Chapter Text
“Let’s say you swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure.”
Richard Siken
“Good. I’m alright. I’m just… tired, you know? Be better when we get him back… after… after I kick his butt.”
Sam positioned his phone between his ear and his shoulder, switching the coffee machine on with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.
He heard Cas sigh deeply on the other end of the line, before saying, “I miss him.”
And what the hell was Sam supposed to say to that? He took a deep breath, and held back the irritable retort sitting right on the tip of his tongue. You know nothing about missing him, Cas. I feel like I’m missing a fucking limb with him gone. Instead he just replied with a terse, “Yeah.”
Cas didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Sam’s mood. Sam was exhausted and wrung out, physically and emotionally, and he knew that he’d been snapping at people unnecessarily. If the packer at the small grocery store they’d been frequenting since moving to the Bunker, told him to “have a nice day, now,” just one more time, Sam was going to cut a bitch, literally.
But Cas was struggling with his fading grace and in spite of that, he had been there to help Sam with anything Sam asked of him. Sam reckoned he could show Cas the same consideration. He could hear how weak Cas was. After telling Cas to get some rest, Sam hung up. He shouldn’t have phoned him in the first place. It was a weak lead and now he had probably worried Cas. It was just that Sam was used to having a sounding board, and now there was no-one. No-one but Cas. Sure, Sam could probably have phoned Jody, but he didn’t want to involve her in all of this. She had her hands full with Alex.
The coffee machine beeped, and Sam walked to the sink to rinse out a mug, and then back over to the machine to pour himself a cup. It was a little burnt (old machine) but it was hot and strong, and just what Sam needed. He sat down at the table, one large hand curled around the mug, the other holding his head up as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He jumped so violently when his phone rang, vibrating loudly on the table at the same time, that he nearly tipped the chair back and over. Shaking his head—thinking to himself that he really should try to get some sleep tonight, his nerves were shot—he looked at the caller ID on the phone. Unknown number. Huh.
Picking the phone up, Sam tapped the screen and held the phone up to his ear, closing his eyes as he said, “Hello?” a little gruffly.
“Sam?”
Sam stood up so quickly, he knocked the chair back and bumped the table, tipping his mug over and spilling hot, black liquid all over. By the time it started dripping onto the floor, Sam still hadn’t been able to say a word.
“Hey, Sam? Can you hear me?”
The line was a little crackly, but Sam knew that voice. Would know it anywhere. That voice had raised him. “Dean?” he gasped. “Oh my God, Dean, where the fuck are you? Are you okay? Where are you? We’ve been looking for you for six weeks, Dean! We thought... Where the fuck are you?”
Sam heard a low chuckle before his brother said, “Slow down, Sammy, we’ll get to all that. I’m fine. I’m in Rapid City right now. I’m good.”
“Rapid City? What the hell happened to you? Why the hell are you in Rapid City?” Sam felt like his brain was wrapped in cotton wool, he couldn’t think straight. What was happening? Dean was alive?
“Wait, never mind, tell me later. I’m coming to get you. Where exactly in Rapid City are you?” Sam was already packing up his laptop, stuffing it into its bag, without rolling the cord up properly, and walking to his room to collect his duffel, which he hadn’t yet unpacked since he got back to the Bunker a few days ago. Should be fine. He had weapons in it and anything else he might need was still in the trunk of the car he’d been using. Bless the Men of Letters’ garage.
Dean rattled off the address of the motel he was staying in, and Sam tapped it into the GPS of his phone, already out the door. “Can’t wait to see you, kiddo...” was the last thing Sam heard before they hung up. There was something about the way that Dean said those words that made gooseflesh pop up all over Sam’s skin. He wasn’t sure if it was the good kind of gooseflesh or the bad kind, so he shrugged it off, got in the car and pulled away. It never occurred to him to wonder why Dean hadn’t just driven home to the Bunker.
Sam made the eight hour drive, from Lebanon, Kansas, to Rapid City, South Dakota, in six.
****
Pulling up to the small motel, Sam noticed that it was a little more skeevy than what Dean would normally choose. If he had a choice. Often they didn’t. And Sam knew nothing about Dean’s situation yet. He could be injured, probably had no money. Worse case scenarios had been popping into Sam’s head the entire drive. He kept telling himself that he knew nothing, that Dean had sounded good, alive. As long as he was alive, they could deal with anything.
He drove through the motel parking, looking for the number of Dean’s room. 13. “Means nothing,” Sam muttered to himself. He turned a corner and saw the Impala parked at the end of the row of rooms. As he pulled in next to her, the door to the room she was parked in front of opened, and Dean leaned casually against the door frame. Sam’s breath hitched as he saw his brother, alive, whole. He suddenly felt weightless. For six weeks he’d been simply keeping on, trying to find any clue about where Dean had gone and why. And the whole time he’d been so afraid that Dean was dead. Or worse. But Dean was fine, standing with the light from his room surrounding him, in old faded jeans and his black t-shirt. His hair was longer than Sam was used to, he was barefoot, drinking from a can Sam assumed was beer, with a soft smirk on his face. Sam could’ve sobbed with relief.
He was out of the car almost before he’d switched the ignition off, and it took him three long strides to reach Dean and pull him in for a crushing hug. Sam pushed Dean away briefly, looked him up and down, checking for… anything. But Dean looked fine, so Sam just pulled him back in and hugged him harder. He could feel Dean chuckling softly, but his brother hugged him back just as tightly. Then Dean pulled away, brushing Sam’s cheek with his hand briefly—Sam barely had a chance to think that’s new —and stepped into the room, bringing Sam in with him. Dean sat down at the rickety little table in what Sam presumed was supposed to be the kitchenette, but was really just a counter with an old kettle on it, and motioned toward the second chair on the other side of the table. Sam sat down, hardly taking his eyes off of his brother, half afraid that if he looked away, or even blinked, Dean would disappear.
Dean handed him a beer, took a long swig of his own, waiting for Sam to pop the tab and have a drink. As Sam put the can on the table, Dean said, “heya, Sam,’ and grinned. Sam grinned back. He couldn’t help it. Dean was alive and fine!
“Heya, Jerk. Where the fuck have you been?!” Sam felt as if his face might cramp he was smiling so hard.
Dean’s smile faltered a little.
“Dean? Hey, are you okay? Tell me what happened.”
“That’s just the thing, Sam. I have no idea. I woke up a few days ago, in a dive bar in North Dakota. Baby’s keys were in my pocket, the room I was in was paid up till the next day. Chick from the bar told me a smarmy guy with a British accent had brought me in and paid the bill.”
“Crowley,” Sam growled.
“Gotta be, right? Thing I can’t figure is what his game is. And where have I been for—you said it’s been six weeks since the fight with Metatron?”
Sam nodded.
“So what the fuck happened in between then and me waking up in fucking North Dakota?”
Sam took a long drink, and put the can back down shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. Cas and me, we’ve been following every lead, looking everywhere we could think. It was as if you never existed.
Dean looked up quickly, “Cas? Is he… coming here?” He seemed a little nervous, but Sam chalked it up to the weird situation.
“Nah, Cas isn’t, uh. Cas isn’t doing so well. He’s… well...”
Dean interrupted him with a wave of his hand, “Tell me about Cas later, I wanna know what’s been going on with you. It’s weird, I know I only woke up days ago, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in years, Sam.”
It wasn’t like Dean to wave Cas off—literally—but he spoke to Sam with such warmth in his voice. Sam felt as if he hadn’t heard Dean speak to him like that since he was a teenager and had hit every mark during target practice. He felt like his insides were glowing, when Dean spoke to him like that.
“Yeah I—I feel the same. We were so worried Dean.”
Sam told Dean the whole story. How he’d taken Dean’s body back to the Bunker, cleaned him up as well as he could. How he’d tried to summon Crowley, but nothing had happened. How he’d drunk himself into a stupor, not wanting to face Dean’s corpse. And how, when he’d finally worked up the nerve, Dean was gone, with only a note left on his pillow. He didn’t tell Dean how he had sobbed when he’d read that note.
Dean listened to his brother talking, as if it was the only sound in the world. Sam couldn’t remember the last time Dean had focused on him like that. He thought that he should probably find it a little weird, uncomfortable even, but he just didn’t. Sam had always loved Dean’s attention, coveted it, actually. Deep down, he thought that was probably why he’d never got on with his dad; because when John was around, Dean’s attention was all for their dad. And Sam had been jealous. Shit, Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about this. But here he was soaking up Dean’s focus like the attention whore he hadn’t been since he’d left for Stanford. Which was why he’d left for Stanford...
Sam shook his head, trying to get rid of thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to have for over a decade. The gooseflesh was back.
Dean watched Sam, with a weird little smile on his face. Sam missed it, totally wrapped in his own head for a minute, but when Dean cleared his throat and Sam looked back to him the smile was gone, and Dean’s face was the picture of big brotherly concern.
“You okay, little brother?” Dean’s voice was a little low and a lot gravely. Sam tried to suppress the small shiver that ran down his spine.
“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. It’s just. I was so worried, Dean. You were dead, and I thought—I thought that was it. I thought it was over. And I thought that was the worst thing that could happen, but then… then you were gone. There wasn’t even a body to burn, and I had—” Sam’s throat was tight and he was trying not to let the sob that was stuck there escape, but he was exhausted and so damn relieved, and he just couldn’t stop it. “I had no idea what had happened to you.” Fuck it. He was man enough to cry, and he thought he was allowed to in a situation like this. His brother had seen him in worse shape. He broke down, sobs wracking his worn out body, tears streaking down his face.
Dean stood up slowly, schooling his features into an expression of sympathy, and walked around the table to crouch down in front of his brother. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I can’t even imagine. And this is the second time I’ve disappeared on you. Of course, the first time you didn’t—well never mind about that now. I’ve forgiven you for that, anyhow...” Before Sam could even finish the thought, how could he bring that up now, the bastard?, Dean had pulled Sam’s head down to his shoulder and was running his fingers through Sam’s hair. Sam wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, he couldn’t remember the last time Dean had even touched his hair, but he was feeling small and broken and his brother’s hands on him felt good.
Dean was saying things like, “You’re okay now, Sam, I’m okay, now,” and “we’ll get through this,” and “it’s just you and me, against the world,” and “I—I love you so fuckin’ much, Sam.”
Wait, what?
Sam tried to pull away, feeling confused, but also not wanting to be too far away from Dean.
“Uh, what...?”
Dean let Sam lean out of his embrace and looked down at the floor, his cheeks turning a little red. Sam tried to tell himself it was from the beer. The one beer, that Dean hadn’t even finished. He must have been drinking before Sam arrived. Yeah, that was it.
Dean ran his fingers through his longer hair, looking flustered. “ Fuck. I swore to myself I wouldn’t—look, Sam, just forget it, I didn’t mean it, I mean, I did, sure, you’re my brother of course I love you but, not like what—um...”
Dean looked up at Sam then, and Sam wasn’t sure what Twilight Zone he’d stumbled into, but the look in Dean’s eyes, pupils blown full black… Sam had never seen that look in his brother’s eyes, and had thought that he never, ever would. Dirty, bad, wrong. Brothers.
“Fuck it,” Dean growled. Growled. And then he pulled Sam’s head down to his roughly, and Sam’s head was spinning, and Dean’s mouth was on his, and he could taste the metallic tang of blood as their teeth clashed and their tongues got caught in the frenzy.
Sam finally found the wherewithal to pull away, and hold his brother at arm’s length. “Dean, what the fuck?” Sam licked his lips, could still taste Dean and blood, and brought a finger up to touch his mouth which was still buzzing with the memory of Dean. The taste...
Dean’s eyes were locked on Sam’s mouth, watching it with such a look of hunger, Sam groaned. Dean didn’t even look ashamed. He looked… Victorious. But at Sam’s groan he seemed to check himself, and managed to paint a sheepish look on his face.
“I’m sorry, Sam. No, fuck, I’m NOT sorry. Look, you can push me away, or hell, never talk to me again, but I’ve seen how you look at me Sam! Since you were, hell, younger than I care to think about. I’ve watched you watching me, looking at me like I was a cool drink that you just wanted more and more and more of.”
By this time, Sam had his head in his hands, covering his face. He groaned again, with shame, with hopelessness. He had never wanted Dean to know any of this. He might as well just put a bullet in his brain right now.
But Dean was still talking. He took Sam’s head in his own hands, angling it up so that Sam was looking right into his brother’s eyes. Sam could only see a thin sliver of the green that had haunted his dreams since as far back as he could remember.
“Sam—Sammy—(the way Dean said that name made Sam uncomfortable) It was the same for me. I felt the same. I feel the same. I thought that something was wrong with me, that my wrongness had infected you. I tried so damn hard not feel what I did. I thought I’d die when you left, and I was so fucking grateful that you did. I hated you and loved you for leaving. But these past few days, all I’ve been able to think about is you. At first I thought for sure I’d been away for years, and I missed you so bad, I thought I might break apart with missing you. All I’ve been dreaming about is you, your skin, fuck there’s so much skin, and your stupid hair, and your goddamn dimples...” Dean was running his hands over every bit of Sam he could reach and there was simply no way Sam could hold back the shudder that went through his entire body. Dean’s eyes glinted at that, a sinister thing Sam thought he must have imagined, as it had nothing to do with the words coming out of Dean’s mouth. Words he’d wanted to hear his whole life, but knew he never would. Sam was so hard it hurt, and as he glanced down between his brother’s legs he saw a bulge there, clearly outlined in denim and obvious from the way Dean was crouching, and his mouth watered. Dirty, bad, wrong. Brothers.
“...your mouth, your fucking mouth, Sam...” Sam’s name was muffled as Dean brought his own mouth to his brother’s again and softly licked it open, until he was inside, and Sam thought he had never in his life felt anything so perfect. He felt Dean grin against his mouth, and pushed away briefly, to look at his brother. All he saw in Dean’s face was love and lust. He missed the smugness that was hidden right in the corner of Dean’s mouth.
Sam gave in. After everything they’d been through, after everything he’d been through over the last six weeks, he was going to allow himself this and deal with any fallout when and if it came. Sam pulled Dean back to his mouth, and kissed him with everything he had.
It was Dean’s turn to groan, and he stood up, never taking his mouth from Sam’s and pulling his brother up with him. Still kissing, filthy, delicious kissing, sloppy with tongues and sharp with teeth, Dean maneuvered them toward the king sized bed Sam hadn’t really noticed before. Odd that Dean had gotten a room with one king instead of two queens. They always got two queens, even when they were travelling alone, it was an ingrained habit. Sam had spent four months getting two queens and hating himself for it when Dean was in Hell, and again when Dean was in Purgatory. Until he’d met Amelia, that is. Sam barely had a second to think all of this, because Dean had pushed his flannel shirt down his arms, and was lifting Sam’s t-shirt up to get at his skin. Sam shrugged the flannel to the floor, bringing his hands back to Dean’s face and angling his brother’s head, to get deeper inside his mouth. Dean pulled back a little, nipped at Sam’s bottom lip as he pulled away completely to pull his own black t-shirt over his head.
Sam felt his calves hit the mattress, and Dean pushed him gently so that his legs buckled and he fell onto the bed. He laughed a little, catching his breath before pushing himself up toward the pillows at the head of the bed. Dean looked over his brother’s body, and Sam would have sworn that he could feel that look, all over his skin. It felt a little oily…
Dean looked back up to Sam’s eyes, and didn’t take his eyes away from his brother’s as he unzipped his own jeans, and pushed them down off his hips and to the ground. Sam swallowed a gasp when he saw that Dean wasn’t wearing any underwear. Dean never went commando. Before he could think any more about it, Dean was crawling up the bed towards Sam, his thick cock swinging a little as he moved. Sam couldn’t take his eyes away from it; his brother’s cock was an angry red, it was so hard, and there was a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Sam wanted to lick it so badly.
Dean laughed a little when he saw where Sam’s eyes were locked. “You want a taste, little brother?” Sam’s eyes moved to Dean’s. “Yeah, you want the taste of your big brother’s cock on your tongue, kiddo. Filthy kid.” Sam did. He really did. He didn’t love the way Dean said those things, but god help him, Dean was right.
“First, we’re gonna get you positioned right.” Dean had straddled his brother and as he was pushing Sam’s t-shirt up, Sam could feel his brother’s cock smearing precome all over his chest. Dirty, bad, wrong. Brothers. Sam lifted his body a little, and then his head as Dean pulled the t-shirt off. But he stopped at Sam’s hands. “Now just...” Dean muttered as he knotted Sam’s t-shirt around his hands, and then around the wooden bars on the bedstead.
“Dean, what... I wanna touch you.” Sam honest to god whined.
Dean just laughed some more. “Just making it a little more exciting, Sam.” As if fucking your brother wasn’t exciting enough. But once again, Dean distracted Sam before he could think about it too much. Dean’s tongue was wrapped around Sam’s, and the slurping sounds were filthy. And those sounds just made Sam harder. Sam whimpered a little and Dean shushed him, just like he used to when Sam had had a bad dream, or had hurt himself somehow.
“S’ok, kiddo. I’m here. Gonna take care’a you.” And Dean shifted up and further up, on his knees, until his heavy cock was right in front of Sam’s face. Sam didn’t even think twice. He opened his mouth and breathed a heavy sigh out through his nose when he finally felt the weight of his brother on his tongue. Sam tugged on his t-shirt tie, wanting to slip his hands around Dean’s ass, pull him further into his mouth, but Dean had always known how to restrain someone properly, and Sam’s hands wouldn’t be free until Dean wanted them that way. So Sam did what he could, swirling his tongue around the head of Dean’s length, digging into the slit a little, until he heard his brother’s breath hitch, sealing his lips around Dean, and hollowing out his cheeks, sucking pleasure from his brother’s dick. Dean grunted and thrust in a little too far, choking Sam, but pulled back quickly. “Goddamn, made to suck my dick, little brother. Born for it,” Dean grunted. Sam nodded his head slightly. He really thought he was born to suck Dean, nothing had ever felt so decadent and glorious to Sam. He wanted Dean to choke him a little more, was reveling in the slight burn at the back of his throat. Dirty, bad, wrong. Brothers. Sam looked up at Dean, trying to convey to him that he wanted Dean to use him. Just a little. Wanted to really feel Dean in his throat.
Dean must’ve understood, because that glint returned to his eyes, before he let his head drop back and thrust a little further than was comfortable, then a little further still, until Sam was barely choking anymore. “Fuckin’ taking it like a pro,” Dean gasped, “you done this before, Sam? Choked on a thick, hard cock, pretended it was me, practicing so you could be fuckin’ perfect at deep throating your big bro?”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Dean couldn’t know that. There’s no way Dean could know that he had done that. Had hated himself for it, and then had done it again. He didn’t want Dean to know that, didn’t like the mocking tone in his brother’s voice. Just as he was going to turn his head away though, Sam felt a soft touch at his mouth. Dean was stroking at the point where Sam’s mouth touched his flesh and when Sam opened his eyes, he found Dean was looking down at him with such a look of reverence. Of love. And Sam forgot his discomfort, forgot what he had just been thinking. Sam would do anything to get that look directed at him again and again and again.
“Look at you, baby boy. So beautiful, Sam. So fucking gorgeous.” Dean was still thrusting, slow and steady, and Sam was doing his best to give back, to make it good for Dean, but Dean was so far down his throat that all Sam could really do was relax his jaw and take it. He could feel spit running down the side of his mouth and tears leaking out the corners of eyes. Sam felt so dirty good, his naked brother thrusting into his mouth, while his own cock was straining against the seam of his jeans. Fuck, even his shoes were still on. It all felt so debauched. Dean’s fingers fluttered down Sam’s cheek, to his neck, and Sam felt his brother’s hand close around his throat. Not hard. Just a little pressure, just enough to make Sam feel uncomfortable but not enough to make him gag.
Dean leaned down a little, to whisper “I can feel myself inside you, Sam,” and Sam thought he might come just from those words. He must have gasped or grunted, or something, because the next thing he knew he was choking and Dean was chuckling darkly as he drew himself out of his brother’s mouth.
“Goddamn, kiddo, I could do that all night. Wanna come down your throat, Sam, make sure you swallow every bit of me, feed any drops you miss back to you with my tongue.” Dean licked up the side of Sam’s face as he said this, and the gooseflesh was back. “Yeah, you’d like that,” Dean grinned.
“Dean,” Sam gasped, trying to catch his breath. His throat felt raw, and he loved it. Something had to be really wrong with him. His throat felt raw and used from having his big brother’s dick down it, and he just wanted more. Sam was still tugging at his restraint.
“Uh-uh, Sam,” Dean tapped Sam’s nose. “Play nice and you’ll get your reward.” Dean noticed that Sam’s eyes went down to his dick as he said that, and laughed again. A slimy, mocking thing. Sam was so strung out, so confused and needy, he didn’t even know if these little things he was noticing were real. Hell, he wasn’t sure this entire night was real. It was like something from his deepest, darkest, wettest dreams. Sam looked up at Dean again, sure his desperation would show. Horrified by it.
Dean shushed him again, shuffling down the length of his body. “I know, Sam. I know what you need.” Dean had popped the buttons on Sam’s jeans and was pulling them down his hips as he continued shuffling down. As the cut in Sam’s hips were fully uncovered Dean whispered, “Damn, baby boy,” and leaned down to run his tongue along first the left side and then the right. “Do you know how long I have wanted to do that, Sam,” Dean sighed contentedly. A little further down, and Dean pulled the denim and cotton away from Sam’s dick together, gave another sigh, kissed the tip, coming away with glistening lips, which he licked decadently.
He gave Sam another filthy grin and kept shuffling backwards, until he lifted himself off of Sam and stood at the foot of the bed to unlace Sam’s boots, and pull them off Sam’s feet, then his socks, then his jeans with his underwear.
For a long moment, Dean just stood there, at the foot of the bed, eyes raking over Sam’s body. The oily feeling was back, and Sam was just about to say something, when Dean smiled at him. For him. That smile was all his and it chased Sam’s words away. Sam smiled back. Nothing else he could do. Dean crawled back over him, until all their skin was touching, ankles to lips. Dean covered Sam like a hot, damp blanket and Sam was immediately addicted to the feeling of his brother’s skin against his own. Dean kissed Sam breathless. Sam so badly wanted to touch Dean, but he couldn’t figure out the words to ask him to release his hands, so he just tugged again. Dean shook his head, smiled softly at Sam, and leaned over to slip his hand under the pillow, drawing out a small bottle. Sam blinked in surprise.
Had Dean planned this? Was this a seduction with Sam the forgone conclusion? Sam frowned as he looked at the bottle of lube and was just about to say something, when Dean’s mouth covered his own once more. Sam was going to turn his head in annoyance, ask Dean what the hell was going on, but Dean had a very talented tongue and within seconds Sam’s mind could only think of that tongue and the things it was doing to his own.
Before long Sam was dizzy, from lack of oxygen to his lungs and blood to his brain, all the blood travelling south. Dean’s hands were all over, stroking Sam’s face as he kissed him, running along Sam’s sides as he licked at his nipples, biting down hard one moment, soothing with his tongue the next, pressing hard fingerprints into Sam’s hips as he dipped his tongue into Sam’s navel, reaching up and pushing his fingers into his brother’s mouth as he nuzzled into Sam’s groin, taking deep breaths while Sam sucked on his fingers. Then Dean’s mouth would return to Sam’s, and it would start all over again, like some crazy, sexy loop. Sam lost any sense of time and barely noticed when Dean pushed the first finger inside him. He’d definitely noticed when Dean had rolled his balls with his slick fingers, stroking his length and then back to his balls, back and forth, until Sam thought he might lose his mind from the sensation. All the while Dean was fucking his baby brother’s mouth with his tongue, and Sam was so surrounded and intoxicated by his brother, the pressure at his hole was hardly important. When Sam realized what was happening he had to turn his head, to free his mouth so he could take a gulp of air, a long drawn out “Deeeeean,” escaping on the exhale.
Another chuckle from his brother. Sam could feel it against his skin, where Dean was sucking wet, red marks into his neck. “You like that, huh.” Dean bit down hard, then ran his tongue over the mark and said, “hungry hole ready for more, baby?” and went back to sucking, pushing a second finger into Sam.
Baby? Like Sam was just another lay Dean had picked up. How many nights had Sam heard that word, in that exact tone, muffled in the room next to his, while John was off on a hunt, and had left his sons in rundown rental for a few weeks? Or out on the sofa while Sam was trying to study. In the back of the Impala while Sam had to be lookout. Sam hated that word.
A brush against his prostate and a third finger pulled him right off that train of thought. A little too soon, a little too rough. He gasped, and Dean gentled him, telling him he was so good, taking it so good, that Dean loved him so much. And Sam was wired a little wrong anyway (a lot wrong, he was letting his big brother finger his ass and enjoying it) because the sting felt good, the burn excited him.
Just as well he was wired wrong. Three fingers was all the preparation he got, before Dean moaned, “Goddamn it Sam, I can’t wait anymore. I need you,” and Sam watched with heavy lidded eyes as Dean pushed Sam’s legs wide and back, slicked up his own cock, one, two strokes, and lined himself up with his baby brother’s ass.
He pushed in slowly, never taking his eyes off of Sam’s, green-rimmed black, staring into hazel-rimmed black. Sam gasped again. Fuck, Dean was thick, too much, too hard, but Dean kept looking at him, kept pushing, never letting up, until Sam felt his brother’s balls against his ass. Then Dean closed his eyes, and let out a long, low moan that Sam wanted to be the cause of for the rest of his life. Fuck the burn. Fuck not being able to sit down for a week without knowing where his brother had been. Sam wanted that, wanted to feel the sting every time he moved.
Sam let out a groan of his own, positive that such a sound had never come out of his mouth before. “God, Dean . Never—,” his breath hitched, “never been this full. Fuck, I can feel you everywhere.”
Dean leaned down to kiss Sam again as he started moving. Just a little too soon. Sam could feel the catch on his rim as his brother pulled almost all the way out, and punched the breath out of him as he slammed back in.
“Fuck, Sam. Fucking cockslut, look how much you love your big brother’s cock up your ass, filling you up. Look how you’re dripping for me. Think you can come just like this? Just on your brother’s cock?” Dean set a relentless pace then, pulling out and slamming back in, hitting his prostate every so often as he buried himself into Sam. Sam really thought he could come untouched, especially if the thrusts were just a little less raw, a little more slick. He could feel the tingling begin at the base of his spine, opened his legs wider, and wrapping them around his brother’s back and locking his ankles, tried to push Dean deeper. He thought he felt a pulse deep inside, and looked up to where his brother was holding himself over Sam, arms locked, head thrown back, body gone rigid. Sam could see veins sticking out in Dean’s neck, muscles pulled into tight cords, and felt a warmth fill him. God, Dean was gorgeous when he came.
His brother collapsed on top of him, breathing harshly, huffing things like, “Holy fuck, Sam,” and “Goddamn, made to take my come” and “fill you up just to watch me leak out again” and “whore.” Sam was sure he imagined that last.
He still hadn’t come, Dean had finished too quickly, and hadn’t laid a hand on Sam’s dick, which, Sam was sure, was going to compose a very strongly worded letter about the neglect. He felt Dean slip out, soft now, and could feel the drip of his brother’s come leaking out of him, pooling in a cold little wet spot, just under Sam. Dirty, bad, wrong. Brothers.
Dean grunted and rolled over, and Sam was starting to feel like the whore that he was sure Dean hadn’t called him, when Dean cracked open one eye, and leered “Oops. Kinda left you hanging there, kiddo,” before winking at Sam, and grabbing his cock. Sam had dribbled copious amounts of precome which had pooled on his stomach, and Dean’s hands weren’t exactly dry, considering where all they’d been, but Dean’s strokes were a little too rough and not really slick enough to make it pleasurable. But Sam had been so hard for so long, the vicious yanks did the trick and soon enough he was shooting out over Dean’s hand and onto his own torso, his brother’s name on his lips.
Sam wasn’t sure what he expected then, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t for Dean to casually pull on the t-shirt to release his hands, pat Sam on the cheek with another wink, mumble “proud of you—knew you had it in you,” which tugged at Sam’s memory and kind of freaked him out, and turn over onto his side to start snoring softly a minute later.
Sam lay on his back, staring at the pocked-marked, smoke stained, ceiling, willing the tears pooling in his eyes to back the fuck off. He wanted to talk about this with Dean, to figure out what the fuck had just happened. You let your brother use you as a convenient hole, is what just happened. He pushed that thought away. He couldn’t think that. Dean would never do that. Dean was probably just tired and wrung out, as Sam was. The last few weeks had done a number on him, body and soul, and this, what had just happened, was huge. They would talk about it in the morning, Sam was sure. That was the last thought Sam had before he sank into a bone tired sleep.
****
When Sam woke up, he could hear that it was day. Sounds from the main road filtered in, and he felt a spot of warmth at his back, which he first thought was Dean, but then realized it was just a ray of sun, probably coming through a gap in the curtains.
Dean.
Sam sat up suddenly, acutely aware of the patch of cold dampness under him, and the dry, crusty mess on his stomach. He looked around, slowly at first, then a little frantically. The bathroom door was open, no sound of water or steam drifting through. Dean wasn’t in there. There were empty beer cans on the table on the other side of the room, but otherwise no sign that his brother had ever been there. Sam got up, wrapping the sheet around his hips, and took a few steps away from the bed. Dean’s duffle wasn’t against the wall where Sam had seen it the night before. He started to feel a little sick. Sam walked slowly to the window and peeked through the curtains, horribly afraid of what he wouldn’t see there.
The Impala was gone.
Sam’s legs buckled, and he managed the few steps back to the bed before he collapsed, sitting down hard on the bed. He felt numb.
A buzzing on the side table made Sam look over, and he saw that his phone was there. Dean must’ve put it there, where Sam would find it right away. Relief flooded through Sam. Dean hadn’t just left him, he was sure. He had gone to get coffee, breakfast, something, and was just letting Sam know.
Laughing at himself a little for being so worried, for not trusting his brother, Sam leaned over and picked up the phone, swiping across the screen to open the message Dean had sent him. But as Sam glanced at it, all the color drained from his face, and he barely made it to the toilet in time, before he was throwing up violently, his body wracked with heaves and sobs.
Dean had sent Sam a photo. Of them. Sam was lying on the bed naked, asleep, looking thoroughly fucked, lips swollen, hair a mess. Dean was leaning over him, fully dressed, obviously holding the phone in a typical selfie position, making sure as much of Sam’s body as possible was in frame, making sure Dean’s face was in frame. Dean was grinning and winking in the photo, looking for all the world as if he’d won a major prize. The text read “should’ve done the holy water test, Sam.”
In the photo, the eye that was open was pitch black.