Realised I never really put anything here but uh yeah I moved on to a different fandom and I write for that now - if you’d like to know where, just message me or send an ask off-anon!
Wincest, NSFW. My fic for the Wincest Reverse Bang 2016.
“Kill him,” Sam says simply.
Dean snaps his fingers and the demon's neck twists sharply. The crack of broken bone echoes off the stone. Sam smiles over at Dean, beckoning him over with a firm gesture. Dean stands from his chair and goes to stand in front of Sam, their knees touching. Sam sits up a little on his throne and pouts at Dean.
“'M horny, big brother.”
Dean chuckles and hooks three fingers under Sam's jaw, forcing his head farther up.
“I told you, Sammy, not until later. You have to serve your punishment first.” Ah, yes, his punishment. Sam clenches around the plug inside him, wide enough to burn, but not big enough to tear. It's a hot pink silicone, and Dean promises he has plans for Sam's slutty little hole. Sam only hopes he delivers.
“But maybe you can do a little something for me first, hm?” Dean's eyes flash black and he shuffles closer, spreading his legs around Sam's. “Clear the room,” he whispers.
With a gesture, Sam turns the demon's body into dust, and with a thought, the guards are gone.
“Done.”
Dean's other hand goes down to rub at his own crotch. He narrows his eyes for a moment, thinking, before he gives his orders.
“Hands on my thighs.” Sam immediately plants his hands.
“Open your mouth.” Dean drags down the zipper of his jeans and lets his cock bob free.
“Now suck like the good boy I know you are.” Dean removes his hand, and threads his fingers into Sam's hair, the other hand guiding his dick into Sam's mouth.
Sam has to arch down slightly to get level with Dean's hips, but once he is, Dean pushes in, relentless, a thick heat that blocks out Sam's senses. Dean groans when he hits the back of Sam's throat. Sam swallows and hums, shudders when Dean's other hand lands on his jaw, his ring and pinky fingers lodging themselves underneath Sam's jawbone to keep him tight.
“Well, go on. Suck.” A cruel grin and Dean slides in further, the head of his cock popping into Sam's throat, and it's a good thing Sam doesn't need to breathe, otherwise he'd be fainting right about now.
He sucks as best he can, lips a tight seal around the base of Dean's dick and his tongue rubbing over that vein up the underside. He swallows again and Dean groans, pulls out and thrusts back in. Dean keeps up a steady rhythm, shoving himself so far in that his balls slap against Sam's chin and withdrawing until the head barely touches Sam's lips.
Sam lets his teeth graze, just a hint, and Dean's eyes go black and he snarls, fucking in harder. Spit pools wet and sticky in the corners of Sam's mouth and his lips smear it down the cock currently fucking away his voice. Suddenly a faster rhythm and a harder grip on his hair and jaw, cruel fingers twisting in his hair until some of the strands rip, and Sam can't get a grip with his lips anymore, Dean's dick sliding slippery in and out of the clutch of his throat, and Sam gurgles with each new plunge in. Dean moans and his thrusts turn erratic, shaky against the inside of Sam's cheeks. He groans as he comes, spilling over Sam's tongue and teeth.
“Fuck, yeah, Sammy, go on, swallow it like a good little brother – yeah - “
Sam swallows all of it; he's been trained well. Dean's come is thicker and sweeter than his, and Sam fucking loves it.
“Yeah, fucking little come-slut, aren't you?” Dean's grip has loosened now, and he rocks in slowly as his orgasm fades. There's a satisfied smile on his face and his eyes are back to green.
A few moments of silence before Dean pulls out and tucks himself back in. Sam licks his teeth to make sure he got all the last drops.
“Attaboy. You can resume your...kingly duties now.” Said with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow. Dean pats Sam's head before Sam removes his hands and Dean saunters back to his chair.
Sam thinks the guards back in and relaxes in his throne, one leg drawn up with his elbow resting on it. His cock throbs against the rough material of his slacks – Dean's choice – but he ignores it. He's a good boy like that.
“Bring me some good news,” the king commands.
----
“Ah – ah – ah!”
“Yeah, that's it, scream for me.”
“Fuck – Dean! - oh fuck - “
“Gonna come?”
“Dean – please – please – ohgod - “
“You like big brother's dick in ya, huh?”
“Ohshit'mgonnacome - “
Dean squeezes hard at the base of Sam's cock, forcing his orgasm to retreat, and Sam shudders and whines, thighs clamping down either side of Dean's hips. His head thrashes on the pillow and Dean just keeps going, fucking jackhammering into Sam exactly the way Sam likes, and this is the fourth fucking time he's stopped Sam coming.
“No coming 'til I do, little brother.” Black eyes and that fucking cocky-ass smirk and Sam could kill right now. It must show on his face, because Dean narrows his eyes and says, “Getting a little bratty there, aren't you?” And then he starts to pull out and no no no, Sam's too close. “I think I'll have to take you down a notch. Teach you who the real ruler is here.”
“No, no, please, Dean – Dean - “ But he doesn't safeword, not yet. Dean's always taken care of him. Then Dean's pulling out and pinning Sam's wrists above his head, whispering a quick spell so they stay there. He leaves Sam's legs free and slithers off the bed, silk sheets rasping against his naked skin.
“Close your eyes.” Oh fuck, it's that voice. It sends shivers down Sam's spine and he relaxes into the bed, letting his eyes slip closed.
There's muffled footfalls on the carpet and the mattress dips beside Sam.
“Now, can you keep quiet or do I need to use the gag?” Sam shakes his head.
“Good.”
Dean situates himself between Sam's legs and then suddenly there's strong hands pushing Sam's thighs up up up until his knees knock against his ears. Sam yelps with the first hit.
“Didn't I say quiet?” Dean says, deadly calm. “Behave.” Sam nods frantically and swallows back his next noise.
The hits come short and sharp, Dean's wide palm raining blows all over Sam's ass and some on the backs of his thighs. Each slap heats up Sam's skin and Sam swears he can feel the handprints spanked into him. Dean relents after a while, once Sam's ass is on fucking fire, and there's a brief silence where Sam can hear Dean's heavy panting.
Then there's a hand at Sam's hole, spreading his cheeks even wider, fingertips slipping in the lube still slicking up his hole, and Sam hears a dirty-wet sucking sound before Dean hits his hole straight on with three spit-wet fingers. Sam chokes on his shout and it ends up a garbled mess in his throat. His hole clenches with every slap. Dean hits him in quick succession – onetwothreefour – and just as Sam expects another hit, Dean slips his three fingers in, suddenly stretching Sam's hole and making him whine.
“Open your eyes.” Sam does. Dean looks at him and spits another spell, and Sam's jaw immediately snaps shut. “I said be quiet.”
Sam could break the spells if he really wanted – after all, he is the king of Hell – but why would he ever dream of that when Dean does such perfect things to him?
Dean twists and crooks his fingers, turning them that little bit to the left until he's stroking rough over Sam's prostate. Sam nearly jumps out of his skin, writhing against the onslaught of pleasure. He moans against his forced-shut teeth and huffs through his nose. Dean smirks and rubs even harder, until Sam's nerves are fucking fraying and he can't stop his eyes rolling back into his head. His thighs shake and his body tenses, his dick jumping and leaking all over himself. Sam groans, guttural, and Dean presses his naked body up against Sam's back, a solid wall of warmth that Sam leans against as he pretty much vibrates with the force of his coming orgasm.
“Don't come until I say.” Dean uses his other hand to tug roughly at Sam's cock, long pulls with a quick twist at the head that make Sam jerk. Oh god, he's so fucking close, but he clamps down on it, wills his orgasm to fade away, but Dean keeps rubbing and Sam's not sure he can hold out.
“Now,” Dean orders, unlocking Sam's jaw in the same moment, and Sam sucks in a deep breath and coughs out his moans as he comes – the release is fucking wonderful. His own come hits his chest and neck, hot splatters that drip down his collarbones and catch on his chin.
As his orgasm winds down, Dean leans down to lick at Sam's asshole, quick flicks of tongue that make Sam groan and his muscles clamp again, forcing out a few weaker spurts of come.
“God, Dean,” he pants. Dean grins darkly against Sam's ass and lets his eyes fade to black.
“God ain't got much to do with this,” he says.
----
“What do you mean 'planning to attack'?” Sam demands, hands curling into fists.
“Well, um, sir, we know the angels are planning to attack.” The demon pulls at his shirt nervously. He's scared. Good. Sam bares his teeth and snarls.
“Do you know when or where or do you just state the obvious?”
“We – We're not exactly sure when or where, sir.”
“Go find out and report back.” Sam grinds his teeth together hard enough to hurt and glances over at the empty chair to his left. It's one of Dean's torturing days – he's got to let off steam sometimes – but this is one of the times Sam really wishes he was here.
“Guard!” One of them steps forward. “Fetch your general.” The guard nods hurriedly and rushes off, probably relieved.
Sam sighs. “And guard?” Another one comes towards him. “Get Dean here. Tell him to bring his entertainment if he needs to.”
----
Dean returns with a half-eaten heart in one hand and a handful of ribs in the other.
“I was just getting to the good part, too,” he says as he sulks in his chair.
“I said you could bring her up if you wanted to.” Sam sits tense in his chair, drumming his fingers tersely against the rough stone. Dean shrugs.
“Eh, she's still alive. I'll finish her later.” Dean twists a lock of blonde hair around his knuckles. “So the angels are attacking?”
“Yeah.”
“Want me to set up the Knights?”
“Not yet.”
Dean side-eyes him. “You seem tense.” He sucks the blood off of his fingers and smacks his lips when he's done.
“No shit.”
“Aw, is that any way to treat your elders?” Dean gets up and crosses to Sam, perching on the armrest of his throne.
“You're just happy because you'll get to rip apart some angels.”
Dean's eyes drop to black and he smiles at the thought. He leans in and kisses Sam, his victim's blood smearing between their mouths. Sam loves the taste of Dean just lying underneath. He loves his bloodthirsty big brother.
----
The guards catch the first three angels that try to get in, and they're walked into the throne room with absolutely no dignity at all. A demon leads them all with a heavy chain, which splits into three smaller chains that attach to the metal collars around their throats. Their hands are handcuffed in front of them, forcing their shoulders to curl and their wings to flare out. Their feet drag with the cuffs on them. Hell's soldiers have broken all their wings in half so they trail behind them like forgotten clothing. Dean perks up as soon as the angels come in.
The one in front is Michael, and he's the one Sam addresses.
“So, Michael, what's your plan? You and your little Cupid squad come in and trash my kingdom?” Sam rests his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers delicately in front of him. “Hm?”
Michael sizes him up with disdain and then looks over at Dean.
“Dean Winchester.” Michael tuts. “What a fall from grace you've made.”
“That's cute, pretending you have power here. I always liked your spunk.” But Sam can see where Dean's eyes are glued – Michael's wings. Dean's always had a thing for angel wings, particularly after Cas. Dean never did tell Sam what happened to him.
“Didn't your father ever tell you it's rude to ignore a direct question?” Sam stands and draws himself up to his full height. “What's your plan?”
“We won't tell you.” The one to the left of Michael says. Sam nods once and turns to Dean.
“All yours.” He says. Dean grins and claps his hands like a little boy.
----
Sam sits outside the interrogation room and listens to Dean work. The angels' screams are tinged with Enochian, which grates against Sam's senses. There's a wet ripping sound and the Enochian rings louder. Dean speaks in low, rough tones, commanding and terrifying, if Sam may say so himself.
Physical torture isn't really Sam's thing. He prefers subtlety, pushing at weak spot until a person breaks without a finger laid on them. Dean - well, Dean's the violence in the relationship. He always was more hands-on, with his equipment, with the Impala, with Sam. Sam usually sifted through old books and navigated. So, yeah, physical torture isn't really Sam's thing, but it sure is Dean's. And he looks so beautiful doing it, too.
Sam peeks around the corner to see Dean standing over the seated angel, one hand on the angel's throat and the other coated in blood up to his elbow. There's a completely unattached wing lying on the ground by his feet. Sam guesses the feathers were once white.
And Dean. Oh, Dean. Blood-splattered and gorgeous, black eyes and cruel smirk. Sam stands and leans against the entrance, arms crossed. The angel coughs weakly in Dean's grip.
“He's not talkin'.” Dean growls. “Useless.” With a violent jerk of his hand, Dean snaps the angel's neck and dislocates its jaw.
The good thing about Hell is that nothing ever dies.
In a few hours, the angel will have healed enough for Dean to try again. Sam merely cocks an eyebrows as Dean turns to him. Usually torture gets him hard, but there must be too much anger in his system this time, blocking out all other feelings.
Dean snarls at him and sits on the chair opposite the angel. He crosses his arms. And waits.
Sam leaves. He knows when to leave the monster alone.
----
Dean kisses Sam when Sam finally lets him tear Michael up. Like Sam wasn't going to let him anyway.
Sam watches this time, watches Dean rip the angel apart, starting with the wings. They come free with a wet crrk and Michael screams to the lifeless walls. Dean interrogates and Michael doesn't answer, and with his silence his second wing is torn from him, leaving a jagged, bloody stump.
“Where are the rest of your buddies, huh, Mikey? Aren't they coming to save you?” Michael stays mute, and that's when Dean cuts open his torso.
He breaks Michael's ribs one by one with his bare hands, the shriek of shattering bone bouncing off the walls. Dean looks at Sam and grins, and Sam nods at him, pleased. He sits outside and lets Dean work.
----
“There were more angels after Mikey there, but it seems they bailed when these three got captured.” Dean leans casually against the hallway wall, looking down at Sam sitting on the bench. “You'd better check Purgatory, though. Apparently they were trying to rally the monsters there and get them to attack us.”
Sam smiles. “Awesome.” He starts to push himself up, but Dean stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Wait.” And he crowds into Sam's space, knees around Sam's thighs, and bends so his hips are level with Sam's mouth. There's a bulge pushing out the zipper, and Sam's jaw cramps with the sudden rush of spit.
“God, just, real quick Sam – won't take long - “ Dean babbles as he pulls his dick out, sliding it immediately into Sam's mouth. “Suck me.”
Dean winds a blood sticky hand into Sam's hair and it's not long before his hips stutter and he comes straight into Sam's mouth. He groans loudly and grips Sam's hair tighter.
“Fuck, Sammy, such a good mouth for me.”
----
The soldiers Sam sent to Purgatory won't be back for a few days; he hopes they don't die there. Well, that's a problem for later if they do. Sam has more important things to focus on right now. Namely, Dean, straddling him in their bed, the one with the cotton sheets.
Dean kisses him lazily and thumbs over Sam's nipples, the flat of his knife laying against Sam's chest. Sam lets the warm pleasure roll over him, soften his muscles and loosens his joints, and he sinks back into the bed with a satisfied groan. Dean smirks against Sam's mouth, and there's a quick spell muttered, and suddenly Sam's pinned to the bed.
“Shh, shh, be a good boy for me.” Dean shushes like Sam's about to protest, and maybe that's leftover energy from the torture, but Sam just nods and licks his lips.
“Yeah,” Dean whispers, before picking up the knife.
This is Sam's favourite part.
Dean kisses down Sam's throat and then straightens, eyes green. He traces the knife – blade down – across Sam's chest, twirling it lazily across the remnants of Sam's tattoo. Drags it bump-bump-bump down Sam's ribs, skidding across Sam's hips and then ghosting back up until the cool metal slides against Sam's throat.
The first cut is across Sam's collarbone, thin, almost painless. Sam arches slightly, offers more skin for Dean to slice. Another cut, this one deeper, on Sam's chest.
“You gonna stay nice and still for me, little brother?” Dean asks, his eyes fixed on the bead of blood welling up and rolling away.
“Yes.” And the spell is gone, Sam is free to move, but he doesn't, just rests his hands on Dean's calves, folded up near his hips, and watches.
Dean's tongue pokes through his teeth as he works, careful, precise cuts that probably spell something, but Sam's not looking. He watches Dean work, thumbs rubbing up and down his calves, keeps himself still and calm. Dean's hard cock twitches with every cut, precome leaking in a delicate string down to Sam's navel.
“Yeah, that's it, Sammy, bleed for me,” Dean growls. He leans down to lick at Sam's wounds, rough tongue lapping up Sam's blood and Sam makes a noise high in the back of his throat.
“Got something to say?” Dean peers up from where he's licking Sam's sternum. “Say it, Sam.” A low command that shivers through Sam's bones.
“Want – Want yours, Dean.” Gasped out as Dean laves over a sensitive nipple.
“Okay, Sam.” Said all dark and smokey, whiskey rough over the blood coating Dean's lips. A swift flick of the knife and Dean's wrist is dripping with his own blood – demon blood. He raises it to Sam, who immediately latches on with his mouth, moaning at the thrill, the rush that comes with demon blood. Even better that it's his brother's.
Dean groans and pushes harder into Sam's mouth, forcing him to drink more. Dean himself sucks at the deeper cuts, drawing out blood until it's all over his chin and throat. He moves up and up until his teeth bite into Sam's neck, right above the jugular, and Dean whimpers at the rush of blood filling his mouth, drip-drip-dripping onto the bedsheets and Sam arches into the pain, curses under his breath at the sheer ecstasy pouring through his veins.
Suddenly Dean moans, guttural into Sam's skin, and there's come splashing on the cuts decorating Sam's abs. Dean's making these little muffled grunts into Sam's blood and rocking his hips erratically, angling so his dick rubs in the blood pooling in the V of Sam's pelvis.
“Shit, Sammy – fuck,” he spits, lifting his head to look at Sam. And god, he looks devastatingly handsome, blood shining on his teeth and his lips, making them red and glossy and if Sam wasn't so addicted to the poison in Dean's arteries, he would kiss him. But Dean grins, a manic tilt to his lips, and pulls his wrist away, to Sam's dismay. Sam tries to follow, whimpering helplessly at the loss, but Dean snarls and pushes Sam back down.
“Didn't I tell you to stay. Still.” Harsh slap against Sam's bleeding chest and Sam obeys, lies back down. Dean looms over him, wonderful and amazing and everything Sam could ever want. Dean sucks in blood from his own wrist and then heals it before leaning down to kiss Sam, bloody and messy and perfect.
“Mine, Sammy, mine,” he growls against Sam's lips, and the buzz of the demon blood and the force of Dean's kiss is enough to make Sam come, crying out weakly against his brother's lips.
Later he'll find out Dean carved his own name into Sam's chest, using an ancient language older than civilisation itself.
But for now, Sam just threads a hand through Dean's hair and kisses his monster back to calm.
It’s an old, creepy-ass house, and Dean does not want to be here, but his dad’s up in Minnesota with a werewolf pack, so Dean has to take the haunted house in Texas.
It’s way too fucking hot in Texas.
The floorboards creak under Dean’s feet and the night wind blows cold through the windows, curtains billowing out like sheet ghosts. The EMF isn’t squealing, though.
Dean moves slowly through the house, gun hand braced against torch hand, his boots landing dully on the squeaky wooden floor. He comes to a halt in the middle of a big room and sweeps the area, turning on his heel and scanning with the EMF. Nothing. Not a peep.
Thud.
Dean whirls around to find the source of the noise, but there’s only a wall in front of him.
Thud. Quieter, this time. Definitely coming from the wall. Dean edges closer.
The EMF meter is silent in his pocket.
As he comes to a halt, Dean notices a dull keyhole in the wall. Right in the middle of the wood. It's a weird place for a keyhole, but Dean steps towards it anyway and hesitantly bends down to look through it. All he can see is the inside of the wall, but that's not the weirdest part of this. Now, Dean's seen a lot of weird shit in his life. Being a hunter ain't exactly the most normal career path, and he's seen everything from werewolves to demons.
But he's never seen anything like this.
The boy in the wall is only as big as his hand, maybe a little smaller. From where he's peeking through the keyhole, Dean can only see the boy.
Even stranger than the boy himself is what he's wearing. Which is nothing. Except for a pair of panties. Pink, flowery, lacy panties. Dean shifts to balance better, but as soon as he moves, the floor creaks and the kid whips around and gasps. Dean's frozen to on the spot, caught red-handed, staring straight at the boy.
“I-”
"What the fuck are you doing here?” the boy demands, hands shooting down to cover himself. Dean's speechless.
“Um.” He says, intelligently.
“Stop fucking staring, you perv!” The kid hisses, flushing red. Dean stammers out a few ridiculous noises and backs away from the keyhole.
“So, um, you live here?” Dean asks, eyes glued to the keyhole but he doesn't dare bend down again. He tucks his gun into his waistband.
“Why do you want to know?” Is spat at him from within the wall.
“I'm – uh – investigating the missing teens.” A thought occurs to him and Dean ventures to go further. “Are you one of them?”
“What?”
“I mean – well – are you one of the missing teens? Were you...shrunk?” Silence answers him.
“I'm Sam,” the voice shouts back. Dean crouches a little to hear it better and runs the name through his head. None of the missing teens are a Sam.
“Oh, um, then I guess you aren't. I'm Dean. Do you know anything about the disappearances?”
“Stick your hand under the keyhole.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
So Dean cups his hand under the keyhole, and the next thing he knows, Sam's dropping into it, fully dressed with a patchwork sack flung over one shoulder.
“Okay, we're gonna go gank this witch.” He sits in Dean's palm, cross-legged, and looks up towards him. Dean's mouth opens and shuts stupidly.
“Witch?”
“Yeah, witch.”
“What – how – when – how the fuck do you know that?” God, Dean hates witches. Fucking skeevy.
“Because I – I – look, can we just get out of here first? This place gives me the creeps.”
Yeah, Dean can agree with that. It's past midnight, and if this is a witch, he needs to switch out his weapons.
----
Back at the motel, Dean cracks open a bottle of beer, crumbles some bread up for Sam, and starts reviewing his files for evidence of witchy shit. He's finished the bottle and halfway through another when he starts asking questions, and with no food in him, the alcohol gets to him quicker than usual.
“So how'd you know it was a witch?”
“I saw her.” Sam shrugs and Dean gapes. He's researched this case for a week and there's no evidence of witchy shit. None at all.
“Wait, so, you – you know about – witches and stuff?”
Sam spears him with a withering look. “I'm a hunter, Dean.”
“Oh.” It's all he can really say. Dean clears his throat and turns back to his notes, which are strewn across the table.
“So Kylie disappeared two years ago, on March 26. Then David disappeared six months after that. Nathan six months after that. And then there's a year until the next one, Angela. And six months after her is Jim, the one who disappeared two weeks ago. So they seem to be in six month intervals, except for the year between Nathan and Angela.”
“Maybe she took a break?”
“Real funny,” Dean snorts. Then considers the gap again. “Maybe the person was never reported?”
“Unlikely, isn't it?” Sam says from where he's perched on the edge of the table.
“Yeah. But then again, I work with unlikely.” Dean sips his beer.
“Hey, do you have anything to drink?” Sam asks. Dean tilts his bottle towards Sam and Sam glares disapprovingly.
“Something that won't get me drunk with a drop?”
Dean chuckles, reaches down into his duffel, and pulls out a water bottle. As he unscrews it, asks, “How 'm I supposed to give this to you, anyhow?”
Sam shrugs. “Just pour it in the cap.” Dean does, carefully, and sets it down beside Sam, who cups some in his hands and slurps it down.
“How have you been staying alive this whole time, anyway? Eighteen years as...as that?” He gestures weakly to Sam.
“I haven't been like this my whole life,” Sam shoots back. “I've only been this size for about a year.”
“A – a year?” Dean repeats stupidly. There's something important about a year, but he can't quite remember.
“Yeah, a witch shrunk me.”
“How – and – but – did you ever try to reverse it?”
“Duh.” Sam rolls his eyes. “But it's hard to research when you're six inches tall. I can barely open a book. And I've had enough trouble trying to stay alive. You think it's easy scavenging for food?”
“Wait, wait, a witch? 'S it the same witch? The one tha' took the – the kids?” Sam opens his mouth to speak, but Dean's vision goes blurry and he pitches forward over the table. The last thing he hears is his own slurred mumbling and everything fades to black.
----
Dean's shaken awake by Sam. Well, when he says shaken, he means Sam pinched various parts of his face until he rose from the groggy fog of sleep.
“Wha – Whadya want?” He absentmindedly swipes a hand towards the nuisance – Sam – and the only reason Sam isn't a splat on the floor is that Dean's too dizzy to move his limbs.
“Hey, hey Sam – Sammayyyyy.” Shit, he must still be half-drunk.
“Yes?” Sam moves out of the range of Dean's uncoordinated limbs and closer to his face, which is resting on his notes.
“Why were you wearing those – those panties when I – hiccup! - when I found you?”
Oh shit, he's really lost his filter.
Sam's face burns bright red and he crosses his arms over himself.
“None of your business,” he mumbles.
“Hm.” Dean says and nuzzles into the paper beneath his cheek. “'S hot, though.” Muttered into the table and Sam flushes even harder, if that's possible.
“I – I – go back to sleep, Dean.”
Dean lets his eyes drift shut and he dreams.
----
“What do you want?” Dean murmurs to the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Lemonade's nice,” it whispers back. Dean snags a bottle of lemonade off the shelf and drops it into his basket.
It looks like he's going to be in this town for a little longer than he expected, so he's going to need to stock up. He glances at his basket and considers. He's got cans of soup, beans, vegetables, and even a bag of fresh apples – at Sam's insistence. Another six-pack and Sam's bottle of lemonade.
“You gonna be good with just the soup?” Dean whispers.
“Yeah,” Sam says.
Dean picks up a loaf of bread and checks out.
----
It's night again, and -
“We should check out the house again.”
“Why?” Sam asks, muffled through a mouthful of pea. He swallows and sticks his toothpick – which looks like a sword in his small hands – into Dean's soup again, this time spearing a piece of carrot. He munches on it while Dean explains.
“Well, the teens only went alone into the house, and then they were taken or something. But it only happens every six months, and what are the chances that people go in there exactly six months after the last disappearance? So I figure there must be a hex bag or spell or something that lures people to the house.”
“Unless she's operating outside the house, too, and hypnotises them or something.”
Dean considers it, but - “She wouldn't go to that much trouble. Like, why not just take them from their houses then?” and then “Does she care who the victim is or will she take anyone? For example, does she use a spell to lure in certain kinds of people or it is more like a spider's web? Whatever lands gets taken?”
“I mean, there's no pattern amongst the victims, right?”
“Yeah, none. And I talked to their parents, friends, hell, even their teachers, but they're all different. They don't share anything in common, except that they're all between 15 and 18.”
“Let's go look for some magic, then.”
----
Dean tosses his newly re-stocked weapons duffel into the passenger seat and slides in behind familiar leather. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he switches on the radio and gently deposits Sam onto the dashboard. Led Zeppelin drifts out into the car.
Dean's humming as he pulls out of the carpark. Sam turns to him with a sly grin.
“Never took you for a Led Zep guy.”
“What did you take me for?”
“Dunno.” Sam shrugs, “More of...modern rock.”
Dean gasps melodramatically. “That emo shit? First of all, how dare you. Second of all, Zeppelin's great. Third of all - “ by this point, Dean's holding up counting fingers, and he glances over to see Sam almost fucking pissing himself laughing.
“Oh my god, you little twerp.”
“You – you – oh my – you should have seen your f-f-face!” Sam's laughing right at him and Dean can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth. He lets it grow, and, once he's calmed down, Sam smiles back.
“What about you, huh? You an AC/DC guy?”
“Nah, more like Van Halen. Journey.”
Dean makes a face and sticks his tongue out, and Sam returns the favour.
A few minutes pass in silence, Robert Plant crooning between them.
God, he should really apologise for his drunk talk. It's not like he – like he meant to get so personal with Sam, who he's only known for a few days, but Sam just seems so...so normal. He understands the hunting life. It's been a long time since Dean's talked to anyone under 40 that's in the life. And Sam's easy to get along with, witty and smart and overall a good companion. Dean does not want to fuck this up. So he should definitely apologise.
“Look, Sam – uh - “Dean trails off into awkward silence, but Sam's turned around and looking at him now.
“I – um - “ He's never been good at apologies. “About – about the other night – I – when – well - “
“What is it, Dean?”
“I'm sorry for what I asked the other night. About...you know.”
“About what?”
“Don't make me say it, man.”
“About what?”
“About your – your underwear. I shouldn't have said anything.”
“Eh, it's okay.”
“...You sure?”
“Yeah.”
And a few moments later.
“You really like embarrassing me, don't you?”
“Yeah.”
----
When they approach the house, it's fully dark. There's no wind, Dean notes as he closes the car door.
The house looms over them, grim and imposing as Dean walks up to the front door. He tries it, but it's locked. The house remains dark and silent. But there's something...different. It didn't feel like this the first time around. The air almost crackles with energy.
“Do you feel that?”
“Yeah.” But it falls flat against the night air. Sam curls up in Dean's pocket and he looks – he looks scared.
“Jesus, Sam, are you okay?”
Sam nods, eyes wide. It's not very convincing.
Dean swallows and kicks down the door.
He's got an axe – Sam's suggestion – and some back up weapons. They wait. Silence. Dean creeps forward, slow tiptoes over old floors, and prays to every god that it doesn't creak.
“Well, well, look who we have here.” A voice says as the door slams shut behind them. Dean whirls around on the spot, ready to throw the damn axe across the room, but the witch gestures and the axe is suddenly embedded in the wall on the other side of the room. There's a whoosh as Dean's slammed back and pinned to the wall by some sort of invisible force.
The witch struts towards them with a sharp smirk. Once close enough, she delicately reaches into Dean's breast pocket and lifts Sam out, setting him on her other palm.
“Aw, did you go and get a big bad hunter to save you? That's cute.”
“N-No, I d-didn't, he came here – he – he c-came by h-h-h-himself!” Sam's shaking in her palm, so small and so clearly terrified that it pulls at Dean's heartstrings. She laughs, tossing her head back.
“Always were trouble, weren't you, Sam? Scheming from the moment I caught you.”
Something clicks in Dean's head and he gasps. “Oh my god, you're one of the missing kids! You – a year ago, right after...Nathan!” But why wasn't there a report? Sam had to have a family, didn't he? Friends?
The shock slackens Dean's jaw, and that's right when the witch punches him. His teeth clack together and he bites his tongue – fucking ow. But Sam's looking at him pointedly, and Dean realises that her grip has loosened on Sam. Keep her distracted and maybe Sam can do something.
“You bitch,” he snarls, spitting blood on the floor. She shrugs and flips black hair over one shoulder. She seems about 30, and she's wearing civilian clothes – jeans and a velvet top.
“It's Kelly, actually.”
Kelly doesn't sound particularly witchy, or look it either.
“So, Kelly, you shrink children? How's that going?”
Shark grin. “Deliciously. They make such good appetisers.”
Dean can't decide if she's joking or not, and he forces the image out of his mind. Have to keep her talking. He can see Sam moving in the corner of his eye.
“So I suppose you're gonna kill me, then?”
“Hm, I might shrink you.” A sharp nail scratches down his neck and Dean tries to arch out of the way. God, he fucking hates witches. “Then again, you might be better as a pet. What would you like to be? A cat? Dog? Bird?” Cold fingers wrap around his throat and squeeze, ever so slightly. Glittering green eyes bore into his own. “Pretty pretty pet,” Kelly coos, her head tilting to the left.
Then there's something wet spraying on Dean's arm and Kelly's screaming, her hand shooting down to her wrist. Suddenly Dean's free, and he barely manages to grab Sam from her hand as he sees the red spraying between her fingers and the only logical conclusion there is is that Sam – Sam must have – Dean gapes at him, weirded out and kind of impressed, and Sam nods.
“Slit her wrist. Now quick, let's kill her.” Sam stows away his bloody weapon – a sliver of metal from a beer can – and Dean deposits him back in his pocket.
He runs towards the axe and wastes three seconds dislodging it from the wall before it comes free with a splintering of wood and a breathless grunt from Dean. He spins wildly on his heel and goes toward Kelly, who's chanting something desperately under her breath, eyes rolled back in her head and still clutching onto her bleeding wrist. There's a puddle of red on the floor below her and she's starting to sway, skin going pale. Her eyes suddenly flame black and she grins and Dean so does not have time for this demonic bullshit. He swings the axe into her body and makes sure to break her spine, bone shattering under heavy metal. His sweaty hands slide off the grip as Kelly stumbles to the side and collapses, her muttering dying down to a whisper. Dean swiftly withdraws the gun from his waistband and brings his other hand up to steady his aim, and then he shoots. The bullet lands deep in her brain, skull fragments bursting out from the entry.
Dean lowers his gun and just breathes for a moment. Then -
“Dean!” Sam – panicked. Dean looks down and there's Sam, curling up on himself inside Dean's pocket. “Oh god,” he moans.
“You okay?”
“Oh god, Dean, take – take me out!”
“What?”
“Put me on the ground! Now!” There's panic ringing clear, so Dean hurriedly scoops Sam from his pocket and kneels to set him on the floor. Sam groans and stumbles backwards.
A flash of bright light makes Dean cover his eyes with the back of his hand, and the afterimage forces him to screw his eyes shut until it fades away.
“Dean.” Sam's voice but – but coming from higher up? Dean blinks his eyes open and looks down, where he expects Sam to be, but instead there's a pair of – feet? His eyes slowly travel up and up and up, until he sees Sam's face.
Dean pushes himself up so he's standing, and Sam's still a little taller. He's dressed, though, in the clothes he was wearing just moments before, and they're normal size, too.
“Sam?” Dean coughs, his voice strained. He clears his throat and tries again. “Sam?”
“Y-Yeah.” Sam smiles tremulously.
“Oh my god.” And Dean steps forward another foot so they're almost touching. At a loss for what to do, he just pulls Sam down to kiss him.
Sam muffles a startled 'mmf!' into the kiss, but then he relaxes and wraps an arm around Dean.
The sound of wood breaking and people groaning makes them separate. There are the missing teens; suddenly unshrunk inside the walls.
“What - " Sam starts, breathless, but Dean just pulls him in again.
----
Once they release the teens and burn the house, they skedaddle.
They're in the Impala, heading north, and Sam looks so right sitting in the passenger seat.
“So no one reported you?” Dean asks, turning down the music.
“No. No family. I was bounced from foster family to foster family while growing up, and then I left the system at fifteen.”
“Left?”
“I'd found hunting. Started doing it on my own.” Sam shrugs. “It wasn't too bad.”
Dean nods along in agreement.
“Well, we're gonna meet up with my dad in Minnesota in two days, and we might have to help him finish up his case.” Dean glances over at Sam. “But before that, I was thinking we could get you new clothes. You were shrunk in those ones, right? So you've been wearing those for a year?”
“I did wash them, Dean.”
“Yeah, but.” Dean shrugs. “You should get some more. And there's one particular part of your wardrobe I think you should expand.”
Sam blushes fiercely. Dean smirks.
“They still wet from this morning?” he asks, and Sam nods. “Then we need to get you into some dry ones.”
There's mistletoe hanging outside his bedroom door when he wakes up on December 1, and right behind it is Dean, grinning like a maniac.
Oh, Sam is not losing this year.
At this point, it's a waiting game. Sam needs to piss and Dean looks like he's got time.
"C'mon Sammy, it's just a harmless plant."
Sam kind of wants to point out that eating it may be fatal, but he just sits on his bed and stares his brother down.
Sam wins that one when something starts beeping in the kitchen and Dean races off to see to it.
----
He finds the next one hanging above the table in the library, and how did Dean even get up there?
"Dean, you know the mistletoe makes me want to kiss you even less, right?" Sam puts his plate down two feet to the left of the mistletoe, pulls the chair across, too.
Dean shrugs and smiles.
"Christmas spirit, Sam."
----
As soon as Sam closes the door to the Impala, Dean pulling him in for a kiss. Sam's unresponsive at first, surprised, but then he groans as he realises what must be above them. He kisses back, anyway, licks over Dean's teeth and tongue until Dean pulls away, outright beaming.
"Got you." He's grinning stupidly wide, and Sam glances up to see a sprig of green hanging from the rearview mirror.
He'd point out that it isn't technically above them, but he doesn't want to ruin Dean's good mood.
----
Sam hangs the fourth one above the door to the kitchen, and he waits. It takes two hours, but eventually he's leaning against the doorframe, facing Dean, who's biting his lip and looking from the mistletoe to Sam.
"Nice one."
"I thought so." Sam crosses his arms and cocks an eyebrow at Dean.
"Hm."
"What're you gonna do?"
"Oh, I dunno." Dean mock-wonders as he steps into Sam's space. He looks up; he's standing directly beneath the mistletoe. "Guess I have to kiss you now."
"Guess you have to." Sam agrees, tongue between his teeth, and he gladly meets Dean's lips when they press against his own, plush and soft.
He was expecting the kiss, but he wasn't expecting the way Dean presses him into the wall and palms at his cock, which is beginning to show an interest. It hardens enough under Dean's hand, though, and Sam pulls back slightly, enough to talk.
"Thought mistletoe was just for a kiss?"
Dean grins and slowly gets to his knees, pulling down Sam's sweats on the way until his crotch is exposed.
"What, does kissing your dick not count?"
Sam groans, but it changes into a moan when Dean licks at him.
Dean pauses the TV and glances at the clock hanging on the wall. About ten minutes until Sam comes back. Dean grins. Just enough time.
He undresses on the way to Sam's room, ducking into his own real quick to grab the dildo and the lube. Sam's door is open, and Dean closes it behind him before he crawls onto the bed, face inches from Sam's pillow. Dean breathes in and then he slides the dildo into his mouth, partly because it's a convenient way to hold it and partly because the smooth glass feels nice against his tongue.
It's a matter of seconds to click open the lube and get it on his fingers. His cock is hardening with the thrum of anticipation running through his veins, and he gives it a few helpful tugs before reaching back and rubbing cold fingers over his hole. He shivers and the muscle contracts with the sudden shock of the cold lube, but soon enough it warms up and Dean can slide a finger into himself. It's a hard angle, but he manages to twist his first enough for the back of his first knuckle to brush against - oh yeah, right there. And like a key in a lock, his hole immediately relaxes enough for another finger to slip in, and he's fucking himself pretty vigorously within minutes.
He hasn't forgotten about the dildo, though, resting in his mouth and glistening with his spit where it's dripped down the length of it. He lowers his arm so he's resting on his elbow and grabs the end with his hand, pulls it out slightly and swallows where there's suddenly empty space. There's a wet click where he catches it between his teeth and tongue, and he smiles around the glass. Sam's going to love this.
It's not very wide, the dildo. At least, not as big as Sam, but it's hard, unyielding glass, slowly warming up in Dean's mouth. It's a candy cane, about five inches long before the curve, which is designed specifically to press against his perineum. There's no extra bumps or ridges on it; it doesn't even flare at the end. It's just a cylinder of glass, red stripes included. More of a novelty toy than a useful one. Good thing Dean found that peppermint flavoured lube.
Another finger in, and Dean decides it's time. He gives the dildo one last suck and brings his hand back to get even more lube on it and the glass candy cane.
It's cold when it nudges at his hole, but Dean just waits a few moments for it to warm up. When it does, it just - slides right in, eased in with lube and spit. Dean rotates it so the end of the curve hits his perineum, and that's when he knows it's all the way in. It rubs over his prostate, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. Dean jacks himself lazily, feels himself clenching around the toy, squeezing around the hard glass. It slides out a little bit, and he reaches back to push it back in. The glass against his perineum is maddening, no friction, just smooth glass that presses against it just enough to make his hips twitch.
He props himself up using his hands again, and that's when Sam comes in.
"I got the - holy shit."
Dean grins and looks back over his shoulder at his brother.
"Merry Christmas, Sammy." He shakes his ass a little bit, watches Sam's eyes track the movement. Sam puts the shopping bag down and slowly approaches, eyes Dean up and down.
"That can't be enough for you, can it?"
"Dunno, Sammy, might be." He lowers himself onto his forearms, spreads his legs a little more.
"Bet you can't come only with that toy." Sam steps closer.
Okay, yeah, Dean'll admit it would be hard to come with this toy, but he just tilts his hips and smirks.
It's evening and they're out on the porch of the rental house, dust swirling lazily in the air around them. Dean drains the last of his beer and nods towards the bottle Sam's holding loosely in his fingers.
"You gonna finish that?"
Sam shakes his head and passes it to Dean, who gets to work on it immediately. It was Sam's idea to sit out here and watch the twilight, but right now he's a bit distracted by the plush of Dean's lips and the pull of his throat as he swallows. Dean, oblivious, polishes off the last of the beer and stands up, grunting out, "we gotta go," to a resigned Sam. Sam sighs and heaves himself up, kicking the door shut behind him.
It's their last night in Texas; tomorrow morning they move out - crack of dawn. Dad hasn't returned yet, but as soon as his truck pulls up, they have to leave. The Impala's packed already, their duffles locked in the back. Dean's restless, popping his knuckles or double-checking the locks, and Sam kind of wants to just grab him and make him sit down for two minutes.
"Dean, come watch TV with me." Sam flops on the sofa and snags the remote from its precarious position on the arm. He flicks through channels and settles on X-Files, an old one somewhere in Season 1. Dean ignores him and checks that the bathroom is free of their stuff. Sam sighs and burrows deeper into the corner. He prepares himself for a long night.
They haven't been on speaking terms lately - for a week, actually, when Dean found the acceptance letter Sam so carelessly left out. Sam guesses that Dean's trying to cut him off sooner rather than later, make it easier when Sam actually, physically leaves. Sam's counting down the days. This evening marks the end of the twentieth. Only 19 more days until he boards a bus and goes west.
Dean, by some miracle, hasn't told Dad yet. Sam can only hope he won't.
----
Dad swings by at 4:50 a.m. and they leave at 5:00 a.m., kicking up dust trails that obscure the view Sam gets through the rearview mirror. Dean's playing Van Halen and stoically focusing on the road. Sam huffs and sinks lower in his seat, staring mindlessly out the window. He lets the guitar riffs roll over him and colour the scenery in a haze of rock and roll.
He doesn't actually like Van Halen.
----
Sam fills up the car while Dean pays for it, and when he glances toward the shop, he can see Dean unashamedly flirting with the cashier. His smiles stretches just enough to show off his teeth without seeming predatory. He laughs and Sam can almost hear it, he's so starved for it. He hasn't seen Dean like this for a week, and he's suddenly, stupidly jealous of the red-haired girl behind the counter. She gets Dean's smiles for free; Sam, on the other hand, has to earn them.
He tightens his grip on the keys and turns away.
Dean tosses him a can of Coke when he slides back in. Sam hands him the keys in return, doesn't even look over.
----
"Dean?" Sam asks halfway through Oklahoma. Dean grunts in response.
"Where are we going?"
Dean shrugs.
"Dean, come on. Talk to me."
"What do you want me to say, Sam? We're following Dad." Dean never calls him Sammy anymore. Sam misses it. He glances over and sees Dean's pursed lips, a sign of frustration, but with whom Sam doesn't know.
"For starters, I want you to actually treat me like your brother again."
Dean just reaches over and turns up the volume. 'Hot for Teacher' rumbles through the car and Sam lets it be the soundtrack to his dejection.
----
They stop at the border of Oklahoma-Nebraska for lunch. It's a quick meal - burgers and lemonade. Before they leave, Sam excuses himself for the bathroom. His father and brother go wait in their respective vehicles. Sam manages to fish out some money to buy a slice of pie for Dean, gets it in a to-go box with some plastic cutlery.
Dad peals away from the diner as soon as Sam reappears from the building, and Sam hurries to get in the Impala.
"Here," he mumbles when he hands over the pie, as Dean pulls onto the road a few car-lengths behind Dad.
Dean looks at it and then at him, something akin to sadness crossing his face.
"I-" he starts, but Sam cuts him off.
"I can have it if you don't want it." Sam stares down at his lap.
"No, I - you - thanks, Sammy."
Sam quietly beams as he cradles the warm box in his lap.
----
They spend the night in a Super 6 in Nebraska. Dad takes the room next to theirs.
Sam jaw drops when he walks in the room.
"He only got us one bed."
Dean shrugs and deposits his duffle on the bed.
"We've shared before."
"I know, but Dean - "
"We haven't done it in a while, I know."
Dean eats the pie slice while Sam showers. They switch and Sam burrows under the covers as the bathroom door closes. He figures he's got about ten minutes if Dean changes in there, too.
It's just enough time.
Sam snakes his hand down into his boxers and carefully adjusts his cock. He jerks off while thinking about the dip in Dean's lower lip and how he kind of wants to bite it. It's a quick rustle of clothing and a few bitten-off grunts before he's coming into his hand, wishing it was Dean's.
Yeah, Sam accepted a long time ago that he wants his brother in all the wrong ways. He hopes that college will help.
He licks up his come so that he doesn't have to get up and grab a tissue, but by now it's been more than ten minutes. Dean still isn't out. Sam gives him another ten before he gets out and pads over to the bathroom door.
He rattles the door - locked - and calls out "Dean?". There's an abrupt sniff and a beat before Dean replies.
"Y-Yeah. I'll jus' be right out, Sammy. Go back to bed." Another sniff and a shuddery exhale.
"Are you okay?"
Dean's voice cracks on the reply. "Yeah." Is he -
"Are you crying?"
"Just go to bed, Sam."
Sam lingers for a few minutes, but when nothing else comes, he returns to the bed.
He falls asleep before Dean leaves the bathroom.
----
"Can I drive?'
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Can I choose the music?"
"No."
"Do we -"
"Christ, Sam, stop asking so many questions!" Dean slams his hand against the wheel. Sam's been trying to annoy Dean into talking to him, and that means asking him random questions for twenty minutes straight.
"Don't really want to. It's the most you've spoken to me for a week."
"Sam - "
"Why won't you just talk to me? It's obvious there's something going on."
"Look - "
"Why were you crying in the bathroom last night?"
"I wasn't."
"Bullshit."
"Whatever."
"What, you got a problem with me going to college?"
"Sam, please don't do this now - "
"Can't fathom that maybe I want to leave this family?'
Dean winces and chews on his lower lip.
"Oh, speechless now? Can't understand why I want out? Why I want a fucking normal life?" Sam's angry now, pissed at Dad, pissed at Dean, at himself. He's so fucking angry and now it's boiling over and he can't stop the words leaving his mouth even thought he can see how much they're hurting Dean, sitting tense and still in the driver's seat.
"Why I want a life without hunting, without Dad, without you?" That last part's not true, and as soon as he says it, Sam stops, shocked.
"No, no, Dean, I didn't - I'm not - "
Dean silently reaches into his breast pocket and tugs a folded piece of paper out. He wordlessly passes it to Sam, who looks between the paper and his brother. He doesn't open it, not yet.
"I - look, I just want a normal life, Dean. I don't want to hunt. Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that - that - that I didn't want you around, I was just saying things and I didn't - please, Dean, please, tell me what's wrong."
"Four hours and seventeen days," Dean says quietly.
"What?" Sam asks, incredulous. How did Dean know when he was leaving?
"You wrote it on the letter I saw." Dean gestures toward the paper still in Sam's hand. "Open it."
Sam swallows and carefully unfolds the paper. When he looks down, he almost stops breathing. It's a bus ticket, Montana to California.
"Dean - " Sam breathes, but he doesn't know how to finish the sentence. Thank you? You didn't have to? Why? I'm sorry?
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
"What? What for? Dean, there's nothing - "
'I'm sorry you're unhappy. Sorry I couldn't fix that."
Dean calmly leans over and turns on the music. Judas Priest echoes through the car. Conversation's over. Sam stashes the ticket in the bag at his feet and settles in for a two hour drive.
----
The next night, they have two rooms again. Dean orders pizza and Sam reads Crime and Punishment.
They don't talk much.
----
Three days later, they're in Montana.
Fifteen days left.
Sam is resolutely trying not to think of Stanford. Dean books some time at a shooting range, but when Sam asks to go, Dean just shrugs and says "What's the point?".
Dad leaves for a hunt with an old friend, leaving his sons in the shabby RV park on the outskirts of town. There's only one bed for them, and it's a tight fit, but they manage. Sam faces the wall and Dean faces away. Their back are pressed up hot against each other, summer sticking to both of them.
On the morning of the fourteenth day, Sam wakes up on his back, morning wood pressing insistent against his thigh. Dean is on Sam's left, laying on his side, facing Sam. He's still asleep, mouth slightly open and breath flowing warm over Sam's neck.
Sam refuses to jerk off. Absolutely refuses to.
Until Dean shifts and his own erection is hard against Sam's thigh. Sam rubs one out right there, early morning light shining weak through the gap in the curtains and his brother's dick up next to him.
Later in the day, Dean cooks him lunch and they eat together, Sam smiling fondly over at his brother. He doesn't think about how much time he was left with him, only flings a noodle at Dean's nose and watches the aftermath.
----
Days pass, and it's awkward whenever Sam mentions leaving, but he has to at some point. Dean, for the most part, remains serious and stoic, only smiling when he feels he has to and when he's flirting. On the eleventh day, he returns with a triumphant smile and hands Sam a brand-new iPod. Sam hugs him and thanks him until his lips are going numb.
Sam still jacks off in the shower. He's pretty sure Dean can hear him.
----
Nine days left.
"Hey Dean?" Sam's twirling his spaghetti around his fork.
"Yeah?"
"Will you come visit me at college?"
Dean's smile falters.
"Sure, Sammy." But it's sugar-coated, Sam can tell.
----
Eight days left.
In the dark of night, Sam whispers, "I'll miss you, Dean." It's late and he's on the verge of tears, but he muffles his sniffles into the pillow. Dean rolls over and wraps an arm around him.
----
Seven.
Sam, half-asleep, rubs off against Dean in the morning. Dean is completely and totally awake, and once Sam realises, he gasps and scrambles backward, except there's nowhere to go except the wall. Dean scoots in closer and presses a hand against Sam's cock, a strange look on his face, almost - nervous? Sam gasps and pushes his hips up. His eyes close, and in the moment before he comes, Dean's lips are brushing his, soft and warm.
He hears Dean beat off in the shower.
----
Six.
"Why did you - um, yesterday morning?"
"Did you not want me to?"
"No, I-I wanted you to - I want you to, but I never thought that - I mean, we're brothers, I didn't think you'd...want me, um, that way."
Dean knocks his foot against Sam's under the table.
"I didn't think you would, either."
He smiles. Sam grins.
----
Five.
Sam's jittery. He hasn't told Dad yet and he doesn't know when or how he will and what if Dad hates him for it? Sam can't actually believe that, in five days, he's going to leave all this behind. Leave Dean and this RV park and the Impala and the road, just leave it.
He's not sure if he wants to.
----
Four.
----
Three.
----
Two.
Dean gets in the bed behind Sam, but he doesn't turn over. Not this time. This time, he slots in right behind Sam, hips to his ass and nose in his hair.
"'M gonna miss you a helluva lot, Sam."
"Dean - " Sam's a little choked. He's been crying every night for the past few days, when he thinks Dean's asleep.
"Shh, it's okay."
"Dean, why were you angry when I told you?" He sounds like a little kid, lost and helpless.
"I wasn't, Sammy. Couldn't be, not with you."
"Then why didn't you speak to me?"
"I just - I'm going to miss you, Sammy."
"I'll miss you, too.
----
One.
Dad returns that night, and Sam decides he has to tell him; it's only fair.
It doesn't go well.
Sam sleeps in the car.
Dean doesn't sleep at all.
----
Zero.
Dean drives him to the bus stop. There's a few minutes of silence while they try to figure out what to say to each other.
Sam starts.
"I - "
But Dean just leans over and kisses him, deep and slow. Sam pretends not to taste the salt of tears in it.
They don't say anything. Sam boards the bus and Dean watches. He waves. The bus leaves.
Sam puts his headphones on and thinks about how he's ripped himself out of Dean's life and left a burning hole in the passenger seat where he's supposed to be. He falls asleep to Van Halen, tears drying on his cheeks.
Sam doesn't notice it really, at first. He doesn't think much of the way Dean walks a little differently, that his right leg isn't as bowed as Sam remembers. He chalks it up to four years of separation.
The thing is, though, that when Sam gets Dean in bed for the first time after Stanford, picking up where they left off four years ago, across the country and too wrapped up in each other to focus on reality, something's slightly off. Sam's got Dean underneath him, and he's kissing his way down Dean's neck, the long line of his throat exposed just for Sam. And Dean's panting and palming Sam's ass, wide circles with his fingers pushing the denim of his jeans into his crack.
They haven't even got their boots off yet, too desperate to even shuck their jackets. And Sam's kneeling, wide stance so he can grind down against Dean and his left leg aligns with Dean's right, and something's wrong there, too hard, too cold, but before he can do anything about, Dean's moving underneath him, wriggling down the bed until his head is between Sam's legs, the bulge in his jeans bumping up against his mouth and Sam collapses onto his forearms and drops his head so he can watch because fuck if he's missing this. He scoots his legs a little closer to each other, raising his hips so Dean has more room to work.
Dean just flashes him a grin and unbuttons his jeans, quickly working Sam's cock through the fly and jacking it gently.
"Fuck, Dean, you don't - you don't have to - o-oh - " Dean pulls his lips away from Sam's dick and looks up at him, smirks.
"Nah, but I wanna. Been thinking about it for years. Missed ya, Sammy." He licks up the side.
"Shit. D-Dean, god, fuck."
"I got good at this while you were gone." The end is punctuated by a suck to the head of his cock, making him shudder. Dean works his way down, sucking slowly around the head and using his tongue to play around the vein running up the underside. The only noises in the room are wet slurps and Sam's soft panting, mixed with the occasional moan as his dick fits deeper into Dean's mouth.
Dean fixes his gaze upwards, bright green eyes locking with Sam's as he loosens his jaw and lets Sam push in further, fuck. Sam goes slow, enchanted by the image below him, watching Dean blink away tears and tighten his lips.
"Fuck," he murmurs when Dean's lips reach the base, and Dean swallows around his cock and Sam starts to pull out because he's going to fucking come and he doesn't exactly want to suffocate Dean. Sam has to close his eyes against the onslaught of pleasure that ripples through him at a second swallow.
"Dean - " he starts to protest, wants to explain that he's going to fucking lose it and it's going straight down Dean's throat unless he pulls out and fuck, Dean's still looking at him when he opens his eyes, lips swollen and eyes mischievous. But Dean just reaches around and grabs Sam's ass, locks his arm so Sam's held helplessly in place and Sam almost whimpers at the third swallow - how the fuck is Dean doing that? He doesn't have much time to contemplate the logistics because Dean sucks again, hard and wet, and Sam moans as he comes, hot down his big brother's throat, Jesus.
And Dean just takes it, lets him, and finally allows Sam to pull away when he's stopped coming. Dean coughs as Sam leaves his mouth, and a grin settles on his lips, red and swollen as they are. Sam kind of wants to just collapse where he is, all shivery and oversensitive from his orgasm, but Dean snakes a hand down his own body and into his jeans, and Sam can see the up-down movement of his hand in his jeans as he jacks himself off.
"Let - " Sam swallows to fix his dry mouth and tries again. "Lemme. C'mere." He pushes himself up on his hands so Dean can shuffle back up, and Sam crawls down in the splay of Dean's legs, the right one a little stiff and crooked, but Dean props himself up on his elbows and Sam braces himself on a forearm, casually unzipping Dean and taking his dick out and Dean tenses, a huff of air through his nose the only sound he makes.
Dean's cock is hard and hot in Sam's grip, pre-come leaking out of the slit and down the side. He's close, judging by the way his dick twitches with the slow stroke Sam gives it and the jerk of his hips. Sam just admires the curve of it, how his fingers fit against it, lets his eyes trail up and up, over Dean's arms and the rise-and-fall of his chest, up the strong line of his jaw, his pink lips and the smattering of freckles spread across his cheeks, the gold in his eyes highlighted by the light.
Fuck, his brother's beautiful. Sam could just watch him all day and not notice the hours ticking by.
"Dean," is all he says, and Dean seems to understand, brings a hand up to rub a thumb over Sam's cheek and just replies with "Sam," on an exhale, like a relief. They haven't really had time to reunite, come together again after Stanford, and Sam takes this moment to memorise everything he can about Dean, the curve of his smile and the strength in his shoulders.
He strokes again, slow and complete from base to tip and Dean groans, mouth falling open. Sam presses a kiss to the wet head and gestures towards the drawer that they've got the lube in, and Dean, thankfully, seems to know what he wants. He opens the drawer and tosses the lube down near his hip.
Sam knows Dean likes it wet and messy, likes his handjobs with plenty of lube or spit, likes the lewd slick noises it makes, the smooth glides it creates. He flips the cap open and squeezes the bottle, gets a good palmful in his hand. Dean bucks his hips as Sam spreads the cold lube along the length of his cock, enjoys the weak moan that falls from his lips.
Sam jacks him fast, his hand a blur of movement. His thumb swipes across the head and the slippery noises fill the space around them and Dean swears breathlessly, bucks up into Sam's grip. His hand tangles in Sam's hair and he starts making these little "a-ah" sounds and Sam goes faster, focuses on Dean's face.
Dean rasps out "Sam," and he's coming, eyes shut and mouth open, hot stripes of come landing on Sam's cheek and mouth, some on his tongue. Sam lets go once Dean starts to soften in his grip and he scrambles up to press his mouth against Dean's, hot and wet and demanding and Dean kisses back just as fiercely, tongue sweeping across Sam's lip, dragging along his teeth. Sam bites down on Dean's lip, feels it break under the pressure, feels the blood trickle down Dean's chin, mark his own.
The kiss slows down after a few minutes and Sam's just lazily pressing his lips against Dean's, both of their lips shiny with the other's spit and Dean's blood.
"Fuck, Sammy."
"Yeah."
"Wanna go shower?"
"Mm, you can go first." Dean stretches underneath him, elbows popping as his arms straighten above him.
"You could shower with me?" Sam shifts onto his side and rests a hand on Dean's chest.
"Not big enough. Go on. I'll shower afterwards."
"Deeeeeean. We've been in smaller."
"It's fine, Sam, really. I'll clean up out here."
"All right," Sam pouts, shoving himself upright and swinging his legs over Dean so he can leave the bed.
When Sam comes out of the shower, Dean's in sweats and socks, holding some soap in one hand and shampoo in the other. He grins at Sam and shoulders past him. Sam grabs his toothbrush and goes to brush his teeth, registers the shower starting.
The door is locked.
"Dean?"
Dean never locks the door. Ever. Sam knocks and Dean yells out a "What?".
"Why'd you lock the door?"
"Keep you out."
"Why?"
"I'll be, like, five minutes. Just wait a second."
"Dean!"
But there's no response.
Dean emerges seven minutes later in the same sweats and socks.
"Why did you lock the door?"
"Uh, I wanted some privacy...?"
"Dean, what are you hiding?"
"Jesus, Sammy, a man can't just lock his door?" Dean shakes his head and pushes past Sam with an annoyed huff.
Sam waits for Dean in the bed, but Dean just flicks the lights off and crawls into the other bed.
"Dean?"
"Go to sleep, Sam."
----
Dean finds a case in Ohio and they head out, and life seems normal, apart from the fact that Dean now locks bathroom doors and doesn't sleep in the same bed as Sam.
Oh, and that they haven't had actual sex yet. Usually that's the first thing Dean goes for, and Sam's tried to initiate it, but nothing happens. Sam thought that once they were sleeping with each other again, it would all go back to normal.
Apparently not.
Sam knocks his leg against Dean's under the table, and something hard bruises his shin in the process.
"Jesus, Dean," he says, reaching down to rub at his shin. "Why the fuck is your shin so hard?"
Dean chuckles weakly and averts his eyes, almost shyly, and tucks his right leg in.
"It's only hard for you," Dean says with a wink. The reply feels empty, rings hollow, but Sam laughs anyway.
----
"Duck!" Sam shoots and Dean crouches, avoiding the swing the monster takes at him. Dean slashes the creature's knee with the silver knife and it screams in agony, but doesn't go away. Sam's pushed backwards before he can fire off a shot and the monster's over him, some sort of wolf thing, not a werewolf, but a proper wolf, furry and huge, but with a tendency to stand on its hind legs that marks it as different. The monster's teeth snap near his neck, claws digging into Sam's shoulders but he doesn't drop the gun, not yet.
Dean hooks a hand around a thick, furry shoulder and turns the creature away from Sam, but the wolf-thing holds its paw out while it spins, and its claws tear into Dean, dragging down diagonally and Dean turns to escape, but the claws don't leave and they go around his hip and Sam finally raises the gun and shoots, the monster falling into dust while Dean falls to the floor, shouting in pain.
Sam bundles him up and carries him to the Impala, ignores all the speed limits on the way back to the motel because Dean's bleeding heavily back there and there's no one to tend him back there, no one to make sure he stays awake because there's only two people and someone has to drive and this is a moment that Sam wishes Dad was back.
Sam gets Dean on a bed, cuts his tattered shirt open, sees the extent of the damage. Dean's almost out, slurred words and sluggish movements. Sam assesses the cuts, sees three deep lines from left shoulder to right hip, and, by the ruined jeans, he can tell the gashes curve around his hip and to the side, down to the top of his thigh.
"Dean, Dean, stay with me." Sam absently pats his cheek while opening the first-aid kit. He unscrews a bottle of whiskey and pours it over the wounds. Dean jerks and a mumbled 'ow' drags itself from his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, barely focused, but they're looking at Sam, who presses as much gauze as he can to the bleeding cuts, tries to staunch the flow so he can sew his brother up. His hands are shaky as he threads a needle, but he manages to attach some floss and poke it through Dean's skin. He works as quick as he can, sewing up part of the wound, cleaning the next bit, stopping the flow of blood, and then moving on.
It's slow work because he has to work section by section because there's no way he can stop all this blood on his own. It takes about half an hour, and Dean nearly passes out three times. Sam makes Dean drink some whiskey, tips the bottle to his lips and lets it spill down his cheeks, but most of it goes in. Dean swallows and smacks his lips and Sam opens a water bottle next, because with this much blood loss, Dean's going to need it. Sam's done most of the sewing, only the gashes around the side of Dean's hip and thigh next.
Sam takes a quick breather and tips some water into Dean's mouth, makes him drink a good amount before he puts the bottle down. Dean's asleep a few seconds later, but Sam's pretty sure it's safe by now. He's still breathing, anyhow.
He can't really salvage the jeans, too ripped up and bloody to fix. He cuts off the right half, exposing Dean's hip and leg. Sam removes the fabric to see the wounds on the side and - and -
and a prosthetic leg.
Sam stares at it for a moment. It's not realistic. It's dark metal and wires protected by something transparent. Dean's leg ends mid-thigh, about half a foot below the gashes. Jesus.
Sam shakes himself from his stupor and cleans the wounds. He sews those up quickly, hands numb from work and eyes blurry from not blinking.
Afterwards, after all the cuts are stitched up, the sutures checked, cleaned one more time with alcohol, rubbed with cream, Sam closes up the first aid kit and disposes of everything too blood-stained to save. The kit goes on the bedside table and Sam leaves Dean where he is, even though the sheets are bloody. He can't move him now; too risky.
Sam showers and inspects the places in his shoulders where the claws dug in. They're not deep enough the worry, and they're just small punctures, so Sam just dresses in pyjamas and lays awake in his bed, partly in case Dean wake up, partly because he's too distracted to sleep.
A prosthetic. A fucking prosthetic. With joints and everything. A cylinder of metal down the front, like a shin, but too hard. Sam didn't see the foot because he didn't take Dean's boots off, but he wonders what it looks like.
Well, it explains the way Dean's been acting, but why the fuck didn't he tell Sam? When did it happen?
Sam dozes fitfully through the night, waking up every two hours to check on Dean, check he's still breathing.
----
Dean wakes up groggy and bleary, blinking away the sleep in his eyes and focusing on Sam.
"Sam?" he croaks out, and Sam hands him the bottle of water and two painkillers. "Wha' happened?" Dean downs the pills and sips the water.
"Monster got you. No, no, don't sit up. You're fine, just don't move extensively for a few days."
"Days?" Dean asks incredulously, and it's then that he looks down at his body. "Shit." Sam sits down on the chair he dragged over and he sees Dean's face change as he spots the lack of his jeans.
"So," Sam starts.
"I need to piss," Dean says instead, finishing the water and trying to get the bottle down so he can piss in it, but the movement stretches his stitches and Sam stops him with a hand on his chest.
"I got it," he says softly, taking the bottle and handling Dean so he only gets in the bottle. Dean sighs in relief and sinks back into the bed. "You up for eating?"
"Mm, later," Dean mumbles sleepily, head lolling to the side.
Sam lets him sleep.
----
The next time Dean rouses, it's afternoon, and Sam's got him another bottle of water, two bananas and a -
"Is that a croissant?"
"Light food."
Dean eats it, even asks for the remote, and Sam obliges, settling in the chair to watch NCIS with his brother.
----
The next day, Sam manages to lift Dean into the other bed so he can change - actually, he'll probably have to burn the sheets. Dean grumbles about being carried and two of the stitches near his hip pop, but Sam fixes them easily.
Dean's watching TV and Sam takes the opportunity to sneak furtive glances at the fake leg while he's bundling up the sheets. Dean sighs a few minutes later and turns to look at Sam.
"You gonna ask yet?"
"What?" Sam blushes and returns to his sheet task.
"Come on, Sam, you think I can't tell? Are you gonna ask or what?" Sam looks from the leg to Dean's face.
"I-I-How-When did it happen?"
"Three years ago," Dean says, nonchalantly, like he's talking about the weather.
"How?"
"Hunt. Bobby helped fix me up." Sam's eyes drag back down the length of Dean's body.
"Did Dad help?"
"Wasn't hunting with him." Sam's eyes widen and he snaps his head up in shock.
"What? Why?"
"We...separated."
"Dean, what happened?"
"Nothing. We just...couldn't stand each other, really." Dean shrugs. "No big deal." And he turns back to the TV and that indicates the conversation's over but Sam still has questions.
"Dean - "
"Aren't you supposed to be folding those sheets?"
----
A few nights later, Sam's tired of sitting on the sheet-less bed with only a blanket to cover him, so he wedges himself in by Dean's side on the bed.
"You sleeping here tonight?" Dean asks, putting an arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam just nods into the pillow.
It's dark and silent and Sam can tell from the thump of Dean's heart that he's thinking about something. Sam can't really sleep either, too curious and too worried despite Dean's reassurances that he's fine.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam whispers, quietly, into the dark between him and Dean.
"Why would I have?"
"Because - Because - " Sam falls silent. He can't really think why Dean would've told him this.
"You were happy, Sam. I didn't want to ruin that." Dean turns his face into Sam's hair.
"How do you know?"
"If I had told you, you would've hated me. You would've seen how bad the job can get. You would've left forever and...and..." His words are muffled in Sam's hair, but Sam can understand him. Always has.
"Why didn't you tell me now?"
"Didn't know if you - if - "
He knows how Dean works, knows what he's thinking, what he thought. He knows how Dean thought he was suddenly unworthy of Sam, too unfixable for Sam, that Sam deserved better than a jaded hunter with a missing leg, that Sam wouldn't want him, but he should know by, know that Sam'll never give him up because he'd rather die than do that and he loves his brother so fucking much it hurts sometimes, an ache in his chest, and he can't fathom how Dean could ever think that Sam wouldn't love him because he has since he was born, it's just part of him.
"Dean, I don't care."
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
"I don't care about it, Dean. You're still you."
"I love you. So fucking much." Is mumbled into his hair, low enough Sam isn't sure he was supposed to hear it, but he hears a hitch in Dean's breath and he pulls away so he can see the unshed tears glinting in his eyes, dampening his lashes, and Sam just leans in and kisses him, sweet and slow.
"I love you, too, Dean," he whispers in the space between their lips. He plants a hand on the prosthetic. "And I don't care about this. It's just another part of my brother." The one I fell in love with all those years ago.
And Sam, well, he just smiles into the kiss and feels Dean smile back.
"Jerk," he whispers fondly.
"Bitch," Dean replies before kissing him again.
Sam's holding onto the railing of the headboard so hard his knuckles are turning white. Dean's fucking into him with long, powerful strokes, and if Sam lets go, he'll stop.
God, he's so fucking close it's almost embarrassing.
"Deeeeean," he whines, cock jumping with each pull of the belt around his neck. "Dean, please, I gotta - gotta - "
"You and I know perfectly well, Sam," Dean growls, his hips snapping faster, "that you're not gonna come until I do. After all, that was the point, wasn't it?" His dick fills up Sam so wonderfully and with each press of it on his prostate, Sam knows he can't possibly hold back.
"Y-Yes, but - "
"No fucking buts. Don't come, Sammy." Dean's snarling against his throat and he pulls the belt as hard as he dares, and Sam's coming everywhere, moaning and whimpering as he clenches around Dean's thick cock.
"I-I'm sorry." He's not, really.
"Guess I'll just hafta fuck you until you come again. Slut."
Sam shudders and tightens his grip on the headboard.
----
Dean's been teasing for far too fucking long. Slow pumps of his hips - Christ, he's not even all the way in Sam yet - long, wet kisses up his throat, a loose, lazy hand curled around Sam's dick - oh, fuck it, Sam's too worked up to deal with this right now. Dean's winding him up and knows it, the bastard, an idle grin cutting into his cheeks.
So Sam pushes up on his elbows and flips them over, breath rushing out of Dean as he lands on his back. Sam slides all the way down his cock and groans at the sensation.
"Impatient much, Sammy?" Dean smirks, hands coming up to grasp at Sam's hips, only to be knocked back by Sam.
"Were you ever gonna fuck me, or do I have to do it myself?"
"Well - "
But Sam's already twisting his hips and leaning so the fat head of Dean's cock presses firmly against his prostate. Dean's throat clicks when he tries to swallow and Sam just fucks down harder.
Sam pulls off after Dean comes and makes him suck on his dick.
----
Sam becomes so fucking subby and obedient the moment Dean slaps his ass.
Oh, but Dean takes his sweet time. He'll work Sam into a shivery mess, choke down his cock with long, sucking pulls of his throat, get his fingers good and wet with a combination of Sam's spit and the cherry-scented lube before playing with his rim, tugging at it and sliding the tips of his fingers in before sliding them back out. Sam eventually loses the breath for begging, focused on the pleasure swirling up and down his spine.
Then, and only then, will Dean tap Sam's hip and urge him to roll over and push up on all fours. He starts coaxing a finger into Sam's tight heat and uses his other hand to spank his ass. Sam moans, a high, strangled noise, and goes limp, muscles trembling with anticipation.
Sam's ass is red, handprints scattered all over it, by the time Dean's got three fingers in him, sliding slick and easy over his prostate, spreading out to stretch him. He's still hitting him, a smack on his thigh, another on his ass, hard and soft, sometimes rubbing in the sting until Sam sobs and breaks, collapses onto his forearms and gracelessly shoves his hips back and bites his lip and calls out Dean's name as he comes violently, shaking and quivering as his come catches on the sheets.
Dean starts to fuck him almost as soon as he's finished coming, and Sam gets really fucking loud at this point, oversensitive and twitching and loving it, wanting more, wanting Dean to make him come again.
It gets so bad that Dean has to shove a few fingers in Sam's mouth to shut him up, get him sucking on them nice and quiet so he can wrap them around Sam's hot, throbbing dick.
"God, Sam, that was fucking amazing." Dean's panting, rolling off of Sam onto his back. Sam tugs the condom off his dick and, after tying it off, throws it in the general vicinity of the bin.
"Didn't know you could ride cock so well, big brother." Sam smirks, letting his head roll to the side to look at Dean, who pulls him in for a breathless kiss.
"Had practice. Hope Dad doesn't burst in in the morning."
"Oh, and why is that?"
"Well, first, you're sleeping in this bed, with me. Second, I'm gonna return the favour."
"Mm?" Sam tucks himself under Dean's arm and closes his eyes.
"Gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk right," Dean murmurs, stroking his hand down Sam's arm soothingly.
"While we're looking for that damn Colt?"
"Yep."
"Looking forward to it."
Sam can feel Dean's smile against his hair, and it warms a part of him.
Dean still hasn't laughed.
----
Dean stays completely serious around Dad, barely even smiles half the time. Sure, he smiles more when Sam's around, but Sam remember better days. He remembers when he could do something silly or just downright stupid and it would pull a real laugh from Dean.
Fuck, he misses his brother.
The thought's almost enough to make him cry, but then either Dad or Dean'll hear him and he'll have to explain his stupid reasoning.
I'm crying because Dean isn't laughing like he used to.
----
Sam's abducted and wakes up in an abandoned town, and all he can think about is how last night was the closest he's gotten to make Dean laugh again.
"Hey, Dean, look, I can juggle!"
"What, three condoms full of our jizz?"
Sam had started juggling and lost all three of his props within seconds. One ended up on his head, the other across the room, and the third on the floor on Dean's side of the bed.
"Fuck. Dean, help me pick them up." But Dean was snickering into his armpit, shoulders shaking and breath hiccuping strangely.
"Deeeeeean," Sam had whined, pushing at Dean's shoulder. Dean resurfaced and his face was bright with laughter, red flushing high on his cheeks and his teeth glinting in the low light.
"J-Just imagine th-the maids coming in and - and - " Dean collapsed into giggles again, Sam joining him this time, snorting into Dean's hair.
"Hope we don't step on one in the morning," Sam wheezed, and Dean just went into fits of laughter.
And Sam had thought, yeah, best time of my life.
And now he's hunting and being hunted, which, yeah, not unusual, except this time he's the monster.
----
Sam's last steps are towards his brother, who's angry and hurt and confused all at once, but there isn't time for questions, not now. Sam should feel warm in his brother's arms, but he only feels cold, and that isn't right-thatisn'tright -
"It's not even that bad, all right? Sammy?" Dean presses his hand to Sam's back again, and Sam knows he's lying, that he's going to die, and why is it cold, damnit, it's not supposed to be cold when his brother's there and Sam wants to cry, but as soon as he tries to draw the breath it's over and there's black invading his vision - gottakeephiseyesopen and Dean's lips at his ear, whispering "I love you" and the last thing he hears is his name ending with a sob.
And the last thing he thinks is "should've showered this morning".
----
In December, the last one of Dean's life, they visit the grave again. Dean cries silently and Sam watches the horizon.
Finally, Sam asks, "Who is Zach?", a few weeks before Dean's date.
Dean rolls his beer bottle between his hands and chews on the inside of his cheek.
"He was my husband. Software engineer. We bought a house together."
"Shit."
"Loved him. He knew what I did. What I do. He understood. Then he went and died, didn't he?" Dean drinks, a long swallow from an almost-empty bottle.
"And he and most of my hook-ups know you as "that Sam" because that's the name I called out when I came. Zach knew you were my brother. He understood that, too."
"I'm sorry, Dean."
"Hunt got too close, and I had to shoot him."
Sam doesn't know what to do, so he stays carefully still.
"Only ever known one other person like him."
"Who?"
Dean smiles fondly at him. "You, you bitch."
"Jerk."
"Least I don't try and juggle condoms," Dean mutters, licking at the rim of the bottle.
"I could try with the empty bottles." Sam shrugs and picks up the three nearest to him.
"No, shit, you're gonna kill me!" Dean ducks and holds his hands up to protect his face, but he's smiling.
Sam tosses one into the air, but it goes too far and crashes into the lamp behind him.
Dean almost busts a gut laughing, and Sam loves him so much in that moment.
He takes it while he can, because in a few weeks, neither of them will be laughing at all.
Dean doesn't laugh much, Sam's noticed. Or maybe Sam's seen so much laughter at Stanford that he's forgotten how stoic the Winchester household is.
Then again, it's been two days since Jess died and Sam doesn't feel like laughing either.
He stares up at the motel ceiling, brightened by a slant of moonlight. Dean's not sleeping either, but they're ignoring each other in this dark and silence. Every time Sam closes his eyes he can only see flames and dripping blood.
He wonders what Dean sees painted on the back of his eyelids.
----
Morning comes swift and solemn, and they're on the road again. Sam makes cheap jokes at Dean's expense and Dean laughs, but not in the way Sam wants him to. He misses the rare times Dean would laugh with his whole body, smile stretched wide and tears shining in his eyes.
No, Dean hasn't laughed like that in front of Sam for at least ten years. It's usually just puffs of air through his nose or a weak chuckle.
Sam changes the tape over and settles in against the window to the crooning of Robert Plant. He can't sleep, but he can try and doze.
They're going to be driving for a while, judging from the amount of coffee in Dean's cup.
----
"Where'd you get that ring?" Sam asks in the middle of their meal. Dean swallows his bite of burger and glances down at his right hand.
"Wheeler, Texas."
Sam whistles. "Looks nice. Who'd you hustle it off of?"
"No one. Bought it." Dean grins around the mouth of his bottle, running his tongue over the rim a little.
"Jesus. Where'd you get the money for that?"
"A friend. Listen, Sam, I-uh-I'm gonna be using the car tonight. You need to go anywhere before that?" Dean flicks his eyes over to the bar and winks at someone. Sam follows his gaze, but he can't tell which girl it is.
"No."
"Okay. I'll be in the motel car park if you need me. Can you walk back or - no, I guess I should drive ya. Hold on a sec." Dean stands and walks over to the bar.
"No, no, it's okay, I'll walk - " But Dean's out of earshot. Sam doesn't really mind driving back with Dean's one-night stand, he just doesn't really want to hear the giggling. He looks up to see which girl - please not the blonde one, not the blonde one, looks too much like Jess - Dean's rubbing up against, and nearly does a double take when he sees Dean purring into a guy's ear.
Sam's cock hardens a bit at the thought of Dean with a guy. Not for the first time, Sam wonders how well Dean takes dick. Or gives it, for that matter.
Before he can dwell on it any more, he puts down enough money to cover the meal and tips, and goes over to Dean, whose arm is slung around this guy's shoulders.
"You ready to go?" he asks, covertly checking out the guy. He's handsome, blond with these blue-grey eyes, and a thin layer of scruff growing along his jaw.
"Dan, this is Sam. Sam, Dan," Dean gestures between the two and Sam awkwardly shakes Dan's hand.
"Oh, so you're Sam." The guy - Dan - gives him a once-over, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "not bad."
"Shut up," Dean hisses, pinching Dan's arm. "He doesn't know."
"Oh, sorry."
"Yeah, we're ready to go, Sam."
They leave, and Sam gets into the motel room after a quick glance back at the car. They're in the backseat, Dean's head is in Dan's lap. And that's Sam's cue to disappear.
...well, go inside and jerk off to the thought of Dean sucking someone's cock.
----
Dean returns a few hours later, after dropping Dan at home. He walks in quietly, but Sam's not asleep. He's reading a book. The lamp between the beds is on.
Sam can't fucking help it. He looks up. And nearly comes again.
Dean's hair is rucked into a fine mess and his lips are red and swollen. There's a hickey or two on his neck in the shape of teeth, and there's a small drop of something at the corner of his mouth.
Something a murky white that Sam can only assume is come.
"You got a little..." Sam gesture vaguely at his own mouth and Dean takes the hint, blushing lightly and licking it away.
"Aw, Sammy, you stayed up and waited for me."
"Just wanted to make sure my little baby came home safe." Sam mock-pouts, widening his eyes and dropping the lids a bit. "How was your first date, darling?"
"First? You think that was the first? Naw, I catch him whenever I come through here." He pauses for a moment, seemingly in thought. "Then he makes me come here."
Jesus, Dean, I did not need to hear that! It's what Sam should say, but he's tired enough that his breath hitches and instead he blurts out, "I could make you come here."
"I know you could." It's not the response Sam was expecting, and he freezes. "What, did you think the house in Minnesota was soundproof?"
And Sam remembers, explicitly and horribly, the summer in Minnesota when he was sixteen. And had bought his first dildo. And used it. And didn't know that Dean hadn't left the house yet.
As Dean saunters into the restroom, Sam watches him. Because of the bowlegs, Sam can't tell if Dean fucked or got fucked.
That annoys him for some reason.
----
"What did Dan mean by "you're Sam"?" Sam asks a few weeks laters, sunglasses on to shield from the sun reflecting off of the car in front of them.
"Nothing." Dean says quickly. Too quickly.
"Nuh-uh, what did you tell him about me?"
"Nothing, Sam. Really, nothing." This time it's defeated, drooping shoulders and all.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
Sam lets it go. For now.
----
As November drags on into December, which drags on into the Christmas season, Dean gets antsy and...fidgety. He twirls the ring around his finger, pulls at his collar, tears off his beer labels.
Eventually, around December 18, Sam throws his hands up and asks "What?!".
Dean jumps and tosses the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. "Nothing."
"Dean, what is going on with you?" Sam's voice is gentler this time. Dean hasn't laughed in a month and Sam's starting to worry.
"I just - can we go somewhere real quick?" Dean runs his hands up over his face and through his hair, and when Sam can see his eyes again they're shining.
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Where?"
"Wheeler, Texas."
----
The drive there is quick and quiet, and they should be back at their motel in Norman by midnight. Dean pulls up next to the graveyard, which is still in the twilight.
"I'll only be a minute," Dean says, shutting off the engine and getting out. Sam watches him shove his hands into his pockets and walk past the rusting fence surrounding the cemetery.
A few minutes later Sam goes out in search of his brother. Finds him down one on knee in front of a grave. The grass crunches under his foot.
Sam sits down next to him gingerly, cross-legged. The gravestone reads 'Zachary Lister', and below that, two dates. He died two years ago, tomorrow. Below that, the inscription reads 'A good husband and a great friend'. Sam figures it's someone that Dean couldn't save, but it must've been bad if he's visiting the grave.
"Rougarou got 'im." Dean says, suddenly, breaking the fragile quiet.
"That's rough. Sorry." Sam winces and glances over at Dean. "C'mere," he offers up his arm and Dean leans into him.
"He didn't deserve it,' Dean whispers, soft, into Sam's shoulder.
"They rarely do, Dean."
Dean kisses him for the first time there, after night has fallen and their ears are almost frost-tipped from the cold. Dean's crying, silent tears brimming in his eyes and soaking into Sam's shirt, but Sam doesn't say anything.
At midnight, Dean whispers something to the grave, but Sam doesn't understand it completely, spoken too quietly for him to hear, but he thinks Dean said "Thank you".
Sam turns over in his sleep, nosing at his pillow and pushing the blankets off of him. The nights are more bearable in terms of humidity, but the air is still pretty thick. After all, it's summer in Louisiana. Dean shouldn't know what Sam looks like right now, at two a.m. on a Thursday morning. He should be asleep, one hand on the knife under his pillow and the other outstretched towards the other bed, in case Sammy needs to get to him quickly.
Thing is, Dean can't really sleep much these days. Every time he tries to sleep, there's sharp claws and dangerous teeth behind his eyelids, tearing at Sam, ripping his skin, and Dean jolts himself awake, cold sweat damp on his arms and the sickly sweet taste of horror in his mouth. So Dean doesn't sleep much. He naps in the afternoons for an hour or two, but at night he can't possibly fall asleep, not with the images stuck in his brain.
Sam shifts again and the covers slip a little more down his thigh. The bandages are damp again, that much Dean can see, but that's unavoidable in this weather. There's a thin trail of blood on the one covering Sam's shoulder blade where he's twisted too much and the wound has opened slightly. Probably scabbed over by now.
Dean spends most of his nights now watching his little brother ("I'm 15, I'm not a kid anymore!") sleep. He studies the curve of Sam's jaw, the rise and fall of his back where he's - thankfully - still breathing. His eyes are glued to how Sam's hair, limp and greasy with sweat, fans out around him to form a sort of halo. Damp strands of it are curling at his neck, glittering in the moonlight. Dean mentally traces the slant of his eyes, the pale pink of his lips, slack in sleep.
He shouldn't know what his brother looks like in the dead of night, and he definitely shouldn't want to jerk off.
Dean's hands curl uselessly against the wall and his nails scrabble at the plaster. Sam's strong arms loop under his legs and his hands grip Dean's hips. The wall is at Dean's back, scraping against the back of his head. Fuck, he loves it when Sam lifts him, just spears him on his thick cock.
"Sam, Sam, shit, Sammy," he chants breathlessly, hands going to Sam's shoulders so he can corkscrew his hips and pull a desperate moan out of Sam.
Tendons stretch tight in his neck, throat working around the sounds falling from his lips. His dick slaps against Sam's abs with every thrust. Dean's skin is flushed and sticky with sweat, made even stickier when he comes all over himself, a whine in the air and his hole clenching hard around Sam's cock.
----
Sometimes Dean puts on the assless chaps and cowboy hat and rides Sam. It had started as a joke, a ridiculous outfit to wear for sex, but five minutes after Dean had gotten his mouth on Sam, Sam was begging him to keep the hat on.
Dean straddles Sam and puts those thighs to work, pulling himself up and down Sam's dick, working his brother into a whimpery, gasping mess beneath him. Sam frantically grasps at Dean's hips and Dean's own hands tug at Sam's nipples.
"Yeah, you like that, Sammy?" Dean pants, lazy smirk on his lips. "Giddyup."
And Sam just pulls Dean down to kiss him and whispers,
"Ride 'em, cowboy."
Dean shudders and, before long, Sam's filling him up just right, come dripping back down his balls. Dean doesn't pull off until he shoots all over Sam's chest, white drops decorating his pretty pink nipples.
----
The way to get Dean to scream, though? And I mean, really scream?
Well, Sam's favourite way is to get Dean on all fours, force him down onto his forearms, and just go to town. Build it up. Sam sucks on Dean's cock and then moves on to Dean's hole, really gets his tongue in there until Dean's gasping and moaning, damn near begging.
Only then will Sam lube up his fingers. Opens Dean up, gets his fingers in that nice, tight heat. Soon as Sam's got three in, slick noises filling the room, Dean starts begging.
"Sammy, Sam, please, please," he drops his head on his forearms, hips shoving back gracelessly, wanting more.
"Please what, Dean?" Punctuated with a stab to Dean's prostate.
"Please, oh god, Sam -"
"Yes?"
"Fuck me, Sammy, please, fuck me," Dean moans, his voice deep and gritty.
"Eh, I don't know. Maybe I won't tonight." It's a wind-up and Dean knows it, but he also knows his begging presses most of Sam's buttons.
"Please."
"Oh, all right, then. If you insist."
Sam pushes in slow, stopping every few seconds to hear Dean's harsh breaths and body-shaking groans. His hole, wet with spit and lube, flutters around Sam's dick. Sam groans and his fingers flex around Dean's hips.
Once he starts pounding Dean, though, really fucking him, that's when Dean's a screamer. His nails dig into the sheets and he can't stop pushing back to fuck himself on his little brother's cock. Sam takes care of Dean, makes sure to hit his prostate, finds that angle that has Dean clawing at the sheets and swearing breathlessly. When Dean starts shaking, trembling, that's when the shouting starts and Sam pushes down on his back, forces Dean's face to the mattress.
Sometimes Dean bites on a pillow, but it doesn't do much to muffle his screaming as he comes all over the bed, sticky white on his elbows and chest as well.
"Dean!" Sam called as he dropped the bag of supplies on the table, kicking the door shut behind him. The motel was quiet. "Dean?"
"Yeah, Sam?" came a hesitant voice from the bathroom.
"Are you okay?" Sam took a step towards the bathroom door, but halted at Dean's 'Stop!'.
"Go - uh - go sit on the chair," Dean's voice quieted again. Sam noticed the chair had been moved, on longer tucked into the table, but facing an expanse of blank wall. There were handcuffs on the arms, and the sight of them sent a thrill through Sam. "Don't put the handcuffs on," Dean ordered once Sam had sat down on the squeaky chair.
There were a few moments of silence before the bathroom door banged open and the opening notes of "Urgent" poured out. Dean walked out when the drum started, confident swagger and all. Sam's jaw dropped when he saw his brother, his jeans suddenly two sizes too small and dizzy from the rush of blood.
"Foreigner, Dean? Really?" he croaked out when Dean was in front of him, leaning down to fasten the slim metal around Sam's wrists.
"You complaining?" Sam vigorously shook his head.
Dean backed up to the wall and Sam practically salivated at the sight. Eyeliner thick on his brother's eyes, licking his lips so they were spit-slick and shining in the low light. Tight jeans slung low on his hips, a loose belt probably just for show, ripped T-shirt and an old flannel. Just to complete the look, there were thick black cuffs on Dean's wrists, the ones with the D ring that he loved so much, and Sam's collar around his neck (the one that always made Sam instantly hard as soon as it was wrapped around his own neck).
"Like what you see?" he drawled seconds before the verse began.
"Yeah," Sam whispered, transfixed.
The singing started and Dean threw his shoulder back to let the flannel slip off and collapse onto the floor. Lashes lowered, shadows on his cheeks, and Dean reached down to cup a hand over his crotch. With an exaggerated tossing of his head against the wall, his other hand travelled up his chest to pinch a nipple. A moan, sleek and velvety, dripped from his lips as he squeezed harder with both hands. Sam panted at the sight, his hands in fists, so desperately wanting to touch himself.
The chorus hit, and Dean smoothly transferred his hands to the hem of his shirt, teasing it up. He bit his lip, staring straight at Sam as he pulled it off in one swift move, tossing it to the side. His left hand hit the wall above him, elbow crooked and wrist glued to the wall like - like it was bound by chains. Sam groaned and Dean chuckled, other hand snaking down his body, tweaking his nipples, scratching over his hips, to rest squarely on the bulge in his jeans.
Dean's eyes widened when he squeezed, bright green only enhanced by the smudged black around them. His mouth opened in an obscene 'O', and Sam's cock wept more pre-come into his boxers. Dean rolled his hips into his hand, sinuous and sinful, his left hand twitching against the plaster.
"We should get you a pole," Sam forced out of his dry throat.
"Rather just use yours," Dean grinned lewdly and Sam smiled lopsidedly at the line.
Another round of the chorus echoed through the room and Dean full out moaned as he ground down harder with his hand. Left hand in a fist and his right pressed up hard against his crotch - Sam was never going to survive this. The arousal would just straight out kill him. Good way to go, though.
"Fuck, Sammy, wanna come," Dean's voice was pitched low, sensual, a trace of a whine winding through the words. He shuddered one last time against his hand before moving it to one-handedly undo the belt. It snapped against the denim as Dean yanked it out.
The song was fading to an end as Dean walked forward, hips swaying.
"Hold onto this for me, will you, big boy?" he whispered when he was close enough, holding the belt up to Sam's mouth and slotting it between his teeth. Sam nodded and whimpered when Dean's hand drifted down to cup his dick.
"So hard, aren't you?" Words like honey, flowing smooth and rich from those spit-shiny lips. Sam grunted in response, but another song started up, a keening note breaking the charged silence between them. It collapsed into a collision of guitars and, by the time Dean was on his knees, the chorus had started.
He dragged his hands up Sam's thighs, feeling the flexing muscles and restrained energy. Dean locked eyes with Sam though his lashes, mouth dropping open to rub over the bulge pressing out Sam's fly. The words 'porn star dancing' reverberated through Sam's head as Dean dug his fingers into Sam's legs and leaned forward.
He kept eye contact as his tongue pushed the button through the hole and his teeth latched onto the zipper. He opened it slow, torturously slow, and once it was down, he licked a stripe up Sam's cotton-covered cock. The second chorus came up and Dean used his hands - finally - to manoeuvre Sam's dick through the slit in his boxers. The collar pressed tight against Dean's throat as he swallowed.
"Been thinking about this all day," he said before steadying Sam's cock with one hand and sinking down in one hot, wet slide. Sam moaned, hips giving little aborted thrusts, as Dean's tongue traced patterns on the underside of his dick.
Sam's cock was hot and smooth to the touch, slick with Dean's spit when he pulled off, a strand of it connecting them. He gave Sam two lazy strokes, a smile tugging at his lips when Sam's breathing turned harsh and sharp.
Dean went down again, this time looking at Sam's face. Sam's dick bumped against his cheek, pre-come blurting onto Dean's tongue. Sam didn't even notice when the music ended and another song started up, but he no longer cared, so long as Dean kept doing - oh, shit!
The head slipped into Dean's throat and Sam jumped, hissing and whimpering at the sensation. His teeth bit into the belt, sure to leave permanent indentations. Dean swallowed and his muscles clenched around Sam, tight and smooth. He pulled off with a wet 'pop!', teeth barely scraping over that sensitive spot under the head. The belt dropped from Sam's mouth as he threw his head backwards and groaned. He could hear Dean's dirty chuckle beneath him. Holy shit. It usually took longer for Dean to actually deepthroat, needed a few tries to loosen his -
"Did you practice before?" Sam's heart rate tripled as he pictured it, Dean sucking on a dildo - which one had he chosen? - and prepping his throat just for - for Sam.
"Yeah," Dean sounded rough, raspy. "Used the purple one." Sam shivered and whined high through his teeth.
"You ready to come, Sammy?" he jacked Sam loosely, not enough friction.
"Yeah, Dean, yeah. Been ready since you walked out." Sam focused on the eyeliner, wondering if it would look as good on him.
"Good," is all his brother says before again wrapping his lips around Sam's cock.
Slick heat enveloped Sam's shaft as he bucked and moaned. Dean sucked for longer this time, sweet, sweet suction shooting electricity through Sam. Dean met Sam's eyes as he poked his tongue into the slit, lips a tight seal around the base of Sam's dick.
"Aw, shit, Dean, gonna, gonna - oh!" Sam saw stars as Dean pulled back again, teeth catching on sensitive nerves. "Fuck," he gasped as he came, all over Dean's face, Dean's spit slicking the way for his fingers.
Sam shuddered and shivered, moaned and whimpered, eyes locked on the sight of Dean, thick white ropes clinging to his face. When he was finished making a fucking mess of Dean's face, he stopped shaking enough to see the surprise also on Dean's face.
"So hot, Sam, fuck," he brought up two fingers to feel the damage. "Messed up your collar." Indeed, there were strings of come caught on the black leather. Dean's tongue came out and licked up the come on his lips.
"Unlock these and we can move to the bed? Or did you already - " Sam made a weak gesture with his hand towards Dean's crotch.
"Didn't. Wore a cock ring for you," a smirk grew on Dean's face, cocky even under the come. "Was hoping you could return the favour." A lazy burst of arousal pulsed through Sam at the admission.
"Then you'd better get the key, hadn't you?" Sam licked his lips. "I can't wait."
"So, Dad's gone to help Bobby with something. He said we should keep looking for the Colt," Dean said, eyes locked on the newspaper in from of him.
"Great," Sam grumbled, sipping his bitter coffee.
"Well, that means we have the room to ourselves, at least for a few days," Dean's eyes flicked up, cool green and definitely mischievous.
"Yeah, but Dad'll want us to have something to show for that."
"He doesn't have to know we took breaks," Dean smirked and leaned back in the diner booth, casually draping an arm over the back. It was early and the diner was almost empty, the only other customer a dark-haired woman talking rapidly on a Bluetooth. "I think that by the time we leave, in - " he glanced down at his watch - "five minutes, you should be hard."
"Won't take that long," Sam muttered, finishing his coffee.
"Good. Then we can leave earlier."
The waitress stopped by and dropped off a check.
"Thanks," Dean winked at her. She smiled and returned to the counter.
"So, when we get back, I think I want to suck your cock." A foot shifted forward and rubbed against Sam's leg. "Maybe I won't even lock the door; I'll be that desperate. I'll make it slow, maybe play with your balls a bit. Then I'll just choke myself on your dick, force you into my throat."
Sam nearly choked on his water at the matter-of-fact manner with which Dean was throwing his words around. Dean slid some money next to the check on the table and kept talking.
"Put a finger behind your balls, scrape across that space behind them. I know how much you like that. Use my teeth a little bit, rub them over your slit. Yeah, if I do that, you'll give me more pre-come, won't you?"
Dean watched as Sam tried to discreetly press a hand to his crotch, breath picking up, quicker, harsher.
"Okay, let's go, little bro," Dean taunted. This was easier than he'd thought it would be.
Sam practically fell into the passenger seat, spreading his legs in the hope it would relieve some of the pressure on his cock. Well, that, and he also wanted to throw Dean off of his game.
"So, what if I just fucked you on the floor?" he said as he got into the car, as if he'd never stopped talking. "On your hands and knees, carpet burn when you stand up, afterwards." Dean started the engine and glanced over at Sam, taking in the sight of long legs clad in denim and the obvious bulge at their juncture.
"Gonna take a lot more than that to mess me up," Dean noted, driving back to the motel. No, it actually does not take a lot more than that. He's so fucking hard in his jeans, mainly because before he speaks, he has to go through all his fantasies.
----
They researched at the motel, Dean falling quiet for a few hours, and Sam could barely concentrate with the raging heat pulsing through his groin. Prick. Dean knew that Sam had an overactive imagination; give him an image and he would expand on it within seconds. That's why his nightmares were so powerful, but also why Dean could wind him up with just a few well-chosen sentences.
"I think after I came in you, I'd lick it out."
"W-What?" Sam sputtered, Dean's unexpected sentence breaking the silence of pages turning and keys clicking. Dean kept reading, flipping a page and still speaking.
"Get my tongue in there, deep, mind you, and just lick all of my come out. Yeah, the way you'd squirm would look so nice, and you would beg so prettily, I'd just have to put some fingers in you, alleviate the pain. Oh, you wouldn't have come yet, would have waited so nicely because I told you to. Get on the bed," Dean finally looked up, calm and collected where Sam was flustered and insanely turned on.
"Now?"
"Yeah," Dean lewdly rubbed at his crotch through his jeans. "Come on."
Sam shakily lowered himself onto the bed, dick leaking in his boxers. Dean moved to the bed, crawling over Sam but never touching him.
"If you want to come, don't touch me. At all," Dean's breath ghosted over Sam's ear.
"Okay," he murmured.
"Good boy. Now, how many fingers do you think I could get into you before you started begging for my cock? Two? Three?" Dean's skin was so close, goddamnit, heat radiating onto Sam. Dean's legs bracketed Sam's, his arms braced either side of Sam's head. "I mean, you don't break easy, but that's all part of the fun," Dean shifted above Sam, his lips barely a centimetre from Sam's jaw. "Isn't it?" His mouth was just over Sam's, his eyes locked on Sam's. He licked his lips, the faintest trace of wet against Sam's lips.
"Shit, Dean."
"Maybe I'll fist you. Know how much you like that. Lube dripping from your hole, so stretched and red around my wrist. So fucking tight that I couldn't even move inside you, huh?"
Sam groans and his hips buck up, Dean's pulling away to match. God, he was so fucking hard, just with the filth spilling from Dean like air. The cotton of his boxers rubbed uncomfortably against his aching dick.
"Shit, maybe after all that, I wouldn't even fuck you. Just pull out the plug I've been wearing all day and sit on your cock like a street-side whore. Yeah, I've been wearing one all day, waiting for you." Dean can practically feel the full-body moan that comes from Sam, who's rolling his hips uselessly against air at this point. Dean wasn't much better off himself, the plug shifting in him with every movement of his hips and his dick leaking pre-come like a leaky faucet.
"You wouldn't be satisfied, though, would you? All that playing with your ass and I don't even keep it filled. Slut like you would need more." Sam whines high through his teeth, arousal pulsing through his veins straight to his cock. Dean moves down a bit, breath grazing over Sam's neck now.
"Don't worry, I'd take care of you. Stick a few fingers in, maybe slide in that vibrator. Turn it up to high so I can feel the vibration through your dick."
Sam's whole fucking body thrummed with heat, coiled at the base of his spine and on a hair-trigger. Just one particular phrase and he would go off like a rocket. His cock pressed almost painfully against his zipper.
Dean knew exactly what to say. Sam was so damn sensitive, usually came untouched when Dean fucked him. Dean took his time, dragging his lips back up to Sam's jaw, almost touching, close enough for Dean to bite. Sam was on edge, so close. If Dean just voiced Sam's biggest kink (seriously, set him off like nothing Dean had ever witnessed, especially when they actually did it, not just talking), Sam would shiver and whimper below him, body writhing as his orgasm coursed through him, sharp and intense.
"When I came, you know what I'd do?"
Sam's breath hitched with his hips; he knew what Dean was going to say, the thought just pushing him closer.
"I'd make damn sure I came all over your face, you hear me? All fucking over," Dean growled, voice dropping into that pitch that always shook Sam's bones.
"Fuck," he whispered before he fisted the sheets and clenched his teeth, his orgasm so ferocious he was sure it would rip through him and totally destroy him. His dick spurted in his boxers, sticky mess clinging to his shaft and balls.
Dean watched, rapt, bottom lip caught between his teeth, as Sam came apart underneath him. He jerked and spasmed, moaning and gasping with every twitch of his hips.
When Sam calmed down, brutal pleasure replaced with languid bliss, he opened his eyes to see Dean looking absolutely wrecked. Flushed cheeks, lip swollen from biting, eyes wide and glistening.
"I win," he smiled. "So hot, Sammy."
Sam's hands shot up, one pressing against the wet spot and bulge in the front of Dean's jeans, the other pressing down on the end of the plug he could feel in Dean's ass.
"Wore this all day? For me?" he hissed at the quick shock of remnant pleasure that rocketed through his body.
"Yeah, Sam," Dean grunted, hips not sure which pressure to go to. Sam reached up with his mouth and latched his teeth onto Dean's jaw.
"Fucking come, you whore," Sam snarled, squeezing Dean's cock.
"Oh." Dean shuddered, hard, and Sam could feel the wet patch spreading through the denim.
"You'll always come for your little brother, right?"
Dean jerked and groaned again, breathing evening out once he came back to himself. His eyes opened and met Sam's.
"Got all wet for me, Sammy?"
"Want to clean it up?"
"Fuck, yes."
"Fuck, fuck, shit!", Sam moaned, rocking back to meet Dean's thrusts.
"Shh, Sam," Dean placed a hand over Sam's mouth, keeping the slow, steady pace of his hips.
Sam's nails dragged against the bedsheets as he jerked fitfully, biting into Dean's hand every time the head of his brother's cock scraped across his prostate.
"Can't let Dad hear, now, can we?" Dean whispered, breath hot on Sam's ear.
Dad was in the room next door, but the walls were probably made of rice paper, and if they could hear everything he did, he could definitely hear this if Sam broke the barely-there silence. Dean was fucking him slow, careful to keep the mattress from creaking. His harsh pants fell into the slick skin of Sam's shoulder, which was littered with hickeys.
"Sammy, I'm-oh Christ-I'm close," Dean stammered, his other hand creeping around Sam's hips to stroke his dick. Sam bucked at the touch and whimpered, the sound muffled behind Dean's strong fingers.
"God, sound so good when you're gagged, don't you, baby?"
Sam clenched around Dean's cock, whining when Dean stuttered to a stop, grunting out a "Fuck, Sam" and digging his teeth into Sam's neck as he came, hot spurts filling Sam up and hitting that bundle of nerves.
"Dean, Dean, Jesus, fuck, Dean," Sam muttered, closing his eyes as Dean's hand tugged his orgasm from him, a jerky ripple running up the length of Sam's spine, and he could feel Dean's palm cupped around the head of his dick, catching the come in his hand.
"Look so pretty like that, yeah," Dean whispered, gently squeezing Sam's cock.
A few minutes later, Dean rolled off and lay down next to Sam, who collapsed onto his front.
No noise from the other side of the wall.
"Whew," Dean mock-wiped the sweat from his forehead. Sam smiled and turned onto his back.
"Mm, a bit bitter. Maybe you need a few more pineapples, there. Oh, I don't know. I think I kind of like it, actually," Dean remarked quietly. Sam looked over to see him licking the come from his hand.
"Jeez, Dean. Not like yours is cotton-fucking-candy."
"Let's see," Dean cocked a challenging eyebrow, propping himself up on his elbows and rolling to hover over Sam. "How about you help me?" He flicked his tongue out to swipe against Sam's bottom lip, grinning when Sam opened up and rose to meet him.
Sam hummed into the kiss, tongue feeling the grooves between Dean's teeth and reclaiming the taste of himself from Dean's lips. A string of sticky come connected them when they separated, falling back onto Sam's lips when it snapped.
"Hm, a tad salty," Sam noted, cleaning off his lips the remnants of their come-messy kiss.
"Let me just get some of my own," Dean shimmied down, his shoulders forcing Sam's legs open. Sam reached down and lazily carded a hand through Dean's hair, tightening his grip when something slick and wet ran over his hole.
"Fuck," Sam whispered, head tilting back. Dean's tongue dived in deep, catching all traces of his come. Impossibly, his dick started swelling, and he whimpered at the oversensitivity.
"Aw, is my Sammy getting hard again?" Dean teased, looking Sam in the eye.
"Either do something about it or fuck off," Sam gasped, hips rocking subtly at the loss of Dean's tongue.
"It's all right, I'll help you," Dean crawled up the length of Sam's body, "if you'll help me with this taste test."
Dean's mouth crashed into Sam's, his teeth nipping and tugging at Sam's lips. Sam arched his back, trying to get Dean closer, closer. He licked out the come from Dean's mouth, moaning quietly.
"Shit, that's good," Sam panted when they separated.
"A bit tart, but I like it," Dean agreed. "You comeslut."
"Shut up and suck my cock, jerk." Dean was right, Sam was a comeslut, but right now it was Dean's turn.
"Bitch," Dean replied, smirking, but he made his way down Sam's body. Dean kind of had an oral fixation (okay, he really did), and he fucking loved using his mouth on Sam.
He slicked up two fingers with his spit and inched them into Sam, who jerked and whined.
"Stay quiet," Dean warned before wrapping a hand around Sam and sealing his mouth around the head. Sam slapped a hand over his own mouth, biting down on it as Dean slowly worked his way down.
Dean pulled off with a pop and dragged his tongue up the whole length, meeting Sam's eyes as he sunk back down, hollowing his cheeks. Relaxing his throat, Dean kept going, swallowing Sam down until his lips met the base, and oh, fuck, that was tight.
And then Dean sucked.
Sam curled his hand into a fist and dug his teeth into the knuckles, gulping back his keens and groans. His eyes were glued to Dean's, green overtaken with black lust. His other hand tangled itself in Dean's hair, twisting roughly, and that earned him a muffled moan. Dean's fingers, which had previously just been filling space, suddenly bent and the nails brushed against Sam's overstimulated prostate. Tears sprung to his eyes and he forced Dean's head back down. Oh, did Dean go willingly. He sucked harder and worked up to deepthroating Sam while lightly pressing the edge of his nails to that spot in Sam. The pleasure, tempered with a streak of pain, raced through Sam's veins. His toes curled and he tapped on Dean's head to warn him, but Dean just sunk lower, swallowing around the glans. Pre-come slicked up his throat even more, and, soon enough, Sam was coming, wracked with harsh flashes of agonising bliss.
Dean swallowed all of it, gingerly easing Sam out of his mouth once Sam stopped shooting. He licked at Sam until he was too sensitive, and withdrew his fingers. Then he shuddered, dropping to rest his head to rest on the place where Sam's hip and thigh met.
"Shit," he ground out through clenched teeth.
"What-fuck, Dean, did you just-from that?"
Dean nodded.
Dean climbed up to lay beside Sam on his side. Sam chuckled as he caught his breath.
"What?" Dean asked, his voice raspy and hoarse.
"You just came from sucking me off and rubbing against the sheets."
"I can make you come in your jeans."
"Wanna bet?"
"Give me a day and you'll see."
"A whole day?"
"Unless you just want to dry hump."
"What else are you suggesting?"
"Mm, maybe just by speaking."
"All right. Bet's on. You win, I owe you a blowjob. I win, you owe me one."
"Shake on it?"
"Well, a bet with me's gonna need a little more than that."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Bossy bitch," he grumbled, but he leaned over to meet Sam's lips.
"I'm gonna win, jerk," Sam replied.
"You're gonna lose so badly," Dean assured him.
"Oh, oh, holy fuck, Sam," Dean moaned, left hand planted between Sam's shoulder blades and his right gripping Sam's sweat-slicked hip.
Sam, on all fours below Dean, just groaned and weakly shoved his hips back, too blissed out to bother trying any harder. Dean was fucking him just right, anyway.
Dean pulled back out slow and thrust in quick, pushing a gasp out of Sam. See, Sam always started out as a pushy bottom, but if you hit all the right points (and Dean did, many times), he could be turned into a hot, fucked-out mess thrumming with pleasure. And, oh, how Dean loved doing that.
"Mm, Dean, god, t-touch me," Sam could feel the sweat running down his arms, his hands twisting in the sheets. The room smelled like sex, the air hot and lazy.
"Jesus, Dean, just-just-ohhhh, shit, do that again," a shiver rolled down Sam's body, muscles tensing and relaxing. Dean chuckled, a low, dirty sound.
"Liked that, did you?" he asked as he angled his hips again and the head of his cock slid against Sam's prostate, forcing a grunt out of his little brother.
"Not gonna touch until you beg real pretty, Sammy," Dean whispered, lips brushing Sam's ear. Sam whined and tried to shove his hips back, but Dean's grip stopped him.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, god, Dean, please, please," Sam murmured, again valiantly trying to fuck himself back onto Dean's dick. Dean's hand creeped a little farther around Sam's hips.
Sam bit his lip and his head fell farther forward, his hair falling to either side. Dean stabbed at his prostate again and Sam gave a frustrated sob, desperate for touch, for Dean, for anything.
"Please, Dean, please, touch me, let me come, shit, please, Dean," Sam rambled, voice cracking as Dean finally, finally wrapped a hand around his cock and pulled.
Sam moaned long and low as the pleasure at the base of his spine coiled tighter and exploded through him, nerve endings firing on all cylinders. Come streaked up his torso, white staining the tan skin.
"Oh, fuck, Dean," Sam's voice went deep, reverberating through Dean's bones as Sam shook against the bed.
A few seconds later, and Dean's hips were pumping faster, his own pleasure sparking in his veins.
"God, Sam, gonna make me come," Dean panted, breaking off with a groan.
"Come in me, Dean, dirty up your little brother," Sam was loose and lax, a fucked-out rasp to his voice.
"Fuck."
Dean buried himself in Sam, muscles quivering as he shot inside Sam, come mixing with the lube. When the tremours passed, he pulled out and flopped beside Sam, who finally collapsed onto his front, smearing come all over the bedsheets.
"Mm," Sam hummed, eyes closing and a sated smile on his face.
"Don't fall asleep yet, Sammy," Dean said, his arm thrown over his eyes. "Gonna lick you out in a sec."
Sam whimpered as a burst of arousal pulsed through his system.
"Fucking do it, then," Sam slurred, eyes opening a fraction to peer at Dean, who was now smiling back at him.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Definitely."
"Oh, challenge accepted."
"I don't think you can do it."
"You won't be thinking that when I make you come on my tongue."
"Prove me wrong, then."
Dean rolled over and shimmied down his brother's body, hands spreading Sam's ass so he could see his hole.
"Fuck, so loose," his tongue darted in for a taste, "and wet."
It happens sometimes, Sam thought, frantically trying to type away his embarrassment into research. Surely, it must have happened to someone else before.
Well, just maybe not with their brother. And definitely not when they're in their mid-twenties.
Dean had left shortly after, mumbling something about 'clean the pipes out, Sam' and 'be back in twenty'.
Well, it'd already been fifteen minutes. And the thing was, Sam had cleaned the pipes that morning, in the shower.
He had five pages open on the obscure mythology of satyrs and was halfway through a paragraph about their traditions when the door flew open and Dean stepped in, staring straight at Sam.
Sam gulped and sank lower in his seat, eyes downcast.
"So, I got dinner, if you want any," Dean dumped a brown paper bag next to the laptop on the table, right in front of Sam. He pulled over the other chair and sat himself shoulder to shoulder with Sam, pushing the computer out of the way and taking out the contents of the bag. Two burgers, one bucket of fries, and a fruit salad.
"Thanks," Sam mumbled, unwrapping a burger and staring pointedly at the tabletop.
"Come on, stop being so prudish about it. It happened, that's it. You just need to...take care of these things more often."
"Dean," Sam near-whined, squirming in his seat.
"What? It's not every day your little brother creams himself while your pushing his face into the carpet."
Sam's face felt like it was on fire. It was a meaningless fight over who got the shower first and it'd turned into a sparring session and then into all out wrestling.
Dean'd had him pinned down, hands behind his back, ankles hooked around Dean's own, and his cheek pressed into the carpet. Dean's thigh was shoved between his legs, a solid weight against his balls and perineum, and when Dean had twisted Sam's arms up higher to limit any and all movement, Sam had gone blindingly hard and shuddered under Dean's grip.
Then Dean had tightened the hand in Sam's hair, pain prickling at his scalp, and Sam had lost it, coming like a teenager in his underwear, hips moving infinitesimally against the floor. He went limp in Dean's hands and it had taken a few moments for Dean to realise what had happened.
"Sam," he'd breathed, "did you just..."
Sam'd gone red and squeezed his eyes shut, shame pooling in his blood.
"Guess you get the shower," Dean had muttered before quickly dismounting, leaving Sam alone on the floor, listening to the Impala driving away.
"Dean, shut up," Sam said now, taking a bite out of his burger.
"Not gonna," Dean smirked, bumping his elbow against Sam's.
"Just forget it!" Sam hissed, anger jumping through his veins. Dean's smirk dropped and he looked almost...afraid. Sam furrowed his eyebrows, confused.
"What?" he asked. Dean looked over Sam's left shoulder and mumbled something. "What?" Sam repeated.
"I said, hard to forget when I jerked off in the car just afterwards," he muttered quietly.
"What?" Sam said again, confused and unsure of what to do.
"Don't make me say it."
"You jerked off...to me acting like a fucking teenager?"
"It was hot," Dean shrugged.
Sam didn't know what to say, so he leaned over and kissed Dean, hand on the back of his neck so he couldn't pull away. Dean's jaw went slack and his tongue pushed into Sam's mouth, tangling with Sam's own. Dean bit down on Sam's bottom lip and Sam moaned, vibrations running down his teeth.
When they pulled apart, Sam put his forehead against Dean's and asked, "This okay?".
Dean nodded, hands going to Sam's hips.
Sam slid out of the chair onto his knees, mouth level with the bulge in Dean's jeans.
"Twice in twenty minutes? Pretty good for an old guy," Sam teased, grinning up at Dean.
"Shut up and suck me," Dean's voice was low, gruff, but a smile tilted the corners of his lips.
"Not gonna make me beg? Oh, please, sir, let me suck your cock, please let me suck it," Sam pitched his voice higher, a parody of the porn dialogue Dean watched.
"Later, darling," Dean smiled saccharinely, "but for right now, suck. I know you like it rough."
Sam shifted on his knees a little, jeans becoming too tight.
"If you say so," he smirked, pleased when Dean fisted a hand in his hair and pulled, sending sweet pleasure-pain shocking through Sam's nerves. He gasped and got to quick work unzipping and unbuttoning Dean's jeans. He rubbed at the bulge pushing out the fabric, licking his lips in anticipation. Dean shuddered, hips bucking under Sam's hand.
Sam pulled the briefs down, snapping the elastic under Dean's balls. He took one into his mouth, sucking gently. He moved on to the other one, laving his tongue over the smooth skin - smooth?
He pulled back, smiling at Dean's whine.
"You shave?" he asked, catching Dean's eye.
"I prefer it," he shrugged, faint pink tinting his cheeks.
"Hmm, I do, too," Sam agreed, leaning back down to rub his cheek up the length of Dean's dick.
He brought a hand up to hold Dean's cock to his mouth, sucking on the head like some sort of obscene straw.
"Fuck," Dean moaned, hips thrusting up. Sam tasted pre-come, tangy and bitter on his tongue. His hand worked the bottom half of the shaft while he bobbed his head, trying to fit more into his mouth. He was most of the way down, the head pushing at his throat, when he just stopped, listening to Dean's panting above him, interspersed with grunts and groans.
"Jesus, Sam, Christ, keep going."
Sam shook his head as much he could with a dick filling his mouth.
"What - fuck, you want me to make you, Sammy?"
Sam looked up through his lashes and meet Dean's lust-blown eyes, skin flushed and chest heaving. He snaked his other hand down and pressed against his own erection.
Dean growled and forced his head down, thrusting his cock into the tight clench of Sam's throat before lifting Sam's head and holding it steady so Dean could use it as he pleased. And, oh, fuck that sent shivers down Sam's spine. Pre-come leaked from his own dick and dampened the front of his underwear. He removed his hand from Dean and unzipped his own jeans, taking his cock out and stroking hard, smearing pre-come over the head with his thumb.
Dean's eyes flicked down to the movement of Sam's arm and he moaned, burying himself fully in Sam's throat. Sam's own groans reverberating around his dick sent him over the edge, and he came down Sam's throat, pulling out enough to get some on Sam's tongue and lips. Sam grunted and panted, letting Dean's cock slip out of his mouth. He caught Dean's eyes, strained whimpering pushing through his open mouth. Dean could see his come in Sam's mouth and the desperate glint in his eyes, flaring when Sam gasped, shuddering as come streaked up his wrist.
"Fuck, Sam, so hot," Dean whispered, thumb dipping in Sam's mouth, smearing the come on his lips.
"Love it when you make me," Sam whispered back, voice rough and fucked-out. A smile pulled at his lips as Dean guided him up, licking his own come from Sam's lips, kissing deeper to taste himself in Sam.
They separated, and Sam swiped up some come from his wrist and painted it on Dean's lips, taking in the image for a second before leaning in and licking it off, just his tongue on Dean's lips.
"God, Sammy, want to do so much to you."
"How about you tie me up next?"
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