So Much it Burns Part 3
5. 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.
ldquo;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
ldquo;Quit yer Bitchin’. We’re here.” Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and turned him around.
ldquo;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-
ldquo;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 any chance 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.”
ldquo;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 click and 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.
6. 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.”
ldquo;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.
ldquo;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.
ldquo;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.”
ldquo;I can take care of myself.” Sam rolled his eyes, but otherwise accepted Brian’s helping hand. “I’m not a girl you know."
ldquo;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.
ldquo;Cool car” Brian whistled as they walked by the Impala. Stared at it briefly and then continued walking.
ldquo;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.
ldquo;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.
ldquo;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’re my business, Sam. Everything about you is 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’s T-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 not just 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.”