SPN Fic: Too many days between
Title: Too many days between
Author: abrupte
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: NC17.
Genre: Semi-angsty PWP.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Wordcount: 3000ish.
Spoilers: Up to Bloodlust.
Summary: Sam just wants to be close to him again, but Dean's not ready to go back to that, not yet. It takes time.
A/N: I swore I'd never read wincest. clex_monkie89 gave me hansbekhart's The Miner's Lamp, and I said, "Okay, wincest is alright -- wincest is more than alright. It's good!" But I swore that while I might read wincest, I would never write it. Yeah, right. The moral of this story? clex_monkie89 rocks, and when it comes to Supernatural, I should never, ever, in a million years, start a sentence with "I'll never." Because at the end of the day, I have no fucking shame. This is the first wincest I've written, and the first NC17 piece I've ever posted. It's written for clex_monkie89 as her prize for furthering the gay agenda, and getting me to read the 'cest. Also, a dedication to all the other awesome wincesters who've been amusing me for the past weeks. Y'all know who you are.
Also, a huge shout out to everyone who looked at this piece before I posted it: aderei, candygramme, hansbekhart, jamiesspawn, mooncross and super_kc. If the sheer number of people who I got to read this doesn't tip you off about how nervous posting this made me, well -- dude. What else can I say?
†
There's not much left of their father when they get back into the van that Bobby lent them. Sam's face is tear-streaked and he's shaking, his hands trembling as he reaches for the buckle of Dean's belt.
"Don't," Dean says quietly. "Sam, don't."
Sam puts his hands in his lap, looking out the window. "Alright," he whispers.
†
Dean's half-asleep when he feels Sam's mouth close over his. It's been a week.
It's been a week, and Dean rolls onto his side, away from the hand that Sam rests on his hip, and pretends he can't hear his brother sigh.
"Dean," Sam whispers, but he pulls away. "I'm sorry."
†
He's curled up on the old mattress that Bobby found for them, listening to Sam jerk off in the bathroom. It's quiet except for the sound of Sam's soft moans, and Dean hears the whisper of his own name. He draws the thin blanket close, closing his eyes and trying not to hear.
Eventually Sam's moans stop, and the door creaks open. Sam's weight settles down next to him on the mattress. Dean can't give him much, still too heart-sore and sick to give his brother want he wants, but he rolls towards Sam and stretches an arm across his body.
His younger brother nestles close to him, tucking his head under Dean's chin, and Dean still doesn't know how someone as big as Sam can seem so small. He sighs, presses a kiss against Sam's hair.
Sam murmurs, "Dean."
"Go to sleep," Dean says quietly. "Just go to sleep, Sammy."
†
He gives his brother what he can. It's not much, but he absently brushes his shoulder against Sam's as he walks past him to get a cup of coffee, or put his hand on Sam's knee under the table at breakfast. Sam's stopped trying now, never kisses him or starts to slip a hand inside his jeans, and Dean can't decide if he's relieved or not. Still, at night he lets Sam curl up against him, slides his arm around him, and falls asleep to the sound of him snoring.
It's all he can give, and it's more than he would have before. It seems like it’s enough for Sam, although Dean's starting to think that maybe, just maybe, Sam's not the only one who misses being closer.
†
It's been a month, and the Impala is almost roadworthy again. There're a few little things he needs to tune up yet, but it's close.
He's close. He still doesn't want to talk, isn't sure he ever will, but...
Bobby's out. He told Dean where he was going, but he was too caught up in waxing the hood to pay attention. He hears Sam's footsteps on the gravel behind him, isn't surprised to feel Sam's hand on his shoulder. For a second, just a second, he lets himself lean into the warmth of his brother's body and says, "She'll be ready in a couple days."
"Yeah," Sam agrees, and Dean actually smiles a little. When he pulls away, he reaches out and touches Sam's arm.
"I might be ready in a couple days, too."
"No rush," he says, but Dean sees the light in his eyes.
†
Dean doesn't really remember the last time. He thinks he might have jerked Sam off in the car after their father left for Lincoln with that fake colt, but he's not sure. It's vague, all the memories of every time they've fucked mixed together until he's not really sure anymore. The only thing he remembers with any clarity is the first time. Everything after that is blurry, and Dean hates that he can't remember the last time.
It's been too long.
†
It's their first night away from Bobby's, a motel just outside Red Lodge. It's quiet, nothing but crickets and the warm evening breeze. Sam's sitting in bed with a book when Dean reaches over and pulls it out of his hands, leans across him to put it down on the nightstand. Sam looks at him, mouthing what? and then Dean's got his lips over Sam's and there's no more time to ask questions.
It's almost like the first time, awkward and fumbling, and it takes them both a few seconds to figure out what the fuck they're doing. But then Sam's got his fingers tangled in Dean's short hair, pulling his mouth closer, and their tongues slide together. The kiss is softer than any others Dean can remember, slower and with less teeth, but he can't bring himself to mind, just fists a hand in the front of Sam's t-shirt and groans against his brother's mouth.
It feels good to have Sam's large, warm hands in his hair, Sam's body beneath his, Sam's hot tongue pressing deeply into his mouth. He's missed this, and his whole body aches.
He presses his knee between Sam's thighs, listening to his brother's moan. "Dean," Sam whispers, a quiver in his voice as one hand moves down to curl around the back of Dean's neck. "Dean, are you -- fuck, are you sure?" He moves against Dean's leg, denim rubbing against denim, and they're both hard.
"Fuck, yeah," he groans in response, because he's been planning this for three days. He's ready, and he needs this, crushes his mouth against Sam's again, pushes his leg a little more firmly against his brother's cock until Sam is whimpering and begging for more.
He kisses Sam slowly, rubbing their bodies together, both of them groaning quietly against one another. Dean's hands slide under Sam's t-shirt, finding the familiar scars on his brother's chest; it's been too fucking long since he's felt this smooth skin beneath his calloused hands. "Please," Sam whispers. "Please, Dean."
Dean reaches down for Sam's belt, and his brother's hips arch up at the contact as Dean fumbles his jeans open, biting at his lower lip. Sam wriggles his jeans and boxers down until he's got them around his knees, and Dean's got his hand wrapped around his brother's cock. Sam's swearing against Dean's mouth, muffled moans, and Dean pulls away to let him gasp, "Fuck, Dean. Fuck me, god, please," a mantra of soft and desperate pleas.
"Yeah, I'm getting to that part," Dean whispers, and he's tugging on Sam's cock, leaning in to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against his neck. He feels Sam's pulse hammering in his throat, his cock slick and hard against his calloused palm. Sam's hips arch up with every stroke, pushing into Dean's hand. "Fuck, that's it."
It's been so long he only dimly remembers what it's like to feel Sam come undone.
It doesn't take very long. Dean finds that spot on Sam's cock, that one place that when he rubs his thumb across it makes him gasp and groan, and then a second later he's spilling come onto the sheets and Dean's hand. Dean closes his eyes, sinks down onto the bed, Sam's cock still gripped loosely in his hand. Sam nuzzles at his neck, lips forming Dean's name, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt to stroke down his spine.
"I missed that," Sam finally murmurs, and Dean knows what he means. Missed that, missed him, missed them. Dean agrees, nodding a little, pressing a kiss against the collar of Sam's shirt.
He says, quietly, "Me too." It hurts, makes his chest ache to realise this is all they have, the two of them, and nothing else. He pulls away, sitting up, and Sam reaches for him. "Dude, chill. I'm not going anywhere," he says, pulling his t-shirt off over his head before he reaches down for Sam's.
Sam's already shimmying the rest of the way out of his jeans and reaching for Dean's belt. This time Dean doesn't push him away, and Sam's hand slips into his boxers, taking hold of his cock. It's at that moment Dean suddenly realises he hasn't even touched himself in over a month, and Sam's tight grip is painful in a way that feels all too good. He's aching, so hard it fucking hurts, and he's already losing control.
"Fuck," Dean gasps. "Sam, wait," but there's no time. He's not even sure why he's asking for Sam to stop, because he needs this. He comes, hard and sudden, his hips jerking forward. He's panting for breath as he slumps back onto the bed next to Sam, and he can't even bring himself to feel ashamed. His brother gives a startled laugh, pulling his hand out of Dean's boxers and wiping it on the sheets.
"That was fast," he says dryly, and Dean groans as he presses his mouth to Sam's neck, sucking softly on his pulse-point.
"Gimme a break. It's been a over fucking month, dude." Sam laughs again, and Dean lifts his hips when his brother reaches to ease his jeans and boxers down, helping him along. He kicks them off and onto the floor when Sam gets them far enough down his legs, rolls onto his side to face his brother.
When Sam leans in and kisses him, it's soft, and Dean closes his eyes. He feels Sam's arm reach around him, hand stroking over his back, and Dean breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He shifts closer to pepper soft kisses against Sam's neck and shoulder, pressing one hand against the warm, soft skin of Sam's broad chest. Their touches are slow now, both of them spent for now, and it feels good. "Dean," Sam whispers, tilting his head to press a kiss into the crook of Dean's neck.
"We're alright," Dean says, reaching down to run fingers over Sam's hip. Sam is sweaty and warm, smells like salt and some kind of aftershave. It's familiar, comforting, feels right in a way little else does. Sam nods at his words, presses his face against Dean's shoulder with a quiet sigh.
"I know," Sam whispers against Dean's neck. "I know." Dean runs fingers along the ridges of Sam's spine, hand moving lower, over the curve of Sam's ass. "Oh, god," he murmurs, shivering beneath Dean's touch, and Dean smiles.
"Yeah," Dean agrees, pulling Sam's legs apart. Sam knows what's coming, and Dean can hear the soft hitches in his breath, feel the warm exhale against his neck as Sam reaches up to rest his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean can feel Sam's whole body tense with anticipation, and he mutters, "I'll go slow," against his brother's ear.
"Please," Sam whispers, the soft note of a plea in his voice. "Dean, please."
Dean slips a finger inside him, and Sam presses his teeth into Dean's shoulder. He's tight, because it's been a fucking month since they've done this, but he's moaning. Dean sighs against Sam's hair, one hand pressed into the small of Sam's back, keeping him close. "This alright?" he asks softly, and Sam nods.
"More," he murmurs, and his teeth move up to nip softly at Dean's throat. "Please."
"Not yet," Dean whispers. "You're not ready." He slides his single finger in deeper, and Sam gasps out, whimpering. God, he doesn't think Sam's ever been this tight before, not even the first time, and he doesn't want to hurt him, not this time.
"God."
"It's Dean."
Sam's laugh in response is hoarse, gasping, and Dean feels him start to loosen, just a little. He slides a second finger in, and this time Sam's whimper is one of pain. "Dean," he says, his voice tight and a little choked.
"It's alright," Dean murmurs, comforting as best he can. "It's alright, Sammy." He doesn't push all the way in right away, goes as slow as he can until he feels Sam relax against him. Sam moans against his neck, reaching up to dig fingers into his shoulders. "You're alright," Dean says again.
"Oh, god, Dean," Sam whimpers as Dean pushes all the way in, and this time Sam pushes back against him. He closes his eyes to listen to Sam's soft moans, his quiet pleas for more. He can feel the first new tendrils of heat in the pit of his stomach, the stirrings in his cock. Sam's half-hard as well, pressed against Dean's thigh.
"Fuck me," Sam begs, and groans when Dean presses his fingers back into him, faster this time than before. Sam's got one leg wrapped around Dean's hips, opening wide for Dean's fingers inside him. "Fuck, yes." Dean leans in to kiss him, and Sam's mouth is slack and open beneath his.
Dean fucks him with his hand, kissing his mouth and jaw, Sam moaning every time Dean's fingers thrust into him. Sam's cock pushes against Dean's leg, and Sam digs blunt nails into his brother's shoulders. "Harder," he gasps, and he moans out in relief when Dean thrusts a third finger deep inside.
Dean's hard again, aching -- they both are. He pulls his fingers out, rolling Sam onto his back. "Ready?" Dean breathes, now pressing open-mouthed kisses against Sam’s collarbone.
Sam's already got his knees pulled up and Dean's fumbling for the lube he put in the nightstand drawer earlier. "Fuck me," Sam groans, and Dean rubs lube onto his cock before pressing himself between his brother's legs.
"Gettin' there," he murmurs, sliding his mouth over Sam's before he pushes in. Sam's eyes are closed, screwed shut, fingers digging sharply into Dean's back, gasping out. It takes a few shallow thrusts to get all the way in, and Dean takes his time, murmurs Sam's name to soothe him, reaches down to wrap one hand around his brother's cock. "C'mon."
Sam's looking at him now, eyes wide, and he's quiet although his mouth is hanging open. It feels good to be back inside him this way, feels right, and it's been too damn long. "Fuck," Sam whispers when Dean pulls out, and then groans when he thrusts in again. "Jesus, Dean."
Dean drops his head to Sam's neck, kisses his way from collarbone up to that soft and tender spot below his ear. He pushes himself deeply into Sam's body, his little brother's cock gripped tightly in his hand. "Fuck, that's it," he murmurs before he captures Sam's mouth for another hot kiss. He feels Sam moving beneath him, with him, and he breathes in deeply the smells of sweat and sex and Sam.
He remembers now, in vivid detail, the last time he fucked Sam, dingy motel in Colorado, sweat and tangled sheets and Sam whispering his name. Remembers how it was just like this, only faster, harder, his fist pumping Sam's cock until they both came, shaking and collapsing back onto the mattress. He remembers them jerking each other off in the Impala, parked in a muddy field minutes after their father left, scared and whispering comforts they both tried so hard to mean. He remembers stroking Sam's hair with sticky fingers as his brother's head rested on his shoulder, and he pushes deeply into his brother's body and as Sam groans beneath him, he whispers, "We'll make it -- fuck, Sam, we'll make it."
He doesn't know if it's true, but as he thrusts into Sam, feels the mattress groan beneath their combined weight, Sam's mouth against his neck and hands clutching his shoulders, it's possible to believe it could be. Sam's getting close now, they both are, Dean's fist tight and hot around his brother's cock, both of them damp and slick with sweat. Sam whispers, "I know," as he shifts his hands higher to pull Dean down. When they kiss it's hungry, desperate, and Dean feels it when Sam comes, wet and warm against his stomach.
He only has a dim second to wonder if lasting longer on this round might erase some of the embarrassment from coming so fast the first time, and then his vision's going white and all he can hear is Sam's ragged breath and his own hammering heartbeat. He slumps down on top of Sam, easing out of him but not moving from between his legs.
They lay like that for a long moment, both of them panting for breath, Dean sifting a hand through Sam's sweaty hair. Sam presses kisses against his shoulder until Dean finally pulls away, gently nudging Sam onto his side. They're both sticky with sweat and come but Dean still arranges himself along Sam's back, stretches an arm across his waist and murmurs, "Sorry that took me so long."
He feels Sam's laugh more than he really hears it. "Didn't take you very long at all the first time," and he laughs out loud when Dean's hand connects with the side of his head before returning to it's place on his stomach.
"Fuck you," Dean murmurs against Sam's neck, and Sam shifts down to tuck his head under Dean's chin. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Yeah, I know. And you just did."
"Oh," Dean murmurs, and he chuckles quietly. "Yeah. I did."
†
He wakes up with Sam pressed against him, head still tucked against Dean's chest, his hip smooth beneath Dean's hand. The sun's already up, drifting in through the slim gap in the curtains. Dean's vaguely aware of the fact that they should get up, lifts his head and sees that it's already 8AM. Still, he's tired, and Sam's still asleep for once, so he drops his head back to the pillow and reaches down for the discarded blanket, pulling it back over their bodies.
"Morning," Sam mumbles.
Dean gives a slight shake of his head, pulling Sam a little closer. "Go back to sleep, Sammy. Not morning yet."
He wants another hour or so. Hell, he wants to spend the whole day in bed, wishes that was an option. Sill, he thinks can fuck Sam again before they have to head out. "'Night," Sam says sleepily, and Dean smiles, lets himself pretend that things will be okay. For now, maybe they are.
Author: abrupte
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: NC17.
Genre: Semi-angsty PWP.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Wordcount: 3000ish.
Spoilers: Up to Bloodlust.
Summary: Sam just wants to be close to him again, but Dean's not ready to go back to that, not yet. It takes time.
A/N: I swore I'd never read wincest. clex_monkie89 gave me hansbekhart's The Miner's Lamp, and I said, "Okay, wincest is alright -- wincest is more than alright. It's good!" But I swore that while I might read wincest, I would never write it. Yeah, right. The moral of this story? clex_monkie89 rocks, and when it comes to Supernatural, I should never, ever, in a million years, start a sentence with "I'll never." Because at the end of the day, I have no fucking shame. This is the first wincest I've written, and the first NC17 piece I've ever posted. It's written for clex_monkie89 as her prize for furthering the gay agenda, and getting me to read the 'cest. Also, a dedication to all the other awesome wincesters who've been amusing me for the past weeks. Y'all know who you are.
Also, a huge shout out to everyone who looked at this piece before I posted it: aderei, candygramme, hansbekhart, jamiesspawn, mooncross and super_kc. If the sheer number of people who I got to read this doesn't tip you off about how nervous posting this made me, well -- dude. What else can I say?
†
There's not much left of their father when they get back into the van that Bobby lent them. Sam's face is tear-streaked and he's shaking, his hands trembling as he reaches for the buckle of Dean's belt.
"Don't," Dean says quietly. "Sam, don't."
Sam puts his hands in his lap, looking out the window. "Alright," he whispers.
†
Dean's half-asleep when he feels Sam's mouth close over his. It's been a week.
It's been a week, and Dean rolls onto his side, away from the hand that Sam rests on his hip, and pretends he can't hear his brother sigh.
"Dean," Sam whispers, but he pulls away. "I'm sorry."
†
He's curled up on the old mattress that Bobby found for them, listening to Sam jerk off in the bathroom. It's quiet except for the sound of Sam's soft moans, and Dean hears the whisper of his own name. He draws the thin blanket close, closing his eyes and trying not to hear.
Eventually Sam's moans stop, and the door creaks open. Sam's weight settles down next to him on the mattress. Dean can't give him much, still too heart-sore and sick to give his brother want he wants, but he rolls towards Sam and stretches an arm across his body.
His younger brother nestles close to him, tucking his head under Dean's chin, and Dean still doesn't know how someone as big as Sam can seem so small. He sighs, presses a kiss against Sam's hair.
Sam murmurs, "Dean."
"Go to sleep," Dean says quietly. "Just go to sleep, Sammy."
†
He gives his brother what he can. It's not much, but he absently brushes his shoulder against Sam's as he walks past him to get a cup of coffee, or put his hand on Sam's knee under the table at breakfast. Sam's stopped trying now, never kisses him or starts to slip a hand inside his jeans, and Dean can't decide if he's relieved or not. Still, at night he lets Sam curl up against him, slides his arm around him, and falls asleep to the sound of him snoring.
It's all he can give, and it's more than he would have before. It seems like it’s enough for Sam, although Dean's starting to think that maybe, just maybe, Sam's not the only one who misses being closer.
†
It's been a month, and the Impala is almost roadworthy again. There're a few little things he needs to tune up yet, but it's close.
He's close. He still doesn't want to talk, isn't sure he ever will, but...
Bobby's out. He told Dean where he was going, but he was too caught up in waxing the hood to pay attention. He hears Sam's footsteps on the gravel behind him, isn't surprised to feel Sam's hand on his shoulder. For a second, just a second, he lets himself lean into the warmth of his brother's body and says, "She'll be ready in a couple days."
"Yeah," Sam agrees, and Dean actually smiles a little. When he pulls away, he reaches out and touches Sam's arm.
"I might be ready in a couple days, too."
"No rush," he says, but Dean sees the light in his eyes.
†
Dean doesn't really remember the last time. He thinks he might have jerked Sam off in the car after their father left for Lincoln with that fake colt, but he's not sure. It's vague, all the memories of every time they've fucked mixed together until he's not really sure anymore. The only thing he remembers with any clarity is the first time. Everything after that is blurry, and Dean hates that he can't remember the last time.
It's been too long.
†
It's their first night away from Bobby's, a motel just outside Red Lodge. It's quiet, nothing but crickets and the warm evening breeze. Sam's sitting in bed with a book when Dean reaches over and pulls it out of his hands, leans across him to put it down on the nightstand. Sam looks at him, mouthing what? and then Dean's got his lips over Sam's and there's no more time to ask questions.
It's almost like the first time, awkward and fumbling, and it takes them both a few seconds to figure out what the fuck they're doing. But then Sam's got his fingers tangled in Dean's short hair, pulling his mouth closer, and their tongues slide together. The kiss is softer than any others Dean can remember, slower and with less teeth, but he can't bring himself to mind, just fists a hand in the front of Sam's t-shirt and groans against his brother's mouth.
It feels good to have Sam's large, warm hands in his hair, Sam's body beneath his, Sam's hot tongue pressing deeply into his mouth. He's missed this, and his whole body aches.
He presses his knee between Sam's thighs, listening to his brother's moan. "Dean," Sam whispers, a quiver in his voice as one hand moves down to curl around the back of Dean's neck. "Dean, are you -- fuck, are you sure?" He moves against Dean's leg, denim rubbing against denim, and they're both hard.
"Fuck, yeah," he groans in response, because he's been planning this for three days. He's ready, and he needs this, crushes his mouth against Sam's again, pushes his leg a little more firmly against his brother's cock until Sam is whimpering and begging for more.
He kisses Sam slowly, rubbing their bodies together, both of them groaning quietly against one another. Dean's hands slide under Sam's t-shirt, finding the familiar scars on his brother's chest; it's been too fucking long since he's felt this smooth skin beneath his calloused hands. "Please," Sam whispers. "Please, Dean."
Dean reaches down for Sam's belt, and his brother's hips arch up at the contact as Dean fumbles his jeans open, biting at his lower lip. Sam wriggles his jeans and boxers down until he's got them around his knees, and Dean's got his hand wrapped around his brother's cock. Sam's swearing against Dean's mouth, muffled moans, and Dean pulls away to let him gasp, "Fuck, Dean. Fuck me, god, please," a mantra of soft and desperate pleas.
"Yeah, I'm getting to that part," Dean whispers, and he's tugging on Sam's cock, leaning in to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against his neck. He feels Sam's pulse hammering in his throat, his cock slick and hard against his calloused palm. Sam's hips arch up with every stroke, pushing into Dean's hand. "Fuck, that's it."
It's been so long he only dimly remembers what it's like to feel Sam come undone.
It doesn't take very long. Dean finds that spot on Sam's cock, that one place that when he rubs his thumb across it makes him gasp and groan, and then a second later he's spilling come onto the sheets and Dean's hand. Dean closes his eyes, sinks down onto the bed, Sam's cock still gripped loosely in his hand. Sam nuzzles at his neck, lips forming Dean's name, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt to stroke down his spine.
"I missed that," Sam finally murmurs, and Dean knows what he means. Missed that, missed him, missed them. Dean agrees, nodding a little, pressing a kiss against the collar of Sam's shirt.
He says, quietly, "Me too." It hurts, makes his chest ache to realise this is all they have, the two of them, and nothing else. He pulls away, sitting up, and Sam reaches for him. "Dude, chill. I'm not going anywhere," he says, pulling his t-shirt off over his head before he reaches down for Sam's.
Sam's already shimmying the rest of the way out of his jeans and reaching for Dean's belt. This time Dean doesn't push him away, and Sam's hand slips into his boxers, taking hold of his cock. It's at that moment Dean suddenly realises he hasn't even touched himself in over a month, and Sam's tight grip is painful in a way that feels all too good. He's aching, so hard it fucking hurts, and he's already losing control.
"Fuck," Dean gasps. "Sam, wait," but there's no time. He's not even sure why he's asking for Sam to stop, because he needs this. He comes, hard and sudden, his hips jerking forward. He's panting for breath as he slumps back onto the bed next to Sam, and he can't even bring himself to feel ashamed. His brother gives a startled laugh, pulling his hand out of Dean's boxers and wiping it on the sheets.
"That was fast," he says dryly, and Dean groans as he presses his mouth to Sam's neck, sucking softly on his pulse-point.
"Gimme a break. It's been a over fucking month, dude." Sam laughs again, and Dean lifts his hips when his brother reaches to ease his jeans and boxers down, helping him along. He kicks them off and onto the floor when Sam gets them far enough down his legs, rolls onto his side to face his brother.
When Sam leans in and kisses him, it's soft, and Dean closes his eyes. He feels Sam's arm reach around him, hand stroking over his back, and Dean breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He shifts closer to pepper soft kisses against Sam's neck and shoulder, pressing one hand against the warm, soft skin of Sam's broad chest. Their touches are slow now, both of them spent for now, and it feels good. "Dean," Sam whispers, tilting his head to press a kiss into the crook of Dean's neck.
"We're alright," Dean says, reaching down to run fingers over Sam's hip. Sam is sweaty and warm, smells like salt and some kind of aftershave. It's familiar, comforting, feels right in a way little else does. Sam nods at his words, presses his face against Dean's shoulder with a quiet sigh.
"I know," Sam whispers against Dean's neck. "I know." Dean runs fingers along the ridges of Sam's spine, hand moving lower, over the curve of Sam's ass. "Oh, god," he murmurs, shivering beneath Dean's touch, and Dean smiles.
"Yeah," Dean agrees, pulling Sam's legs apart. Sam knows what's coming, and Dean can hear the soft hitches in his breath, feel the warm exhale against his neck as Sam reaches up to rest his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean can feel Sam's whole body tense with anticipation, and he mutters, "I'll go slow," against his brother's ear.
"Please," Sam whispers, the soft note of a plea in his voice. "Dean, please."
Dean slips a finger inside him, and Sam presses his teeth into Dean's shoulder. He's tight, because it's been a fucking month since they've done this, but he's moaning. Dean sighs against Sam's hair, one hand pressed into the small of Sam's back, keeping him close. "This alright?" he asks softly, and Sam nods.
"More," he murmurs, and his teeth move up to nip softly at Dean's throat. "Please."
"Not yet," Dean whispers. "You're not ready." He slides his single finger in deeper, and Sam gasps out, whimpering. God, he doesn't think Sam's ever been this tight before, not even the first time, and he doesn't want to hurt him, not this time.
"God."
"It's Dean."
Sam's laugh in response is hoarse, gasping, and Dean feels him start to loosen, just a little. He slides a second finger in, and this time Sam's whimper is one of pain. "Dean," he says, his voice tight and a little choked.
"It's alright," Dean murmurs, comforting as best he can. "It's alright, Sammy." He doesn't push all the way in right away, goes as slow as he can until he feels Sam relax against him. Sam moans against his neck, reaching up to dig fingers into his shoulders. "You're alright," Dean says again.
"Oh, god, Dean," Sam whimpers as Dean pushes all the way in, and this time Sam pushes back against him. He closes his eyes to listen to Sam's soft moans, his quiet pleas for more. He can feel the first new tendrils of heat in the pit of his stomach, the stirrings in his cock. Sam's half-hard as well, pressed against Dean's thigh.
"Fuck me," Sam begs, and groans when Dean presses his fingers back into him, faster this time than before. Sam's got one leg wrapped around Dean's hips, opening wide for Dean's fingers inside him. "Fuck, yes." Dean leans in to kiss him, and Sam's mouth is slack and open beneath his.
Dean fucks him with his hand, kissing his mouth and jaw, Sam moaning every time Dean's fingers thrust into him. Sam's cock pushes against Dean's leg, and Sam digs blunt nails into his brother's shoulders. "Harder," he gasps, and he moans out in relief when Dean thrusts a third finger deep inside.
Dean's hard again, aching -- they both are. He pulls his fingers out, rolling Sam onto his back. "Ready?" Dean breathes, now pressing open-mouthed kisses against Sam’s collarbone.
Sam's already got his knees pulled up and Dean's fumbling for the lube he put in the nightstand drawer earlier. "Fuck me," Sam groans, and Dean rubs lube onto his cock before pressing himself between his brother's legs.
"Gettin' there," he murmurs, sliding his mouth over Sam's before he pushes in. Sam's eyes are closed, screwed shut, fingers digging sharply into Dean's back, gasping out. It takes a few shallow thrusts to get all the way in, and Dean takes his time, murmurs Sam's name to soothe him, reaches down to wrap one hand around his brother's cock. "C'mon."
Sam's looking at him now, eyes wide, and he's quiet although his mouth is hanging open. It feels good to be back inside him this way, feels right, and it's been too damn long. "Fuck," Sam whispers when Dean pulls out, and then groans when he thrusts in again. "Jesus, Dean."
Dean drops his head to Sam's neck, kisses his way from collarbone up to that soft and tender spot below his ear. He pushes himself deeply into Sam's body, his little brother's cock gripped tightly in his hand. "Fuck, that's it," he murmurs before he captures Sam's mouth for another hot kiss. He feels Sam moving beneath him, with him, and he breathes in deeply the smells of sweat and sex and Sam.
He remembers now, in vivid detail, the last time he fucked Sam, dingy motel in Colorado, sweat and tangled sheets and Sam whispering his name. Remembers how it was just like this, only faster, harder, his fist pumping Sam's cock until they both came, shaking and collapsing back onto the mattress. He remembers them jerking each other off in the Impala, parked in a muddy field minutes after their father left, scared and whispering comforts they both tried so hard to mean. He remembers stroking Sam's hair with sticky fingers as his brother's head rested on his shoulder, and he pushes deeply into his brother's body and as Sam groans beneath him, he whispers, "We'll make it -- fuck, Sam, we'll make it."
He doesn't know if it's true, but as he thrusts into Sam, feels the mattress groan beneath their combined weight, Sam's mouth against his neck and hands clutching his shoulders, it's possible to believe it could be. Sam's getting close now, they both are, Dean's fist tight and hot around his brother's cock, both of them damp and slick with sweat. Sam whispers, "I know," as he shifts his hands higher to pull Dean down. When they kiss it's hungry, desperate, and Dean feels it when Sam comes, wet and warm against his stomach.
He only has a dim second to wonder if lasting longer on this round might erase some of the embarrassment from coming so fast the first time, and then his vision's going white and all he can hear is Sam's ragged breath and his own hammering heartbeat. He slumps down on top of Sam, easing out of him but not moving from between his legs.
They lay like that for a long moment, both of them panting for breath, Dean sifting a hand through Sam's sweaty hair. Sam presses kisses against his shoulder until Dean finally pulls away, gently nudging Sam onto his side. They're both sticky with sweat and come but Dean still arranges himself along Sam's back, stretches an arm across his waist and murmurs, "Sorry that took me so long."
He feels Sam's laugh more than he really hears it. "Didn't take you very long at all the first time," and he laughs out loud when Dean's hand connects with the side of his head before returning to it's place on his stomach.
"Fuck you," Dean murmurs against Sam's neck, and Sam shifts down to tuck his head under Dean's chin. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Yeah, I know. And you just did."
"Oh," Dean murmurs, and he chuckles quietly. "Yeah. I did."
†
He wakes up with Sam pressed against him, head still tucked against Dean's chest, his hip smooth beneath Dean's hand. The sun's already up, drifting in through the slim gap in the curtains. Dean's vaguely aware of the fact that they should get up, lifts his head and sees that it's already 8AM. Still, he's tired, and Sam's still asleep for once, so he drops his head back to the pillow and reaches down for the discarded blanket, pulling it back over their bodies.
"Morning," Sam mumbles.
Dean gives a slight shake of his head, pulling Sam a little closer. "Go back to sleep, Sammy. Not morning yet."
He wants another hour or so. Hell, he wants to spend the whole day in bed, wishes that was an option. Sill, he thinks can fuck Sam again before they have to head out. "'Night," Sam says sleepily, and Dean smiles, lets himself pretend that things will be okay. For now, maybe they are.