that right now. Sam licks his fingers clean when he's done and is surprised to find that his come tastes really good on a coffee-burnt tongue.
When Dean comes back the next morning, he's got a hickey beneath his ear and a deep frown on his face.
"Bad night?" Sam asks. He's standing in the bathroom doorway brushing his teeth. Dean comes to stand next to him, steals the toothbrush right from Sam's mouth, and shoves it into his own. "Dude, that's disgusting. Don't you have your own toothbrush?"
"I just had the worst night of my life, man," Dean says, dripping toothpaste on his shirt as he talks. "I fucking deserve this."
Sam doesn't ask for details, and Dean doesn't offer any. Dean finishes with Sam's toothbrush and flicks water in Sam's face, and Sam hunts for new cases while Dean showers.
That's how they work.
*
Dean's kind of creepy during sex. He likes to talk, but not so much in the bad porno, "C'mon, baby, suck my fat cock," way Sam always figured he would. (Though Dean indulges in a little of that sometimes, and it's always deeply embarrassing to Sam that he's related to this.) Instead Dean shushes and coos and praises in a way that makes Sam think of a pedophile seducing a kid.
He also has a tendency to call Sam "Sammy" when they fuck, which starts to get a little creepy too if Sam thinks about it too hard. Sammy used to be a chubby twelve-year-old, a nickname given to him by his father, and now Sammy is a guy who gets his older brother's fingers up his ass on a fairly regular basis. It's pretty messed up.
Even more messed up because Sam likes it. Dean switches his index finger out for his middle one, strokes his thumb against Sam's thigh, and says, "That's it, Sammy, that's real good." And Sam embarrasses himself by rubbing his ass all over Dean's knuckles just to feel that finger pressing into him from every angle.
These days every time he comes, he thinks, 'This is the most messed up thing I've ever done.'
*
Between cases they pass through Sedalia, Missouri just in time for the state fair. Dean yanks the demonology text out of Sam's hands so he'll have Sam's full attention when he points out the window at the huge billboard on the highway.
"Never been to a fair before," Dean says, bouncing his knee a little.
"You took me to a carnival when we were kids," Sam reminds him. "I won you a sucker and a spider ring, and you put the ring in my underwear drawer to freak me out and tried to stick the sucker in my hair."
"Dude, you picked rubber ducks out of a bucket, and they gave you shit. Didn't exactly require skill. And c'mon, Sam, your school carnival when you were six doesn't compare to a state fair. They have rides. And beer. And funnel cakes."
"And country music. And livestock. And mule shows. And, most importantly, it costs money. You're kidding, right?"
"Sam," Dean says very seriously. He coughs twice into his fist and rubs his chest like he's in pain. "Sam," he croaks.
"You're not dying anymore. That's not gonna work with me now."
Sam's expecting a disappointed scowl in response. What he gets is a grin so bright it makes him a little dizzy, and then Dean starts drumming his fingers cheerfully on the steering wheel.
"Look," Dean says. "We'll drink a few beers, ride a few rides, sample the food, make fun of the locals. I'll even jerk you off in the Ferris wheel. It'll be fun."
"Dean, you're not giving me a handjob in the Ferris wheel at the Missouri State Fair."
There's a moment of silence, and then Dean shoots Sam a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised.
"Can't help noticing you didn't say no to the rest of it."
Sam shrugs. He's already estimating the cost, comparing it to the cash they've got on hand and what they can get. They have nowhere to be and could stand a day off anyway. "They probably have good barbeque there. I haven't had any of that in a while."
They don't really fit in at the state fair, but no one seems to care. The first thing Dean wants to do is find the carnival games and prove his worth to a bunch of strangers by shooting moving targets with a toy gun.
"Gotta win my girl something," Dean tells the kid working at the booth, patting Sam's shoulder and smirking when the kid is shocked speechless.
He wins a giant stuffed gorilla, makes Sam carry it, and grins at the thing in Sam's arms like he's never been more proud of himself. It almost makes Sam forget how stupid he probably looks.
The last thing they do is ride the Ferris wheel. Dean rubs Sam's dick through his jeans, and Sam lets him, spreads his legs for it and licks powdered sugar from the corner of Dean's mouth.
"C'mon," Dean says when the ride ends and Sam's almost out of his mind with wanting to come. "I'll finish you off in the car."
Afterwards, Sam dozes with his temple pressed against the passenger side window while Dean gets them back on the highway, humming "Nothing Else Matters" under his breath.
*
Dean may not indulge in dirty talk very often, but he makes it pretty clear that he likes Sam to.
Sam never used to make much noise during sex. He grunted sometimes, breathed heavy, maybe groaned quietly once or twice. The first time Dean blows Sam, he pulls away after about a minute and says, "Dude, make some noise, would you? No need to be shy, Sammy. No one wants to fuck a corpse." So Sam moans and Dean moans back, rewards him with the best vibration on his cock Sam's ever felt. Then Sam starts making an effort to make more noise during sex.
At a rest area in Texas, Dean pushes Sam into a bathroom stall, drops to his knees, and sucks him off while a trucker comes in, pisses, and washes his hands. It's then that Sam realizes he's forgotten how to be quiet. He bites his own palm to keep the moans from making it to his lips, and even that doesn't stop the weird little sound that wrenches itself free when he comes. Or any of the noises he makes after, when instead of swallowing straightaway Dean pulls back to watch Sam come all over himself and then licks him clean. Sam makes the most pathetic little sounds as Dean's tongue drags up and down his cock, lingers where it's most sensitive, and Dean grins like he's having the time of his life.
"See, that's what I'm talking about," Dean says. "A guy likes to know when he's doing something right."
After that, talking dirty comes easy.
In a motel room in Birmingham, Sam gets Dean slicked up and loose, dazed and panting underneath him, and holds his cock right against Dean's ass, rubs the tip against his hole but doesn't push in.
"You want this?" Sam asks, voice so low it sounds foreign to his own ears. "Want me to split you open, fuck you so deep you choke on my dick? All the while telling you how tight you are, how you suck me in like you're starving for it? How pretty you look when you're stretched around my dick, wriggling your ass while I'm pounding you, begging for more? Beg for me, Dean. Don't let me be the only one talking here."
"Sam," Dean breathes, hips rocking, rubbing Sam's cock even rougher against his ass but still not getting him anywhere. "Sam, please."
"So easy. I mean, I knew you were easy before, but." Sam pulls away enough that he can get two fingers in Dean's ass, move them in tiny circles, and watch Dean move with them, rolling his hips, dick red and leaking on his belly. "I didn't know you were this easy. That all it takes is a couple fingers in your ass and the promise of a good fucking to bring you to your knees."
"You're an asshole," Dean tells him, pleading tone still heavy in his voice, hips moving more roughly now, trying to ride Sam's fingers. "Teasing fucking asshole."
"Maybe a little. But can you blame me when this is what I get for it?"
Sam slips his fingers out and brings them to Dean's lips, shoves them inside and watches Dean suck on them, eyes going darker like he's tasting something really good. This time when Sam brings the head of his cock to Dean's hole, he pushes inside and feels Dean tight, hot, and slick around him. Dean bites his fingers, lets out the quietest little groan, and goes completely still.
"Good?" Sam asks. He pulls his fingers out and strokes Dean's bottom lip, gets it shiny with spit.
"Christ, your voice was fucking made to talk dirty." Dean squirms slightly and takes another inch of Sam in, groans a little louder and grabs at Sam's hips, tries to pull him closer. "Dude, you want me to beg again? Fuck me already, Sammy, c'mon."
So Sam does, his arms tight around Dean's back while Dean wraps his legs around Sam's waist. When Sam comes, he buries his face in Dean's neck to muffle the filthy nonsense that wants to spill from his lips.
*
In the middle of Ohio, less than two hours after they've had lunch, they pass a McDonald's sign on the highway advertising the McRib. Dean decides to retell his painful experience of the last Farewell Tour in excruciating detail. He manages to convince Sam that they're going to be eating only McDonald's until the McRib is retired again.
Ten minutes later, they've been through a McDonald's drive-through, and Dean is stuffing his face while Sam sips his Dr. Pepper and steals a few fries when Dean isn't looking.
"So," Dean says, licking barbeque sauce off his fingers and then wiping his spit on his jeans. "You sleep around a lot back at school?"
In his shock, Sam dribbles a little Dr. Pepper down his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his hand and raises his eyebrows at Dean. "What?"
"You know, back at Stanford. You get a lot of co-ed pussy, college boy, or were you saving yourself for your girl?"
Sam sends Dean his best 'what the hell is wrong with you?' look. "I left Stanford five years ago, Dean. Why do you suddenly care now what I did back then?"
Dean shrugs. "Well, I figure I have a right to know now. Given your dick's finding its way into my ass on a regular basis and vice versa. I'd like to know if I'm in danger of catching something here."
"Shouldn't you have asked that before we did anything?"
"I'm asking now." Dean shoves a handful of fries into his mouth and then reaches over and wipes the grease on Sam's shoulder, grins a little when Sam slaps his hand away. "So talk to me, Sam. What kind of crap did you get into while you were gone?"
Sam presses his lips together and tries to decide if he's supposed to be amused or offended. "Dated one girl before Jess," he says. "And had a one-time thing with another girl. Used protection every time."
"Any guys?"
Sam blinks, looks down at his soda cup, and absentmindedly pushes down the 'other' button on the lid. "Got drunk and messed around with a friend. Twice. Didn't go anywhere past handjobs."
"Huh." Dean shoots Sam a sideways glance, one side of his lips turned up in a half-grin. "So what you're telling me is you and I don't need to be messing with condoms."
"I'm not going anywhere near you without a condom," Sam says, giving Dean the most horrified look he can manage. "I grew up with you. I know where you've been."
"Dude, give me a little credit. I've never had unprotected sex in my life."
"And you're willing to start with me?"
Dean glances at Sam, a look in his eyes that's somewhere between fond and amused. "I know I'm clean. Never would have touched you if there was any chance I'd be giving you something, and you damn well know it. And if you're not clean, well." Dean shrugs and squints out the windshield. "Sold my soul for you once. Something like herpes seems kinda insignificant after that."
Sam's not sure what to say to that. He bites his bottom lip and pushes down another button on his soda lid.
"Plus, you know. We've been sucking each other's dicks without condoms, swallowing each other's come. And I hate to break it to you, but that isn't exactly safe sex."
Sam's never had safe oral sex with anyone. In retrospect, now that Dean mentions it, he realizes what a potentially bad idea that could have been. Sam frowns and doesn't say anything.
"So." Dean slaps the steering wheel cheerfully and grins over at Sam. "What do you say? You know what felching is, right? Always wanted to try that. Maybe a little snowballing afterwards…"
"Dude," Sam says.
"What? C'mon, you know you want me licking come out of your ass. The sounds you make when I get my face down there, Sammy, you'd go friggin' crazy if I was doing it while you had my come dripping out of you."
"We're not talking about this right now," Sam says firmly.
"Yeah, okay," Dean says, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel and practically glowing with mirth. "We'll talk about it later when you're trying to fuck yourself on my tongue."
Sam grabs a fry out of the McDonald's bag and throws it at Dean's head.
*
They still sleep in separate beds. They're both big boys who like their space, and even a king just doesn't cut it. Sam wakes up in the middle of the night when he rolls over and gets his face in a puddle of Dean's drool. Dean smacks him awake a few hours later and says Sam's knee was trying to do serious damage to his groin.
Sometimes, though, they make it work. They come back to the motel after a long salt-and-burn in the early hours of the morning, and Dean's bed is closer than Sam's. So he climbs in with Dean, and Dean just rolls over to give him more room. If there's any drooling or kneeing in the night, they're both too exhausted to notice.
And then sometimes there's sex when they wake up. Or when Dean wakes up, anyway, since he's always the first one up. He presses his chest against Sam's back, rocks his dick into Sam's ass, and kisses Sam's neck until Sam's awake enough to fully appreciate the hand stroking his cock.
It never lasts long. By the time Sam drifts into consciousness, he's already desperate, and Dean's saying, "That's it, Sammy, c'mon, just let it go," smug little smirk in his voice, while Sam thrusts roughly into Dean's grip until he comes. Dean follows less than a minute later, holds Sam close with one hand and jerks himself off furiously with the other, ruins the back of Sam's shirt.
"One day you're gonna do that when my bladder's full," Sam says, while Dean pants against his neck, "and then it's gonna get really awkward."
"Hey, man, I'm into all kinds of freaky stuff," Dean tells him, grinning, and cheerfully smears his come in Sam's hair.
*
They get mistaken for a couple in a diner in Nebraska. It's not like it's the first time or even the twentieth. Especially since lately Dean's decided it's hilarious to hit on Sam in public, call him "honeybunch," and grope him. He gets a kick out of the looks they get for it.
But this time they're not doing anything. Dean's on his side of the table and Sam's on his, and they're arguing over Sam's tendency to steal fries from Dean's plate. It's an argument they've had since they were kids. When the waitress comes over to refill their drinks, she says they're cute and asks how long they've been together.
It's the first time they've been mistaken for a couple without trying to be since they started fucking. Sam catches Dean's eye after the waitress walks away, and suddenly everything feels weird. Dean looks down at his burger and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Sam stares at the amulet hanging over Dean's shirt and thinks about how two days ago he sucked a bruise on Dean's inner thigh. They don't talk much for the rest of the meal.
"You know," Dean says, when they're back in the car and headed west. His head is turned toward Sam, but he's talking to the windshield, or maybe Sam's reflection in it. "If you'd have told me a few years ago I'd be here screwing my little brother, I'd have hit you."
Sam straightens out of his slouch and sends Dean the calmest look he can manage. If their whole relationship goes to hell here and now, it won't be his fault. "What changed?"
Dean shifts in his seat, angles his body toward Sam just slightly, and gnaws a little on his bottom lip.
"Dean?"
"Ask myself that every damn day," Dean says, and turns the music up.
*
Five months after Sam and Dean fuck for the first time, Sam spends the night with a woman whose apartment they rid of a poltergeist in Iowa City. The whole thing feels so much like what happened with Madison that it messes with Sam's head a little. Except this time Dean's there to see everything leading up to the sex, to watch her flirt and Sam flounder and act like a teenager who's never even talked to a girl before, smirking like this is the best entertainment he's had in years.
"You can find your own way back to the motel, right, Sammy?" Dean says, looking like he's so proud of Sam he could burst.
Then he leaves, and Sam's alone with the woman. Her eyes go dark and hungry when he looks at her. He thinks, 'Finally.'
The sex isn't what Sam hoped it would be. He eats her out, and it's like stepping into the past, the taste of her is so familiar. But when he fucks her, once on her stomach and once on her back, something's off. They don't fit like Sam thought they would. The sex is flat and kind of boring, and for the first time in his life Sam realizes he's having sex that isn't going to mean a single thing to him in the morning. That bothers him more than he'd like to admit.
After she falls asleep, Sam calls himself a cab and heads back to the motel, feeling guilty for leaving but knowing he'll feel even worse if he stays.
At the motel Sam finds Dean sitting on the bed in shorts and a t-shirt, watching Clue on television and eating a bag of popcorn.
"Wasn't expecting you 'til morning," Dean says, except he doesn't look the least bit surprised to see Sam back so soon. "She that bad?"
Sam has a sneaking suspicion that if anyone is to blame for the sex being bad, it's him. And admitting that to Dean really isn't a good idea. He grunts and throws himself on the bed next to Dean. Dean raises an eyebrow and tilts the popcorn bag toward him. Sam takes a huge handful and ends up dropping a few pieces, which Dean wrinkles his nose at.
"Dude, don't ever go lecturing me about being a slob again if you're gonna drop popcorn on my bed."
Sam drops another piece to be an ass, and Dean retaliates by tossing a kernel onto Sam's bed and holding another up in front of Sam's face as if to say, "Just try me, bitch."
"Jerk," Sam says, grinning wide.
Dean looks ridiculously pleased at that, face lighting up like a five-year-old. "That's my boy," he says. "No reason to mope all night. It happens to the best of us. Better luck next time."
He leans over to pat Sam's knee, and then he pauses, leans closer to sniff at Sam's face. "Damn, Sammy," he says, laughing raucously. "Might wanna wash your face, man. It reeks like pussy."
All of a sudden, Sam feels stupid, like a teenager whose mom just walked in on him with his hand down his pants. It's not like Dean didn't know what he was doing, not like he hasn't gone down on Dean dozens of times, but still Sam feels his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He starts to scramble out of the bed to go wash his face.
Dean grabs his wrist before he gets too far and tugs him back. He brings one hand to the back of Sam's neck, uses it to draw Sam forward, and then he's licking Sam's chin, tongue quick and rough. He pulls away after a moment, eyes closed like he's savoring the taste.
Then he leans back in and licks the corner of Sam's mouth, moves to Sam's bottom lip, and chuckles a little when Sam opens his mouth and tries to get Dean to kiss him properly. Dean pulls away, smirking, makes Sam chase him a few inches before he gives in and lets Sam suck his tongue into his mouth.
And just like that, Sam's desperate. He's got Dean's hair clenched in one hand and Dean's shirt in the other, and he's hungry for someone's cock in someone's ass, he doesn't care who plays what position, just as long as it happens and Sam's got his hands on Dean's skin the entire time.
"How'd you fuck her?" Dean asks, undoing Sam's jeans, staring down at Sam's lap like everything he's ever wanted in his life is right there waiting for him. "You give it to her missionary style, or you make get on her hands and knees for it?"
Sam almost tells him the truth, that he did both, and then thinks better of it. "Got her in my lap," he says. "Let her ride me."
Whenever Dean rides Sam's cock, Dean's in charge, and when Dean's in charge, he goes painfully slow. Either because he likes it slow or because he likes driving Sam crazy, Sam doesn't know. Sam's fine with it either way.
He sits on the edge of the bed, Dean's knees on either side of his hips. He keeps one hand on Dean's waist and the other between Dean's shoulder blades. Doesn't try to take control, doesn't try to hurry Dean up. Lets Dean rock softly when he wants to, slide himself up and down on Sam's dick when he wants to. Thinks about how much he loves sex when it feels like he's seconds away from dying the whole time.
"So tell me, Sammy," Dean says, panting, smirking like he already knows what Sam's answer is going to be. "Am I better than her?"
"Yes," Sam says, pressing his forehead to Dean's collarbone. "Fuck yes."
As he comes, he thinks, 'This is so messed up. You've ruined me.'
*
Dean never lets Sam do laundry alone. The very first time Sam was ever in charge of the family's laundry had been when he was thirteen, and he ended up burning their clothes in the dryer. Dean stared down at a pair of his briefs with brown scorch marks on them and said, "Dammit, Sam, you moron. How am I supposed to get laid in these?"
Dean'll never let Sam forget it, and he hasn't let Sam do laundry alone since.
They sit in 24-hour laundromats together in the middle of the night, when they're guaranteed to be the only ones there, and play slumber party games. Except Sam knows better than to call them that to Dean.
"Truth," Sam says.
Dean sighs and throws an empty detergent box at him. "Why can't you ever pick dare?"
"Because I know you, and I'm not jerking off in front of the security camera."
"Pussy." Dean crosses his arms and stares at Sam like he's carefully weighing his options. "Fine," he says. "Tell me about the first time you thought about getting in my pants."
Sam just stares, already feeling the embarrassment warming in his chest. But it's no worse than anything Dean's already asked or any new question he's likely to come up with if Sam refuses this one.
"It was after that case in Concord. The ghoul, remember? You met up with one of your old…whatevers while we were there. When we left, you kissed her while I was sitting in the car. I started…wondering what it would be like, to be her. Then I couldn't get it out of my head. I thought I was losing my mind."
"Would have snuck in a few gropes if I knew you'd be getting off on it," Dean says, smirking faintly.
Sam picks up the detergent box from where it fell and throws it back at Dean. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Dean says, almost before the words are out of Sam's mouth.
Dean rarely picks truth. He likes proving that while Sam may be a pussy sometimes, he never is. But this time is different, and Sam gets that. "When was the first time you thought about it?"
Dean doesn't even hesitate. He looks Sam straight in the eye and shrugs one shoulder like it's no big deal. "We stopped in West Virginia on the way to Delaware to deal with those witches about a year back. You were taking forever in the shower, and I had to pee like a bitch. So I went to bang on the door, tell you to hurry your ass up. But the walls were thin, and the shower was quiet. Heard your hand, you know," Dean mimes jerking off, "telltale fap fap fap. Got me so hot, thinking about you doing that with me only a few feet away."
"Pervert," Sam says, laughing.
Dean holds his hands out in a 'Yeah, that's right' gesture. "Right back at you, bitch." He glances down at his watch and then at the laundry machines that are just now getting to their final spin. "Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
Dean stares at Sam in total shock, jaw actually dropping a little. Then the shock is gone, and he's scooting to the edge of his chair, looking very interested and even a little gleeful. "Seriously? You're gonna jerk off right here, camera right there, and someone could come in at any minute?"
"If that's what my dare is." Sam spreads his legs a little and rests one hand on the inside of his thigh, drumming his fingers against his jeans.
"Go for it," Dean says, and settles back to watch.
*
They watch porn together sometimes. They never did before. It was a line that just wasn't crossed. Dean passed on his skin mags when he was done with them and left porn sites he thought Sam might enjoy open on Sam's computer, but they never sat down and watched anything together.
But after you've had your brother's dick up your ass, watching porn with him doesn't seem like such a big deal.
It's when they watch porn together that Dean's mouth starts getting really dirty.
Sam's on his hands and knees in front of Dean, and all he wants is to sink to his elbows, press his forehead into the mattress, and concentrate on nothing but Dean's cock inside him. But Dean doesn't let him. His grip is tight on Sam's shoulder, holding up him, and if Sam's head tries to loll forward, Dean's quick to yank it back up by his hair.
"C'mon, Sammy," he says, tone with significantly more bite than usual, not cooing, not praising. "We're paying for this. Don't let our money go to waste."
So Sam watches as a busty blonde gets pushed to her hands and knees on TV, moaning loud and fake when she gets a cock slammed into her from behind. Dean mimics the guy's thrusts for maybe a minute, catches up to his rhythm and keeps it, but it makes Sam's ass start to sting. He groans softly in pain, and Dean understands, slows until it starts feeling good again.
"I'm better than him," Dean growls. "He doesn't give a shit about her, fucks her like he doesn't care how she feels. I know better. So much sweeter when you love it too, Sammy. When you fuck yourself back on my dick like you can't get enough, moan all quiet like a whore 'cause it feels so good. Not good for me if it's not good for you. And you do love it, don't you, Sammy?"
There's no doubt, and Dean knows it. Sam can hear him leering even as he asks.
"Yes," he whispers. "God yes."
Sam loves it, feeling stretched and full, never empty, and of course Dean knows it because Dean knows everything about Sam.
"I know you do. You always open so easy for me, like you've been waiting all day to get my dick inside you. You're better than that chick too, you know. Better than the best porn star. They get fucked because they get paid, and you do it 'cause you like it. You bend over and show off your hole for me 'cause you need it."
On screen, the guy's got his hands on the girl's breasts, squeezing them, pinching her nipples, and that's nearly Sam's undoing. He can't take anything more, especially when Dean won't let him touch himself ("Look at her, Sammy, she's not rubbing her clit, is she? Be good, and I'll let you come down my throat later"). He drops his head to the mattress, makes the sluttiest little whimper-moans he knows Dean loves and raises his ass for more. This time Dean lets him, moves his hand down between Sam's shoulder blades and presses Sam even harder into the bed.
When Dean comes, he pulls out and jerks himself through it, shoots all over Sam's ass, one long groan followed by heavy, stuttered panting while the blonde on screen keeps moaning, the guy grunting, a perfect harmony that shouldn't be hot but somehow is. Sam's hips keep rocking, riding out the feeling of being stretched open and rubbing his dick against his belly, not enough to get him off but enough to keep him sane.
He almost jumps out of his skin when suddenly Dean's fingers are spreading him even wider and Dean's tongue starts lapping at the streaks of come on his ass. Sam realizes a second later that he's not licking it up but pushing it instead. Down to Sam's hole, shoving his tongue inside, pushing his come into Sam's ass. Chases it down to Sam's balls when it drips out and shoves it back in even harder. Sam feels sore and raw and more dirty than he's ever felt before. He rocks back against Dean's face, tries to get him even deeper, and makes the most mortifying and pitiful sound when Dean pulls away.
"See," Dean says, and Sam can hear the satisfied grin in his voice. "Told you this no condom thing was an awesome idea."
*
They argue in Wichita. Over nothing. Dean wakes up in a bad mood and Sam wakes up in a bad mood, and then Sam accidentally knocks over Dean's drink when they're eating dinner in their motel room. Suddenly they're fighting, and at first it's more childish than vicious. The stupidest accusations, the stupidest insults.
Until Dean hisses, "You're such a little bitch sometimes. I don't know how the hell Jess put up with you for so long."
Jess died five years ago, and for the most part, Sam would say he's made his peace with her death. Not to say that he's gotten over her, because he doesn't think he'll ever really be over her. But he can talk about her now, tell stories about her to Dean, have a little smile with his melancholy when something reminds him of her. So it's not Dean saying her name that gets him.
It's the way he says it. Spits it along with all the words it comes with, makes it sound like something ugly. It hits a nerve in Sam he didn't even know he had. He hears the crack and sees blood start pouring from Dean's nose before he even realizes he's throwing a punch.
Dean puts his hand to his face and stares down at Sam's hand like that was the last thing he was expecting. Sam stares at the blood dripping down Dean's lips and thinks the same thing.
"Shit," he says. "Shit. Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't-"
"No," Dean says. "No, I get it. I deserved that. Shouldn't have brought her into this."
Dean retreats into the bathroom, shuts the door calmly behind him, and doesn't come out for over twenty minutes. Sam sits on his bed, rubs at his sore knuckles, and thinks in a very detached way, 'I wonder if this counts as domestic abuse.'
"It's not broken," Dean says when he finally comes out. The blood's gone, and his nose is red, maybe a little swollen, discolored, but still straight. "And you're lucky for that too, you asshole. If you ever screw up my face, I'll kill you."
Sam gets off the bed and holds his hands out, thinking stupidly that maybe if he touches Dean he'll understand how sorry Sam is, but Dean gives him a look that says, 'The hell do you think you're doing with those?' Sam drops his arms back to his sides and says, "Dean. Look, I didn't-"
"Don't worry about it." Dean gives Sam a small smile like he's trying to say everything's okay, but there's an edge to his voice that says otherwise. "It's over, you're sorry, I'm sorry. No need to cry over it."
"I know," Sam says. "But I just want you to know that I-"
"You know what you could do if you wanted to be an amazing little brother?" Dean picks up the ice bucket from the dresser and holds it out to Sam. "You could get me some ice. My nose would love some ice. And then some quiet while it recuperates. Which could take hours, so you might want to just keep your mouth shut for the rest of the night."
When they go to sleep, Sam crawls into Dean's bed and puts an arm around Dean's waist, scoots him backward until his back is pressed against Sam's chest and his hair is tickling Sam's nose.
"Dude, I know you're not trying to cuddle with me. If you're gonna sleep with me, you stay on your side of the bed," Dean says, but he's not elbowing Sam away and the edge is gone from his voice.
"Shut up and go to sleep," Sam says, smiling, and throws one leg over Dean's just to feel him kick it away.
*
They have a rule about fucking in the middle of a case. Specifically: don't do it. It's not a hard rule to follow. When they're dealing with dead bodies and when every second wasted means an innocent person is one second closer to death, it's a pretty big feat to even get a lasting hard-on, much less the desire to do something with it.
After the hunt is over, though, that's different.
Sam's knees are skinned and still bleeding, but he drops to them anyway, ignores how much they sting when they scrape against the motel carpet. Dean's jeans are tight, and Sam can feel his cock through them when he presses his cheek against Dean's crotch. Can smell it too, under the stench of dried sweat and dirt.
Dean hisses as Sam nuzzles the bulge in his jeans, leans back against the wall, and cups the back of Sam's head. "Jesus, Sam," he murmurs. Doesn't have to ask what Sam is doing, doesn't have to ask why.
Dean spent the night in a cemetery, digging up a still-rotting corpse while Sam was stuck defending the guy haunted by its spirit. Sam's hurt and Dean's disgusting, and all Sam wants right now is Dean's dick heavy on his tongue and making his jaw ache.
And he gets it. Eventually. Dean has to tease him first. Has to give Sam fingers to suck while he unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out. Has to slick Sam's lips with spit and leer down at him while Sam gets his mouth fucked by two fingers, staring at Dean's dick hard and ready for him two inches away. Has to hold Sam's head back because he's still the older brother who likes keeping what Sam wants out of reach, likes watching Sam wrestle for it.
"All right, Sammy," Dean whispers, rubbing his fingertips against Sam's scalp almost like he's trying to soothe him. "Go for it."
Sam tries to take Dean too deep at first and gags on it-which Dean loves, even if he'll never admit it. He pulls back, lets the head rest on the tip of his tongue for a second, tasting, and then he tries again.
It's messy and sloppy. Sam gets spit all over his chin, and his mouth makes obscene slurping noises as Dean slides in and out of it. He wants to fuck his mouth on Dean's dick, get Dean as far down his throat as possible, feel Dean's pubic hair tickling his nose, but Sam's not that good, not skilled enough for deep-throating. He ends up gagging a few more times, but still he keeps going back for more. He's starved for it. Would love it if Dean would just hold his head still and force him to take it all, but Dean would never do that. He'd never get so rough without Sam's express permission, and Sam can't pull himself away from Dean's cock long enough to give it.
"Shit, Sam," Dean groans. His hands move all over Sam's face, brush the hair from Sam's forehead, cup Sam's jaw, trace the curve of Sam's lips as they're wrapped around his dick. He stares down at Sam like the sight is the most amazing thing he's ever seen. "Jesus, Sam, the picture you make."
The first shot of come hits the roof of Sam's mouth. The second hits the back of his throat, which is exactly where he wants it. He sucks it down easily and keeps sucking until there's nothing left, He tongues the slit until Dean tells him it's enough and pulls him off.
Ten minutes later, Sam fucks Dean over the bathroom sink. It hurts. His knees rub against Dean's thighs, and every thrust aggravates the huge and nasty bruise on Sam's lower back. He loves it anyway. He keeps one arm wrapped around Dean's chest, clutching his shoulder, holding Dean so close he can feel every breath like it's his own.
The whole time Dean moans, "Oh, oh," and sometimes curses, occasionally bites out, "Christ, Sammy, so fucking huge." He tilts his hips so that Sam slides in easier, clenches his fingers on the edge of the sink, lips pouty, eyes wide and staring at Sam in the mirror like he can't decide if it hurts or feels good.
*
They get lost in Pennsylvania. The map says to follow a road that apparently doesn't exist. Sam sits in the passenger seat with the map spread across his lap, coming up with a new route that'll get them to the old cemetery they need to be at.
"I sold my soul," Dean says.
Sam almost tears the map in two. "What? Again?"
Dean shoots him a look that says he thinks Sam is an idiot. "No. Remember a few months ago when I said I'd have punched you if you ever said I'd be screwing you and you asked me what changed? I sold my soul and then got it back."
"And that's what changed?"
Dean presses his lips together and gives a sort of half-shrug. "When it started to change, anyway. Realized I didn't want to live without you and didn't want to leave you alone either. After that, everything else just sorta fell into place."
Sam doesn't know what to say to that, if there's anything he even can say. He sees Dean glance at him out of the corner of his eye and sends Dean a little smile, hopes that says enough.
"So what about you?" Dean asks. "What changed for you?"
There's not just one moment that Sam can pin down as the moment when incest started to seem like a good idea. It happened slowly, is probably still happening now. He goes with the answer that's already in his head, the one that feels most right.
"You sold your soul."
And Sam was ready to damn his own to get it back. But he leaves that part unsaid.
"Huh," Dean says. "Well aren't we just cute and in sync."
"Or it was a significant event in our lives that screwed us both up."
"Nah, we're just adorable." Dean shoots him a sideways glance, cocky little smirk on his lips. "But it's okay if you want to live in denial. I know you're not used to being adorable, so it must be uncomfortable for you."
"Shut up," Sam says, trying to scowl but somehow he can only grin.
*
Nine months after Sam and Dean fuck for the first time, Dean goes home with a girl he meets in a bar in Tallahassee. He hands Sam the keys to the Impala and says, "Don't wait up."
Sam takes the keys and laughs, tells Dean to have a good time. He waits around in the bar for a little bit just to make sure Dean isn't coming back to grab something he forgot. Then he heads back to the motel.
The TV is a piece of crap, and Sam only gets static no matter what channel he turns it to. So he buys a bag of Fritos and a soda from the vending machine outside and sits down with his computer, looking for anything that could be a hunt.
Dean comes back a little over an hour later. He's holding a bag of Fritos, a Snickers bar, and two sodas. He says, "Hey. Here, I got you-" Then he notices the empty bag and can by Sam's elbow and looks sort of embarrassed. "Guess you got that covered."
"Actually, I'm still kind of hungry," Sam lies. "So thanks."
Sam closes his laptop and moves to sit on his bed, taking the food from Dean as he passes.
"You're back early."
Dean snorts and then shocks Sam a little by flopping on Sam's bed right next to him. "Yeah, well. She kinda sucked. Or I guess I should say she wouldn't suck. Said some crap about how this is the 21st century and women don't have to serve men."
"And that made her a bad lay?"
"Something like that."
Sam isn't sure if he should be amused or horrified. He rolls his eyes and starts to open his soda can, but Dean yanks it out of his hands and sets it on the floor. "Dude, what-"
"It was more than that," Dean says. Then his hands are on Sam's neck, tugging him forward.
Somehow Sam gets the feeling that the kiss is supposed to be soft, gentle, but it doesn't turn out that way. Once Sam is close enough that he can feel Dean's breath on his lips, Dean's grip gets harsh, and Sam's not so much being tugged forward as hurtled into Dean. And it's not so much Sam's lips meeting Dean's as it is Dean's teeth holding Sam's bottom lip in place so he can suck on it hard.
It's rough, hurts, and scares Sam just as much as it makes him want. He puts his hands on Dean's chest and pushes. Not hard, just enough that Dean'll get the picture, and Dean does. He lets himself be pushed away from Sam's mouth, but he keeps his hands on Sam's neck, loosens his grip, starts stroking his thumb over Sam's pulse.
"She was tiny and soft," Dean says, sucking on his own bottom lip now in place of Sam's. "And wet, dude, fucking soaked. She got all weird when I wanted to finger her open, asked me what the hell I was doing. A chick who turned down a good fingering, man, can you believe that?"
Dean laughs, and it's not a pleasant sound. Sam doesn't know what to think.
"But she wasn't," Dean continues, "she wasn't as tight as you. Nowhere near it. The whole time I was fucking her, I just kept thinking that. 'Sam's tighter than you.'"
This time when Dean pulls him forward, calmer than before, Sam opens his mouth against Dean's and lets him take whatever he wants. Dean sighs a little into Sam's mouth, runs his tongue against Sam's, and pulls away to kiss at Sam's lip where he bit before.
"Let me," Dean says. He pulls the collar of Sam's shirt away and mouths at his collarbone, nips a little at the skin. He rubs his palm against Sam's inner thigh, wrist brushing Sam's cock through his pants, goes lower and brushes his fingers against Sam's ass. "Let me?"
"Yeah," Sam answers. "Yeah."
If there's a shadow hanging over them, Sam thinks, it's not as dark as it should be.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,857
Summary: A post-first-time fic. With a lot of sex.
Three weeks after Sam and Dean fuck for the first time, Dean spends the night with a woman he meets in a bar in Philadelphia. He catches Sam's eye from across the room, quirks one eyebrow, and Sam raises an eyebrow of his own and takes a sip of beer.
It doesn't bother Sam. Why should it? It's not like they're dating, not like they're in some exclusive relationship where Dean is the only person Sam can ever see himself loving or screwing or whatever. They're brothers. Sam figures dating your brother is too fucked up even for Winchesters.
The beer makes Sam more sleepy than he'd like, so he makes himself a pot of coffee when he gets back to the motel. The caffeine ends up keeping him awake all night. He watches infomercials and jerks off while George Foreman talks to him about grilling. Watching steaks cook reminds him of Dean, and then he's remembering the time he walked in on Dean fucking a pair of twins, the look on Dean's face, how Dean probably looks like that right now. Sam licks his fingers clean when he's done and is surprised to find that his come tastes really good on a coffee-burnt tongue.
When Dean comes back the next morning, he's got a hickey beneath his ear and a deep frown on his face.
"Bad night?" Sam asks. He's standing in the bathroom doorway brushing his teeth. Dean comes to stand next to him, steals the toothbrush right from Sam's mouth, and shoves it into his own. "Dude, that's disgusting. Don't you have your own toothbrush?"
"I just had the worst night of my life, man," Dean says, dripping toothpaste on his shirt as he talks. "I fucking deserve this."
Sam doesn't ask for details, and Dean doesn't offer any. Dean finishes with Sam's toothbrush and flicks water in Sam's face, and Sam hunts for new cases while Dean showers.
That's how they work.
*
Dean's kind of creepy during sex. He likes to talk, but not so much in the bad porno, "C'mon, baby, suck my fat cock," way Sam always figured he would. (Though Dean indulges in a little of that sometimes, and it's always deeply embarrassing to Sam that he's related to this.) Instead Dean shushes and coos and praises in a way that makes Sam think of a pedophile seducing a kid.
He also has a tendency to call Sam "Sammy" when they fuck, which starts to get a little creepy too if Sam thinks about it too hard. Sammy used to be a chubby twelve-year-old, a nickname given to him by his father, and now Sammy is a guy who gets his older brother's fingers up his ass on a fairly regular basis. It's pretty messed up.
Even more messed up because Sam likes it. Dean switches his index finger out for his middle one, strokes his thumb against Sam's thigh, and says, "That's it, Sammy, that's real good." And Sam embarrasses himself by rubbing his ass all over Dean's knuckles just to feel that finger pressing into him from every angle.
These days every time he comes, he thinks, 'This is the most messed up thing I've ever done.'
*
Between cases they pass through Sedalia, Missouri just in time for the state fair. Dean yanks the demonology text out of Sam's hands so he'll have Sam's full attention when he points out the window at the huge billboard on the highway.
"Never been to a fair before," Dean says, bouncing his knee a little.
"You took me to a carnival when we were kids," Sam reminds him. "I won you a sucker and a spider ring, and you put the ring in my underwear drawer to freak me out and tried to stick the sucker in my hair."
"Dude, you picked rubber ducks out of a bucket, and they gave you shit. Didn't exactly require skill. And c'mon, Sam, your school carnival when you were six doesn't compare to a state fair. They have rides. And beer. And funnel cakes."
"And country music. And livestock. And mule shows. And, most importantly, it costs money. You're kidding, right?"
"Sam," Dean says very seriously. He coughs twice into his fist and rubs his chest like he's in pain. "Sam," he croaks.
"You're not dying anymore. That's not gonna work with me now."
Sam's expecting a disappointed scowl in response. What he gets is a grin so bright it makes him a little dizzy, and then Dean starts drumming his fingers cheerfully on the steering wheel.
"Look," Dean says. "We'll drink a few beers, ride a few rides, sample the food, make fun of the locals. I'll even jerk you off in the Ferris wheel. It'll be fun."
"Dean, you're not giving me a handjob in the Ferris wheel at the Missouri State Fair."
There's a moment of silence, and then Dean shoots Sam a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised.
"Can't help noticing you didn't say no to the rest of it."
Sam shrugs. He's already estimating the cost, comparing it to the cash they've got on hand and what they can get. They have nowhere to be and could stand a day off anyway. "They probably have good barbeque there. I haven't had any of that in a while."
They don't really fit in at the state fair, but no one seems to care. The first thing Dean wants to do is find the carnival games and prove his worth to a bunch of strangers by shooting moving targets with a toy gun.
"Gotta win my girl something," Dean tells the kid working at the booth, patting Sam's shoulder and smirking when the kid is shocked speechless.
He wins a giant stuffed gorilla, makes Sam carry it, and grins at the thing in Sam's arms like he's never been more proud of himself. It almost makes Sam forget how stupid he probably looks.
The last thing they do is ride the Ferris wheel. Dean rubs Sam's dick through his jeans, and Sam lets him, spreads his legs for it and licks powdered sugar from the corner of Dean's mouth.
"C'mon," Dean says when the ride ends and Sam's almost out of his mind with wanting to come. "I'll finish you off in the car."
Afterwards, Sam dozes with his temple pressed against the passenger side window while Dean gets them back on the highway, humming "Nothing Else Matters" under his breath.
*
Dean may not indulge in dirty talk very often, but he makes it pretty clear that he likes Sam to.
Sam never used to make much noise during sex. He grunted sometimes, breathed heavy, maybe groaned quietly once or twice. The first time Dean blows Sam, he pulls away after about a minute and says, "Dude, make some noise, would you? No need to be shy, Sammy. No one wants to fuck a corpse." So Sam moans and Dean moans back, rewards him with the best vibration on his cock Sam's ever felt. Then Sam starts making an effort to make more noise during sex.
At a rest area in Texas, Dean pushes Sam into a bathroom stall, drops to his knees, and sucks him off while a trucker comes in, pisses, and washes his hands. It's then that Sam realizes he's forgotten how to be quiet. He bites his own palm to keep the moans from making it to his lips, and even that doesn't stop the weird little sound that wrenches itself free when he comes. Or any of the noises he makes after, when instead of swallowing straightaway Dean pulls back to watch Sam come all over himself and then licks him clean. Sam makes the most pathetic little sounds as Dean's tongue drags up and down his cock, lingers where it's most sensitive, and Dean grins like he's having the time of his life.
"See, that's what I'm talking about," Dean says. "A guy likes to know when he's doing something right."
After that, talking dirty comes easy.
In a motel room in Birmingham, Sam gets Dean slicked up and loose, dazed and panting underneath him, and holds his cock right against Dean's ass, rubs the tip against his hole but doesn't push in.
"You want this?" Sam asks, voice so low it sounds foreign to his own ears. "Want me to split you open, fuck you so deep you choke on my dick? All the while telling you how tight you are, how you suck me in like you're starving for it? How pretty you look when you're stretched around my dick, wriggling your ass while I'm pounding you, begging for more? Beg for me, Dean. Don't let me be the only one talking here."
"Sam," Dean breathes, hips rocking, rubbing Sam's cock even rougher against his ass but still not getting him anywhere. "Sam, please."
"So easy. I mean, I knew you were easy before, but." Sam pulls away enough that he can get two fingers in Dean's ass, move them in tiny circles, and watch Dean move with them, rolling his hips, dick red and leaking on his belly. "I didn't know you were this easy. That all it takes is a couple fingers in your ass and the promise of a good fucking to bring you to your knees."
"You're an asshole," Dean tells him, pleading tone still heavy in his voice, hips moving more roughly now, trying to ride Sam's fingers. "Teasing fucking asshole."
"Maybe a little. But can you blame me when this is what I get for it?"
Sam slips his fingers out and brings them to Dean's lips, shoves them inside and watches Dean suck on them, eyes going darker like he's tasting something really good. This time when Sam brings the head of his cock to Dean's hole, he pushes inside and feels Dean tight, hot, and slick around him. Dean bites his fingers, lets out the quietest little groan, and goes completely still.
"Good?" Sam asks. He pulls his fingers out and strokes Dean's bottom lip, gets it shiny with spit.
"Christ, your voice was fucking made to talk dirty." Dean squirms slightly and takes another inch of Sam in, groans a little louder and grabs at Sam's hips, tries to pull him closer. "Dude, you want me to beg again? Fuck me already, Sammy, c'mon."
So Sam does, his arms tight around Dean's back while Dean wraps his legs around Sam's waist. When Sam comes, he buries his face in Dean's neck to muffle the filthy nonsense that wants to spill from his lips.
*
In the middle of Ohio, less than two hours after they've had lunch, they pass a McDonald's sign on the highway advertising the McRib. Dean decides to retell his painful experience of the last Farewell Tour in excruciating detail. He manages to convince Sam that they're going to be eating only McDonald's until the McRib is retired again.
Ten minutes later, they've been through a McDonald's drive-through, and Dean is stuffing his face while Sam sips his Dr. Pepper and steals a few fries when Dean isn't looking.
"So," Dean says, licking barbeque sauce off his fingers and then wiping his spit on his jeans. "You sleep around a lot back at school?"
In his shock, Sam dribbles a little Dr. Pepper down his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his hand and raises his eyebrows at Dean. "What?"
"You know, back at Stanford. You get a lot of co-ed pussy, college boy, or were you saving yourself for your girl?"
Sam sends Dean his best 'what the hell is wrong with you?' look. "I left Stanford five years ago, Dean. Why do you suddenly care now what I did back then?"
Dean shrugs. "Well, I figure I have a right to know now. Given your dick's finding its way into my ass on a regular basis and vice versa. I'd like to know if I'm in danger of catching something here."
"Shouldn't you have asked that before we did anything?"
"I'm asking now." Dean shoves a handful of fries into his mouth and then reaches over and wipes the grease on Sam's shoulder, grins a little when Sam slaps his hand away. "So talk to me, Sam. What kind of crap did you get into while you were gone?"
Sam presses his lips together and tries to decide if he's supposed to be amused or offended. "Dated one girl before Jess," he says. "And had a one-time thing with another girl. Used protection every time."
"Any guys?"
Sam blinks, looks down at his soda cup, and absentmindedly pushes down the 'other' button on the lid. "Got drunk and messed around with a friend. Twice. Didn't go anywhere past handjobs."
"Huh." Dean shoots Sam a sideways glance, one side of his lips turned up in a half-grin. "So what you're telling me is you and I don't need to be messing with condoms."
"I'm not going anywhere near you without a condom," Sam says, giving Dean the most horrified look he can manage. "I grew up with you. I know where you've been."
"Dude, give me a little credit. I've never had unprotected sex in my life."
"And you're willing to start with me?"
Dean glances at Sam, a look in his eyes that's somewhere between fond and amused. "I know I'm clean. Never would have touched you if there was any chance I'd be giving you something, and you damn well know it. And if you're not clean, well." Dean shrugs and squints out the windshield. "Sold my soul for you once. Something like herpes seems kinda insignificant after that."
Sam's not sure what to say to that. He bites his bottom lip and pushes down another button on his soda lid.
"Plus, you know. We've been sucking each other's dicks without condoms, swallowing each other's come. And I hate to break it to you, but that isn't exactly safe sex."
Sam's never had safe oral sex with anyone. In retrospect, now that Dean mentions it, he realizes what a potentially bad idea that could have been. Sam frowns and doesn't say anything.
"So." Dean slaps the steering wheel cheerfully and grins over at Sam. "What do you say? You know what felching is, right? Always wanted to try that. Maybe a little snowballing afterwards…"
"Dude," Sam says.
"What? C'mon, you know you want me licking come out of your ass. The sounds you make when I get my face down there, Sammy, you'd go friggin' crazy if I was doing it while you had my come dripping out of you."
"We're not talking about this right now," Sam says firmly.
"Yeah, okay," Dean says, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel and practically glowing with mirth. "We'll talk about it later when you're trying to fuck yourself on my tongue."
Sam grabs a fry out of the McDonald's bag and throws it at Dean's head.
*
They still sleep in separate beds. They're both big boys who like their space, and even a king just doesn't cut it. Sam wakes up in the middle of the night when he rolls over and gets his face in a puddle of Dean's drool. Dean smacks him awake a few hours later and says Sam's knee was trying to do serious damage to his groin.
Sometimes, though, they make it work. They come back to the motel after a long salt-and-burn in the early hours of the morning, and Dean's bed is closer than Sam's. So he climbs in with Dean, and Dean just rolls over to give him more room. If there's any drooling or kneeing in the night, they're both too exhausted to notice.
And then sometimes there's sex when they wake up. Or when Dean wakes up, anyway, since he's always the first one up. He presses his chest against Sam's back, rocks his dick into Sam's ass, and kisses Sam's neck until Sam's awake enough to fully appreciate the hand stroking his cock.
It never lasts long. By the time Sam drifts into consciousness, he's already desperate, and Dean's saying, "That's it, Sammy, c'mon, just let it go," smug little smirk in his voice, while Sam thrusts roughly into Dean's grip until he comes. Dean follows less than a minute later, holds Sam close with one hand and jerks himself off furiously with the other, ruins the back of Sam's shirt.
"One day you're gonna do that when my bladder's full," Sam says, while Dean pants against his neck, "and then it's gonna get really awkward."
"Hey, man, I'm into all kinds of freaky stuff," Dean tells him, grinning, and cheerfully smears his come in Sam's hair.
*
They get mistaken for a couple in a diner in Nebraska. It's not like it's the first time or even the twentieth. Especially since lately Dean's decided it's hilarious to hit on Sam in public, call him "honeybunch," and grope him. He gets a kick out of the looks they get for it.
But this time they're not doing anything. Dean's on his side of the table and Sam's on his, and they're arguing over Sam's tendency to steal fries from Dean's plate. It's an argument they've had since they were kids. When the waitress comes over to refill their drinks, she says they're cute and asks how long they've been together.
It's the first time they've been mistaken for a couple without trying to be since they started fucking. Sam catches Dean's eye after the waitress walks away, and suddenly everything feels weird. Dean looks down at his burger and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Sam stares at the amulet hanging over Dean's shirt and thinks about how two days ago he sucked a bruise on Dean's inner thigh. They don't talk much for the rest of the meal.
"You know," Dean says, when they're back in the car and headed west. His head is turned toward Sam, but he's talking to the windshield, or maybe Sam's reflection in it. "If you'd have told me a few years ago I'd be here screwing my little brother, I'd have hit you."
Sam straightens out of his slouch and sends Dean the calmest look he can manage. If their whole relationship goes to hell here and now, it won't be his fault. "What changed?"
Dean shifts in his seat, angles his body toward Sam just slightly, and gnaws a little on his bottom lip.
"Dean?"
"Ask myself that every damn day," Dean says, and turns the music up.
*
Five months after Sam and Dean fuck for the first time, Sam spends the night with a woman whose apartment they rid of a poltergeist in Iowa City. The whole thing feels so much like what happened with Madison that it messes with Sam's head a little. Except this time Dean's there to see everything leading up to the sex, to watch her flirt and Sam flounder and act like a teenager who's never even talked to a girl before, smirking like this is the best entertainment he's had in years.
"You can find your own way back to the motel, right, Sammy?" Dean says, looking like he's so proud of Sam he could burst.
Then he leaves, and Sam's alone with the woman. Her eyes go dark and hungry when he looks at her. He thinks, 'Finally.'
The sex isn't what Sam hoped it would be. He eats her out, and it's like stepping into the past, the taste of her is so familiar. But when he fucks her, once on her stomach and once on her back, something's off. They don't fit like Sam thought they would. The sex is flat and kind of boring, and for the first time in his life Sam realizes he's having sex that isn't going to mean a single thing to him in the morning. That bothers him more than he'd like to admit.
After she falls asleep, Sam calls himself a cab and heads back to the motel, feeling guilty for leaving but knowing he'll feel even worse if he stays.
At the motel Sam finds Dean sitting on the bed in shorts and a t-shirt, watching Clue on television and eating a bag of popcorn.
"Wasn't expecting you 'til morning," Dean says, except he doesn't look the least bit surprised to see Sam back so soon. "She that bad?"
Sam has a sneaking suspicion that if anyone is to blame for the sex being bad, it's him. And admitting that to Dean really isn't a good idea. He grunts and throws himself on the bed next to Dean. Dean raises an eyebrow and tilts the popcorn bag toward him. Sam takes a huge handful and ends up dropping a few pieces, which Dean wrinkles his nose at.
"Dude, don't ever go lecturing me about being a slob again if you're gonna drop popcorn on my bed."
Sam drops another piece to be an ass, and Dean retaliates by tossing a kernel onto Sam's bed and holding another up in front of Sam's face as if to say, "Just try me, bitch."
"Jerk," Sam says, grinning wide.
Dean looks ridiculously pleased at that, face lighting up like a five-year-old. "That's my boy," he says. "No reason to mope all night. It happens to the best of us. Better luck next time."
He leans over to pat Sam's knee, and then he pauses, leans closer to sniff at Sam's face. "Damn, Sammy," he says, laughing raucously. "Might wanna wash your face, man. It reeks like pussy."
All of a sudden, Sam feels stupid, like a teenager whose mom just walked in on him with his hand down his pants. It's not like Dean didn't know what he was doing, not like he hasn't gone down on Dean dozens of times, but still Sam feels his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He starts to scramble out of the bed to go wash his face.
Dean grabs his wrist before he gets too far and tugs him back. He brings one hand to the back of Sam's neck, uses it to draw Sam forward, and then he's licking Sam's chin, tongue quick and rough. He pulls away after a moment, eyes closed like he's savoring the taste.
Then he leans back in and licks the corner of Sam's mouth, moves to Sam's bottom lip, and chuckles a little when Sam opens his mouth and tries to get Dean to kiss him properly. Dean pulls away, smirking, makes Sam chase him a few inches before he gives in and lets Sam suck his tongue into his mouth.
And just like that, Sam's desperate. He's got Dean's hair clenched in one hand and Dean's shirt in the other, and he's hungry for someone's cock in someone's ass, he doesn't care who plays what position, just as long as it happens and Sam's got his hands on Dean's skin the entire time.
"How'd you fuck her?" Dean asks, undoing Sam's jeans, staring down at Sam's lap like everything he's ever wanted in his life is right there waiting for him. "You give it to her missionary style, or you make get on her hands and knees for it?"
Sam almost tells him the truth, that he did both, and then thinks better of it. "Got her in my lap," he says. "Let her ride me."
Whenever Dean rides Sam's cock, Dean's in charge, and when Dean's in charge, he goes painfully slow. Either because he likes it slow or because he likes driving Sam crazy, Sam doesn't know. Sam's fine with it either way.
He sits on the edge of the bed, Dean's knees on either side of his hips. He keeps one hand on Dean's waist and the other between Dean's shoulder blades. Doesn't try to take control, doesn't try to hurry Dean up. Lets Dean rock softly when he wants to, slide himself up and down on Sam's dick when he wants to. Thinks about how much he loves sex when it feels like he's seconds away from dying the whole time.
"So tell me, Sammy," Dean says, panting, smirking like he already knows what Sam's answer is going to be. "Am I better than her?"
"Yes," Sam says, pressing his forehead to Dean's collarbone. "Fuck yes."
As he comes, he thinks, 'This is so messed up. You've ruined me.'
*
Dean never lets Sam do laundry alone. The very first time Sam was ever in charge of the family's laundry had been when he was thirteen, and he ended up burning their clothes in the dryer. Dean stared down at a pair of his briefs with brown scorch marks on them and said, "Dammit, Sam, you moron. How am I supposed to get laid in these?"
Dean'll never let Sam forget it, and he hasn't let Sam do laundry alone since.
They sit in 24-hour laundromats together in the middle of the night, when they're guaranteed to be the only ones there, and play slumber party games. Except Sam knows better than to call them that to Dean.
"Truth," Sam says.
Dean sighs and throws an empty detergent box at him. "Why can't you ever pick dare?"
"Because I know you, and I'm not jerking off in front of the security camera."
"Pussy." Dean crosses his arms and stares at Sam like he's carefully weighing his options. "Fine," he says. "Tell me about the first time you thought about getting in my pants."
Sam just stares, already feeling the embarrassment warming in his chest. But it's no worse than anything Dean's already asked or any new question he's likely to come up with if Sam refuses this one.
"It was after that case in Concord. The ghoul, remember? You met up with one of your old…whatevers while we were there. When we left, you kissed her while I was sitting in the car. I started…wondering what it would be like, to be her. Then I couldn't get it out of my head. I thought I was losing my mind."
"Would have snuck in a few gropes if I knew you'd be getting off on it," Dean says, smirking faintly.
Sam picks up the detergent box from where it fell and throws it back at Dean. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Dean says, almost before the words are out of Sam's mouth.
Dean rarely picks truth. He likes proving that while Sam may be a pussy sometimes, he never is. But this time is different, and Sam gets that. "When was the first time you thought about it?"
Dean doesn't even hesitate. He looks Sam straight in the eye and shrugs one shoulder like it's no big deal. "We stopped in West Virginia on the way to Delaware to deal with those witches about a year back. You were taking forever in the shower, and I had to pee like a bitch. So I went to bang on the door, tell you to hurry your ass up. But the walls were thin, and the shower was quiet. Heard your hand, you know," Dean mimes jerking off, "telltale fap fap fap. Got me so hot, thinking about you doing that with me only a few feet away."
"Pervert," Sam says, laughing.
Dean holds his hands out in a 'Yeah, that's right' gesture. "Right back at you, bitch." He glances down at his watch and then at the laundry machines that are just now getting to their final spin. "Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
Dean stares at Sam in total shock, jaw actually dropping a little. Then the shock is gone, and he's scooting to the edge of his chair, looking very interested and even a little gleeful. "Seriously? You're gonna jerk off right here, camera right there, and someone could come in at any minute?"
"If that's what my dare is." Sam spreads his legs a little and rests one hand on the inside of his thigh, drumming his fingers against his jeans.
"Go for it," Dean says, and settles back to watch.
*
They watch porn together sometimes. They never did before. It was a line that just wasn't crossed. Dean passed on his skin mags when he was done with them and left porn sites he thought Sam might enjoy open on Sam's computer, but they never sat down and watched anything together.
But after you've had your brother's dick up your ass, watching porn with him doesn't seem like such a big deal.
It's when they watch porn together that Dean's mouth starts getting really dirty.
Sam's on his hands and knees in front of Dean, and all he wants is to sink to his elbows, press his forehead into the mattress, and concentrate on nothing but Dean's cock inside him. But Dean doesn't let him. His grip is tight on Sam's shoulder, holding up him, and if Sam's head tries to loll forward, Dean's quick to yank it back up by his hair.
"C'mon, Sammy," he says, tone with significantly more bite than usual, not cooing, not praising. "We're paying for this. Don't let our money go to waste."
So Sam watches as a busty blonde gets pushed to her hands and knees on TV, moaning loud and fake when she gets a cock slammed into her from behind. Dean mimics the guy's thrusts for maybe a minute, catches up to his rhythm and keeps it, but it makes Sam's ass start to sting. He groans softly in pain, and Dean understands, slows until it starts feeling good again.
"I'm better than him," Dean growls. "He doesn't give a shit about her, fucks her like he doesn't care how she feels. I know better. So much sweeter when you love it too, Sammy. When you fuck yourself back on my dick like you can't get enough, moan all quiet like a whore 'cause it feels so good. Not good for me if it's not good for you. And you do love it, don't you, Sammy?"
There's no doubt, and Dean knows it. Sam can hear him leering even as he asks.
"Yes," he whispers. "God yes."
Sam loves it, feeling stretched and full, never empty, and of course Dean knows it because Dean knows everything about Sam.
"I know you do. You always open so easy for me, like you've been waiting all day to get my dick inside you. You're better than that chick too, you know. Better than the best porn star. They get fucked because they get paid, and you do it 'cause you like it. You bend over and show off your hole for me 'cause you need it."
On screen, the guy's got his hands on the girl's breasts, squeezing them, pinching her nipples, and that's nearly Sam's undoing. He can't take anything more, especially when Dean won't let him touch himself ("Look at her, Sammy, she's not rubbing her clit, is she? Be good, and I'll let you come down my throat later"). He drops his head to the mattress, makes the sluttiest little whimper-moans he knows Dean loves and raises his ass for more. This time Dean lets him, moves his hand down between Sam's shoulder blades and presses Sam even harder into the bed.
When Dean comes, he pulls out and jerks himself through it, shoots all over Sam's ass, one long groan followed by heavy, stuttered panting while the blonde on screen keeps moaning, the guy grunting, a perfect harmony that shouldn't be hot but somehow is. Sam's hips keep rocking, riding out the feeling of being stretched open and rubbing his dick against his belly, not enough to get him off but enough to keep him sane.
He almost jumps out of his skin when suddenly Dean's fingers are spreading him even wider and Dean's tongue starts lapping at the streaks of come on his ass. Sam realizes a second later that he's not licking it up but pushing it instead. Down to Sam's hole, shoving his tongue inside, pushing his come into Sam's ass. Chases it down to Sam's balls when it drips out and shoves it back in even harder. Sam feels sore and raw and more dirty than he's ever felt before. He rocks back against Dean's face, tries to get him even deeper, and makes the most mortifying and pitiful sound when Dean pulls away.
"See," Dean says, and Sam can hear the satisfied grin in his voice. "Told you this no condom thing was an awesome idea."
*
They argue in Wichita. Over nothing. Dean wakes up in a bad mood and Sam wakes up in a bad mood, and then Sam accidentally knocks over Dean's drink when they're eating dinner in their motel room. Suddenly they're fighting, and at first it's more childish than vicious. The stupidest accusations, the stupidest insults.
Until Dean hisses, "You're such a little bitch sometimes. I don't know how the hell Jess put up with you for so long."
Jess died five years ago, and for the most part, Sam would say he's made his peace with her death. Not to say that he's gotten over her, because he doesn't think he'll ever really be over her. But he can talk about her now, tell stories about her to Dean, have a little smile with his melancholy when something reminds him of her. So it's not Dean saying her name that gets him.
It's the way he says it. Spits it along with all the words it comes with, makes it sound like something ugly. It hits a nerve in Sam he didn't even know he had. He hears the crack and sees blood start pouring from Dean's nose before he even realizes he's throwing a punch.
Dean puts his hand to his face and stares down at Sam's hand like that was the last thing he was expecting. Sam stares at the blood dripping down Dean's lips and thinks the same thing.
"Shit," he says. "Shit. Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't-"
"No," Dean says. "No, I get it. I deserved that. Shouldn't have brought her into this."
Dean retreats into the bathroom, shuts the door calmly behind him, and doesn't come out for over twenty minutes. Sam sits on his bed, rubs at his sore knuckles, and thinks in a very detached way, 'I wonder if this counts as domestic abuse.'
"It's not broken," Dean says when he finally comes out. The blood's gone, and his nose is red, maybe a little swollen, discolored, but still straight. "And you're lucky for that too, you asshole. If you ever screw up my face, I'll kill you."
Sam gets off the bed and holds his hands out, thinking stupidly that maybe if he touches Dean he'll understand how sorry Sam is, but Dean gives him a look that says, 'The hell do you think you're doing with those?' Sam drops his arms back to his sides and says, "Dean. Look, I didn't-"
"Don't worry about it." Dean gives Sam a small smile like he's trying to say everything's okay, but there's an edge to his voice that says otherwise. "It's over, you're sorry, I'm sorry. No need to cry over it."
"I know," Sam says. "But I just want you to know that I-"
"You know what you could do if you wanted to be an amazing little brother?" Dean picks up the ice bucket from the dresser and holds it out to Sam. "You could get me some ice. My nose would love some ice. And then some quiet while it recuperates. Which could take hours, so you might want to just keep your mouth shut for the rest of the night."
When they go to sleep, Sam crawls into Dean's bed and puts an arm around Dean's waist, scoots him backward until his back is pressed against Sam's chest and his hair is tickling Sam's nose.
"Dude, I know you're not trying to cuddle with me. If you're gonna sleep with me, you stay on your side of the bed," Dean says, but he's not elbowing Sam away and the edge is gone from his voice.
"Shut up and go to sleep," Sam says, smiling, and throws one leg over Dean's just to feel him kick it away.
*
They have a rule about fucking in the middle of a case. Specifically: don't do it. It's not a hard rule to follow. When they're dealing with dead bodies and when every second wasted means an innocent person is one second closer to death, it's a pretty big feat to even get a lasting hard-on, much less the desire to do something with it.
After the hunt is over, though, that's different.
Sam's knees are skinned and still bleeding, but he drops to them anyway, ignores how much they sting when they scrape against the motel carpet. Dean's jeans are tight, and Sam can feel his cock through them when he presses his cheek against Dean's crotch. Can smell it too, under the stench of dried sweat and dirt.
Dean hisses as Sam nuzzles the bulge in his jeans, leans back against the wall, and cups the back of Sam's head. "Jesus, Sam," he murmurs. Doesn't have to ask what Sam is doing, doesn't have to ask why.
Dean spent the night in a cemetery, digging up a still-rotting corpse while Sam was stuck defending the guy haunted by its spirit. Sam's hurt and Dean's disgusting, and all Sam wants right now is Dean's dick heavy on his tongue and making his jaw ache.
And he gets it. Eventually. Dean has to tease him first. Has to give Sam fingers to suck while he unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out. Has to slick Sam's lips with spit and leer down at him while Sam gets his mouth fucked by two fingers, staring at Dean's dick hard and ready for him two inches away. Has to hold Sam's head back because he's still the older brother who likes keeping what Sam wants out of reach, likes watching Sam wrestle for it.
"All right, Sammy," Dean whispers, rubbing his fingertips against Sam's scalp almost like he's trying to soothe him. "Go for it."
Sam tries to take Dean too deep at first and gags on it-which Dean loves, even if he'll never admit it. He pulls back, lets the head rest on the tip of his tongue for a second, tasting, and then he tries again.
It's messy and sloppy. Sam gets spit all over his chin, and his mouth makes obscene slurping noises as Dean slides in and out of it. He wants to fuck his mouth on Dean's dick, get Dean as far down his throat as possible, feel Dean's pubic hair tickling his nose, but Sam's not that good, not skilled enough for deep-throating. He ends up gagging a few more times, but still he keeps going back for more. He's starved for it. Would love it if Dean would just hold his head still and force him to take it all, but Dean would never do that. He'd never get so rough without Sam's express permission, and Sam can't pull himself away from Dean's cock long enough to give it.
"Shit, Sam," Dean groans. His hands move all over Sam's face, brush the hair from Sam's forehead, cup Sam's jaw, trace the curve of Sam's lips as they're wrapped around his dick. He stares down at Sam like the sight is the most amazing thing he's ever seen. "Jesus, Sam, the picture you make."
The first shot of come hits the roof of Sam's mouth. The second hits the back of his throat, which is exactly where he wants it. He sucks it down easily and keeps sucking until there's nothing left, He tongues the slit until Dean tells him it's enough and pulls him off.
Ten minutes later, Sam fucks Dean over the bathroom sink. It hurts. His knees rub against Dean's thighs, and every thrust aggravates the huge and nasty bruise on Sam's lower back. He loves it anyway. He keeps one arm wrapped around Dean's chest, clutching his shoulder, holding Dean so close he can feel every breath like it's his own.
The whole time Dean moans, "Oh, oh," and sometimes curses, occasionally bites out, "Christ, Sammy, so fucking huge." He tilts his hips so that Sam slides in easier, clenches his fingers on the edge of the sink, lips pouty, eyes wide and staring at Sam in the mirror like he can't decide if it hurts or feels good.
*
They get lost in Pennsylvania. The map says to follow a road that apparently doesn't exist. Sam sits in the passenger seat with the map spread across his lap, coming up with a new route that'll get them to the old cemetery they need to be at.
"I sold my soul," Dean says.
Sam almost tears the map in two. "What? Again?"
Dean shoots him a look that says he thinks Sam is an idiot. "No. Remember a few months ago when I said I'd have punched you if you ever said I'd be screwing you and you asked me what changed? I sold my soul and then got it back."
"And that's what changed?"
Dean presses his lips together and gives a sort of half-shrug. "When it started to change, anyway. Realized I didn't want to live without you and didn't want to leave you alone either. After that, everything else just sorta fell into place."
Sam doesn't know what to say to that, if there's anything he even can say. He sees Dean glance at him out of the corner of his eye and sends Dean a little smile, hopes that says enough.
"So what about you?" Dean asks. "What changed for you?"
There's not just one moment that Sam can pin down as the moment when incest started to seem like a good idea. It happened slowly, is probably still happening now. He goes with the answer that's already in his head, the one that feels most right.
"You sold your soul."
And Sam was ready to damn his own to get it back. But he leaves that part unsaid.
"Huh," Dean says. "Well aren't we just cute and in sync."
"Or it was a significant event in our lives that screwed us both up."
"Nah, we're just adorable." Dean shoots him a sideways glance, cocky little smirk on his lips. "But it's okay if you want to live in denial. I know you're not used to being adorable, so it must be uncomfortable for you."
"Shut up," Sam says, trying to scowl but somehow he can only grin.
*
Nine months after Sam and Dean fuck for the first time, Dean goes home with a girl he meets in a bar in Tallahassee. He hands Sam the keys to the Impala and says, "Don't wait up."
Sam takes the keys and laughs, tells Dean to have a good time. He waits around in the bar for a little bit just to make sure Dean isn't coming back to grab something he forgot. Then he heads back to the motel.
The TV is a piece of crap, and Sam only gets static no matter what channel he turns it to. So he buys a bag of Fritos and a soda from the vending machine outside and sits down with his computer, looking for anything that could be a hunt.
Dean comes back a little over an hour later. He's holding a bag of Fritos, a Snickers bar, and two sodas. He says, "Hey. Here, I got you-" Then he notices the empty bag and can by Sam's elbow and looks sort of embarrassed. "Guess you got that covered."
"Actually, I'm still kind of hungry," Sam lies. "So thanks."
Sam closes his laptop and moves to sit on his bed, taking the food from Dean as he passes.
"You're back early."
Dean snorts and then shocks Sam a little by flopping on Sam's bed right next to him. "Yeah, well. She kinda sucked. Or I guess I should say she wouldn't suck. Said some crap about how this is the 21st century and women don't have to serve men."
"And that made her a bad lay?"
"Something like that."
Sam isn't sure if he should be amused or horrified. He rolls his eyes and starts to open his soda can, but Dean yanks it out of his hands and sets it on the floor. "Dude, what-"
"It was more than that," Dean says. Then his hands are on Sam's neck, tugging him forward.
Somehow Sam gets the feeling that the kiss is supposed to be soft, gentle, but it doesn't turn out that way. Once Sam is close enough that he can feel Dean's breath on his lips, Dean's grip gets harsh, and Sam's not so much being tugged forward as hurtled into Dean. And it's not so much Sam's lips meeting Dean's as it is Dean's teeth holding Sam's bottom lip in place so he can suck on it hard.
It's rough, hurts, and scares Sam just as much as it makes him want. He puts his hands on Dean's chest and pushes. Not hard, just enough that Dean'll get the picture, and Dean does. He lets himself be pushed away from Sam's mouth, but he keeps his hands on Sam's neck, loosens his grip, starts stroking his thumb over Sam's pulse.
"She was tiny and soft," Dean says, sucking on his own bottom lip now in place of Sam's. "And wet, dude, fucking soaked. She got all weird when I wanted to finger her open, asked me what the hell I was doing. A chick who turned down a good fingering, man, can you believe that?"
Dean laughs, and it's not a pleasant sound. Sam doesn't know what to think.
"But she wasn't," Dean continues, "she wasn't as tight as you. Nowhere near it. The whole time I was fucking her, I just kept thinking that. 'Sam's tighter than you.'"
This time when Dean pulls him forward, calmer than before, Sam opens his mouth against Dean's and lets him take whatever he wants. Dean sighs a little into Sam's mouth, runs his tongue against Sam's, and pulls away to kiss at Sam's lip where he bit before.
"Let me," Dean says. He pulls the collar of Sam's shirt away and mouths at his collarbone, nips a little at the skin. He rubs his palm against Sam's inner thigh, wrist brushing Sam's cock through his pants, goes lower and brushes his fingers against Sam's ass. "Let me?"
"Yeah," Sam answers. "Yeah."
If there's a shadow hanging over them, Sam thinks, it's not as dark as it should be.