Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/659813.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Frottage, First_Time, Barebacking
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-28 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 14670
****** So Much it Burns ******
by Zomb13Cat
Summary
     It was at this moment that Sam decreed, with unfaltering
     determination, that if Dean yearned for him even half as much as he
     did for Dean, Sam would make sure to give and take everything they
     both needed.
Notes
     Well this turned out a little differently than what I first intended.
     It started out as just an excuse to write a series of escalating
     porny interactions between the boys and then this (sort of) plot
     snuck in out of nowhere. It’s actually one of the longest things
     involving Sam and Dean I’ve written thus far (I actually already even
     have a small timestamp in mind) so I really hope you all like it. The
     first two sections might start a little slow (they’re short tho) but
     it does get dirtier better I promise
***** Chapter 1 *****
   1. Shock
It’s funny how things tend to sneak up on you when you least expect them.  One
moment you’re in the middle of summer break, baking in the sweltering august
heat in a Texan motel room with a busted ceiling fan and a drippy faucet and
the next you’re in Maine surrounded by cheery carved pumpkins and cotton
cobwebs because it’s suddenly October 31st and Dean - a pair of candy corn
tucked under his upper lip like faux-fangs -- keeps pelting you with pieces of
black licorice, and you can’t help but wonder where the time went.  But then
there are those times when things don’t so much sneak up, but bash into you
like a Mack-truck with a faulty break system.  Like the time Sam realized that
he had feelings for Dean.  Feelings that weren’t that all together brotherly
and people wouldn’t approve of – unless they were Anne Rice or V.C. Andrews -
and would probably get him sent to a therapist and possibly Social Services. 
They were staying in a cottage; that had a faulty water heater but was big
enough that Dean and he didn’t have to share a room, so that counted as a win
in Sam’s book; near the outskirts of town.  The day had started out well enough
–good even- it was a Saturday and Dad was away dealing with a haunting and
wouldn’t be back until late afternoon Sunday; the temperamental water heater
had decided to cooperate this morning, and when they went out for breakfast the
local diner was having a two-for-one deal on ghost shaped pancakes.  Dean had
been acting really nice lately -almost confusingly so- even offering to take
Sam Trick-or-Treating later -which if Sam hadn’t been 15 and a boy he might
have totally agreed to.  They had even gone to a little second-hand store in
search of a cheap, last-minute Halloween costume -not that Sam was actually
considering it.  The store had been picked clean, but Sam did manage to find a
cool, vintage Batman T-shirt which Dean, being the jerk he is, had swiped for
himself, worn out of the store despite it being a tad too small for him. 
Afterwards, Dean had treated him to a B-Horror double feature at the local
theater.  That’s where the day had started to skew. 
The aisles were all but deserted, only a handful of people -mostly couples- had
managed to turn up for the gem of classic cinema that involved something about
possessed-zombie sheep on a murderous rampage.  Sam sat clutching a large tub
of popcorn and a jumbo soda, eagerly awaiting Dean’s own personal version of
Mystery Science Theater 3000 when they arrived.   Two co-eds, dressed as a
fairy and a pink flamingo respectively, decided to sit right in front of them
despite having the option to sit almost anywhere else.  One small hair-flip
from the fairy and Dean was lost to him for the next three and a half hours. 
Sam tried to focus his attention on the bad movie, ignore the equally
badflirting going on around him but it was a monumentally difficult task when
each exaggerated giggle and clichéd pickup line made him want to roll his
eyeballs all the way to the back of his skull.  That coupled with a “Right
Sammy?” every fifteen minutes had made it near impossible to follow the movie’s
sure to be riveting plot.  It was right around the time one of the Demon Sheep
was driving off a cliff -and what the hell was up with this movie?- that Dean
finally said “I’d love to go to your costume party” and Sam knew that he’d end
up alone, watching local-access TV and binging on pixie-stix because there
would be no way  Dean would let him tag along. 
It wasn’t until after the credits had rolled and the lights in the theater had
been turned back on that Sam finally got a good look at the two girls.  They
were wearing fishnets, and costumes so short and low cut that Sam wondered how
they weren’t freezing on such a cold October day, along with enough body
glitter to make a disco ball jealous.  They were also both really pretty, so it
was really no wonder why Dean was interested.  The flamingo scrawled detailed
directions to the party on the back of an old receipt in a neat, loopy script
before they left with pleasant goodbyes and silver bell giggles.  And Sam
couldn’t help but abhor them despite –or perhaps because of- all their
niceties. 
They left the theater, a little extra pep in Dean’s step –and Sam was beginning
to hate him just a little bit as well- and picked up a cheap five dollar pizza
for dinner.  Dean scarfed down three slices and a glass of apple juice before
he went to his room to change.  It was around 9pm by the time Dean finally came
out.  Sam was busy sitting on the lumpy couch reading an old copy of Pulp he
had swiped from Dean’s bag.  He spared a quick glance toward his brother,
Dean’s hair was gelled back and he had swapped the Batman T-shirt for a plain
white one.
“You know it’s a costume party right?” Sam asked.
“I am in costume.” Sam cocked an eyebrow to the reply. “I’m a greaser.” Dean
said, putting on a pair of sunglasses.
“You’re a douchebag.” Sam rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the
worn paperback.
“Don’t wait up.” Dean ruffled his hair as he walked past him.  The door slammed
shut and moments later the familiar roar and purr of the Impala’s engine
started and gradually faded away, leaving the cottage eerily silent. 
Sam didn’t wait up.  He went to bed at around 11:30pm after having re-read the
same paragraph for the fourth time.  He stripped down to his boxer shorts and
pulled on the discarded Batman T-shirt, because after all it should have been
his, sunk into the too firm mattress and wrapped the scratchy army surplus
covers around himself before drifting off to a dead sleep.  Some undetermined
amount of time later he was woken up by a heavy thud.  Sam let his eyes droop,
thinking for a moment it had only been a dream.  That was until a throaty,
unmistakably female, laugh filtered through his sleep muddled mind, followed by
a low rumble that was unquestionably Dean. 
For a moment, Sam couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation.  Dean couldn’t
have brought a girl home with him could he?  But he did.  And Sam couldn’t be
hearing what he thought he was hearing, could he?  But he was.  That’s when Sam
realized just how paper thin the walls of the cottage actually were. Every
sound behind the closed door audible almost magnified.  The heavy clomp of
boots intermingled with the dainty clink of heels as they stumbled backwards
towards their destination.  The jarring thud of a body having impacted against
the wall.  Those moist and dirty slurps and high pitched whines and eager
groans.  Sam should have covered his ears.  Should have muffled the sounds with
his pillow.  But he didn’t -couldn’t really.  He was frozen in place, eyes wide
and heart caught in his throat. 
There was the clear-cut open and shut of the door to the next room.  Followed
by a giggle and the sharp screech of old mattress springs.  Then the sound of
zippers being pulled down and cloth hitting the floor.  The thump of Dean’s
boots, the clink of his belt, Sam’s helpful mind supplied.  His imagination
working overtime to paint detailed pictures that went along with the sounds. 
And then it started; mostly the girl; high, breathless whimpers and frantic
little wails; A torrent of “God” “Fuck” “Yes” punctuated by the whine of the
mattress springs; And that obscene slap of skin on skin.  Things slowed down to
a steady, relentless pace.  Quiet.  Quiet enough that he could hear them both,
that he could hear Dean.  Dean’s heavy breath and guttural groans.  That
frantic Unf, Unf, Unf, that made something twist in the pit of Sam’s stomach. 
The fragile moment passed too quickly, the creak of the mattress speeding up
along with the girl’s wails that upsurged before breaking off followed moments
later by Dean’s harsh agonized gasp. 
Sam squeezed his eyes shut.  Tried to steady his heavy breath and pounding
heart.  And then it hit him, that painful, throbbing ache between his legs.  It
was almost like an all-consuming burn, from the pit of his stomach to the tip
of his cock.  Too painful to even move, to breathe, to think.  Just do it. He
thought to himself. Take care of the problem and go to sleep. Carefully, as
quiet as possible, he pulled his shorts down, the soaked fabric clinging at the
head of his dick.  The cold air of the room stung at his sensitive skin.  Sam
wrapped a hand around himself, the sensation too much, almost painful caused
him to hiss through his teeth.  He bit on his lower lip, clamped his left hand
over his mouth and began working himself with quick, urgent strokes, more
concerned with finishing than acquiring any pleasure.  Sam tried to picture the
flamingo’s pink fishnet clad legs, or the fairy’s glittered breasts, but his
mind had other ideas.  It kept supplying him with images of a broad freckled
back, lean muscled thighs, and strong arms that could hold him down and take
what they wanted.  Suddenly, he was all too keenly aware of the strong spicy
scent wafting from what he was wearing.  The scent of Dean.Enveloping him,
chokinghim.  He dragged heavy breaths through his nose, felt the musky scent
from the T-shirt --Dean’s T-shirt-- magnify to the point where he could almost
taste it, so he bit down hard enough on his lip to taste the coppery tang of
blood instead, and came violently with a muffled whimper, Dean’s pained gasp
echoing in his head like a promise.  Sam closed his eyes, tried to steady his
painfully hitching breath, and began to drift off with the sudden horrified
realization that he had feelings for Dean.  He’d pictured Dean. He WantedDean.
***** Awe *****
 
The next morning Sam awoke with a messed up head; a swollen, bloody lip; and a
soiled, itchy belly and thighs.  He dashed to the bathroom and cleaned himself
off.  Sam made his way to the small kitchenette as stealthily as possible in
hopes of avoiding Dean and his guest, only to be greeted by a very sated
looking Dean eating cold pizza right out of the box. 
“Morning-“ Dean sing-songed but his face fell stony as he turned to look at
Sam. “What happened to you? You look horrible.”  Sam flinched when Dean reached
out to touch him.
 
“I fell.”  Sam ducked out of Dean’s reach, the lie sounding less than
convincing even to his own ears, and made his way to a half empty box of
cereal. 
“Okay, Weirdy McWeirdson.”  Dean, thankfully, dropped the subject and returned
to his half-eaten, stale pizza flicking concerned gazes in Sam’s direction,
trying to wheedle information out of him for the rest of the morning until John
got home and set them to running laps. 
 
From there on out, Sam made it a point to avoid Dean like the plague.  Making
sure they were never alone in the same room for very long; pretending he was so
engrossed in whatever book, or paper, or cereal box he was reading that he
didn’t notice there were other people around; even going so far as to ride with
Dad on the longer stretches of road when they traveled, which was saying
something because there was only so much of Dad Sam could take at any one
time.   
“You know it’s perfectly normal, right?”  John started and Sam had to suppress
his urge to snort.  Nothingin their lives was normal.  “Getting tired of being
the little brother.  Having Dean always take the lead.”  Sam kept quiet. 
Better to have Dad think the cause of Sam’s erratic behavior plain ol’ teenage
animosity than the deep-burning wantfor his big brother it actually was. 
“There’s this Salt and Burn down in Orlando.” John continued, not paying
attention to anything other than the deserted road in front of them.  “Could be
it’s time to go on your first Solo.”
 
The Salt and Burn had been easy.  Just a regular haunting that took less than a
week to take care of, and that was only because the possessed item was an
antique broche the in-keeper never took off.  Why anyone would make a broche
out of human hairwas beyond Sam, but he wasn’t one to judge.  In the end Sam
had snuck into the old woman’s room while she was taking a bath and pilfered
the piece of haunted jewelry right from under her nose. 
 
When they finally met up with Dean that odd, fluttery feeling returned to Sam’s
stomach and a deep, iron-clad press he hadn’t even realized was there released
from his chest.  It turned out that the only thing worse than being around Dean
all the time was not being around Dean all the time.  That was when Sam decided
that he could make it work.  If it meant not losing Dean, he could suppress all
the feelings and the need.  He could pretend it was simple admiration and
nothing more if it meant Dean would keep looking at him with a sense of pride
and not one of disgust or disappointment. 
                                      -W-
The time Sam realized his feelings might not be all that one-sided came out of
left field.  It wasn’t the sudden, horrifying shock his own insight had been. 
It was astonishing.  Like finding out you had won a raffle without realizing
you had bought a ticket. 
It was Sam’s sixteenth birthday.  Dean woke him with a smack on the thigh and a
“Happy sweet sixteen, Sammy!”  Before placing a shiny, pink, plastic tiara on
his head –because he’s Dean and Dean does shit like that- and snapping a few
Polaroids to immortalize the moment.  Sam blinked disoriented; the camera’s
flash having thrown him for a loop.  “Get dressed.” Dean began as he shook the
developing photo.  “Dad’s taking you to get your license.” 
 
The trip to the DMV was long and dull.  The lines too long and crowded and the
test too simple and almost pointless as he’d known how to drive since he was
nine.  When they walked out of the main building Dean was waiting outside,
propped against the shiny black Impala, arms crossed and looking slightly
smug.  Dad gave Sam one solid clap on the back before he clambered back into
his truck and drove off without a word.  “You’re licensed.”  Dean spoke, more a
statement than a question, but Sam pulled out the proof anyway.  “Good.” Dean
tossed the keys at him and slipped into the passenger side.  He let Sam drive
everywhere, anywhere he wanted, without snide comment or complaint.  They went
to the museum, the arcade, a second hand book store, and a vintage record
store.  They even went to the aquarium, because Sam was running out of ideas
but Dean wasn’t complaining.  Once it was sufficiently late, they swung by a
local Chinese restaurant and picked up a few to-go boxes of sweet and sour
chicken,  chow-mein, and fried rice.  Dean and his fake ID managed to scrounge
up a case of beer and a bottle of Jack.  When they got back to the motel, Dad
and his truck were gone, probably out celebrating the fact it was a Monday. 
They ate straight out of the boxes, perched on the hood of the Impala.  Split
an egg roll and the bottle of whiskey and managed to almost completely finish
off the beer. 
Sam laughed at Dean’s cheesy puns as he cleared away the debris, threw it out
in the nearest trash can. 
“You comin’?” He called out as he swayed towards their room, stumbled slightly
with the key despite having been the one to have had less to drink. 
“In’a minute.”  Dean said, cracking open another beer.  Once inside, Sam kicked
off his shoes, but otherwise didn’t bother undressing.  The world was fuzzy at
the edges and the bed was warm so he couldn’t be bothered by such trivial
things as tucked in shirts or rumpled denim. Not even the stupid pink tiara
balanced precariously over the head board was bothering him.  He closed his
eyes, tried willing himself to sleep unsuccessfully.  There was too much
stimulation in his mind.  A strange electric sensation prickling underneath his
skin.
                It was around half an hour later that Dean finally came in from
the cold.  Sam kept his eyes closed, struggled not to jolt upright when the
sound of Dean’s footfalls grew louder and stopped right next to him.  It took
all of Sam’s self-control not to squirm under Dean’s gaze.  He kept his eyes
closed, breath shallow and even, and struggled not to shudder when he felt a
quick, tentative brush of fingertips against his cheek, soft and barely
perceptible before it was gone.  Then the bolder press of Dean’s palm cupping
Sam’s face.  The heat of Dean’s skin made Sam’s whole body throb.  “Happy,
Swee’ Six’een, Sammy.”  Dean slurred as he brushed the pad of his rough,
calloused thumb against the curve of Sam’s bottom lip, the skin catching and
dragging with the friction.  Sam let out a shuddered breath he couldn’t
contain, cursed himself internally, but otherwise didn’t betray his current
state.  But it was too late, Dean let go as if burned, made a sound that was
more animal than human.  He quickly made his way into the bathroom and slammed
the door shut.  Sam listened intently to the creak of pressure being applied to
the wooden door and the faint reverberation of heavy breaths.  There was the
blare of the shower running followed by a slight yelp and then the telltale
echo of muffled grunts.  Sam’s eyes snapped open with the insight of what it
all meant.  It hadn’t been a normal, brotherly touch.  It was the type of touch
that came with something more, something akin to longing.  And that could only
mean…  Dean felt something forhim.  Dean wantedhim.  
It was at this moment that Sam decreed, with unfaltering determination, that if
Dean yearned for him even half as much as he did for Dean, Sam would make sure
to give and take everything they both needed.  
***** Tease *****
Sam’s plan –or rather lack thereof- on approaching Dean was to wing it.  He’d
take any and all opportunities to test out his theory.  See if maybe Dean
didfeel something other than just filial affection for him.  He was going to
poke and prod at whatever was there until Dean finally conceded to what he’d
never admit to wanting.  And if it did turn out that Dean wanted anything even
remotely similar to what Sam wanted then he’d… Wing it some more?  Okay, so
maybe it wasn’t the most thoroughly thought out plan ever, but this was all new
territory for Sam.  And it wasn’t like he could go check out a How-to-seduce-
your-big-brother-in-ten-easy-steps-or-less-for-dummiesbook at the local
library.  So his only real option now was to work on instinct and hope that
Dean would take the bait. 
It was still relatively early when Sam walked, freshly showered, out of the
bathroom and spotted Dean standing in the small pea green kitchen staring into
his coffee mug like it held the answer to all the mysteries in the world.  Dad
was passed out, dead to the world sleeping off a bender, on the rough, dusty
couch all the way across the room and out of view.  Normally by this time every
other morning Sam would be fully dressed and ready for school, but today he had
other plans.  Sam walked past the breakfast island toweling his hair dry,
wearing only an old, snug pair of jeans and the thinnest, softest undershirt
he’d found at the bottom of his duffle. 
“Hey.” Dean startled at Sam’s greeting, almost spilling the entire contents of
his coffee cup all over his shirt front.
“Oh hey.” He put the mug down on the peeling, speckled vinyl counter and rubbed
at the back of his neck at a loss. “So um… Yesterday was fun.  Right?”     
“Yeah.” Sam replied tactfully, straining to not simper at Dean’s painfully
obvious attempt at fishing.  “Last night especially.”  Dean’s face faltered at
that as he leaned his weight against the counter worked out what to say next. 
Sam smiled as he stepped forward reaching over and crowding in on Dean to pull
a chipped, blue cereal bowl off of the shelf behind him.  Dean stopped
breathing, still as a statue and muscles just as hard, each point of contact
seeping out searing heat through the thin barrier of fabric.  Sam wished he
could stay like this forever, a fixed point frozen in time.  But he couldn’t,
so he pulled himself away, each movement agonizingly slow, their clothing
bunching and riding up.  And then he felt it; almost nothing, a split second at
the most, and he would have totally missed it if he hadn’t actively been
looking for it;  the feel of Dean pushing up against him, pressing forward in
effort to prolong the contact between them.  And that’s all Sam needed, all he
would ever need.                   
“Dean” He breathed over his brother’s ear, saw the hair on his neck stand on
end, and inched his body forward.  Dean smelled like sleep and coffee, and a
faintest trace of alcohol, and Sam wondered if that was the reason for why he
suddenly felt half-drunk.                             
A sudden, deafening bump and thudbroke the spell as they both turned towards
Dad’s direction, panic rising in Sam’s throat.  Dean slipped out from under
him, and made his way to John’s sleeping form.  A mostly empty bottle of
bourbon lay on its side, spilling its contents with a glug glug glug onto the
sparse cola colored carpet.    
Dean huffed out as he righted the bottle, half exasperation half relief.  He
pulled Dad’s dry mud crusted boots off and draped the worn brown, leather
jacket over him before turning back to Sam with an unreadable expression. 
“Come on, let’s get you to school.”        
                                      -W-
It was almost impossible to pay attention at school the rest of the day, his
mind filled with confusion and doubts.  He kept running the scenario in his
mind over and over wondering what would’ve happened if John hadn’t accidently
kicked the bottle off of the end table.  He could feel a slight prickle,
reminiscent of a sunburn, where he and Dean had been pressed chest to chest. 
He kept wondering if he was reading into it wrong.  What if it was just wishful
thinking on his behalf?  What if Dean didn’twant anything to do with him?  But,
that couldn’t be.  Not with the way Dean’s breath had stopped and stuttered
when Sam pressed into him.  Not with the way he had pressed back.     
“Please continue on page 153, Mr. Winchester.”  His flavor-of-the-month English
teacher shook him out of his stupor, and Sam quickly turned to the book in
front of him, began to read an excerpt from a collection of Child Ballads The
Bonny Hindand was staggered by the cosmic irony of it all.         
The final bell rang and Sam couldn’t get out of his seat fast enough.  He
shoved his papers into the bottom of his book bag and practically jumped out
the classroom.  The sun blinded him when he stepped out of the front door and
for a moment he had a horrible sense of dread when he didn’t immediately spot
the familiar black and chrome.  It soon faded, however, when he turned to see
Dean parked illegally in one of the shaded faculty spots.          
“Hey” Dean said as he tossed his backpack into the back seat.  “How was your
day?”  He seemed nervous.  The kind of nervous you get when you’re in front of
someone you want to impress.        
“Same as always.”  Sam gave him a resigned smile “I’m learning about
mitochondrial DNA in my bio class- for the fourth time.”    
Dean chuckled “well at least you got a head start.” As he pulled into a gas
station to refuel.  He handed Sam a crisp hundred dollar bill only creased
twice down the middle; probably hustled in some game of pool or poker; and
motioned with an eye flick towards the convenience store.             
Sam loaded up the little blue basket with their usual arsenal of empty
calories; several packs of Cheetos and Doritos,  Twinkies and Ding Dongs,
several bottles of Soda Pop, Sunflower seeds and beef jerky –because if they
were gonna binge Sam would at least make sure they got some type of protein-
and a mountain of candy.  He idled at the frozen treat section, wondered if he
should or if it was too much, but then again how many opportunities like this
was he gonna get?  Well, knowing Dean probably a lot.  But Sam was young and
stupid so he decided to go for it anyway.        
Sam waited until Dean was back in the driver’s seat and they had pealed out
back on to the road.  “Want something?”  He asked wading through the plastic
bags on his lap.  Dean acquiesced, never being one to turn down food, and opted
for a Twinkie.  He watched as Dean took the package in one hand, opened it with
his teeth, and finished off the yellow sponge cake in two bites flat. 
Nervously he fiddled with his own wrapper sneaking side-glances towards Dean
whose attention was focused on the road ahead.  He’d bypassed his usual Choco
taco and pulled out a Rocket Pop instead.  Sam swallowed anxiously and pressed
the frosted red tip to his tongue.  He tasted nothing and felt the ice stick to
his skin on the first few licks but that all changed as the frosty coating
melted and he was hit by the syrupy sweetness of cherry flavoring.  Sam let out
a satisfied groan as he sucked the frozen treat into his mouth.     
There was a gasp and a jerk and swerve of the car.  Sam smirked around the
giant Popsicle –oh yeah,this was gonna work out just fine-  pulled out the
flavored ice with a slight slurp and licked his cold, numbed lips. “You
okay?”     
“I’m F-fine” Dean’s voice broke.  Sam shrugged nonchalantly and returned to his
Rocket Pop enthusiastically.  He sucked and laved at the sugary ice.  Lapped up
the long, messy trails of melted sweetness with broad, flat stripes of his
tongue.    Out of his peripheral vision he could see Dean intensely focused in
front of him, back ramrod straight, hands a white knuckled grip on the steering
wheel.  He let the sweet water collect in his mouth; swallowed with a thick,
eager groan; the chill of it doing nothing to mitigate the fire in his belly. 
Dean bristled, flicked the radio on to deafening, muffling every sound in and
around them with When the levee breaks.   
They idled at a set of train tracks, the barrier coming down and warning lights
flashing.  Sam feeling bold lowered the volume on the radio down to a staticky
whisper.  He pulled the Popsicle out of his mouth excruciatingly slow, letting
his frozen lips drag against the body.            
He lifted the Rocket Pop; red tip rounded, shiny and glisteningly wet, almost
obscene; to a few inches away from his brother’s face, licked his lips and with
all the innocence he could muster asked “Want some?”            
Dean stared at the treat running sticky trails of blue and red over Sam’s
fingers and gulped.  Sam startled when Dean leaned down and took the whole
thing in his mouth, twitched when he felt Dean’s blisteringly hot, velvety
tongue drag over his finger tip.  Dean pulled off, leaving only a tri-stained
Popsicle stick in Sam’s trembling hand, chewed and swallowed with a shiver. 
Sam’s brain ceased to function as they stared into each other’s eyes, the air
all around them felt molasses thick.                
The moment was broken when several cars behind them honked.  They turned to see
the caution barrier up, the train apparently come and gone without them
noticing.  Dean laughed mirthlessly and put the car into drive. 
                                      -W-
Having all the confirmation he wanted or needed Sam decided to redouble his
efforts.  He started lounging around to as close to naked as he possibly could
and still be clothed, just a pair of running shorts, or an old pair of pajama
pants, the fabric so clingy and almost translucent with wear that they left
little to the imagination.  During training he’d pull his shirt off after
running laps, use it to sop away the trails of sweat that ran down his neck and
matted his hair.  He’d let their touches linger a little longer than necessary
during sparing, and he’d made sure to stretch thoroughly before and after each
session, letting out little moans and groans whenever John was out of earshot. 
Dean in turn would only squirm on the edge of his seat.  He would stumble on
over his own feet and shuffle awkwardly from one place to the next.  It got to
the point where Dad started to notice, ragged on Dean over his slowed reaction
times or lack of focus.  Because of that, and frankly because the constant
flirting and teasing was beginning to turn exhausting, Sam chose to take some
pity on his older brother and decided take it down a notch.
 
They were sitting quietly at some random little greasy spoon out in the middle
of Kentucky, Dean eerily quiet; John sitting next to him with a myriad of
manila folders and newspaper clippings that swallowed half of the garish beige
and teal booth; and Sam inattentively playing with the remnants of his cherry
pie a la mode, mixing the white of the melted ice cream and the lumpy blood-red
filling into something into something morbidly reminiscent to fresh brain
matter.  He scooped the last bite, let the too sweet sugary substance melt on
his taste buds, kept the fork in his mouth, absentmindedly running his tongue
between each metal tine.  John stood up and made some remark about “hitting the
head” their usual warning to either finish up or be prepared to leave
unsatisfied. 
“Stop it!” Dean leaned in across the table and let out in a low breathy huff. 
Sam blinked, once, twice; pulled the fork out of his mouth, the warm metal
scratching at his tongue; and cocked an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You know what.”  And no, Sam really didn’t.  “This-this whole…thing.”  Dean
let out exasperated and motioned at Sam with his hands.  “The constant licking
and biting at your lips.  And the running your hand up and down your thigh all
sultry.”  Sultry? “And that, that look of innocence and confusion, like you
have no idea what you’re doing.”  But, Sam hadn’tbeen doing any of that- at
least not actively.  “And in front of Dad.  You’re driving me out of my
friggen’ mind, here.”  John came back before Sam had had any opportunity to
even begin to respond, tossed a few bills on the table and ordered them to haul
ass.  The ride back to the room was unbearably long, John’s assurance that he’d
be back in a in a day or two and monotonous tone of NPR flickering in and out
of the speakers the only things piercing the heavy silence.
                                      -W-
“Yes Sir.” Dean’s voice filtered from outside the room along with the roar of
John’s truck pulling out.  Sam closed the door as Dean made his way, unsure,
into the room. 
“Dean” His brother jerked around at the sound. 
“Sam.”
“Are we gonna talk about it?”  He took a step forward.  Dean took two back.
“Nothin’ t’talk about.”  And wasn’t that just so damn like Dean?  To hide from
or ignore the elephant in the room. 
“Bullshit.” Sam surged forward in irritation as Dean, just as quickly, walked
backwards until the back of his knees hit against the heavy wooden chair
propped against the far wall.  He fell plopped down onto the too firm leather
cushion with a startled oomph.  “Stop acting like I’m crazy, Dean”  And before
Sam completely realized how it happed, he was straddling his brother’s lap,
thighs spread wide and trapped between the chair and Dean’s hips.  “You can’t
tell me you don’t feel this.” And Sam was definitely beginning to feel
something.  The hard leather upholstery creaked underneath Dean’s firm grip. 
“I know what I feel.”  He pressed in closer, ran his hands over Dean’s chest. 
“Sammy, don’t” Dean’s voice sounded wrecked.  His hands shot out and gripped
Sam’s wrists and held him away. 
“I want this Dean.” Sam twisted his hands in Dean’s bruising grip enough to
take a hold of his forearms.  “And I know you want this too.”  He emphasized
each word with a quick, dirty roll of his hips.  And if Sam was rock hard, Dean
was diamond.  “And”  Dean’s body was strung so tense it was practically
vibrating.  A guitar string two strums away from breaking. “what I’m saying
is”  He pulled Dean’s arms behind him, ironclad grip slipping and fingers
landing splayed on Sam’s lower back; and leaned to whisper hot and wet against
Dean’s ear “You can have it.”  Snap.
Dean made a noise that could hardly be described as human as he pulled Sam in
tight with one hand, the fingers of the other one slipping underneath Sam’s
waistband to ghost over his ass and in between his cheeks.  Sam closed his eyes
as Dean nuzzled into his neck over the thin skin behind his ear, mouthed hot,
wet lines over his jaw and down his collar bone.  Sam’s cock throbbed with each
roll and press of denim on denim.  “Fuck” Sam gasped and keened as Dean’s hips
bucked and his hand slid further down, rough fingertips catching and dragging
against his hole, each nerve ending in Sam’s body going off at once.  Sam came
without warning, light fracturing into a million pieces behind his eyelids. 
“Fuck” he bit down on Dean’s shoulder listened to the way his brother moaned at
the sharp pain. 
Sam opened his eyes expecting to see his brother in a similar state to his own
but what he found was a cornucopia of conflicting emotions.  Dean’s breaths
were heavy, eyes dark with lust, his face fluctuating between fear, fondness,
and regret.  Dean stood up slowly and slid Sam’s orgasm dazed frame off him and
placed him gently –always the caretaker- on the chair.  Dean was still hard,
dick straining what looked to be painfully against his zipper, tenting out the
front of his Jeans.  He spun on his heel and flew out the door like he’d seen
the devil, leaving Sam abandoned in a state of physical satisfaction but
emotional disorientation.
***** Play *****
When Dean finally came back the next day, it was past four in the afternoon,
his clothes were a rumpled mess, and he smelled of stale liquor and cheap
perfume.  He bypassed Sam and headed straight for the shower, came out fully
dressed and left once more without a word, didn’t come back until around
midday.  Sam tried to talk to him as soon as he stepped into the door but Dean
cut him off with a “Dad just called, he’s 10 away and he sounds pissed.”  Sam
sighed as he and Dean set to picking up the trash strewn around the room. 
John came home cradling a bad shoulder, mumbling and cursing “Motherfucker got
the drop on me.” And “bad shot” and the occasional “fucking Caleb”.  Sam
decided not to press when John cringed and downed a handful of Oxy with half a
bottle of Gin.  His only reward for his self-control, however, was Dad driving
them out to some local field for shooting practice. 
John set up a neat row of empty bottles and cans on a fence post a good 30
yards away, against the sun. 
“Start here and work your way out”  Dad called out, voice carried out by the
wind as Sam stared down the black barrel of the shot gun.  He took one shot,
bang, and barely grazed the top of one of the rusted cans, knocked it down with
a muffled clank.  The second shot missed completely.  “The hell was that?”  Dad
yelled out, words slurring a bit together.  “You two even been practicing?”  He
started off on one of his usual rants “what we do is important.  We save
lives”  and how not training “is what get people killed”. 
“He’ll get the next one, Sir.”  Dean’s voice cut through.  “Sam can do it.” 
Sam’s body tensed at the tone of Dean’s voice.  At the implication of a trust
and belief in Sam so great that he’d actually stand up against their father
even marginally.  He set the sight back on the target.  His hands trembled and
he squinted, the too bright sun making his eyes ache and water, and beads of
sweat break out across his temples.  He was going to fail; everyone knew it,
everyone except Dean apparently.  Dean who was looking at him with a face so
sure it made Sam’s lungs stutter.  He gulped and focused on the glass bottles
glinting like jewels in the setting sun.  The blue grass shivered and rippled
lazily like waves on a lake, fluctuating between minty green, white and almost
turquoise.  Sam adjusted for the wind resistance.  The first shot echoed in
Sam’s ears, drowning out the crack of the glass, but the small curve to the
corner of Dean’s lips was all the confirmation he needed.  He set his sight to
a rusty beer can next and squeezed slightly on the trigger, almost jerked when
he felt Dean kick his feet apart, and the press of Dean’s palm against his
lower back to straighten his stance.  Sam took two consecutive shots, which hit
right in the center of the targets, sent the aluminum cans flying.  “My turn”
Dean’s voice was smug. 
“You need to practice more.”  Dad began.  “Your brother’s not always gonna be
there to-“  John’s voice was cut off by the sound of Dean picking off the rest
of the targets, pop pop pop pop, metal and shattered glass raining down like
diamonds.  Dean winced as he lowered the shotgun, rolled and rubbed at his
shoulder which struck Sam as odd since the kickback of the shot gun hadn’t been
that bad. 
“Out’a targets, Sir.”  He spared a quick wink at Sam, and for a moment Sam felt
his stomach bubble over. 
“Yeah, let’s get heading back.”  John groused, spun on his heal and started to
walk away. 
From then on out everything seem to be back to normal, their own particular
brand of normal, which was hardly normal at all.  Dean still teased Sam
incessantly, refused to take a side whenever Sam and Dad would argue, pissed
them off more with his failed attempts to mollify them both, and constantly
made bad jokes and puns.  Still, everything felt slightly off for some reason,
barely perceptible, like someone had picked up the world and moved it two
inches to the left.
 Dean had been flirting extra hard with the 7-11 clerk, Angela her nametag
said, and was cajoling into meeting up after her shift was over.  Normally that
wouldn’t really strike Sam as odd, Dean had always been a bit of a philanderer,
but the way his voice wavered was.  He sounded anxious, like he was dreading
her saying no.  She acceded of course.  He was Dean, they never said no.  When
they got back to the room Dad left “for a few hours” and Dean slipped out like
a ghost not fifteen minutes later.  And Sam had been so sure that they were
past the avoidance.
It was a little bit before 5am when Dean finally walked through the door. 
There was lipstick on his collar and he looked debauched.  School started at
eight and for a while Sam thought he’d end up missing Dean completely.  Dean
quirked an eyebrow in Sam’s direction, he tossed his keys and a bag of donuts
on the scarred wooden table and wordlessly made his way to the bathroom,
pointedly not looking in Sam’s direction.  Sam stared at the plywood door for
an hour, soundlessly tearing apart a bear claw –Dean’s favorite- into a million
little pieces. 
                The door finally clicked open and Dean stepped out, face
faltering for a moment before pulling up a mask of casualness. 
                “Dude, not the Bear Claw.”  He walked up to Sam voice full of
mock indignation as he tried to pry the still half complete pastry out of his
hands.  Sam looked up at Dean’s face; paled from the lack of sleep, dark
smudges underneath his eyes, a light ghosting of stubble; acting as if
everything was okay.   Dean was ignoring it, pretending as if that night hadn’t
happened, and today was just another normal day, and that made Sam angry. 
Angrier than Dean running away that night leaving Sam with a fuzzy head and
Jizz soaked pants.  Angrier than those red and purpling marks peaking from
underneath his T-Shirt collar, made him feel.  Sam clamped a hand onto Dean’s
wrist, before he could pull away.  They both stared at each other intently, Sam
challengingly, Dean’s façade faltering slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing
marginally with a dry swallow.
                “I’m not giving up, Dean.”  He tightened his grip, wanting to
leave his own marks on Dean.  Wishing he could erase the one’s that he had
nothing to do with. 
                “Let go a’me.”  Dean’s voice vibrated over Sam, a warning and a
promise all in one. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
                “No matter what you do –who- I’m not going to stop feeling this
way.”  Sam struggled to keep his voice calm.  “I’m not gonna stop wanting
this.”
                “You’re Sixteen, Sammy. You don’t know what you want.”  Dean’s
agitated words only inflamed the rage building in Sam’s belly as he pulled out
of Sam’s grip.  
                “It’s Sam, God damn it.”  His voice rose and octave. “ m’not a
kid!- And what? Just ‘cause I’m sixteen I’m not supposed t’know what –who- I
want?  Just cause I’m Sixteen I’m not supposed to want sex?”
                “You’re not supposed to want it with me.” Dean shouted
exasperated.
                “Well too bad, Dean.”  Sam steeled his voice.  “Because I do. 
More’n anything.”  He stood up and breached the space between them, cautiously
pressed his fingertips to Dean’s jawline, above a recent bruise.  Dean stilled,
screwed his eyes shut and shuttered.
                “How’d I screw you up so bad?”  And wasn’t that just like
Dean?  To blame and beat himself up when it was Sam doing everything himself. 
“You’re supposed to be different, Sammy.”  Dean’s face pressed into Sam’s palm
out of its own volition and Sam could feel the flutter of razor-tipped
butterflies slicing up his insides.  “I don’t wanna ruin you.”
                “You won’t.”  The words scrapped at Sam’s throat like broken
glass. 
                “Yeah.”  Dean huffed out and Sam wasn’t sure if was admission
or reassurance.  It didn’t really matter though.  Because that’s the moment
John’s truck decided to pull into the drive, all loud Diesel engine and squeaky
breaks.  They separated quickly, Dean shoving a pastry in his mouth as their
Dad walked in.  Sam handed a donut to John who stared at them with thinly
veiled suspicion. You have no idea, Dad. He licked the melted sugar off of his
fingertips and only tasted the salt of Dean’s skin.
                                      -W-
                Dean cut down on his overactive flirting and avoidance of Sam. 
He didn’t, however, stop pushing Sam’s advances away.  Whenever Sam would get
too close Dean would push him away, hold him still at arm’s length; not wanting
to let go, but too afraid to let it progress beyond  a few longing looks and
chaste, stolen touches.  It was, quite frankly, beginning to get on Sam’s last
nerve. 
                School had just let out and pretty soon they’d pick up and
leave to wander through every back road and backwater town in search of one
hunt after the next.  Dean was out, having been guilted into “celebrating”,
with a few guys from the local garage he’d been moonlighting at.  Sam sat
quietly, on the bed closest to the door –Dean’s bed- waiting in the dark.  It
was around 1am –Way before last call, Sam noted- when Sam heard the quieted
click of the door opening and closing.  Sam flicked on the lamp sitting on the
side table, casting the room in a warm, golden glow. 
                “Sammy?”  Dean spun to face him, startled, back plastered to
the beige plywood door.  His eyes were glassy, and his face was ruddy –every
freckle standing out- because of his inebriation.  “what’re you still doin’
up?”
                “Waiting for you.”
                “Wh-“  Dean cleared his throat. “What for?”  The husk in Dean’s
voice sent chills up Sam’s spine.  Sam peeled off his T-shirt, his skin somehow
feeling twice as hot without it on.  “Sam?” Dean croaked out.
                “I can’t stop thinking about you.”  Sam’s body slid down the
bed in one fluid motion, head on the pillow, and rapidly swelling cock tenting
the front of his thin cotton pajama pants.  “I can’t help it, Dean.  I just
start thinking of you and my skin goes all tight.”  Sam craned his head back,
ran his hands from his throat down his chest, thumbing at his nipples so that
the little nub of flesh was hard and sensitive, and over his taut belly. 
Dean’s breath hitched as he pressed himself harder into the door, hand holding
on to the metal doorknob like a lifeline.  Sam hooked his thumbs underneath the
elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms, at the wings of his hips, and arched
his back.  He pulled them down slowly, over the swell of his ass, his straining
dick, let the fabric scrape against his trembling thighs and over his knees,
kicked them off when he could no longer reach. 
                Sam slid his hands over his thighs, dragged his blunt nails
down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, leaving faint red trails over the
paled flesh.  He cupped at his tight, heavy balls with one hand while the other
played at tracing lazy patterns over the hair at the base of his cock.  The air
around them felt stuffy and thick to them both, judging by Dean’s heavy,
unnaturally loud breaths.  Sam’s eyes fluttered closed as he wrapped his dry
palm around his hot length, gave it a few leisurely tugs before running a thumb
over the leaking head, smearing the precome down the overheated skin to make
the movements smoother.  He let go of his balls, pressed firm, circular motions
over his perineum, and felt his body jolt at the sensation.  “Sometimes I
imagine touching you.”  He stole a peek at his brother through his lashes. 
Dean’s chest was heaving, his eyes void dark, his hand white knuckled against
the doorknob as if he would bolt any second now, and Sam wondered if the only
reason he didn’t was the thick bulge of his cock straining down one of the legs
of his jeans.  “Sometimes I imagine it’s you touching me.”  A deep raucous moan
tore from Sam’s throat.  He lifted his hand to his mouth, sucked and laved at
his fingers greedily, his other hand picking up the pace on his aching prick. 
He let go of his fingers with a loud slurp and lowered them to in between his
legs, ran a saliva soaked digit across the furled skin of his entrance.  “I
wish it was you touching me.”  Sam moaned.  “Your hands, your mouth.”  Sam’s
pace quickened, hand pulling and tugging frantically at his swollen dick, wrist
flicking with a twist at the drooling head.  “Your fingers” he tentatively
pressed his finger past the quivering muscles of his clenching hole, let it
stretch and drag against the skin before adding another, pushing and pulling
until he hit that one spot that made colors explode behind his eyelids.  “Your
–cock” the last word scraped out of his throat, pulling all the air from his
lungs along with it as his fingers hit against his prostate just right.  He
felt his balls draw up and came in long, drawn out spasms, come landing in
spurts over his convulsing belly.
                Dean’s fingers slipped off of the doorknob and for a moment Sam
was sure he was going to turn tail and run.  So Sam was dumbfounded when
instead of slipping out of the room Dean crossed the space separating them in
three long strides.  He planted a knee between Sam’s bent legs and hesitantly
placed a rough hand over Sam’s knee cap.  Dean pushed Sam’s legs apart enough
so he could fit in between them and ran a large, calloused palm over the
rapidly cooling come on Sam’s abdomen, spreading it and painting slick trails
on previously dry skin.  Sam whimpered as Dean’s hand ran over his chest and
scraped over the sensitive bud of his nipple.  Something in Dean broke.  He let
out a noise analogous to a growl and gripped Sam’s thighs hard enough to
bruise, pulled him over his lap, the rough denim of Dean’s jeans scraping
almost painfully against the over sensitized flesh of Sam’s thighs and ass.
                Dean undid his belt, the metal buckle and leather slapping and
stinging against Sam’s skin, undid his pants, and winced as he finally freed
his huge, throbbing cock, the angry red, swollen head oozing wet.  Sam gulped,
both in trepidation and excitement.  Dean’s piercing gaze caught him, swallowed
him up until Sam forgot just how to breathe, but it didn’t really matter, not
with the groan Dean let out.  Dean started to stroke himself with a frantic,
punishing rhythm, chest heaving with huge, pained gasps.  Sam whimpered at the
indescribable sounds emanating from his older brother.  “Dean” his voice
hitched and Dean let out a deeply pained out moan, like a death rattle and came
brutally all over Sam, painting his stomach, chest and even face with thick
gobs of searing heat. 
                Sam panted in stunned silence as Dean’s eyes snapped open.  He
could feel a small amount of come clinging to the corner of his lower lip, and
without thinking he stuck his tongue out and licked it clean.  It tasted salty
and bitter, kind of gross to be honest, but also kind of wonderful because that
was the taste of Dean. 
                Dean jerked up, eyes wide and face with a look full of guilt. 
Sam really fucking hated that look. 
                “I’m sorry.”  He croaked, tucking himself back into his pants
and running out the door like the house was on fire.  Leaving Sam a wrecked,
filthy mess.
                Covered in come and ruined as prophesied.
***** Surrender *****
To Sam’s astonishment –and probably a little of his own to be honest- Dean
didn’t leave completely that night.  He spent the whole night in the Impala,
his forehead pressed against the steering wheel, listening to Guns and Roses on
repeat.  Sam cleaned himself up and busied himself with packing both their
duffels for the inevitable move.  He was busy putting away several knives and a
well-used whetstone when he notice a curled, yellowed corner peeking out from
in between Dean’s lock picking set.  Carefully, Sam unfolded the sturdy, black
canvas case and pulled a photograph from inside it.  It was of Dean and him -
they couldn’t’ve been more than 9 and 5 respectively- asleep at Pastor Jim’s,
Dean had him tucked underneath his chin, his arms wrapped protectively around
Sam, and his face looked weary and aged beyond its years.  Sam remembered that
dad had been irrationally angry at Dean as he drove them from some seedy motel
with a broken window to Pastor Jim’s, sending reproachful looks in in his
direction every so often.  When they had been left alone, Dean pulled Sam in a
crushing hug and kept sobbing in his hair.  “I’m sorry, Sammy.  I’m so sorry. 
I’ll never let anything hurt you again.  I’ll never hurt you.”  Sam never knew
what had brought that up.  All he knew is that he fell asleep wrapped in his
brother’s arms and felt completely safe. 
                Sam sighed.  He opened the door and leaned against the doorway,
crossed his arms to shield himself against the morning chill, and stared at the
Impala.  Dean, looking completely drained, lifted his head as if sensing his
presence.  They stared at each other through the windshield and Dean gave him a
lost, watery smile that hit Sam like an elbow to the chest. 
 
                “I’ll back off.”  Sam spoke a little into their second,
awkwardly silent, hour down a long stretch of highway.  Dean quirked an eyebrow
at him and his mouth formed a small, dour smile as Sam turned up the volume on
the stereo and stared out the window at the endless expanse of nothing. 
                                      -W-
                There had always been a definite routine to their summers,
always moving from one town to the next, never staying long enough to really
get to know the locals or make any actual friends, two, three weeks tops. 
They’d always just relied on each other for company, and Sam was a little
worried that maybe he’d fucked it all up. 
                The muggy Louisiana heat clung to them like a wet blanket,
covered their skin in clammy sweat and filled their lungs with soupy air.  Sam
flopped down on the cool vinyl floor of the rental they were staying at and
contemplated letting his body melt into a puddle of despondent teenager.
                “You look comfortable.”  Dean chuckled, stood over him and toed
at his ribs.  Sam swatted at his foot like a ninety year old, lethargic cat. 
“Get up, we’re going somewhere.”
                “Leave me alone, the floor and I are one.” 
                “No ya don’t.” Dean snorted as he reached down and pulled Sam
up in one quick movement.
                “Dean” Sam most definitely did not whine like a child.  They
walked a good twenty minutes through abandoned trails and marshy ground and
thick vegetation the only answer Dean would give on to where they were going
was you’ll see.  “Dean, seriously, if this is about another ‘voodoo priestess’
I swear-“  Sam began exasperated. 
                “Quit yer Bitchin’.  We’re here.”  Dean grabbed Sam by the
shoulders and turned him around.
                “Jerk-“  Sam fell silent at the sight of a pretty large pond, a
good sixty feet in diameter, completely isolated, water glittering like a
blanket of emeralds in the few beams of sunlight that filtered through the
canopy of the trees that surrounded it.  “Are we on private property?”
                Dean shrugged. “Probably” 
                Sam huffed out a laugh, turned to his brother and said, “Race
ya”  He bolted towards the small wooden peer, stripping off his T-shirt and
 kicking off his shoes, letting the items land helter skelter down his path,
and dove into the cool, crisp water.  “I win” He called out and did a few
victory laps as Dean pulled off his boots and took off his jeans.  Sam let
himself float on the tranquil surface of the water, closed his eyes and
listened to the natural sounds around him.  Dean, clad in only a pair of white
boxer shorts, explored their surroundings, gave a few experimental tugs to an
old rope hanging from one of the trees surrounding the lip of the pond and
–satisfied with his findings- pulled back at a run, swung himself with a wild
whoop.
                The rope held, it was the branch that didn’t.  It snapped with
a loud crunch, like breaking bones, and flung Dean way farther than he was
intending to land.  He sank like a boulder; splashing water several feet into
the air and causing Sam to sink and float like a buoy.  “Dean?”  Sam called out
in a panic when his brother didn’t immediately bob back to the surface.  The
water had calmed a bit but there was no sign of him.  Suddenly, a heavy weight
surrounded his middle and Sam was pulled down into the pale jade water with a
loud gasp.  Sam jerked and kicked like a wounded animal, gasped and drew in
large lungfuls of air when he finally reached the surface. 
                “Gotcha” Dean chuckled as he held on to Sam tight, keeping them
both afloat.
                “That wasn’t funny.” Sam complained.
                “It was a little funny” Dean fixedly gazed into Sam’s eyes with
that cock-sure grin on his face.  Sam realized how he was clinging to his
brother; arms locked around his shoulders, Dean’s firm grip around his middle,
the pressing clench of Sam’s thighs around Dean’s, skin on skin; and all of a
sudden the water felt several degrees too warm.  A lit pot about to simmer. 
Sam swallowed, lost himself in the green of his brother’s eyes, and despite of
their surroundings nothing seemed more vibrant or full of life. 
                Dean let go with one hand, brought it up and smoothed the
plastered curtain of hair away from Sam’s face and out of his eyes.  “Need a
haircut” He grinned before lowering hand down and splashing water up at Sam’s
face, bringing down the soaked locks all over again, let go and swam away.
                “Dean” Sam grumbled and set to chasing his older brother around
in search of payback.
                The heat had gone down significantly by the time they decided
to get out of the water.  Dean lifted himself onto the peer first, the muscles
in his arms and back flexing and straining, and shook himself off.  The white
fabric of his boxers had turned translucent and lewdly clung around him.  Sam
blushed and averted his eyes. 
                “Don’t tell me you’re shy, Sammy.”  Dean chortled walking
towards his pile of clothing. 
                “It’s Sam.”  He rolled his, avoiding denial or confirmation. 
Dean smirked and raised a brow before pulling off his soaked underwear and
stepping into his Jeans.  Sam’s eyes widened as he clambered, ungracefully onto
the peer and scurried to put on his clothes like a frightened mouse. 
                                      -W-
                “Two-for-one Tuesday at Green valley Cinema”  Dean declared,
flipping through the pages of a local free circulation newspaper.  “you feel
like catching a movie?”  Sam shrugged and nodded in agreement. 
                Dean casually slung an arm around Sam’s shoulder, elbow hooking
around the back of his neck, setting their pace as they walked the fifteen
minutes or so to downtown.  Their hips bumped awkwardly with each stride and
Sam was all too acutely aware of the way Dean’s finger tips tapped softly
against his breast bone with each step.  They chose a generic action flick, two
parts machine guns, one part explosions, and an unsurprising lack of
discernible plot points. 
                His brother ushered him down the cramped seating isles of the,
mostly empty, movie theater.  His body occasionally bumping into Sam’s back,
running shivers down his spine, as he struggled to balance the concession stand
contents in his arms.  Fifteen minutes and two shootings into the movie, Dean
leaned in close and whispered.  “How long do you think before they start going
at it?”  He motioned to a couple in the front row, thrown in stark relief
because of the screen, a giant undefinable mass gliding seamlessly like
ectoplasm.  He pulled the coke Sam had been nursing on out of his hand, Ice
clanking against the paper cup, clear plastic straw scraping over Sam’s upper
lip, and sucked up three large mouthfuls. 
                “They’re not-“
                “Not yet.” Dean confirmed, sticking the cold drink in Sam’s lap
and leaning in once more.  “Workin’ their way up.”  Sam’s face and neck felt
boiling hot despite air conditioned theater.  “you can’t just jump into things,
Sammy.”  Sam’s eyes screwed shut as Dean’s lips grazed the shell of his ear,
hot, moist breath eliciting full body shivers.  “Gotta dip your toes in and
test the water.”  His brother pulled back and settled into his seat before
shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth with a loud crunch. 
                                      -W-
                It was a Thursday and Sam’s turn to get dinner ready, which
meant off-brand macaroni and cheese, and some dried-out leftover meatloaf one
of the neighbor ladies, that had a crush on John, had brought over last night. 
He dumped the contents of the generic white box into a dinged up pot on the
stove and stuck the aluminum wrapped meat into the gas-smelling oven to reheat
it.  The loose floorboards at his back creaked with someone’s steps as he
reached up to pull a set of plastic tumblers off of the cupboard above the
sink, the hem of his T-shirt rising with the movement. 
                He stilled when he felt a warm, rough-skinned hand sliding over
the strip of exposed skin, followed by the deep all-consuming heat of Dean’s
body pressing against his back.  Dean’s other hand gripped tightly at Sam’s hip
as Dean’s open mouth landed hot and sharp over his pulse point, dragged up
behind his ear and down his neck, tongue laving at the skin.  Sam gasped,
lowered his hands and gripped and the brushed metal of the sink.  They’d been
playing at this game, stealing gradually escalating touches, over the past few
weeks, but it’d never gotten to this point before.  Dean’s hand slid to the
front of Sam's stomach, underneath his bellybutton, fingers rubbing at the
downy trail of hair and dipping underneath the waistband of his jeans. 
                “Christ”Sam huffed out as Dean surged forward, hips grinding
filthy-rough into Sam’s ass.  Instinctively Sam pushed back into the hard bulge
in his brother’s jeans, feeling light headed because all his blood had migrated
south to his own cock. 
                The pot of pasta gurgled and bubbled over spilling starchy
water over the open flame causing it to hiss and sizzle menacingly.  They
separated quickly; Sam pressing the heel of his palm down on his dick to will
it down as Dean rushed to the rickety stove turned it off and tried to salvage
their meal.  For a moment Sam wished that they’d just let the damn thing burn. 
                                      -W-
                Three weeks, four states, and very little time alone together
later, this thing they had been cultivating together had pretty much stagnated.
 They still looked at each other with that same intensity.  Still found a way
to pilfer hurried contact, a quick graze of finger tips on bared skin; the bump
and twining of their legs underneath the dinner table, the very rare and always
maddeningly brief full body press; when no one was watching.
                It was the middle of the night and Sam felt bold.  He made his
way, specter quiet, to his brother’s side of the room and pushed onto the tiny
cot next to him.  Dean gave a small, questioning, “Hm?” as Sam ran a hand over
his naked chest; it had been too hot for either one of them to sleep in more
than just a pair of boxer shorts; and circled around his nipple with blunt
fingers before catching it with a sharp twist.  Dean gave a moan a bucked his
hips, cock swelling rapidly.  Sam gripped him tighter and buried his face in
Dean’s neck; bit and licked at the pulse point tasting clean sweat and salty
skin; slipped a leg between Dean’s; their bodies slotting together as if carved
out for one another; and began to ride his brother’s firmly muscled thigh,
tensed enough for Dean to do so as well. 
                “Fuck.”Dean panted out as he ran a hand up the back of Sam’s
thigh, underneath his boxers, to palm and cup at his ass.  Sam felt his
brother’s cock twitch followed by the damp sensation of Dean’s precome soaking
through the fabric and painting wispy trails over Sam’s skin.  Felt the wet
mess in his own boxers.  Dean’s grip on his ass tightened, fingers digging into
his cheek, and pulled him in closer, their bodies arching, and moaning, and
bucking in tandem. 
                The front door slammed shut and Dean’s eyes widened.  He bolted
off of the bed, pulled on a pair of discarded Jeans and flung himself onto the
other cot.  Sam pitched himself back with a frustrated groan, tangled his hands
in the rumpled white sheet before slinging it over himself. 
                Loud, unsteady paces made their trek from the front door to
theirs.  A sliver of light appeared as the hinges creaked and a large, dark
shadow leaned against the door jamb.  Sam tried to steady his breaths, willed
his, now mostly flaccid, dick down even further. 
                “Why aren’t y’asleep?”  Dad slurred.  He was drunk.
                “Maybe you woke me up.”  Sam scorned, the venom in his voice
surprising even him. 
                “Watch yourself.”  John’s eyes narrowed.  “Show some respect.”
                “Or what, Dad?” Sam sat up challengingly.
                Dean was there before John could get another word in edgewise. 
“Come on, Dad.”  Dean cooed, herded him out of the entrance to their room and
into the living room. 
                Sam stood, watched from the doorway as Dean dumped their father
onto the couch, slunk down to one knee and unlaced his boots. 
                “He hates me.” Dad garbled.
                And yeah, sometimes Sam did.  He hated Dad’s single-mindedness,
his focus on that supernatural vendetta that threatened to break every single
one of them into pieces like so much shattered glass, grind them down until
there was nothing left to put back together again.   He hated the fact that dad
destroyed anychance at normalcy for him and Dean.  But mostly, he hated what
dad did to Dean, thrust so much responsibility on him at such a young age;
broke him down and built him up into this perfect little soldier, a one man
platoon; Made him a world weary old man at twenty.  Yeah, Sam hated dad. 
                “Yer a good kid, Dean.”  It was the closest thing to a
compliment either one had ever gotten from their father and it caused a pang of
something in his chest. 
                “Yeah.” Dean snorted  as he pulled out the pistol tucked in
Dad’s waistband, left him the hunting knife because John wouldn’t appreciate
being left unarmed even for a couple of hours.  “I’m a saint.”
                “I don’t know what’d ever do withou- you.”  John continued. “If
I didn’t have y’to count on-“  John’s heavy hand landed on the side of Dean’s
head in a sort of half-pat and Dean swallowed, turned his face and connected
his gaze with Sam’s. 
                “Go t’sleep now, Dad.”  Dean stood.  “Early day tomorrow.”  He
made his way into the room, closed the door with a barely audible clickand just
stood there not really moving.  Sam was sitting on his cot waiting for- 
anything really, when Dean finally looked up from the spot he was boring holes
into with his stare. 
                “Jesus Christ, Sammy,”  His voice was hollow and noticeably
shaky. “What the fuck are we doin’?”
                What we want.  Sam wanted to say.  What feels right.  What we
need, more than air.  But in the end settled for “What we can”.
                “We’ve gotta stop.”  Dean rubbed at the back of his neck
shifting his weight from one foot to the next. 
                “Dean-“ Sam tried to interject, reason with his big brother.
                “No Sam, this thing we got going-  It ain’t right.”  Dean cut
him off, face scrunched with contrition.  “It’s fifteen different kinds of
fucked up, and you know it.”
                But it can’t be wrong.  Sam’s words died in his throat before
he could begin to get them out.  “What do you want me to say, Dean?”  He asked
instead. 
                “Nothin’, Sam.  Don’t say anything.”  Dean strode across the
room and settled on his cot, still in his jeans.  “You already promised to stop
once, now it’s my turn.”
                Sam shifted in his seat.  The enormity of their situation
threatened to swallow him whole.  He stood up, crossed the room and slid
underneath the covers next to Dean.  “Sam”  Dean began warningly. 
                “Just let me have this, Dean.”  Sam’s throat felt tight and big
fat tears threatened to spill from his eyes at any moment.  “Just tonight. I
promise I won’t do anything.”  His brother pulled back, let him settle in the
bed, next to him.  And the funny thing was, that despite him being crowded in a
tiny bed inches away from his older brother, in a room with no windows, in the
first weeks of August, Sam had never felt colder in his entire life. 
***** Consume *****
Sam’s days were spent wallowing in a mixture of rage, apathy, and despair.  Dad
and he argued more often than not, over the most mundane of things, which would
always culminate with Dean trying to intervene and one of them (usually Sam)
storming out and not returning for hours or even days (John).  He was a hair
trigger and everything seemed to set him off, especially Dean. 
                Dean, on the other hand, seemed particularly forbearing, always
making excuses for Sam and trying to lighten the mood, trying his hardest to
take care of everyone or make Sam crack a smile.  It really aggravated Sam
beyond reason.  He constantly fluctuated between the warring desires of either
wanting to be as close as physically possible to his older brother or punching
him in the face for making him feel things.  He couldn’t go back to the way
they were before, couldn’t even begin to try, despite Dean’s constant efforts. 
Not after almost having Dean the way he’d never known he wanted, the way he’d
never stop wanting now.  It just hurt too much.
                Sam was sitting underneath a dried-out old husk of a tree, that
couldn’t even provide shade correctly, in the flat plains of Arizona.  School
had started a few days back and Sam had taken to doing homework as an excuse to
spend all day out, his only company the dry, dead grass or occasional scurrying
rabbit.  The dry desert heat beat over him, like standing too close to a fire,
as he flipped the page of his worn AP English textbook. 
                “Hey” Dean plopped down next to him, sending clouds of pale
brown dirt and grit into the air and all over Sam.  “Let’s go somewhere.”
                “Busy” Sam deadpanned as he picked up his book and dusted off
the cream colored pages. 
                “Aw c’mon, Sammy, I know you’ve been itching to get out.”  He
bumped shoulders with Sam.
                “It’s Sam, Dean. Fuck.” He jerked back. “How fuckin’ hard is
that to remember?  Besides, who says I even want you around?”A brief flash of
pain flickered on Dean’s face before he steeled it back.  And Sam was glad.  He
wanted to hurt Dean.  Wanted Dean feeling that same desolation he’d been
feeling since he woken up alone on the cot a few weeks back. 
                “Quit bein’ a tool, Sam.” Dean spoke evenly.  Anger bubbled in
Sam’s chest.
                “Fuck you.”  It was barely above a whisper as he stood up and
walked away, not bothering to pick up any of his school supplies. 
                                      -W-
                Sam scowled through the first half of the school day, not
really wanting to be there but not wanting to be anywhere else.  He only really
went because the classrooms where air conditioned and Sam was pretty sure that
was the only thing keeping his internal temperature from rising to kelvin. 
                For lunch, he bought a grape Smucker’s uncrustable, sat on one
of the empty benches in the quad.  Someone bumped into him, a meaty kid in a
green letterman jacket, sent his half eaten sandwich sprawling onto the
ground.  “Bitch.” The stranger guffawed as he made his way to a group of
similarly dressed morons, who kept sending goading leers in his direction.  Sam
balled his hands into fists, tried to count to ten, made it to three before
giving the kid a murderous glare in return.  “You got a problem, son?”  The guy
called out, stood in front of him. 
                Sam stood up, he was an inch or two taller, but the guy had a
good 30 pounds on him.  “Oh Dude, you don’t wanna fuck with me today.”  His
voice, ice cold, made the kid jerk, flick a glance back toward his cronies who
were watching with thinly hid amusement.  The sun overhead was oppressively
bright, cast ripples and waves of heat against the pale concrete, and Sam just
wanted to leave. 
                “Or what?”  The guy jabbed Sam’s chest with a stumpy finger,
emboldened by stupidity and the need to impress.  “You gonna sic your boyfriend
on me?  The one with the faggy car.”
                “Get the fuck. Away from me.”  The kid pushed Sam, and Sam saw
red.  Sam was a crate of dynamite and the kid had just lit the fuse.  In one
quick movement he took the guy’s wrist pulled him in and punched him in the
throat with the heel of his palm.  The guy doubled over wheezing and gasping
for breath.  Sam lifted his knee, took a hold of the back of the guy’s head and
pulled it down swiftly.  His face collided with jarring crunch sending blood
spraying everywhere.  In a flash everything was over, two people were holding
him back while a teacher was busy helping check on the kid -wheezing and
crying, face covered in blood- on the floor. 
                He sat quietly on the stiff metal chair in the principal’s
office, eyes unfocused and ears stuffed up. 
“Now several students assure me that it was Mr. Cunningham who initiated the
altercation.  And that’s the only reason I’m opting for a week’s suspension
instead of an expulsion.”
                “I completely understand, Sir.”  Dean spoke with authority,
sending side glances in Sam’s direction every so often. 
                “I would really like to speak to your father about this.  It’s
a miracle no charges are being pressed.  You don’t want a criminal record.” 
Sam snorted at that.
                Dean’s eyes darkened.  “Go wait in the car.” He commanded and
Sam just shrugged. 
 
                “What the hell was that, Sam?”  Dean spoke as he turned off the
car outside the rundown motel they were staying at, the engine ticking as it
cooled down. 
                “What? Like you never got in a fight when you were my age? Like
you, still don’t get in at least two fights every state?”
                “I never sent anyone to the emergency room, Sam.”
                “It was a broken nose.  The guy’s a pussy.  Hardly counts as an
emergency.”  Sam rolled his eyes.
                “You’re so damn lucky, Dad’s gone.  What would you do if he-”
                “you gonna tell’im?”  Sam scoffed.  “Gonna be the good kid and
do everything he does and doesn’t tell you?”
                “Is that what this is all about?”
                Sam opened the door and stepped out. “this isn’t about anything
Dean.”
                                      -W-
                As punishments went, a week’s suspension wasn’t too shabby. 
Two days in and Sam had busied himself at the library or the park.  He and Dean
had avoided each other, only really acknowledging one another when Sam got home
at around ten before Dean left to wherever at around eleven.  It was a Friday
night and the local hang out spot, a pizza place with a pretty gnarly arcade,
was fit to burst with the local high school’s populace.  Sam occupied himself
with a wobbly pinball machine, nowhere near the high score, when someone spoke.
                “Hey you’re Winchester right?”
                He turned to see a tall blonde boy, with light blue eyes, in a
green letterman jacket.  “Your friend had it comin’ I’ve got no problem with
you.”  Sam tensed, readying himself for a fight.
                “He’s not my friend.” The guy smiled. “And yeah, he did.”  He
leaned into the pinball machine and extended a hand. “I’m Brian, by the way. 
Why don’t you let me buy you a slice?”
                Brian, turned out, was a Senior; played varsity basketball,
Shooting guard; was astoundingly  smart, early admission to ASU; and wanted to
go to school to become a social worker, I just really want to help people, you
know?  He was also remarkably friendly and actually looked at Sam when he
spoke, listened intently and provided actual feedback or rebuttal instead of
lame jokes or mocking condescension.
                Sometime after midnight, after the pizza place had already
closed, and they had moved on from discussing the second Harry Potter book and
how excited they were for the third one, and Sam figured Dean would probably
have been long gone by that time, he decided it was about time to get back to
the room. 
                “I should probably get going.”  He said. 
                Brian lifted himself quickly from the spot they were sitting
at, on the floor leaning against the exposed brick wall of the closed Pizzeria,
dusted himself off and extended a hand to help Sam up.  “I’ll walk you.”
                “I can take care of myself.”  Sam rolled his eyes, but
otherwise accepted Brian’s helping hand. “I’m not a girl you know.” 
                “Oh trust me.”  Brian pulled him up with a strong, swift
movement until they were only a few inches apart.  “I’m very well aware of
that.”  His breath smelled like pizza and root beer and Sam let go of his hand
quickly, tried to play off that odd little flutter he felt at the words. 
                “Okay.”
                Their walk back to his fleabag motel took decidedly longer than
was actually necessary, both of them walking at a rheumatic turtle’s pace
flipping through topics that didn’t fare any better. 
                “So your Dad’s just gone indefinitely?”
                “yeah, his work is- Complicated.  He’s gone for weeks at a
time.  We move a lot.”  Sam was glad when Brian didn’t press.
                “Cool car” Brian whistled as they walked by the Impala.  Stared
at it briefly and then continued walking. 
                “it’s my brother’s.”  Sam supplied as they made their way
underneath the brown wooden awning above the door to Sam’s room. 
                “And where is he at?”  He stepped closer to Sam, underneath the
porch lamp, the cheap fluorescent bulbs dousing them in pale synthetic light.
                “Out probably.”  Brian crowded into Sam’s space, placed an arm
on the door.  He was about Sam’s height, maybe even a little shorter.
                “So that mean’s it’d be okay if I-“  He was cut off by the door
swinging open, causing him to lurch and stumble.  Dean was standing in the
doorway holding a whetstone in one hand and a huge hunting knife in the other,
looking absolutely homicidal. 
                Dean let out a “Hm” not so much a greeting, but an
acknowledgment. 
                “H-Hi”  Brian stuttered pathetically as Dean sharpened the
knife, each scrape against the whetstone like nails on a chalkboard.  “So I-
ah- I’ll see you later Sam.”  He knew it wasn’t likely. 
                “I’ll see ya at school, Brian.”  He decided to throw the guy a
bone and squeezed past Dean –and his giant knife- into the room. 
                Sam toed off his shoes, in search of some relief from the
sweltering desert heat, and turned to his brother.  Dean closed the door and
flung his props onto the card table, before turning to Sam with livid eyes.
                “the fuck was that?”  Sam furrowed his brow. 
                “No, What the fuck was that, Sam?”  Dean was pissed.  “Do you
have any idea what time it is?”  Fuming.  “And who the fuck even was that?”
                “What does it even matter what time it is?”  Sam crossed his
arms and took two steps forward.  “And not that it’s any of your business, but
that was Brian, a friend from school.”
                “None of my-  You’remy business,Sam. Everything about youis my
business.”  His brother’s voice rose higher.  “And that mmmbop motherfucker’s
not your friend.  He was gonna-  gonna-“  Dean couldn’t get the words out.
                “He was gonna kiss me, Dean.”  Sam affirmed. “Yeah, I know. 
And I was gonna let him.” 
                “You what?”  Dean’s brow creased and his nostrils flared as he
reached out and took ahold of Sam’s bicep in a bruising grip.
                He shook himself out of the hold and stormed out of the room,
not bothering to formulate anything even resembling a plan.  The dirty concrete
felt ice cold against his bare feet as he walked in the direction of the
vending machines. “Where do you think you’re going?”  Dean pulled on his
shoulder, slammed his back against the wall, caged him in with one arm, the
other bunching at the fabric of Sam’s T-shirt.  Dean’s hackles were raised, his
eyes were black with rage, and his muscles strained with the task of holding
back the ire.  “I swear t’God.”  He snarled.  “Sometimes you just make me
wanna-“
                “What Dean?  You gonna hit me?”  Sam challenged. “Just fucking
try it, Dean.  Just fucking try to hit me.”  Dean growled ferally.  He pulled
back, and before Sam knew what or how, he gripped at the base of Sam’s skull
and crushed their mouths together.  Sam gasped as their teeth clanked against
each other and Dean’s tongue delved into his mouth, licking at the slick, warm
inside and scraping over teeth and gums, coaxing his own tongue to do the
same.  Dean pinned him harder into the wall, stepped in between his legs so
they rested on his hips, dragging their groins together slow and hard, sent
sparks racing up and down his spine.  Sam’s arms rose to the back of his older
brother’s neck, pulled him in to deepen the kiss and bruise their lips against
each other. 
                Dean’s mouth tasted like candy and beer and something smoky
that was all Dean.  Sam chased the taste, sucked at Dean’s tongue with wild
abandon.  Dean let out a ferocious moan, ran his hands down Sam’s back and over
his ass, squeezed it and lifted him up, angled his own head up to not break the
kiss.  It hit Sam then, that for all their teasing, and touching, and messing
around they’d never actually kissed before.  And that somehow this felt
incontestable and absolute, a point of no return that they’d crossed in the
heat of the moment. 
                Dean carried him through the wide open doorway, kicked the door
shut with the heel of his boot and flung Sam onto the nearest bed.  Sam tore
off his T-shirt as his brother fumbled with Sam’s pants, pulled them off along
with his underwear in one fell swoop.  He then reached for the back of Dean’s
shirt and ripped it off of him as Dean unbuckled his own belt, opened his jeans
and pushed them down his thighs and over his knees. 
                His older brother reached out and frantically pulled open the
nightstand, riffled through its contents of dirty pictures and magazines until
he triumphantly found what he was looking for.  His knuckles bumped
accidentally against the drawer knocking it down and spilling all its contents
into the small space between the beds as he pulled out the half empty bottle of
lube.  At any other time Sam would’ve found his brother’s agitated dealings
amusing –funny even- but right now his cock was hard and aching, and he
couldn’t really find the humor in the situation. 
                “Gah. Dean. Get the fuck on with it.”  He growled as Dean
opened the bottle with his teeth, tore the little black cap off and spit it
out.  He coated his hand in slick, large round drops running down his
fingertips, and tossed the bottle aside, its contents oozing out and seeping
into the fabric of the blue bedspread.  He rubbed at the skin of Sam’s
entrance, shoved two fingers in without much preamble.  Sam keened at the
unexpected stretch and burn, tried to relax his muscles.  His eyes screwed shut
as he felt his brother scissoring in and out of him, fingers stretching him out
and ghosting at his prostate on every third stroke. 
                “Fuck Sammy, you’re so hot.” Dean muttered.  “So fuckin’
tight.  Clenching around my fingers and sucking me in.  You fucking love this
don’t you?”  Sam only bucked his hips in reply, pushed down and fucked himself
on his brother’s hand.  Dean pulled out his fingers and Sam whined at the
sudden emptiness.  Dean slicked his cock with the lube that remained on his
hand and positioned himself in between Sam’s spread legs.  He teased at Sam’s
snug hole with the head of his dick, it felt blunt and too big, pressed and
rubbed it around the furled skin before slowly sinking in, the tight virgin
ring of muscle finally giving in at the push.  For a moment Sam forgot how to
breathe.  It burned, and he felt so damn full, stretched tight and about to
split in two.  “You okay?”  Dean stopped, fond voice heady and deep, a strange
mixture of lust and concern.  Sam took in a few deep breaths through his nose
and nodded in assent, felt his eyes water and one large tear roll down his
face.
 Dean wiped the tear away with his thumb, bent down and kissed him slow and
sweet and possessive.  Peppered kisses on his temple, jaw, and neck in a
familiar need to sooth any discomfort away.  He Stayed still until Sam pushed
him away and commanded “Move”.
Dean started to move lazily, shallow little thrusts and moves that burned and
ached but gradually began to feel good, really good.  He clutched at Sam’s
hips, dug his fingers hard enough into the skin that Sam could picture the row
of darkening bruises that would appear tomorrow, and angled them until he hit
that one spot that had Sam arching his back like a cat in heat.  Dean chuckled
deep in his chest as he shoved into him with more fervor.  He kept Sam at that
angle, thrust into him hitting that spot over and over, causing Sam to forget
about the burn with the rush of pleasure. 
Dean bit at his neck and shoulders, mouthed at his jaw and whispered hot and
filthy in his ear.  “Christ Sammy, you’re so fucking sexy.  Taking my dick like
a fucking pro.  Gonna do this every day.  Gonna lie down and watch you ride
me.”  Sam’s own cock was flush and hard trapped between their stomachs, leaking
thick spurts of precome that smeared against their skin.
Sam clenched around Dean, causing him to grunt intensely.  He took ahold of
Sam’s hand and licked a broad wet stripe against his palm, pulled it in between
them.  “Jerk yourself off for me, baby.”  He pleaded.  “Not gonna last much
longer, need to get yourself off.”  Sam managed a few loose strokes in tandem
with Dean’s prods to his sweet spot before he was gone, dick twitching and
spurting hot and thick between their bodies, ass clamping down over Dean’s
cock.  Dean’s movements became rougher and more unsteady and his hips shoved
wildly as he came with a final savage growl, pumping into Sam and filling him
up.
They were panting heavily when they separated.  Chests heaving and temporarily
high.  Dean reached down and picked up one of the discarded items, which
conveniently happened to be Sam’sT-shirt, and began to first wipe Sam off and
then himself.  He then reached down towards the tangle at his feet.  Sam rolled
his eyes.
“Please tell me you did notjust fuck me with your pants around your ankles.” He
deadpanned.
“I was in the moment, Sam.” Dean teased. 
Sam scoffed. “My ass.”
To which Dean replied, “yeah that too.”  And Sam blushed uncontrollably. 
“Now what?”
“I could go for some pancakes.”
“No.” Sam rolled on to his side and punched his big brother in the arm.  “I
mean are you gonna run away again?”
Dean twined his fingers through the hair at the back of Sam’s head and pulled
him in for a hungry kiss.  They kissed deep, lazy, and slow, tongues tasting
and exploring.  Dean bit and sucked on Sam’s lower lip until it felt hot and
swollen; let it go with a loud, moist slurp.  “I’m done running.  I promise.” 
Sam’s eyelids began to droop, he felt exhausted.  “Go to sleep, Sam.  I’ll
still be here when you wake up.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!