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A soft thud pulls Sam from sleep. It’s followed by uneven footsteps, no rhythm or discernible pattern to how they fall, but Sam recognizes the sound, grew up knowing what drunk sounds like.
This time though, it’s not his dad stumbling through the door. It’s Dean. Just the wrong side of twenty-one, armed with a pretty face and a fake ID, neither of which have failed him yet. Most of the time, nobody so much as bats an eye when Dean leans against the bar and orders a drink. But every once in a while, a bartender will pause suspiciously, eyes flicking between Dean’s ID and his baby face with raised-eyebrow dubiousness. Dean just stares them down with a cocky grin, licking his lips in that slow-motion way of his that drags molten-honey heat all the way down Sam’s spine before dripping and settling in his cock. The promise of seeing those overly-plump lips wrapped around a shot glass is usually more than enough incentive to ignore all the warning signs. To leave a full shot in front of Dean, stepping back and watching that mouth spread into a smirk before he settles the smooth glass low in his lips and shoots it back.
Needless to say, Dean’s never had any problems getting a drink.
Sam’s never been too happy about Dean flirting his way into those places. He’s sure that one day Dean’s gonna let those too-plump lips make empty-bottle promises to the wrong person, someone who’s more than willing to take advantage of a drunk, cocky teenager who doesn’t know his own limits. But at nineteen, Dean’s going to do whatever the hell he wants – at least until their dad gets back into town.
Sam hates falling asleep without Dean in the room. Hell, he hates falling asleep without Dean in the same bed, but Dean had drawn that line the moment he’d hit puberty. Sam thinks it has something to do with him waking up one morning with a sticky hip and Dean’s fingers bruising his ribs, but Dean had never explained himself. And beyond throwing Dean a few kicked-puppy glances, Sam’s never asked.
Tonight had been another restless night, blankets kicked to the edges of the bed and pillows punched into a thousand bruising shapes. Sam felt suffocated and hot, and he could hear his heartbeat thudding inside his ears.
Eventually, he’d found a dissatisfied compromise, falling asleep with the covers pretzel-twisted between his legs and his arms thrown around two pillows. But Dean’s uncoordinated thump jars him awake in an instant, and he holds his breath, listening to make sure Dean gets to his bed all right.
It’s touch-and-go for a while. Dean rams into nearly every wall and piece of furniture until he finally finds his bed. Then he fights with the covers and his jeans for a minute before collapsing belly-down and immediately passing out.
Sam flips on his side to face his brother. He can smell the sweat and smoke and whiskey bleeding out from Dean’s pores. Based on the heavy, guttural snoring coming from the other bed, Sam suspects there’s something harder than just alcohol in Dean’s system, and he scowls at the thought. He wouldn’t put it past his brother - John’s been gone more than three weeks, and Dean starts getting twitchy and stupid when he’s worried.
There’s just enough moonlight cracking in through the blinds to let Sam see how used and shiny Dean’s mouth looks. He’s always wondered at Dean’s bar hook-ups, wondered if Dean has ever experimented, has ever hopped the fence to play both sides. Or ever wanted to.
Sam had realized the moment the hormones hit that his fantasies were all mixed together; soft breasts and hard cocks all blended into something Sam can barely define. Dean, however, trumps every half-formed teenage fantasy. Plump and firm in all the right places that make his masculinity just the right kind of pretty.
Sam never stood a chance.
Sam’s halfway across the room before he even makes the conscious decision to move. Thousands of dark, possessive thoughts are blowing through Sam’s head like a desert dust storm, choking him with how quickly they rush into his mind. Things he wants to do to Dean. Things he wants to force Dean to stop doing. The gritty texture of those too-wrong thoughts fill his throat and nose and sting his eyes, and he has to take a moment to steady himself.
None of the images flashing behind Sam’s eyes could be accused of being moral or brotherly. But Sam doesn’t think too hard about it, doesn’t particularly care at the moment. He’s never been under any delusions about the state of his soul; knows he’ll never be completely pure. He’d been marked for corruption since the day he was born. He’s more than willing to take another bad mark on his record just to finally find relief for this crawling need beneath his skin, burrowed so deep that no matter how he scratches at it, he can never reach that itch.
He starts by touching Dean’s face. Slides a hand across his brother’s jaw. Holds his breath. Listens to Dean’s steady, unchanged breathing. When there’s no obvious response, Sam pulls on Dean’s shoulder, flipping him onto his back.
Dean’s mouth is slightly open, breath softly moving in and out. And because Sam’s imagined this a thousand times, needs to know what it feels like in reality, he leans down and presses his mouth against Dean’s.
It’s not satisfying. At least, not the way it had been in Sam’s fantasies. Dean’s mouth is bitter from alcohol and too slack, but Sam keeps going, nudges his tongue just inside to let it flicker over the edge of Dean’s. He gets a small movement as reward, Dean’s mouth adjusting as his tongue slides against the invasion. It’s enough to stir something hot and dark deep inside Sam’s gut. Make him crave more.
He shoves the tangled covers out from around Dean’s legs where his jeans are still twisted around his knees. Dean’s boots come off first so that Sam can disentangle his pants and slide them off his legs, dropping everything into a pile on the floor. And since he’s not lying to himself about why he’s here, next to his brother’s bed, his own clothes get added to the heap.
Sam can see the soft shape of his brother’s cock beneath the worn material of his boxer-briefs. His mouth waters, despite having never tasted cock before. He’s imagined it enough times, though. So he throws a leg over Dean’s, scooting himself down so his belly is pressed into Dean’s knees and his mouth is panting above his brother’s covered cock. His hands rub up and down a few times against that humid region before he curls his fingers over the band to pull the material down past Dean’s balls.
His brother’s cock is resting to the side, no hint of arousal or awareness, but so pretty that Sam just has to bend down and slip the velvety softness inside his mouth.
The weight is strange on his tongue, skin soft and musky as Sam rolls his tongue and feels saliva start to flood his mouth as he gently suckles. He likes the sensation, wants to know what it would be like to take Dean’s full erection. But he also likes the way Dean’s cock fits in his mouth like this, especially with his brother unaware and unable to stop him.
Despite Sam doing some pretty spectacular things with his mouth and tongue, Dean’s cock doesn’t so much as twitch. With how plastered Dean had been as he’d stumbled inside the motel, Sam’s not surprised. His brother’s missing out on one hell of a blow-job, though. Sam may not have experience, per say, but he’s done his homework.
When his cheeks start to ache and spit starts dripping down his chin, Sam pulls back. Flattening his tongue, he dives back down to explore further down. He licks around Dean’s balls, taking them in his mouth one at a time, rolling them with his tongue like Baoding balls and feeling the way they slide within their sac.
A low-grade heat has been pooling in Sam’s groin ever since he walked across the room. Right now though, with the taste and feel of Dean rubbing inside Sam’s cheeks, he can feel his cock growing hot and thick against the mattress. Sam rocks lightly, gasping at the sudden pleasure bursting like fireworks lit from the base of his spine, sharp and intense because he’s never been this worked up before. Which, at fifteen, is saying a lot.
Ignoring the fact that after tonight, Sam’s one-way ticket to Hell has been upgraded to first class seating, Sam pulls back, kisses the tip of Dean’s spit-wet cock and thinks about how Dean would react if he knew what Sam had done (is still doing). There’s a part of Sam that thinks it’s possible that Dean’s already on the same page. That the unhealthy, non-existent boundaries between them have led the way for a too-deep obsession; the kind of white-hot focus that can’t help transmuting into irrevocable, erotic co-dependence.
But then again, maybe Dean hasn’t thought of this. Maybe he’d be horrified and sick at the thought of touching his brother this way. Or having Sam touch him.
Sam can’t deny the thrill shivering up his spine at the thought of Dean rejecting him. Because despite what his big brother may or may not want, Sam’s doing this anyway.
Pushing Dean’s thighs apart, Sam nudges a finger along the cleft of Dean’s ass. He doesn’t know why it’s hot, but it is, watching his finger push against the dark place inside Dean that Sam wants to shove himself balls deep into. It’s too dry for Dean to take him easily, so Sam reaches up and dips his finger inside his brother’s mouth, moving it around to get it as wet as possible before nudging it right back against Dean’s hole.
His brother makes a small noise, a sleep-soft grunt of discomfort that makes Sam pause. He looks up, studying Dean for signs of waking. But whatever combination of drugs and alcohol is in Dean’s system has knocked him out so hard, Sam doubts even the hounds of Hell could wake him right now. The dark lashes fanned out on the tops of Dean’s cheeks don’t so much as flutter, and Sam finds himself growing bolder by the minute.
His fingers go back to rubbing against the dark starburst pucker. After only a little pressure, Sam’s finger get sucked inside the furnace heat of his brother’s body, just past the nail, like Dean’s body wants him inside. Suddenly, just like that, everything’s too much at once, too intense. Sam draws in a quick breath, feeling like he’s drowning no matter how much air he sucks in. He wants inside so bad, wants to feel his brother’s body jolting around him, wants to grab Dean’s hips as leverage while he drives himself inside. But as drunk or stoned as Dean may be, Sam doubts that even he could sleep through a hard dicking like that.
So he settles for second best. Lines up his cock beneath Dean’s balls, shoves his brother’s thighs together, and fucks into that warm, tight space. His hands latch around strong arms, holding on tight while Sam shoves himself in and out, warm pre-come spilling out his slit to make the slip feel so good between firm, hot skin.
It only takes a few shoves before Sam’s choking out a hurt-puppy cry, falling heavy and hard on Dean while his dick blurts come all over his brother’s balls. His cheek lands on Dean’s chest, edges of his mouth brushing Dean’s nipple. Sam turns his head and parts his lip to suck in the tiny pink nub, tonguing at it until the shaky high of orgasm passes and his bones have re-solidified.
When he pulls away, there’s a bright, wet suction mark surrounding Dean’s nipple. Some perverse part of Sam triumphantly rejoices in the thought of Dean finding the bruise in the morning, memories too fuzzy to suspect how they really got there. Sam imagines pressing against Dean’s chest tomorrow, sliding by as they cross paths in the bathroom so his body rubs up against the sensitive, purple nub while Dean hides a wince and Sam pretends not to notice.
His cock is softening against Dean’s wet thighs, and as Sam huffs out one last deep breath, he knows how he wants to clean off the dripping tip. Pushing himself up, Sam crawls over Dean until his knees are around his brother’s shoulders and he’s sitting beneath Dean’s collarbone. He presses his thumb against Dean’s bottom lip, opening it wide so he can guide his dick into that plump mouth, letting it rest on Dean’s candy-pink tongue.
He rocks his hips lightly, watching his cock slide over Dean’s tongue until he starts to get hard again. Taking himself in hand, he pumps the base, loving the way the head of his cock looks between his brother’s lips. Wishes he could see the way his brother’s green eyes would shine and water if Sam shoved himself in throat-deep.
When Sam’s rock hard again, thick length slipping so perfectly inside Dean’s plump lips, Sam pulls out. He could keep rocking into Dean’s mouth, shoot off straight down Dean’s throat and see stars behind his eyes with how good it would all feel. But Sam’s thought of this for too long; has too many things he wants to do and only one night to do them in.
His knees stay beside Dean’s shoulders as he straightens his thighs, moves a few inches forward and reaches down to help settle his balls inside Dean’s mouth. His dick slaps against Dean’s cheek, spit and new precome creating a slick trail across tiny, peppered freckles. Sam reaches down to take himself in hand before his cock can poke out Dean’s eye, moans as the touch of his own hand turns on every live nerve ending in his dick so it thrums with electrified heat.
There’s no way to avoid the hard edge of Dean’s teeth around Sam’s sac, but he doesn’t mind the side of pain, not when his brain’s reward pathway is so jacked up with pleasure chemicals that he’s dizzy and drunk with it. The light scrape on Sam’s sensitive parts just adds to the sensations swirling through his body like he’s licked a battery; a low-grade, delicious buzzing beneath his skin that makes his teeth ache with sweetness.
As his head starts filling with white-noise, nothing else but the need to orgasm left in his brain, Sam rotates his hips, feels his balls slide inside Dean’s slack, drooling mouth. He pulls back just before his dick erupts, sitting on Dean’s chest so his cock is pointed right at his brother’s face as he shoots a second load across Dean’s lips and cheeks, splashing all the way into his hair.
Dean has never looked more beautiful, pink cheeks wet and sticky, all from Sam.
Sam has to throw his hands behind himself so keep from falling back, skinny chest panting while sweat drips from behind his knees, turning his skin slippery so his legs and ass slide across Dean’s chest. When the sugar-sweet rush of his second orgasm fades, Sam slides down Dean’s body, stabilizes himself so he can admire his handiwork.
His lips twitch into a sleepy smile as he looks down at his brother and runs his fingers through the mess on his face. He swirls a few circles, gathering up come before sliding to pop a digit into Dean’s used, shiny mouth. When his brother’s lips tighten for a few seconds, actually suckle on Sam’s come-soaked finger, Sam gasps, feels his cock twitch valiantly.
He could probably get it up if he tried, isn’t even close to breaking his record for most orgasms in one sitting. But Sam’s more than content at the moment. He sighs softly when Dean’s mouth loosens again and gathers another fingerful of come to rub across Dean’s tongue. His mouth comes down to replace his fingers when they slide out, his nose scrunching briefly at the bitter taste of his own come before Dean swallows it back.
Sam doesn’t want to walk away yet, knows that he has to soon. But he’s still got time. So he licks deep into Dean’s mouth for a few minutes more, maps out every soft place behind his brother’s teeth and commits them to memory.
When Sam finally pulls away, he moves to grab his t-shirt off the floor, uses it to wipe the rest of his come off of Dean’s face. He doesn’t bother cleaning up what he’d left across Dean’s balls. Just pulls Dean’s underwear back over the wet mess, smug with the thought of Dean chaffing from the dried residue in the morning, probably assuming that it had come from himself.
After putting his own pajama pants back on, Sam flips the covers over his brother. He settles back into his own bed, bloodstream lit up with a new addiction.
*&*
Dean wakes up with a loud groan the next morning while Sam’s just getting out of the shower. Hiding a grin, Sam calls out, “Rough night?” just loud enough to make Dean wince and let out a string of raspy curses. A sudden rush of sympathy (but not guilt) makes Sam nod towards the nightstand, lowering his voice as he says, “Left you something to help.”
Dean gropes out on the nightstand for the pills and water Sam had left there. He swallows loudly then flops back on the bed and throws an arm over his eyes.
“What, are we in a fucking tanning salon, Sammy? Can you kill the fluorescents?”
Laughing softly, Sam flicks the light switch so the room turns dark and Dean lets out a deep, appreciative sigh. After drying off, Sam throws on his boxers before walking over to Dean’s bed and sliding himself near the top. Dean’s glances up at him with blood-shot eyes, and Sam gives him a half smile before reaching down to rub his index fingers into the grooves of Dean’s temple.
His brother makes a low pleased sound, closing his eyes again and slumping back into the bed.
“Feel free to keep doing that for the next hour,” Dean mumbles. “And remind me to never take a joint from a guy named Don. That shit was totally laced with something.”
“Sure thing,” Sam answers, fingers still moving gently. “Whatever it was, you were totally out of it when you got home. You gotta be more careful, Dean. You can’t keep pulling this shit when Dad is gone.” He resists the urge to lean down and press a kiss to Dean’s forehead. It’s harder than he expected it to be to pretend that things are normal, that he hadn’t spent last night using his brother’s body in all kinds of dirty, wonderful ways.
“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, voice a little rasping. “It’s a good thing I got my little brother to look out for me though, right?” The trust in Dean’s eyes tugs at something dark and warm inside Sam, and he knows for certain that there’s no giving up Dean now.
“Yeah, good thing,” Sam echoes. He smiles down at his brother, crocodile promises hidden behind his teeth. “I’ll always look out for you, Dean.”