dean has sam bent over the hood of the impala, panties wet and jeans hanging around his thick thighs. sams face is pressed against the heated metal and hes drooling a little, mouth open in anticipation.
dean has been staring at him for so long, trying to commit the view to memory, the curve of his spine, the swell of his ass, that sam has gotten impatient, shifting slightly from side to side, whine high and humiliating and stolen from between his teeth when dean slaps his ass hard enough that he jerks, full body tremor. he bites into his lip to stop from crying out, hand pressing flat, fingers trying to dig into the car, half moon fist when he can't get a grip.
hes too warm, upper body shiny with sweat, dripping from his hair, the back of his neck. he'd been trying to get a look under the hood of the impala and it'd been stifling, heat and humidity pressing his shirt wetly to his back, drawing his breath in raggedly. he'd been about to combust when he took his shirt off, used it to wipe his chest, tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
dean rarely gave him the go ahead, when it came to the impala so he'd been careful, assessing everything, head bent low, hair slightly in his eyes. he'd been trying so hard to focus on the task at hand, keep his mind occupied so that he didn't have to think about why he was doing it, that he hadn't anticipated deans fingers hooking in his belt loops, pulling him back, so that he stumbled unbalanced and almost falling. dean had pushed the hood down with a mixture of both urgency and care that if hadn't been so disoriented, sam might have laughed. dean grabbed both of his wrists tightly and all but shoved sam flat against the hood, fingers tight, bruising. tongue flat licking slow up his back, lingering on that one spot that he sometimes pressed his hand against when he thought sam couldn't feel it, proof of life, that his blood was inside his body, not spilling out. sam couldn't help shifting, trying to twist out of the uncomfortable position, but dean just held his wrists back with greater strength. sam could remember those hands squeezing his thighs.
"dean, what-" deans teeth nipped at sams ear, breath warm against sams skin, he felt like a furnace.
"couldn't help it sammy, not with you bent over my car like a freaking slut," he punctuated the last word by dragging his teeth across the lobe of sams ear and sam balked. trying again to twist out, get himself into more breathable placement, his breath was coming out in gasps as dean returned his attention to his spine.
he had to turn his head so his ear was flat against the car, to get the words out, more moan then indignance,
"im not a slut, dean- " breath stuck in his throat as dean bit close to his raging pulse point. he wanted to tell dean that he was pretty sure it was the impala that had him so hard up but then sam felt dean move, grip loosening barely before his knee shoved roughly between his legs, rubbing against the denim, and despite himself sam couldn't help trying to grind back. dean pressed further up but it wasn't good enough, not nearly satisfying and this time he couldn't help the whine, the bend of his spine, the shuffling. dean laughed, a little mean, a lot smug, "you sure about that sammy? cos you spread your legs like one, bet you want these off, huh?" he let go of sams wrists, pressed a firm hand to his back instead, so he could skim along his waistband, teasing. torturing.
"dean, i was," hand covering sams mouth, fingers sliding in, jolt of heat, wetting up his pussy even more. he wouldn't suck though, couldn't give his big brother that satisfaction. this time when dean laughed it was right up against sams back, not entirely unwelcome weight, so he could feel the rumble of it, outline of deans hard dick. deans chin resting in the junction of sams collarbone, laughter right in sam's ear,
"come on, give it up sammy, i bet you're already so wet, fucking gagging for it," and sam is yanked back to when he was little, still fit in the open embrace of his brothers lap without too-long limbs dangling, deans hands pinning sam to the ground, sparring, urging sam to just push up, twist out, protect himself. dean goading him, but also looking at him expectantly, like he knew that sam could push him off if he tried.
"come on sammy, can't push me off?" or "is that all you got little brother?" when sam would wriggle half heartedly, because he didn't need to protect himself, never felt safer than when dean was looming over him, heavy and familiar from nights shared in a twin bed. and if sam's pulse was racing, it wasn't out of fear.
deans fingers were tracing the inside of his mouth and sam bit lightly, as he tried to speak around them. sam hadn't wanted to push him away when he was a kid and he didn't want to push him away now, still he wasn't about to make it easy for dean. knew that for his older brother, the chase was half the fun.
"'m not gagging," he said, it sounded a little slurred to his own ears, but he could tell it got his meaning across especially when deans fingers pulled out, sloppy, to grasp his jaw. no longer gentle.
deans eyes were still so green, sam couldn't remember why he'd been protesting in the first place. his face was darker now though, but no less open, sam knew hunger when it was reflected back at him. knew it like his stuttering heartbeat, on his brother.
"you will be," deans deft fingers unbuttoned his jeans, pulled them down in a quick movement, so balmy air skated across the back of his thighs. when deans fingers hit the back of his throat this time, it wasn't an offer, it was a command.
"suck." single grunt as deans other hand cupped the apex of his thighs, right where he wants them and sam dosen’t need to be told again. he's always been a good little brother, after all. wants to, still, for the time he has left.
dean had rubbed him through his panties for so long the friction had begun to burn a little but his hand always slid down the slope of sams leg whenever he got too close, edging him. punishment. sam was barely coherent when dean had pulled back from his black drenched panties and his slobbering mouth.
hed been watching for so long and sam was unbearably horny, empty, pussy soaked and pulsing, with need for something. anything. so long as it came from his big brother. he was aware of the way he was panting, twisting his neck to try and urge dean to come over, to fucking do something. anything. when dean finally, finally came over, thick fingers wrapped around the back of sams neck. gripping tight, lifting him up, turning him around so his backs against the hood, dull thud, barely perceptible pain. deans wet fingers tracing his jaw, tilting with thumb and forefinger, side to side inspecting his damage. the teeth marks were clear, a little bloody and they would definitely bruise. dean looked pleased and latched his mouth over the same bites, sucking harder, his hands spreading sams thighs wide, standing between them. scrape of denim against sams legs that had him shuddering as his neck fell back. deans tongue licking a wet stripe up his neck before biting at sams collarbone. too hard, too much and sams legs tried to snap close, biting his lip to keep that strangled noise from escaping.
dean had always liked leaving marks. ever since they started this. sam knew why of course, possession and proof always got him hard. especially when it was sam. but this was different. more violent. frantic. cruel almost. like he was trying to brand himself into sam. trying to carve his name inside sams ribs, with his teeth. sam wanted him to. wanted it so badly he felt like he could choke on it, the need in the pit of his stomach. he wanted dean to bite into him, make a hole and bury himself inside and never leave; keens high and hurt when dean drags his teeth down sams chest like he's trying. god, they were so fucked up over each other.
it takes a lot of effort to move his arms, with the way dean has him pinned the way his mouth is moving, ferocious.
his hands slide up deans sides until they reach deans neck pulling him back from sams throat. he's breathing heavy and his eyes are wide. sam is aware his face is wet, dean likes to make him cry, likes the power of it. he also knows that dean can tell that's not what this is, the tears streaming, the sobs he's keeping choked back, because if they start sam isn’t sure they’ll ever stop. knows that’s why he stills and his fingers dig into the flesh of sams thighs reflexively. like he can't help it. like he's bottled up so much that it has to overflow physically. sams fingers work slowly, it's hard to get a grip, he's overstimulated and shaky and still so needy, so empty. but he pulls deans head down. waits for resistance that doesn't come. let's his mouth trail along deans jaw, wetly. tightens his thighs around deans waist.
they're close. almost breathing into each other's mouths. sam can feel deans fingers twitch with the need to move. can feel how hard he is.
they don't do this usually. soft. almost gentle. they do it even less now. it's harder to get this close and not let it break them, this terrible thing they've let grow between them.
sam can't remember the last time dean kissed him. he doesn't want to ask. but part of him doesn't think he'll ever get it again if he doesn't.
"please," it's almost too quiet, said in a ragged breath, plea and prayer all at once.
dean doesn't look at him, clenches his jaw. digs his blunt nails into sams thighs, hard enough sam winces.
deans mouth is always warm, soft. most of the time it's rough and brutal and sam can tell thats how he wants it now, wants to bite at sam’s lips until he’s bleeding and dean can lick at the wound. can tell also that hes fighting with that urge, trying to give sam something tender because sam said ‘please’ and dean hasn’t ever been able to deny him. not really. so sam waits. waits until he hears his brother breathe his name, ‘sammy’ and it feels like devastation when dean brushes his lips against sam’s, slotting them together. sam tastes tears and isn’t sure their just his own. wraps his arms around deans neck like he’d done all the time when he still fit into the cradle of his brother's arms, pretends he doesn't feel his heart splintering.
sam lets dean have his way after that, let's him do whatever he wants, because he knows, when deans gone, memories will be all he has to look back on. deans teeth dig so hard into sams shoulder he breaks skin, and sam jolts a little from the shock of it, before it melds with heat, travels down his spine to where he's used and swollen and so so wet. deans tongue laves over the marks, licking up sam's blood like his saliva is a balm, even as sam winces at the sting. he presses a sloppy open mouthed kiss in response, apology and ownership all in one.
for the first time, sam wishes cuts didn't heal. wants the tangible proof of his brothers greed etched into his skin, bloody, raw, alive and aching. wants it to scar. just fucking wants. so much. and it isn't new. wanting something he knows he can't have.
but for once, sam doesn't think he'll live past giving this up, thinks he'd tear his own heart out of his chest if it kept deans beating. deans hand finds that point on his spine again, his mouth at sams beating pulse, sams fingers in his hair.
dean pants open mouthed against sams shoulder for a moment, head resting at sams collarbone. he leans up, three words on his tongue sam can’t stand to hear. words they never say. words that mean defeat.
sam bridges the gap with his mouth, swallows the confession. feels it tear open his ribcage and flay his heart raw. hates dean a little more for trying to use them. wants to tell dean, that he hates him, wants to hurt him the way this hurts. wants dean to feel the festering ache inside him.
because that's what you do when your brother is going to hell for you, you bite his mouth and you bite your tongue and let him fuck you until you can't breathe and you don't talk about it except to let him know you won't tie your own noose once he's gone. when your brothers going to hell for you and every day is a day less, you let him be rough and you let him be gentle and you pretend you don't hate him for giving you one more thing to lose, that sometimes you'd rather his fist to your face then his mouth on your forehead.
when you've been foolish-stupid in love with your brother since you were twelve and he's going to hell for you, you don't talk about it.
dean fucks into him like it means everything and sam buries a sob in his throat. wishes he could die like this, with dean inside him, holding him.
wishes, desperately, that dean had left him dead.
“these violent delights have violent ends,
and in their triumph die, like fire and powder
which, as they kiss, consume.”
