Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/418977.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Drugs, PWP, Alcohol
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-01 Words: 6537
****** Forgive and Forget ******
by xantissa
Summary
     There are things Sam will forgive, but there are things he won’t,
     too.
Notes
     one of my oldest works, written around the first season
Dean clenched his fists on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
He kept his eyes firmly on the tarmac and the twin points of light cast by
Impala’s headlights. He did his best to ignore the sounds coming from beside
him.
It was Sammy. His little brother. Drunk and stoned out of his mind.
Talk about teenage rebellion.
So he and Dad screwed up. Big deal. They are human, fallible. Besides it wasn’t
as if it was their fault. If only that cop in Louisiana wasn’t so keen on
pinning the blame on them they would have been home sooner. So they were late a
few days. Well, thirteen days to be exact but... hell Sam was sixteen! He knew
how to take care of himself! He wasn’t a child. He should have been able to
take care of himself.
He did. He even got a job at a local library to have money for food and bills,
so that they won’t be thrown out of their house. Again.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, because that wasn’t the problem. He knew it. It was
that they promised Sam to be there for him. To go to that audition that meant
so much to Sam. He could only be accepted if he came with a parent. No fake
note was going to cut it this time. And Sam lost his part, because Dad couldn’t
wait another week before heading down to Louisiana.
Ever since that day, Dad and he came back home to a quiet house and a Sam that
didn’t even speak to them; Sammy went wild. He started going out in the evening
and coming back at dawn, hanging with the wrong crowd and butting heads with
Dad with a viciousness Dean hasn’t seen before.
Of course, the fact that Sammy hasn’t spoken a word to him in a fucking month
was also a problem.
Dean kind of thought they had something between them. It wasn’t right but... it
was theirs. Something they shared. Well, there was also the fact that Dean
denied that special bond, sexual bond between them a few times. Actually, it
was every time. He would be weak and lose control and then he would regret it
immediately after and tell Sammy it couldn’t happen again.
Well, it seemed it wasn’t going to happen again anyway.
Because his little brother found somewhere else to meet his needs.
Dean fought the urge to close his eyes; it didn’t help, however. He could still
see the scene as clearly as day.
When Sammy didn’t come home for twenty four hours they started worrying. A
month ago they would be sure something was wrong. Sam always came back home
when he said he would. Was always careful to let them know where and with whom
he was. After that audition fiasco, though, things changed. He started going
out and returning late, smelling of alcohol and sex and not in the mood to talk
to Dean or Dad.
So, this time Dean started looking for him. He was known to be the cool older
brother so Sam’s friends talked to him. Told him about this old house that
belonged to Craig’s family and that Craig holds parties there. Parties with
lots of booze, drugs and God knows what else.
Dean couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Sammy, his Sammy, his fucking
sixteen year old, innocent Sammy was hanging out with a guy like that.
But when he pushed the wooden door open and stepped into the room smelling of
sweat and pot, feeling the heavy bass music vibrate right through his body, he
was faced with a living proof that he didn’t know shit about his brother.
There he was, sprawled lazily in the old armchair surrounded by empty beer
bottles and cigarette butts, his long legs encased in faded denim spread
haphazardly in front of him, the black tee stretched tightly over his already
wide and developed chest, his hair wild and mussed, already much too long,
obscuring his face. That wasn’t, however, what shocked Dean into silence. It
was the fact that one of Sammy’s obscenely long fingered hands rested on a
blond boy’s head. The boy, probably Sam’s age, was kneeling between Sam’s
spread legs, one hand resting on the nearest thigh, the other disappearing
under the hem of racked up tee and his mouth. Jesus fuck. His mouth open, lips
pressed tightly to the crotch of Sammy’s fucking jeans. The boy’s face was
flushed and his eyes closed, the long, fragile looking lashes resting over the
flushed cheeks as he mouthed on Dean’s little brother’s denim covered cock like
there was no tomorrow.
Mesmerized and sickened at the same time, Dean watched Sam’s long fingers
flexed in the golden hair, pressing the boy closer, harder into his cock.
Watched as Sam opened his lips, red and swollen as if kissed and threw his head
back letting the long, strong neck stretch sensuously. Dean could hear, even
through the wild drumming of music and his heart the needy groan the boy
between Sam’s knees made.
Dean wasn’t aware of anything other than the sight of his brother, sprawled
decadently in the old chair, so at ease with his body, with what was happening.
He looked different somehow. Older. Sure of his own body, his sensuality like
he was never before. Dean could see, in every line of the boy’s body, hear it
in the desperate whimpers he made as his lips worked Sam’s cock through the
denim, how desperate he was, how much he wanted Sam. How he would do anything,
anything Sam told him to.
Jesus, but he knew the feeling.
He watched, his hands curling into fists at his sides, as Sam raised his other
hand from behind the armrest. Between his fingers was a thin, white joint. Dean
watched as Sam raised it to his lips and inhaled the narcotic smoke with
relish. It occurred to him then, that his brother was not only drunk but stoned
too.
It was almost too much. Dean just couldn’t comprehend. His younger brother. The
geek, the one that threw a tantrum that one time Dean pulled a page out of his
history book, the one that looked at Dean disapprovingly every time he came
home smelling of alcohol and smoke. The law abiding, innocent Sammy was not the
young man, sprawled in the middle of a room full of empty beer bottles and
narcotic smoke, not the man obviously having his cock sucked in front of a
dozen other people! They were in various states of being drunk or spaced out,
and frankly no one paid any attention to Sammy but still. It was just so not
Sam, Dean wondered if he was possessed or under the influence when Sammy lifted
his head and looked straight at him. He let out the heavy smoke slowly, letting
it curl around him lazily. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated but very much
aware.
And angry.
It seemed a month of silent treatment wasn’t enough. Dean knew, on some level,
that it wasn’t really about the audition at all. It was about a promise. One he
and Dad broke. And it wasn’t the only one. It seemed they crossed some
invisible line and Sammy was hell bent on giving them hell for it.
Dean would have taken the silent treatment, the anger and the fights. But not
this... not this stupidly, this fucked up way Sam put himself in danger. Out of
all things he could do, being drunk and drugged in the middle of nowhere with a
bunch of total strangers he couldn’t trust went against everything Dad had
taught them.
In less than a heartbeat Dean was there, pulling the hapless boy by the scruff
of his neck and throwing him away, off his brother, not really caring if
something happened to him.
The boy yelped as he fell on some furniture and went down with a crash. Dean
made the mistake of looking at him. He never should have taken his eyes off
Sam. But he always saw Sammy as his little brother, never really thought of him
as a threat, especially now when he was drunk and high. So, when a stunningly
hard blow connected with his stomach, he stumbled back surprised. He looked up
at his brother standing over him with teeth bared and chest heaving.
“What the hell do you think you are doing!” Sam hissed at him enraged.
Dean couldn’t help but notice that he was hard under the faded jeans, the
outline of his cock very clear.
The fist flew again, but this time Dean was prepared. He caught Sam’s wrist and
turned them, using Sam’s momentum to twist their positions. He wrenched Sammy’s
arm behind his back hard, making him yell in outrage and pain, and slammed him
into the nearest wall.
“I’m fucking taking you home and if you try to hit me again, I swear I’ll knock
you out.” Dean hissed forcefully into Sam’s ear. Even through the smoke he
could smell the faint scent of the herbal shampoo Sam used.
There must have been something in his voice that told Sam he wasn’t kidding
because he stilled in Dean’s grasp. Dean let him go but waited, wary and poised
to defend himself. But Sam only turned his head halfway, his hair falling over
his face.
“Sure Dean, whatever you say.” There was something, a thinly veiled threat in
Sam’s voice. A promise. And Dean cursed silently because Sam was a master at
keeping grudges. He was also the least physical one from the whole Winchester
family. He was more prone to fighting with words than fists. And he never, ever
gave up.
The stubborn bastard.
Dean followed Sammy out, warily. Watched the unusual loose gait, the way he
seemed comfortable in his body, the way he was aware of how fucking hot he was.
It unnerved Dean and aroused him, which seemed even more disturbing.
He watched as Sam leaned on the door to the Impala, his hair obscuring his
eyes, a thin trickle of blood from a split lip on his chin. He spread his legs,
leaned back against the door making the tee stretch tightly over his well
developed chest and ride up on his flat, hard stomach showing an inch of pale
white skin. His lips twisted in a kind of sly, knowing smile and he used his
index finger to wipe away the blood. He locked his dilated eyes with Dean’s and
then slowly licked the blood away from the single digit.
“That’s what you want, Dean?” He said low, almost purred under his breath as he
let the hand fall. “You have an itch to scratch?” There was pure sex in his
low, rough voice, an invitation in the way he spread his legs and blatant
suggestion in way he didn’t even try to hide his hard on. Dean swallowed
because, fuck, but he wanted Sam. Always. However he could get him. And he
wasn’t allowed to for a fucking long time. But there was also something else
behind his dark, almost black eyes now. It was anger, rage, burning somewhere
deep. Hurt that wasn’t forgiven, nor forgotten.
“Get in the car.” He barked, walking over to the driver side of the car. He
didn’t like this side of Sam. This cold, manipulative part, this part that
didn’t hesitate to use Dean’s desire against him.
So here he was, trapped in the Impala with his stoned and pissed brother that
seemed to have discovered the power of sex and, Jesus, but he was going to
crash them if Sam didn’t stop.
“Stop it!” He hissed, trying not to look at Sammy. He failed.
Sam’s head was resting on the back of the seat, his hair spilling softly over
the black leather. His tee was stretched so fucking tightly over his chest Dean
could see every ridge, every bump there. His eyes were half closed and those
red, swollen lips parted and wet. As he watched, Sam licked his lips again and
turned his head to look at Dean from behind lowered lashes.
“Why? You kina interrupted something there...” Without shame he slid his hand
over his belly, lower towards the still prominent bulge in his jeans. “Care to
finish it for me?”
Dean clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.
“No.” He snapped.
Sam smiled and Dean did not like that smile. Not one bit.
“Fine. I’ll just have to take care of it myself.” With that Sam started to
unzip his fly.
“Fuck!” Dean swore and the car swerved. “Shit!” And he pulled the Impala into a
small road disappearing between the trees. He had to fucking get out of the
car, get away from the smell and the heat of Sam. Get a breath of fresh air.
“Jesus.”
Sam’s wicked laugh chased him all the way from the Impala.
Dean barely resisted the urge to kick at some stupid tree just to relieve his
frustration, but the possibility of pain stopped him in time. Besides, he could
just see that amused glare Sammy would give him when he went back limping to
the car.
He was angry, pissed really, at what he saw Sam do. But he was scared too.
Scared of this reckless side of Sammy that he just wasn’t aware of before.
Afraid that Sam won’t need him any more. It never really occurred to him
before, that Sam came to him because he wanted to, not because Dean was the
only one that would give him sex. He only understood it now, faced with that
stupid boy, kneeling in front of Sammy and so very, very willing to do anything
Sam would ask him to. It made Dean wonder how many others were willing before.
And if Sammy accepted the offers?
But it wasn’t only the anger and fear that made him get away from the car and
from his brother. It was his raging arousal, the heavy cock resting impatiently
in his pants. He wanted Sam. No matter how hard he denied it, how fast he run
away after each time he succumbed to Sam, how many women he fucked to prove
himself that he wasn’t having an incestuous relationship with his brother, he
still wanted Sam. Wanted, needed him on a completely wrong, fucked up carnal
level. Usually Sammy wouldn’t mention it, not out loud any way. He seemed to
respect that unspoken barrier between them. But tonight, all bets were off. Sam
was still pissed, angry beyond anything Dean saw before and it occurred to him
letting the matter go for so long, not trying to apologize or explain beyond
the simple: I’m sorry, only made things simply worse.
Really, he should have expected it.
The sound of a car door slamming drew him back to reality and he looked back.
He could barely make out Sam’s long figure in the weak moonlight. His brother
was leaning on the hood of the car, his incredibly long legs stretched out in
front of him. The black tee made him meld with shadows, his stillness that Dean
was never capable of making him seen otherworldly somehow. The dark hair
obscured his eyes, falling over his forehead in silky strands, only the pale
cheeks and wet, glistening shape of lips visible.
Dean realized he was walking back only when Sam turned his face to look at him,
all huge eyes, wet, slightly parted lips and limbs so long and already
strong... Dean stopped a few feet away from the car.
Sam smiled, one corner of his mouth twisting into a grin Dean never saw on him
before.
His little brother leaned back on the hood even more, resting his weight on one
hand behind him, the other rested on his stomach. The long fingers found a
patch of naked skin and rubbed gently over it. Over and over again, still
staring at Dean with that infuriated, yet knowing expression. Dean hated that,
hated the fact that Sam could hold onto anger for so long, held onto it until
it leaked into different aspects of his life. Dean hated that Sam was so much
like their father, a copy of John Winchester, no matter how much either of them
denied it.
Sammy’s fingers slid a little under the waistband of his jeans. His position
only served to highlight the fact that he was still hard. And high.
“Were you jealous of Adam?” Sam asked, almost purring as his nimble fingers
snapped the button of his jeans open. He tilted his head, the mass of hair
falling back exposing pale skin and long, long column of throat. Dean couldn’t
decide where to look first. On that skin, so freely offered or at those wicked
fingers pushing the zipper open in small increments. “Did you want to be him,
Dean? Did you want to suck me? To kneel between my legs and service me? To feel
my dick, hard for you?” The whisper was low, carrying almost gently on the
night air, enveloping Dean in a kind of intoxicating spell.
“Sam...” He started, but found himself unable to articulate his thoughts.
Sam smiled again, this time a different kind of grin. A sharper, more decided
one. He knew, in that moment, that he won. Until now it was Dean who controlled
their sometimes relationship, Dean who ended things, Dean who took
responsibility for what was mutual. It was Dean who held all the power, the
control. Not this time though. Sam, his fucking little brother, was going to
have him just where he wanted him and how he wanted him. A role reversal that
got Dean harder than ever before.
“Finish it.” Sam all but growled, his hand disappearing into his now open
jeans. He was obviously palming his dick. His head tilted back, lips parted and
lids lowered as a low, purring groan left his throat.
“Be a good brother and finish what you interrupted.”
Sam let himself fall on the hood, his long torso stretched over the black,
gleaming metal and chrome, his legs spread and falling to the ground as he
palmed himself.
Dean swallowed feeling his heart beat madly against his ribs. Sam and the
Impala were the only two things he let himself desire in his whole life and
Jesus, but Sam knew it. He fucking knew it and was using it against Dean.
He wanted to refuse, to drag Sam off the mask, stuff him into the car and drive
away but he knew it was a futile effort. He would never be able resist Sammy,
not like that. All hot, wicked, shameless and so very aware of the power he
had.
His feet carried him closer to his brother even before his mind kicked in. He
was in front of the car and between Sam’s legs. He didn’t even feel it when his
knees hit the ground, the only thing he was aware of was his brother, hot and
so close.
He didn’t even try to think, to rationalize it when he reached for Sam’s narrow
hips and pulled them closer to the edge, closer to him. One of his brother’s
legs rested on the front bumper while the other just fell to the ground, the
foot easily touching the ground.
Dean pulled at the open jeans and managed to lower them along with the
underwear enough to see Sammy’s long, hard cock spring free from the confines
of the cloth. It was already leaking, the shaft pale cream and the head
flushed, dark red.
Sam let out a wild, low groan that didn’t sound at all like his brother, when
Dean took the spongy head in his mouth and sucked, closing his fist over the
shaft.
“Yeah, like that.” It was more of an order than a request and if anything, Dean
was always great at following orders.
He could feel the silky, warm skin under his hand clenched on the narrow hip,
could smell the smoke that permeated Sammy’s clothes and skin, could smell the
familiar scent of sweat and something else, something that was pure Sam.
One of Sam’s hands found its way to Dean’s head and curled in the short strands
tightly. Too tightly. Sam held Dean in place as his hips jerked upwards, the
leaking head, heavy and warm on his stomach, surged deeper almost reaching the
back of Dean’s throat.
Dean tried to back away, but Sam wasn’t letting go.
“Take it.” Rasped Sam, as if it was him with a mouthful of rigid flesh. “I know
you want it.” He was unforgiving and strong. It didn’t mean Dean wasn’t able to
break his hold physically, but right now, refusing Sam never crossed his mind.
In that moment, stranded in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night
with only the Impala as a witness, Sam held all the power over Dean.
Closing his eyes, Dean uncurled the hand around Sam’s cock that prevented him
from getting deeper and held on to the narrow hip. With the next thrust much
more of the rigid flesh slid into his mouth, the head forcing its way into his
throat. His eyes watered but his tongue kept working, kept caressing his
brother. His hands dug painfully into the unprotected skin of Sam’s hips as the
younger man kept thrusting, his hand no longer keeping Dean in place but rather
scratching his blunt nails over Dean’s scalp sending shivers all the way down
to his toes. With each thrust, each rough jerk of his hips Sam was closer to
orgasm. At his age Dean, also, didn’t need much to shoot. But this time it was
different, the way Sam didn’t even seem to care, didn’t bother with anything
else but using Dean, making him a tool for his own pleasure stirred something
in Dean. Something deep and dark, shameful. Something Dean never associated
with Sam, with his little brother.
With each thrust, each growled “yeah”, and “fuck” Dean could feel his own cock
swelling until it was pressed painfully against the zipper of his jeans. His
throat ached, burned, scraped raw by Sam’s cock but he didn’t move, didn’t make
a sound, only held on tighter, letting Sam use him, fuck his mouth until, with
a choked scream Sam came. His cock jerked, the head swelling even more and
spilled warm, salty fluid. He jerked back, involuntarily. A trickle of come
spilled from his mouth along with the harsh pants. He watched the softening
organ fall from his lips and nestle in the patch of still soft, curly hair.
Dean licked his lips, staring at the slick penis, tasting the come. His cock
pulsed so hard it hurt, his throat burned but all he could do was lean down
again and press his lips to the sharp line of a hipbone jutting out under the
pale skin. He dragged his lips, open and swollen, through the soft skin,
pressed his teeth to the hot, vulnerable place where thigh met navel and lower,
until his tingling lips skimmed over the soft balls nestles in a still mostly
hairless sack.
Sam moaned and Dean opened his mouth wider, taking as much of the sack in his
mouth as he could, letting his tongue skim over the sensitive skin.
“Dean...” He couldn’t decipher the tone, low and heavy, so many different
things mixing in Sam’s voice
He pulled back, pressing his face into Sam’s groin, smelling sweat and come. He
closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into the already half hard again cock.
“Please.” He begged. He never begged but this time, this time there seemed no
other thing to do. He needed, needed so fucking much.
Dean got up from his knees, his legs protesting all the time he spent kneeling
and dragged himself over Sam. One hand braced on the still warm hood of his
beloved car, the other sliding under the racked up tee, fingers scratching
lightly at the tender skin, fingers finding the small, hard nipples.
“Please...” He had no idea how to ask for something he wanted so badly. How to
beg. “Sammy...”
His brother’s eyes were dark, the pupils blown out of proportion by arousal and
drugs. His cheeks were flushed, dark pink spreading over his face and neck. His
lips looked swollen, as if he bit them.
“Say it.” Sam’s voice was hoarse and low, sex oozing out every syllable. “Say
it, Dean.” He pressed because Dean never called what they had between them by
its name.
Sam moved one of those sinfully long legs and hooked his thigh over Dean’s hip,
nestling their groins together. His still soft cock pressing against Dean’s,
denim covered, achingly hard one, eliciting a moan out of the older man.
“Let me...” the words stuck in his mouth, the months of denial conditioning him
not to say those words.
Sam’s hand tangled in Dean’s shirt, tugging at the cloth, nails scratching even
through the material.
“Say it, Dean. Call it by its name. Or it ends here and now.” And he was
serious, Dean could tell. It was in the strong line of his jaw, in the soft way
his hair spilled over the warm metal, in the way Sam’s thigh kept striking up
and down over his hip. Promising. Inviting. Demanding.
“Let me... fuck you Sam. Please.” The words hurt, coming brittle and jagged out
of his throat. Tearing him apart. But they also granted relieve, a permission
of a kind.
Sam smiled at him, a little less sharp, a little less angry but still, there
was something behind his eyes. Something deep and dark, something Dean couldn’t
understand. But he shifted, his legs spreading a little bit, his chest arching
just a little off the hood and Dean understood the silent permission.
Dean felt like a clumsy teenager all over again fumbling with his zipper. He
managed to open it and push his jeans and underwear down enough for his cock to
string free, angry red and weeping. He closed his eyes at the feel of relief
and the sensation of cool night air ghosting over his heated flesh.
“Dean.” It wasn’t a word, a purr rather. He looked down at his brother, still
sprawled so sensuously on the hood, looking so pale on the black, shiny metal.
Sam licked the palm of his head in one long, messy lick that made something
inside Dean flip flop and twist with desire. Still looking him straight in the
eye, Sam reached down between their bodies and wrapped his spit slick hand over
Dean.
His hands clenched into fists on either side of Sam and his head tilted back at
the sensation, at the pleasure when Sam tugged, a little too hard, a little too
dry on his cock. The discomfort mingled with pleasure and Dean hissed,
thrusting his hips into that wicked hand.
Sam sat up a little and reached for his jeans that were bunched halfway down
his pale thighs. He pulled something out of his pocket and then started pushing
the pants down until they reached his ankles. He kicked them off along with his
sneakers.
A short ‘click’ caught Dean’s attention and he watched, mesmerized as Sam
popped open a tiny bottle of lube. The implication that Sam was prepared, that
he might have planned to let somebody fuck him in that cabin made something
inside him twist, angrily, painfully.
“Do it.” Sam’s voice was still low, still hoarse and so different than usual.
He threw the bottle at Dean who caught it unusually clumsily. He watched as Sam
lay down on the hood again, stretching his hands above his head, making all the
muscles in his chest flex and stretch, move under the black fee. His hair, too
long and so very soft, spilled gently over the hard metal of the hood. His
naked hips were narrow and almost fragile, speaking of his age. His thighs,
almost white, were spread, exposing the half hard cock nestled in the soft
curls.
Dean slicked his cock, hissing at the sensation, cursing how close to the edge
he was.
He tore his hand away from his dick, too tempted to just jerk himself that
little bit he needed to come and instead found the tightly clenched, puckered
muscle of his brother’s entrance and pushed one finger inside. It went in
easily. Slick with lube. It wasn’t the first time they did this, Sam’s body as
familiar to him as his own.
He didn’t wait, didn’t linger. His own need too much to ignore. Some part of
him was afraid of hurting him, but the other, the much bigger one was driven by
need to bury himself in his brother, to see his cock disappear into that tight,
hot, lither body.
One finger became two, two became three in quick succession barely giving Sam
the time to adjust. His anal muscles were clenched tightly over the now three
fingers pushing into him, his lips were parted as he panted short, sharp puffs
of air and his hand were clenched in fists above his head, his face turned to
the side, eyes closed, the long, dark lashes resting on the flushed cheeks.
Dean pumped his hand a few times, watching as his fingers disappeared into his
brother’s body before pulling them out. He couldn’t, just couldn’t wait a
moment more.
Dean took hold of one of those obscenely long legs and pulled it up high, until
it was resting over his shoulder stretching Sam, making him open, giving Dean
perfect view of the already glistening and reddened opening. Licking his dry
and chapped lips Dean took hold of his cock and gripped Sam’s hip with the
other hand and then pressed forward. His slick, hard, weeping with precome and
desperation head pressed at the tight ring and pressed by the resistance. His
hips kept pushing forwards, past the initial ring of muscle, in until he could
see his head disappearing into that scalding heat. Sam made a low, keening
sound in his throat as Dean’s cock sank in one slow movement into Sam, until
Dean’s balls were pressed tightly into his brother’s body. His hand clenched so
hard on Sam’s hip Dean knew there would be bruises tomorrow. But all he could
care about at the moment was the scalding, gripping heat that surrounded him
and the short, breathy pants leaving Sam’s mouth.
He pressed one hand to the hood of the Impala, desperately seeking something to
anchor himself, to get control before he just started slamming into his
brother.
“Oh Jesus, oh Christ.” He mumbled incoherently as he pulled his hips back, the
brief preparation making Sam even tighter than he remembered. The heat and
pressure threatened to make him come in an instant. Barely coherent, his hips
already moving in and out on it’s own accord, Dean closed his still slick hand
over Sam’s almost completely hard cock and started jerking him clumsily. There
was no rhythm, no finesse just a slick fist closed over the hard, slim flesh in
his hand, just the sound Sam made, the tiny whimpers and breathy moans each
time Dean pushed his hips forward, each time his head pressed deeper into his
brother.
He looked down, between their legs, at the place where his cock disappeared
into Sam. It was so wrong, so fucked up but it was the only thing he wanted,
desired in his life. He wanted to fuck his brother, wanted to force his cock
inside his lithe body, wanted to watch the ring of muscle, already red and
swollen stretched, struggle to accommodate his girth.
He slid his hand from the narrow hip onto Sam’s stomach and spread it flat on
his navel, above his fist pumping Sam’s cock. He wondered if he pressed hard
enough, would he feel his own cock moving, fucking inside Sam? He pressed down
on the soft flesh, he could feel the way Sam’s muscles tensed each time Dean
slammed into him, each time his cock pulled out and then in, forcing him open,
rearranging him. He pressed harder and fucked harder, pulling out till only the
head was in and then slammed back. Hard and deep, pressing his hand flat,
wanting desperately to feel himself inside Sam. He watched as Sam’s eyes
opened, as his lips opened in a silent scream and as his whole body curled
inwards as his cock jerked in Dean’s fist, shooting thin, ropey strings of come
all over his fist.
“Jesus, Sam.” Dean whispered shakily and threw his head back, eyes closed as
his hips pumped faster and faster, his orgasm just a heartbeat away. He could
feel the contraction of his brother’s internal muscles on his cock still inside
him, could hear the ragged breaths, could feel them leaving Sam’s body through
the hand still spread on his stomach, still pressing, still making Sam feel him
inside that much clearer, that much harder.
With a choked scream he came, his cock jerking and spouting come into his
brother, into his passage. Filling him with Dean’s essence. It didn’t matter
how wrong, how dirty it was, Dean couldn’t help the primal satisfaction. That
he marked Sam, that he filled him with his come.
He slumped forward, watching as Sam lowered his arms to rest along his body.
Watching as Sam’s eyes opened, still dark and hooded, still so far away from
him.
The only sound around them was their harsh breathing and all the words that
weren’t spoken.
Slowly, staring into the dark, hooded eyes of his brother, Dean pulled his hips
back. Gently, letting his already soft cock slip from the tight heat of his
brother’s body. He watched as the reddened ring of muscle closed again, a tiny
trickle of come seeping out. Sam just lay there, arms loose and lying along his
body on the now cold hood of the Impala, hair even more messy than before and
lips still glistening with spit. Dean pulled his over shirt off, feeling too
hot and too lazy to do anything more. Slowly, still staring at Sam’s flushed
yet hooded face, he pressed the wadded cloth between his brother’s legs.
Carefully, gently he started cleaning the sweat, spit and come from his
brother’s groin, taking care not to press to hard on the slightly reddened cock
lying limply in the patch of dark, curly hair. Standing between his brother’s
legs, Dean hooked one of his hands behind Sam’s knee and pulled his right leg
up, bending down to press a dry, open mouthed kiss to the vulnerable skin on
his thigh. His other hand, the one with his shirt drifted lower, skimming over
Sammy’s balls and then pressed the cotton to the hot and slightly swollen
entrance to his brother‘s body. He stroked, passing the cloth over the too
sensitive pucker over and over again, watching in silence as Sam’s lids
fluttered and his lips parted in a soundless moan.
He swiped the shirt over his own groin before throwing it away carelessly. He
pulled his jeans on and then helped Sam put on his own jeans. He took each
ankle in his hand and gently directed those long legs into the pants. Sam
pulled his hips up and Dean slid the jeans all the way up over his hips. He
bent down again, pressing him lips to the spent cock, now dry but still
smelling of come. He kissed the head, a closed mouthed, dry kiss and then
nuzzled the warm, sensitive shaft before carefully tucking the organ into the
briefs and fastening the jeans.
The Impala felt solid and familiar under him, an anchor in a world that had
tilted on its axis.
He spread one of his hands flat on the hood, relishing the familiarity of the
metal under his fingers, the other arm slid under Sam’s back, the hand resting
between his shoulder blades. Using only his upper body strength Dean pulled Sam
up, into a sitting position. His hand slid higher and cradled the back of
Sammy’s head as he pulled him closer, deeper into his arms and tilted his head
until their lips met. He pressed their lips together, his dry and chapped,
Sam’s cool and slick and soft. He pushed his tongue inside, past the lips and
the teeth, into the sweet heat. It occurred to him that they hadn’t kissed
tonight. Not once.
Sam didn’t stop him, his lips soft, offering no resistance let him in, let him
taste and lick. But he didn’t participate. His arms hung limply at his sides
and his tongue lay quietly in its warm cavern, neither hindering, nor helping.
Nothing.
Dean let his teeth graze the soft lower lip, tug at the vulnerable flesh.
“I’m sorry.” His lips slid from Sam’s up to his ear. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He whispered brokenly, hurt beyond anything he knew by this cold silence, by
the indifference. He never before realized just how much heart, how much of his
soul Sammy bared to him when they were close, when they were intimate like
this. He never realized how much he loved it, how much he needed it, until it
was taken away from him. “Please… forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
His lips slid to the long column of pale flesh, the teeth scraping gently at
Sam’s neck as he whispered against his skin, trying to etch the words into his
brother’s flesh. “I’m sorry.”
Sam shuddered, once, and then his arms came up. Around his shoulders, tangling
in Dean’s hair. His mouth parted again and their lips met again. Partners this
time, the tongues playing hide and seek, hand fingers stroking small patches of
cool skin.
“You are not the only one that can deny what is between us.” Sam said quietly,
his voice low and serious, his eyes almost luminescent in the night.
Dean looked at him, still keeping him close, the smaller than his chest pressed
tightly to his own, the long legs still framing his lips, the Impala familiar
and solid under them.
“Sam...”
Sam put his hand on Dean’s lips, silencing him.
“Remember this, Dean. Remember it the next time you try to deny what’s between
us.” His eyes hardened again with determination and something different,
something much older. “Next time, I won’t forgive.” The words were spoken
almost gently, almost a whisper.
Dean shuddered and pressed his face into the crook of Sam’s neck, inhaling his
scent.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry...”
Sam’s hand tangled in his short hair and stroked Dean until he calmed down.
The night was cool and silent between them, the Impala silent and still. There
were no sounds but their breathing and the soft rustle of cloth as they stood
there, entangled in each other.
Dean closed his eyes, letting Sam’s arms separate him from the rest of the
world, letting his brother create a world of their own. A world when incest had
no meaning, a world where there were no eyes watching in the dark. A place
where only they mattered. Their place.
The end.
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