Sometimes Sam is so beautiful Dean feels it in his chest when he looks at him; it’s warm and tight and it aches but it’s the best feeling Dean knows outside being buried in the perfect heaven of his brother’s body.
They’ve been attached at the hip since Dad put Sammy in Dean’s arms when he was only six months old and the house was ablaze and their mother went up in smoke with it, an echo of their father’s panicked voice in his ears forever - “take your brother outside as fast as you can” - but all this time later and it still catches Dean off guard. He’ll look up from putting the angel blade through the chest of some demon to see Sam standing up with Ruby’s knife, bloodied, in his hand, tossing his head back to get his hair out of his face, panting the way he does; he’ll look over the laptop to see Sam passed out face down in their pillows, the blankets askew across his back, smooth skin a tempting invitation; they’ll be bickering in the Impala and Sam will go silent, staring out the window and Dean will turn to look at him and fuck he’s mad - Sam can be such a little bitch sometimes - but Jesus Christ Sam is beautiful even when he’s brooding and Dean forgets, just can’t even remember what he was riled up about the second before because Sam is sitting there, next to him, pouting but still so perfect that ache wells up in Dean’s chest and there’s no room for anything else.
He can’t help it that he stares a little and his breath catches in his throat.
“What?!” Sam snaps, sensing his brother’s eyes on him. You’d think after all this time, Sam would know, too. It’s light years past the first time Dean’s eyes lingered on him like this.
“Sam.” It’s all Dean says, and he knows his voice is at once rougher and softer than he meant it to be but just add it to the never-ending list of things his little brother does to him. His tongue passes over his bottom lip and he didn’t mean to do that either but he’s come undone just a little, the first of the delicately kept, fragile threads starting to unwind, all because Sam just is.
Sam looks irritated for only a fraction of a second while he tries to hold on to whatever it was they were fighting over but then it’s gone. His lip twitches and he shifts in the seat, the vinyl creaks under him and then those eyes are on Dean - they’re big and bright and god his brother shouldn’t be allowed to do that puppy thing to him like he’s just another easy mark but fuck if Dean’s not the easiest mark out there, at least, for Sam.
Dean swallows hard and hates/loves how this happens; he feels like such a girl all of a sudden, his brother fucking overwhelms him, but he can’t help it, not after everything they’ve been through, how little they have, and how sometimes he looks at his brother and is so struck - Sam’s his fucking everything and he’s man enough to admit it, has before and will again. Sometimes the thought hits him and he can’t bring himself to be mad anymore because it doesn’t even matter, just the fact he’s got Sam shotgun to fight with at all - that’s it, it really is. And he knows - he does - that Sam knows, too, but hell if it’s not the best thing in his life to be able to remind his little brother anyway.
Sam nods at him, a little breathlessly because he can read Dean as easily as any Latin text that needs translating and he knows what’s coming, knows that Dean’s white-knuckling the steering wheel to keep his hands off his brother while he’s driving.
“Okay, Dean.” It’s quiet and his hand reaches over to rest on Dean’s thigh, work up and down it slow and smooth as Dean’s eyes go back to the road to look for a place to pull over. Dean fights the impulse to let his eyes flutter shut at the gentle pressure of his brother’s hand on his leg and instead lets his knees splay a little further apart, giving himself a little more room.
Sam doesn’t make it harder for him, keeps his hand on his leg instead of reaching for his dick like Dean knows he wants to, can hear Sam shifting on the seat again for all the same reasons as he finally pulls over onto the unpaved shoulder, edging into a semi-secluded area past some trees. Not that he cares, really. The sun’s going down, it’s a back road, and Dean would fuck his brother with way less cover - has, plenty - because he’s never been able to resist Sam and hasn’t cared to try in decades.
The minute he twists the keys and the engine dies Sam’s hands are grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him close as he slides back against the door so Dean’s climbing between the vee of his legs, one wedged between his body and the back of the seat, the other off the edge and down because they don’t really fit - never really have - but they always make it work.
Sam’s claims his mouth and Dean feels better and worse all at once, somehow the urgency is soothed and kicked up a notch, and while he melts into the familiar taste and heat of his brother’s mouth he’s a little frantically pawing at his own belt and zipper to get his cock out.
Sam sucks at his tongue and whimpers as he lets it go; Dean moans and leans into it, chases his brother’s mouth and nips at his already swollen lips.
“God, Dean, when you look at me like that- Jesus,” Sam pants out, his hands slipping around Dean’s waist to help push his jeans and briefs down past the curve of his ass. He gives Dean’s cheeks a forceful squeeze, angling his hips up to get some of the friction, and Dean chuckles a little as he drags his teeth along the edge of Sam’s jaw.
“Yeah, well, you started it, Sammy, lookin’ like that in the first place.”
Sam huffs out a little air like he’s about to argue but then Dean’s sucking at the skin of his throat while the hand that’s not propping him up fights with Sam’s belt and all Sam can do is whine and tilt his head back to give his brother more room.
Dean almost growls as he pats Sam’s hips to get him to lift up and Sam scrambles to make his hands work, let go of Dean’s sides long enough to tug his pants down his thighs. He kicks one shoe off and wrestles a leg out so he can spread them, sighing as Dean’s free hand quickly slides down between them to reach behind his balls and tease at his hole. It’s still a little loose, a little slick, from when they fucked before leaving the motel this morning and when the wetness hits his fingers Dean can only groan and kiss hungrily at Sam’s mouth.
Sam makes more of those desperate puppy sounds when Dean takes his hand back but then two of his brother’s calloused fingers are edging into his mouth alongside Dean’s tongue and Sam is shuddering, letting his jaw open to make room. Dean pulls back just enough, a last lick along his brother’s lips before he pets Sam’s tongue with his fingers.
“C’mon, Sammy, suck ‘em. God, wanna be in you yesterday,” his voice is hoarse as he asks and the sight of Sam closing his eyes and hollowing his cheeks around his fingers, wiggling his tongue against the webbing between them, sends hot sparks zipping down his spine. Sam laughs a little when he finally let’s Dean’s fingers go.
“You were in me yesterday, Dean. And this morning, and-”
Dean almost gets in a full eye roll before he shuts Sam up with another kiss and his spit-soaked fingers find their way back to Sam’s hole, both of them sliding in to the first knuckle and Sam’s gasping, arching into it, his hands tight on Dean’s hips.
“Dean, Jesus, shit, yes,” Sam drags out the last word and starts to circle his hips. Dean pushes his fingers in the rest of the way and starts scissoring them to stretch Sam out, loving the way his brother is writhing under him, so fucking ready for him, always ready, always wanting, it’s so fucking hot and Dean is thankful for it because he needs to feel the heat of Sam’s body and he needs it now, needs his baby brother like nothing else in the world.
It’s cursory prep at best but this is hardly their first time and Sam’s as desperate as Dean; it’s not long before Sam is tapping insistently at Dean’s hips and begging him to get on with it using the few words he can remember.
“D-Dean, fuck, enough already just- fuck- fuck, yes, please, Dean,” it’s not exactly coherent but Dean will always understand.
“Yeah, Sammy, yeah,” Dean’s mumbling, too, when he eases his fingers out and Sam’s whining, arching up to make it easier for Dean to take himself in his hand and line up. Dean nudges against his brother’s opening and it gives, pulls him in and Dean sighs as he slides all the way in, as slow and steady as his need allows. Sam’s bitten nails dig into his skin under his t-shirt and his little brother’s head goes back and hits the glass of the window. When Sam inhales sharply Dean knows it has nothing to do with his head and everything to do with the way Dean’s trying to break him in two.
Dean forces himself still and kisses at Sam’s lips instead, letting his brother adjust. The position in the front seat is awkward and it’d be uncomfortable except for the countless times they’ve done it before and how neither of them is overly concerned with anything apart from the way it feels to be this way, together, like they know they’re meant to be.
When Sam starts to nod against him, their noses bumping in the confined space and his too-long hair tickling his face, Dean finally starts to move. As he pulls back to slam back in, finding a rhythm and angle that makes his brother shudder under him, he thinks Sam is never more beautiful than he is right now, flushed, a delicate sheen of sweat clinging to him everywhere, his lips ruined and red from Dean’s own, and his brother’s name little more than a trembling whisper as he lets Dean make them whole.
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
