Either way, there is no way that this could be really happening. No way that Sam should be allowing him to worm his hands into the back of his pants and pull his hips flush against Dean's. No way that Sam should be allowing Dean to bite gently down on his collarbone, and there is definitely no way Sam should be enjoying this half as much as he seems to be, if the noises he is pulling from his throat are anything to go by.
Banner made by the_last_shadow
Dean is pretty sure he's dreaming, or maybe going insane, or possibly dead and back in hell.
“Dean..” Sam all but groans and thrusts his hips into Dean's, arching and grinding and rolling and Jesus its not enough. Not enough by far. So Dean winds his hands in Sam's shirt and spins them again, placing both hands on his brother's chest, he pushes, hard. Sending Sam sprawling backwards, the only thing that stops him from landing on his ass is the bed. Sam lands with a umph and an indignant look on his face that seems to lift the mood in the room from desperate and frantic to light and familiar. Dean tries to hide all the the uncertainty he's feeling. Sam seems to notice though and looks up at him, his emotions laid bare in his eyes and it makes Dean feel uncomfortable, and he shifts. Sam is looking at him with want, need, trust and holy shit, love and it makes Dean shift again. Sam opens his legs slightly, an invitation if he has ever given one and Dean's eyes flicker down to his crotch. Sam swallows, Dean follows the movement with his eyes and licks his lips.
“Dean...” Sam seems to have been reduced to just saying his name, like its the only thing that matters.
“Sammy...” Dean says. Sam swallows again and reaches out with a hand that shakes slightly. Sam looks as uncertain as Dean feels and he hopes to god that Sam isn't about to have a freak out. The one that Dean has almost been expecting since last night when Sam leant forward and kissed him. It was everything that Dean had never knew he wanted, forbidden, illicit, a broken taboo if ever they have broken one but Dean can't deny the feeling of safety, familiarity and home that he felt when Sam's lips touched the skin of his neck.
There's always been...something, hell there has always been a tension between them. Dean knew it from the minute that he could begin to understand it. Not that he ever did understand it. But Dean felt it. Knew that they were closer than brothers in some ways. But he always ignored it, ignored it to the point that he thought it had gone away, putting it down to their upbringing, to the fact that Dean carried Sam out of a burning building, twice, the fact that they have had to rely on each other for as long as both of them could remember, the fact that they know each others skin be heart, can feel their way around each others body blindfolded and know every scar, every story behind ever scar. Anything other than the fact that there is some part of his brain that wants to know exactly what his brother looks like when he comes undone. And exactly what his brothers skin feels like when its flushed with desire.
Sam sits up and hooks his fingers into Dean's belt loops and Dean realises he is staring at him, face expressionless.
“You want this Sammy?” He asks. Because Sam may have been encouraging him with helpless noises but Dean is still unsure, still thinks that he might be dreaming. And he hates the desperate feeling that pits in his stomach when Sam pauses. God, please Sammy don't push me away.
“Jesus Dean...yes.” Sam says and tugs on his jeans, causing Dean to become unbalanced. But Sam has always done that, he's always spun Dean around, always made him dizzy. Even before he realised that he wanted to touch his brother in ways that would make a sex offender blush.
Sam tugs again, once, lightly.
“You?” He asks. His stares up at Dean, worrying his bottom lip. Dean reaches out and cups his face, swiping his thumb over Sam's lip. Its a gesture so gentle that it takes them both by surprise. Dean isn't usually gentle unless Sam is hurt, he's usually loud, brash, a force to be reckoned with, Sam furrows his brows briefly but when Dean's fingers stroke the juncture behind his ear, Sam's lips part and his eyes flutter closed and Dean leans forward and kisses him.
“Yeah Sammy. I want this.” He breathes against Sam's mouth. He feels Sam grin and tugs harder on his belt loops. Dean goes sprawling forwards and Sam dodges the falling body with a laugh. Dean turns his head and glares at Sam. Sam grins back.
“Oh you are so gonna get it, bitch.” Dean promises, making his voice as low and dark as he can. Sam feigns fear and dodges Dean again as he makes a grab for him. Sam's long limbs help him with the tussle and before Dean knows what's happened, he is flat on his back with Sam straddling his hips and Sam's freakishly long fingers wrapped around his wrists and pinning them above his head. Sam leans down and licks a long stripe up Dean's neck.
“Looks like you're the one getting it, jerk.” Sam whispers against Dean's throat. Dean swallows and arches his neck upwards. He shifts, trying to ignore Sam's mouth on his collar bone, and manages to get a leg out from under his giant of a brother. Dean flips them both over with a triumphant laugh and Sam rolls his eyes.
“Guess again.” Dean grins. Sam wriggles under him with a wicked grin that goes straight to Dean's already straining cock. The grin fades from Dean's face as he remembers tussling with Sam for entirely different reasons, to release pent up energy left over from too many nights cooped up in a shitty motel room with a TV that played snow storms over and over again and nothing else. Tumbling through makeshift dens made under tables, scrabbling around under blankets, indulging Sam's vivid imagination and for once feeling happy about being left alone with his baby brother.
“Dean?” Sam asks, wriggling again.
“Just...thinking.” Dean manages to say. Sam lifts tentative shaky hands and places them on Dean's sides, his fingers curling into the worn grey t-shirt.
“What?” Sam asks, worry clouding his eyes, his face. Dean swipes his thumb over Sam's bottom lip again.
“Nothing.” Dean says before covering Sam's mouth with his. He runs his tongue over Sam's lips and Sam opens his mouth. His hips grind downwards and Sam's groan is muffled by Dean's mouth.
Dean has never needed this before, never felt the almost over whelming urge to rut against someone. And right now that someone is Sam, who's writhing, calling Dean's name out like a prayer, worrying his bottom lip and trailing those ridiculously large hands underneath Dean's t-shirt and up his back, his fingers following the line of Dean's spine. But its the need for release that takes Dean by surprise. The coiling in his stomach that comes almost too quickly, especially considering he is doing nothing more than rolling his hips into his brother's and they are both fully clothed still.
Dean pulls away, only to divest himself of his t-shirt and pants, cos he needs skin, needs Sam's skin and he can feel the heat of his brother from here. Sam comes halfway with him, mouth still attached for a while until Dean pulls too far away. A look of panic and hopelessness flashes over his face until Dean grabs the bottom of his t-shirt and yanks it over his head in one fluid motion. Sam grins then, pleasure and relief flooding his features and does the same. Dean stifles the urge to gasp. Because, sure, he's seen Sam topless before, hell, he's stitched up Sam's thigh once before, dangerously close to his groin and never felt anything other than brotherly affection and worry at the amount of blood that was seeping from his brothers skin. But this, this is different. As if he was viewing Sam with new eyes. The light from the motel car park streams through the gap in the cheap, thin curtains and spills onto Sam, highlighting hard plains of muscle and the small scar above his heart, the exact copy of Dean's, when some skeevy witch decided to use them both in some heinous ritual. Something primal curls in Dean's belly at the thought and he's back on Sam in an instant, groaning at the feel of his skin against Sam's, slick and hot and smooth and so forbidden that it makes it all the more desirable.
Sam lifts one of those gargantuan legs and wraps it around Dean's, drawing him down and arching his hips at the same time, its fast, hard and brutal and just the right side of painful. Dean partaking in illicit frottage like some lust filled teenager, only this is different. He can't get his mind over that, this is different, this is Sam, his Sammy, his baby brother who currently has his mouth locked over the pulse point in Dean's neck, teeth worrying the skin, his baby brother who is arching his back into him like he's desperate, like only him can get Sam off.
And maybe it is only him, only, the only one who can wiggle his free hand into the front of Sam's pants and take his hard cock in his hands. Maybe its only him who can move his hand at the awkward angle, thumb brushing against the head in a way that makes Sam's breath catch in his throat. Only him that can pull those noises from Sam's throat and feel his brother tremble underneath him and arch like a bow as he comes, hard and fast over Dean's hand, with Sam's fingers digging into his hips.
It only take a few more rolls of Dean's jerking hips before he's coming too, blinded by the intensity of it all. Of Sam still shuddering under him, the fact that he just had his brother's cock in his hand and can still taste his skin on his tongue, sweet and like home.
Sam lifts his head from the pillow and licks a bead of sweat from Dean's neck.
“You...ok?” He asks, his voice sleepy and quiet and hoarse. Dean's arms give way, and he has no idea why they hadn't given way before, but they do now, and he collapses on top of Sam. Sam moves to the side, shifting Dean so that he's half draped over him like some blanket and Dean would protest at the snuggling crap if he wasn't so satisfied right now.
And he honestly can't bring himself to care that he's practically had sex with his brother. Because it's Sam, it's Sammy. His baby brother. Sam runs his hand down Dean's back again, slower this time, but smoother, the sweat still lingers on his skin and in the back of his mind Dean thinks that maybe he should get up, clean them both up before he passes out. But Sam's fingers linger at the base of his spine, drawing small circles and patterns that Dean knows but is too tired to figure out right now.
“Yeah, Sammy...I'm ok.” He murmurs into Sam's neck as Sam shifts and tightens his arm around him. And for once, he isn't lying, he really is ok. Hell and the rest of the world be damned, he is more than ok.