Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/2547119. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Supernatural Relationship: Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester Character: Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester Additional Tags: Sex_Toys, First_Time, bottom!Dean, Sibling_Incest, Fingering, Sam_is_16 when_actual_things_happen, Wincest_-_Freeform, Weecest Stats: Published: 2014-11-01 Words: 2359 ****** Pink ****** by kaelyx67 Summary Sam finds something pink, and gets curious. Sam is twelve the first time he sees it. It's just sitting there, on Dean's bed, light pink and slightly curved. Sam can hear that the water’s still running, Dean probably isn’t going to find out that Sam has seen it. He can hear his big brother’s voice in his head, stay out of my stuff! and it makes the whole thing even more exciting. Sam merely pokes at it first, and it’s... hard. It’s hard plastic, and when he picks it up, it’s heavier than he expected. Sam wonders what it is, why it has that shape and size, and with hot cheeks, a dirty thought flashes through his mind. But why would Dean want a fake penis? He has a real one himself, and, as far as Sam knows, Dean would never want a second one anywhere near him. But now Sam can’t stop thinking of it as a fake penis, because what else would it be, and he holds it with a sort of envy. It’s a lot bigger than his own dick, but he’d say it looks kind of the same as Dean’s. Not that he’s seen his brother’s parts a lot, or anything. He just checks it out -- sometimes. Sam can’t wait until he’s as big as Dean, thick and heavy between his thighs. A little more than a year later, Sam finds out about dildos, and his skin is on fire from his ears down to his chest, because his brother had one exactly like the pictures he sees when he looks it up on Google later that day. Sam is itchy for the rest of the week. He’s never seen the dildo again after that one time, probably because Dean has been more careful. It’s kind of disappointing, because Sam had wanted to find out more about it, find out what his big brother did with it, how he used it. If he’d maybe show Sam. Now that he’s almost sure what Dean used it for, he can’t stop thinking about it. What if Dean would show him? He tries to talk about it to his brother, but all that comes out are ‘uh’s, and ‘eh’s, and after a lot of avoiding eye contact and blushing his ears off, Sam asks if it’s weird to touch yourself. ”Of course not,” Dean says. “It’s not bad to make yourself feel good.” And then he gives Sam a little pat on his shoulder, like it’s nothing, and then he turns to the guns in front of him again. Sam is fifteen years old, either grumpy or horny ninety percent of the time, and he still hasn’t forgotten about his brother and his pink toy. Especially not when Dean’s out hustling pool, the lights are out and Sam is alone under not-quite-white-anymore sheets, alone with his hands and his thoughts. He can’t stop thinking about Dean’s ass, and it’s terrible, because he should be thinking of Daya’s ass, because she’s a Latina and she’s slept with two of his friends already, so he’s got a really big chance of getting somewhere with her ass. But when Jeremy and Dave and three other guys are discussing girls asses, all Sam can think of is his brother. And when in the morning he calls dibs on the first shower, Dean thinks it’s because Sam’s been dreaming about someone, maybe that Spanish chick, what’s her name? but Sam has had enough showers to have constructed his own little library of fantasies that all include both his brother and a pink fake dick, in a million different ways. No three and a half years of fantasizing could have prepared him for the real thing, though. He’s back earlier than usual, because Sam’s tired and sick of people trying to find him a good lay. He doesn’t really want to, anyway. Maybe he wouldn’t say no to a guy with freckles and green eyes and a nice ass, if only he’d be sweet to Sam, and ruffle his hair and call him a little bitch while still managing to make it sound like I love you. And Sam’s so done with it, the weird obsession with his brother, and it stopped being just his ass a long time ago, and Sam’s not sure if he wants to throw up or kiss Dean. He’s so done with it he doesn’t realize that he’s back early, that Dean doesn’t really expect him yet. He opens the door quietly, slips inside the motel room and that’s when he hears it. It’s a moan, whiney and low at the same time, needy, reminds Sam of the mewling of a cat, and his cock shows interest before he’s even looked up. It’s obvious Dean doesn’t know Sam is watching him. His head is thrown back on a pillow, lips parted, skin flushed. He’s so caught up in himself he hasn’t even heard the door shut. Sam dares to take a small step closer, and he holds his breath when he sees what Dean is doing. Because Dean isn’t holding his cock, he’s not jerking himself to completion fast and dirty like Sam always does. Dean is taking his time, teasing himself. He’s got one hand on his chest, sliding down and no doubt making his freckled skin tingle. And he’s got one low between his thighs, and Sam can guess what Dean has there. He catches a glimpse of it when Dean pulls it out with a gasp. The thing is thicker than the one Sam remembers, and a darker color, too. His brother pushes the toy back inside, letting out a low moan and making Sam squirm where he’s standing. Sam is frozen in place, praying for something to make him invisible so he could watch Dean closer. Maybe he would be able to see Dean’s hole clench around the toy, greedily taking it in because he needs to be filled. Sam bites his lip, palms himself without really thinking about it. It’s not like he hasn’t jerked off to his brother before -- only this is a little different, because it’s happening, right in front of him. Sam watches Dean rub down his stomach to get a hold of his dick. It’s long, but not quite as thick as Sam’s is now, and Dean tugs at it slowly. With a groan, Dean speeds up both hands, and Sam has to bite his lip not to moan, because his brother is fucking himself in front of him, and it’s hotter than any fantasy ever, and he’s not sure if he should dive in and claim it all, or run and never remind either of them of this ever again. It could ruin any normal sibling relationship, you know, wanting to fuck your brother. But then again, Sam and Dean are not particularly normal, and Sam’s well aware of it. But it’s not like he’s thinking clearly when he takes another step and opens his mouth. “Dean.” Dean’s moan catches in his throat, he cuts it off and as Sam’s rushing towards him, he seems to not know what to do for a moment. He’s frantically clawing at the sheets to get them to cover him, and his whole face is bright red. “Sam-” “Sam, I was trying to sleep,” Dean tries, because maybe Sam hasn’t seen a thing, and it sounds raspy and weak and Sam knows exactly why. “No,” Sam says, and he is surprised of his own voice, sure and steady, not at all like he is feeling. “Dean, please continue.” Dean squints at him, and Sam grins and creeps a little closer, moves his hand to the covers, intending to peel them off of his brother again. Dean seems to be... at least considering and Sam tries his hardest not to smile wider. After a moment of silently staring at each other, Dean moves, just a little, and lets out a very quiet whimper. Sam bites his lip and looks at his brother, doesn’t want to do anything if he’s not okay with it. “Okay?” “Yeah,” Dean breaths, then nods at his little brother with approval. His eyes are dark with lust, and he looks the tiniest bit uncertain, but Sam is sure he can get rid of that. He takes off his shirt and starts pulling the sheet away, revealing Dean’s flushed skin and half-hard cock. Sam’s breath hitches at the sight alone, and he unbuckles his belt and kick off his converse. His brother is staring at him, the sex toy fallen to the floor and forgotten. Dean is biting his lip in the most sexy way, and Sam can’t do anything but stumble one step closer and put his hands on the bed, on either side of Dean’s shoulders. He kicks his pants off and leans on the bed with one knee -- and he must be looking uncertain of the next step, because Dean has got that annoying grin on his face. “You really want this, huh?” Sam nods stupidly. “How long?” Dean asks. “Like, three years now, I guess,” Sam says, feeling like an idiot, the way he’s hovering over his brother, boxers stretched because of his -- almost un- bearable by now -- erection, and Dean’s definitely noticed it, because suddenly his hand is right there, and Sam is not sure how he manages to not come yet. “Come on, Sammy, I want it.” Dean licks his lips and his eyes flicker down and up to Sam’s again, and Sam feels his mouth hanging open. “What?” he manages, and it’s ridiculous, because Sam is the one who had started this in the first place. But he had never expected it would be this easy, that Dean would be this willing, and eager, that his brother would ask for his cock. Dean smirks. “Do you want me to show you how much I want it?” Sam stays quiet, stares at his brother with big eyes, and really, he kind of wants Dean to show him, because he has no idea wat he should even do. Sure, he watched lots of porn, but everyone knows the real thing is completely different. In fact, the real thing is a thousand times better. Because Dean grabs his shoulders and pulls him on the bed, pushes Sam on his back and rolls on top of him with a boy-ish grin. “I’ll show you, baby boy,” Dean mumbles and mouths at Sam’s throat as he attacks his torso with curious fingers, pinching and scratching and trying to find out all his little brother’s sensitive spots. Sam makes a soft sound to remind Dean of the fact that there won’t be any fucking if he keeps touching him like that, and Sam realizes that he really wouldn’t mind coming under Dean’s touch like that at all. Dean stops nevertheless, crawls down to tug Sam’s boxers off of his legs, licks his lips at the sight of Sam’s cock popping free and slapping against his stomach. It’s big, and thick, and Dean looks at it hungrily. Sam groans as Dean gives the head just one lick. “Look fuckin’ good, Sam. Taste good, too,” Dean murmurs as he crawls up again, straddles his little brother and rubs their erections together, making them both grunt. Dean reaches to the bedside table, takes out a small bottle of lube and squirts something of it on his hand, before his own skillful fingers reach behind once more to make sure he’s gonna be able to take Sam’s cock without too much trouble. Sam is looking up to his brother, speechless and already panting, and it’s fucking beautiful, and he promises himself he’s going to finger Dean to completion one day. “Come on, Dean,” Sam whines and lifts his hips up, dick bumping up against Dean’s hand. Dean smirks down at him as he pulls out his slippery fingers and takes Sam in his hand, lets himself sink down on it. Sam fists the sheets to prevent himself from taking Dean’s hips and fucking up into him, and then he’s inside Dean, and it’s warm and tight — and suddenly it’s just not close enough. “Dean—” His brother is leaning down before he’s even said anything, hands gripping Sam’s biceps as he — finally — crushes their mouths together. It take Sam’s breath away. He opens his lips automatically, letting Dean’s tongue slip into his mouth and it feels like he’s trying to reach every little corner of Sam’s mouth. For a small moment he forgets that he’s inside his brother— And then Dean starts rolling his hips, and Sam wraps an arm around his brother’s shoulders and another low around his waist, holding him tight as he thrusts his hips up, trying to find a rythm that feels good. Dean is making far too much sounds to keep kissing him, so he moves on to Sam’s neck. When Dean bites down on Sam’s shoulder and lets out a whimper, Sam knows he did something right — and that, hopefully, this is going to happen a lot more often. “Dean, I’m not gonna last—” “I know, Sam, me neither— Fuck—” Dean is making small sounds every time Sam makes that same movement, so he does it again, and again, until Dean is just holding on tight and letting Sam fuck him. “Come on— Please, Sammy— Jesus, fuck,” Dean babbles and moans and Sam is pretty sure there are going to be bruises on his arms if Dean is going to keep holding him like that — but then again, he doesn’t really mind. Before Dean comes, he moans loud and whiney, and Sam moans with him, feeling himself get so close, too. And then Dean is coming on both their stomachs, hot and sticky stripes of white, and he’s heavy on Sam’s chest but he manages to push his ass down. Sam is buried deep inside his brother when he comes so hard he can’t see anymore. “Christ.” Dean whimpers when Sam’s cock slides out of him, and then lets his whole body rest on Sam’s with a contented sigh. “That was… That’s good.” Sam just presses his brother closer, beaming the biggest smile up at the ceiling. Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work! hips so Dean can drag his jeans down, the mattress sinks and creaks under his weight still shifting and Dean’s already got his mouth on Sam’s cock, hard since Dean tucked the panties over his lap instead of pushing them away. Plush lips stretch wide around him, and if Dean gets too uncomfortable with the nice things Sam wants to say to him (can’t say them back) then he puts his mouth to use other ways and Sam forgets quick enough. Can’t do much else but stare at those pink lips stretched wide around him, glass green eyes almost gone dilated to black. Dean’s soft almost-blond hair falls to the tops of his ears, gives him cover to hide behind when he wants to sulk, but it’s perfect for Sam to tangle his fingers into and tug. Down a little farther. A little harder. A little faster. And all Dean’s fidgety restlessness eases into complacent pliancy under Sam’s hand, hard clay whetted and worked loose, bony arms draped over Sam’s lap and shoulder blades jutting out like wings as he collapses. Jerking his hips into the wet heat of his brother’s mouth, Sam rocks off the bed and stands with cock still pushing forward, backs Dean up against the other bed and braces him against it to push harder. Looming over him, Dean’s legs folded under and arms flailing back to steady against the bed, Sam cradles his skull and angles him just right to sink into the familiar clutch of his throat. Dean whimpers, quiet noises, long eyelashes fluttering shut as his throat works around Sam, spit trickling out the corners of his mouth. Drip, down his chest, drip, wet into the dip of his navel, and those soft pink panties are stretching tight over Dean’s straining cock as Dean’s pink mouth stretches around Sam’s cock. He’s made for this. (contortionist – fits into Sam’s box) Sam’s honestly not sure where it all goes. (eleven inches, they’ve measured each other a few times over the years, Dean is catching up). Dean grips onto his hips, pulls closer, cheeks sucked in hollow, his whole face turning cherry red from not breathing. Sam pushes. Fucks into his brother’s open throat until Dean’s button nose is squashed to his pubis, eyes watering, whole body squirming when his head is held still. Letting go, Sam pulls him off enough to suck air through his nose, Dean swirling his tongue around what’s left in his mouth, jaw wide. Thrusting shallowly, one hand tight in Dean’s hair, Sam cups his face with the other, thumb tracing the taut pull of his lips and wiping the spit from his chin. Back and forth, go again, shoving deep and fucking the life out of his throat, pull back, it’s a system. When tears actually roll down the freckled curve of Dean’s cheeks, Sam pulls out and brushes his thumbs over the tracks. “Shh, baby, you good?” “M’not a baby,” Dean grumbles, swats Sam’s hand away and cranes forward towards his bobbing dick, thick line of spit still connecting them, “c’,mon Sammy don’t –“ Sam steps back and heaves Dean up, hands under his arms, twists him around to fling him onto the bed. Dean squawks and bounces when he lands, tries to twist around, but Sam pounces after him and gets him pinned face down. Dean tries to pull a wrestling move, and maybe he’s damn good with people in his own weight class but his bony elbows and telegraphed moves aren’t a match for Sam. One hand clasped over the back of his neck, nudging his thighs apart, Sam settles between the bow of warm thighs and holds his weight down against Dean. “Are you going to be good for me?” (Dean always is, even when he isn’t) “Fuck you –“ The rest gets muffled in the musty flower patterned comforter when Sam pushes him down hard. Rearing back, curled over Dean like a question mark, Sam holds him still with one hand while the other glides down his back. Fingers bumping over the knobs of vertebrae, thumbs pressed to the indentations flanking his spine, palm spanning over the soft pink satin tight across his perky little ass. Sam’s already drooling, just thinking about it. Dean gives minimal fight (it’s all for show), ends up tilting his hips higher, spreading his legs wider. Raking blunt nails down Dean’s back, Sam lets go of his neck and pulls his panties down instead. Shuffling lower on the bed, feet dangling off when he kneels behind his brother, pink satin pulled to mid thigh and Dean’s bared to him. Soft, smooth, little pucker of his hole and his balls hanging down as Dean pushes up on his hands. Twists around – “Dude, come on, that’s dirty.” Prissy, prissy. Sam spreads his pale cheeks with hands big enough to completely engulf them, spits. Right on the mark. Watches a shiver judder up Dean’s spine as he drops his chest back to the bed and buries his face in the sheets as Sam buries his face in his brother. God. He loves this part. Dean might gripe that it’s gross - Sam’d never ask him to reciprocate - but his brother just falls apart underneath his mouth like a knot comes loose in him, unspooling. Sam had got his tongue in his brother before anything else. Too young, really, to understand. But it felt so good to rub against each other, little hands grasping, warm under the sheets, comfortable and safe. Felt good, to sate curiosity and seek understanding. Kissing was natural, an easy imitation. (don’t people kiss when they love each other). Sam wanted to kiss Dean everywhere. Wanted to press his love into his brother’s skin, pull out whatever Dean was hiding underneath, strip away shyness and restless insecurity to get at the pink pink insides between Dean’s legs, parted mouth, under his ribs where he held something close and secret just for Sam. Kissing the tight starburst that flutters under his tongue, soft pink still, there’s a little nest of curls at the base of Dean’s cock but he’s so smooth here, Sam licks from the seam of his balls up to the base of his spine in long flat drags of his tongue. Dean twitches underneath him, stutters little moans he tries to hide, thighs as wide as they can be with the panties still midway down. Sam likes them. Bright pop of color against Dean’s skin. Little pink briefs, should be reminiscent of innocence but satin and lace is too sensual to be anything but seduction. They seem to make Dean curl in to himself in this shyness that Sam thought he’d lost already. (he’s trying so hard to grow up as quick as he can) Slicked with spit, fever hot, Sam squirms his tongue past the tight muscle when it keeps quivering under him like it’s inviting him in. Hands kneading into the taut muscle of Dean’s ass, pressing deeper, he gets inside and greedily pushes for more. Dean pushes back. Grinds himself against Sam’s face, hips rolling, muscle in his thighs clenched hard when Sam strokes his hands down, fingers stumbling over the twisted panties, to the ticklish backs of Dean’s knees and up over the swell of his ass. Can’t help roaming. Wet suck-slurp of his mouth loud in the quiet motel room – a slam of the door next to them startles – and Dean’s breathing is ragged. Sam wants to get his fingers inside his brother, but he wants to watch Dean’s face, hasn’t been this vulnerable and taken apart for so long. It’s amazing what a little strip of pink fabric can do. Sam would have never thought. When Dean’s sloppy wet and loose around him, licked out with the curl of a long tongue, Sam pulls back and flips Dean over. Skinny legs stuck up in the air tangled, and his belly’s spattered wet. Cock still stiff but it’s pulsing a last drip when Sam slings both legs together over one shoulder. “Baby –“ “Sammy,” “So pretty.” “Don’t…” (don’t call him pretty but he’s got to know) It’s second nature for Dean to get everyone wrapped around his fingers, wheedle sympathy out of his teachers or a free slice of pie out of diner waitresses. He knows just how to use his looks and he knows how other people see him, even if he doesn’t believe it himself. Dragging fingers through the spunk on Dean’s belly, there’s got to be a wet spot under his back right now he’s so messy, always gets so wet. Sam licks it off as he bends over Dean. Legs folded up and aside, arms reaching out for him. Dean’s chest hitches when Sam licks up a stripe of come and ends on a nipple, precious pink buds puffy and soft on the flat expanse of his chest. Sam rolls one between his teeth and tugs, a little cruelly, tugs noises out of Dean like he’s wounded. Cock between them jerking eagerly. Sam’s so hard it aches, balls drawn up tight, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll take Dean apart piece by piece slow enough to ease him open, expose the tender rawness under the shell he’s been wrapping around himself. (scraped knuckles and split lips, Dean’s good at keeping people at a distance) Spit and come wet fingers are slick enough at the lax sucked open hole between Dean’s legs, and Sam gets two worked inside while he leaves little blossom bruises across Dean’s chest sucking from one nipple to another. Dean writhes and gets his hands in Sam’s hair, quiet, ‘Jesus, Sammy, fuck, come on, fuck’. (come closer, come inside brother) Dean scratches across Sam’s shoulders and down his arms with short jagged nails, always broken, dirt and grease caked underneath. Even if it’s the middle of January, he’s been out in the snow tinkering under the Impala’s hood. He’s been working on the car for years, but now it’s his and weather be damned. He’s a fastidious boy, packs neat and fast, showers every morning and after every hunt (after sex too), but he can’t keep a little of the dirt and grease from staining under his nails. It stings, furrows scraped over Sam’s skin, bony fingers digging in to the muscle. Sam twists over Dean, legs over his shoulder as he works his arm in a little see-saw motion that rocks Dean back and forth on his fingers. Dean hooks the backs of his knees over the curve of Sam’s right shoulder and squeezes, pulls himself up. One hand gone up above his head smacked loud on the motel wall to brace himself there as he watches Sam with bright wide eyes and open mouth. Dean’s always watched him, always curious, followed his big brother around everywhere. (used to imitate Sam too, all the time, until he started imitating Dad). He watches, takes everything in, he’s a lot smarter than teachers will give him credit for. But his smarts apply to who-done-it murder mysteries and the best ways to kill things. Can’t exactly show that off in school. Something gives, muscles easing around his fingers and Dean’s frantic scratch- scratch abates as he melts against the bed and moans shamelessly. Let’s his big brother take care of him. Sam’s gone too fast before, he’s careful now, he knows better. Three fingers spread and Dean opens around him easy, pink pink insides convulsing as he pushes Dean’s thighs against his belly to get a good look. The panties are still stretched tight between his thighs as Dean gets his hands on the back of them and pulls them up, see I’m ready, see. (look at him) “Just a second…” Sam scoots off the bed, eager cock tapping up against his belly as he shuffles back to his duffel and finds the near empty lube in there. Dean’s impatient, flighty thing, always wants what he wants when he wants it. Needs to learn impulse control. Sam’s not really the best teacher. “Come on. Sammy.” Fingers twist up in the panties. “No, I want to fuck you in them.” Dean rolls his eyes, “M’not really wearing them anymore, they’ll just get in the way.” “It’s perfect.” It really is. The one bed is still strewn with guns and cleaning tools, Dean strewn on the other looking somehow too young and too old, comfortably splayed and hair mussed up, hands toying with the rucked satin. Sam crawls up the bed and claps a hand over Dean’s, moves them away, rubs the fabric against Dean’s skin and listens to his little gasps. (it’s perfect) The wet noise of his hand sliding down his cock slicking it has Dean watching, chest rising and falling with deep even breath, bottom lip bit between white white teeth. Sam kneels and presses Dean’s slender legs together to pull over one shoulder again, feel of soft satin against his skin not nearly as soft as Dean’s legs. Rubbing the head of his cock against the small twitching pucker, Dean wriggles and tries to get his hips higher in Sam’s lap. Curling over him, pressing forward, it never ceases to amaze Sam how wide his brother’s body opens, how deep it goes, silk sweet heat crushing around his cock as he sinks in. Dean sucks in a breath, stomach concave as he stretches his lean torso and smiles. They can see Sam’s cock pushing out against the taut skin of his stomach and moving up to his navel slowly. (there used to be a ‘chestburster’ joke in there somewhere). Hips flush to Dean’s ass, Sam strokes his hands down the quivering of Dean’s thighs, gets one around the hard length of his cock and squeezes. Dean sucks his breath in, curling to pull his stomach in as tight and small as he can. They both watch. (it always reminds him, the first time he pushed inside and Dean was so so small, Sam could put a hand down and feel himself moving under his brother’s skin and he was going to pull away - he was - but Dean wrapped around him venus fly trap tight with those skinny limbs and kept him) Sam watches himself moving in his brother’s body, gaze wandering to the awe of Dean’s face. Dean’s got honeytrap lips and lolita eyes. Shame and guilt curl in Sam’s gut as hot as arousal and he’s been lost to this too long by now. (let me closer, let me inside brother) Grinding deep and pulling out halfway to sink slow, slow, until Dean starts to beg, Sam shifts to get his thighs spread and tilt Dean’s hips up. Fold him half, pin his knees to his chest. Dean’s eyes are still wet, chest messy with spit and bruises, but he curls his arms around Sam’s neck as he folds over Dean with his legs trapped. Sweat damp hair falling between them, Sam’s close enough to feel the heat of Dean’s breath as he pulls out far as he can to pound into his brother with a sharp snap of his hips. Dean can’t do anything but hold on. Bed moaning under them and thudding against the wall with the force of Sam’s greedy hips fucking into his brother. Dean’s face twists up, all folded and scrunched like the rest of his body, deep furrows in his forehead and his lips restlessly forming incoherent expression. (contortionist’s face too) Sam still has one hand pressed across the back of Dean’s legs holding them down, all his weight, dense and wide and so much over Dean, pressing them together. He makes Dean fucking wail. Body convulsing around him, sick squelch of too much lube, Dean locking up all tight muscle, flushed hot and sweaty under Sam. So deep in his body it’s just silk and the impression of pink – soft, soft, faded and washed out after image of red, a blush, a sigh, something perfect, something secret – and Sam’ll take it (wreck it), rough and desperate and it makes Dean wail. Burying himself so deep like he could carve out a space just for him, stay there, Sam comes overwhelmed in the hot crush of Dean squeezing around his cock, pretty face screwed up and hands vice gripped on Sam’s shoulders. Shaking (Dean’s shaking too), Sam slides down to rest on his elbows, Dean doesn’t complain still folded up, slides his hands under the soft mess of Dean’s hair to cradle his head. Gently, reverently. Kiss his forehead, tip of his nose, each cheek – Dean’s too trapped to bitch about Sam’s little tender takings. He turns into it though, turns it messy and hungry with his mouth seeking Sam’s, panting into each other and coming back down from the atmosphere. Sam’s muscles ache, his chest aches, lit up fever bright and there’s so much, too much, he can’t - (he used to think this meant love, and Sam loves his brother but he’s not sure what this means anymore) Gingerly, Sam pulls out and back, rears up to his knees and lets Dean uncurl his legs. Dean’s chest is heaving, breath shuddering wetly. Splaying a hand over his ribs, heartbeat rabbit fast, Sam drags his fingers down to the mess on Dean’s shivering stomach and curls his fingers into the well worn groove of narrow hip. “I’ll get a wash cloth.” Dean huffs, “Shower.” “Let me give you a bath?” Dean plants his heels on the bed and arches his back, Sam watching (he doesn’t look at much but his brother). Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean curls his toes against the bed. “Okay.” It’s a quiet soft thing, acquiescence to be taken care of. Even when Dad made them stop bathing together, more often than not Sam was the one next to the tub making sure the soap didn’t get in Dean’s eyes. The bed sways and dips as Sam stands. Dean breathes. Yawns. (he can’t look away) He sees it in plush lips swollen and the wet maw of his mouth, bright flush still round on his cheeks, it goes down, down, to the stiff buds of his nipples and in the blooming sucks marks that trail lower, the dripping head of his spent cock resting against his belly, hips push up, there, slick wet gape of his hole, and those stained ruined panties stretched between his thighs. And it’s all Sam can see. He feels it like the burn of too many broken promises, the sting of youth lost or taken, marks left on skin pressed under the weight of heavy things, the ache of fresh bruises, the heat of a blush, afterimages and blurry behind the eyelids can-you-see-the-patterns games, something ripe and tender. And it’s all Sam can feel. (pink) Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!