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"WHAT. THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, SAMMY, HUH? WHAT WERE YOU..." Dean's voice breaks, crumbles, exploding from his throat in a burst of energy and then crashing downward, folding in on itself.
"You were GONE, Dean! What the hell was I supposed to do?!" Sam retorts, another tear snaking from his eye. He swipes at it, his lips parted and his teeth gritted, and he looks up at the ceiling of the otherwise empty cabin.
"You...drank...demon blood..." Dean's voice is predatory and he's starting to scare Sam just a little. Dean steps closer, stabbing Sam in the sternum with his index finger. "You FUCKED RUBY, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
"You. Were," Sam pauses and steps closer as well, sneering at his older brother's growling words, then continues, "DEAD. Dean! You were FUCKING...dead," his voice wobbles and a sob rips through his entire body as his hazel eyes grasp at Dean's inexorably green ones, searching for anything, any form of understanding, any evidence that there's still affection for Sam in the older man's heart.
Little did he know that he wouldn't find what he's looking for in those eyes, as Dean is inexplicably incredible at hiding things behind a terrible mask of lies - rather, he would find it in the way Dean's fingertips brush through his hair.
"I don't think you understand...what I'm trying to say. Sam," Dean snatches Sam's face up between his thumb and fingers and forces the taller man to look down at him. "You fucked Ruby. You're...still... fucking Ruby."
Sam's eyebrows pull in and down and he gives Dean the best vehemently confused look he can muster.
"What are you...getting at, Dean," Sam breathes, biting his tongue to keep from saying all the things he actually wants to say.
Dean heaves, regarding Sam with a sidelong glance and squinting.
Then...
Dean moves so abruptly that Sam doesn't have time to even register what's happening before Dean has him shoved up against the wall, Dean's left forearm holding Sam down and his right arm encircling Sam's waist, which, for some fucked-up reason, Sam enjoys.
"I might have been in hell, Sammy, but if you wanted to fuck someone dangerous, ya shoulda told me," Dean explains, all the time rolling his hips and using the arm around Sam's waist to press the moose's body against his own.
This can't be happening, it isn't happening. Because...
Because Sam's wanted this since he was thirteen, wanted Dean in so many other ways than just a brother. And not even in his wildest dreams would this happen
And...and what the fuck is he thinking? Because now, a determined force rams his head backward against the wall and Dean's lips are smashing against his. And...
And, oh god, he's got a boner. He's getting a stiff one from kissing his own brother and it's just so goddamn fucked up but he couldn't care less because Dean obviously doesn't - this is made evident by Dean rutting up against Sam's thigh, breathing into his mouth and taking his sweet fucking time to kiss every centimetre of Sam's neck.
It's exhilarating. It's beautiful and ugly and wonderful and terrible and tiring and invigorating all at the same time and Sam both can't get enough, and wants to push Dean away. He nearly smacks himself for not deciding on the former immediately, which he only does when Dean's right hand slides downward, sneaking beneath Sam's jeans and kneading his ass.
Dean breaks their breathless kiss to suck on the skin at the back of Sam's jaw and bite at the blush behind Sam's ear, leaving marks.
Branding him.
Because Dean is Sam's and Sam is Dean's and even Sam doesn't have the right to deny that.
"Dean," Sam moans breathlessly, a warning tone that hangs between his lips, teetering over the edge then jumping back in, and he doesn't actually do anything to stop what's happening.
Because fuck everything if he doesn't like it.
"Sam," Dean's tone is also warning, but the difference between his and Sam's is that Dean might do something about Sam trying to reprimand him.
Scratch that, he is doing something about Sam trying to reprimand him. Dean shoves again, this time harder, but also, this time, with no where to push Sam to except farther back into the hard, solid wall. And it hurts.
And, fffffucking fuck fuck fuck, Sam loves it.
"What are you doing," Sam squeaks, testing the waters, seeing how far in he can wade before Dean's temper drops off into an abyss.
Dean chuckles, uninviting and predatory, and a dangerous sneer tugs at his lips.
"You can't tell me you don't want to. Wanna know why? 'Cause I can tell, Sammy. And it's not some sixth sense from hell or some shit. It's the way you look at me. It's the way you act - I compared it...to the way you act when I'm not around. It's the way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you speak, the way you fucking breathe," Dean's breaths are quick and shaky and hard and he bites down on his lower lip as his eyes drift down to Sam's. He continues his incantation, his lower lip caught in his teeth and his eyes wandering over Sam's face, mostly remaining attached to his lips. "You love it, and I've known it for a long time now."
Sam heaves a few times and musters the flippant courage to respond.
"How long, Dean?" His whisper is growling and rebellious because, goddamnit, he wants Dean to shove him again. Wants Dean to growl back, to run his hand down Sam's throat and then latch on to it and make it hard for Sam to breathe, to clamp down on Sam's wrists and hold them above Sam's head and leave him completely immobile. He wants Dean to fuck him up and down the wall he's backed into.
Dean just smirks softly and says, "Since you were thirteen and I caught you jacking off to the smell of my pillow."
And Sam gulps in a shuddering gasp and his body quakes under Dean's touch and the sound of his voice and his words. It's all too beautiful, too surreal.
"Fuck...you saw that," and despite Sam's dismay and the feeling of a shrill flush creeping up into his cheeks, he smiles and his eyelashes flit down. "Hope you enjoyed the show."
Dean grins, shifting upward and shoving his face against Sam's, and his lips are just a whisper against Sam's burning flesh.
"You bet your ass, I did. Fucked myself nice and hard after, thinking about you. Even said your name when I came," his breathy laugh escapes his throat and barely makes it past his lips. "Goddamnit, Sammy, you're beautiful. I've wanted to do this since that day I saw you with my pillow against your chest, maybe even before that. And Sammy, you got no idea how hard it's been. My first instinct is to protect you...this ain't real protective, though, is it."
"I couldn't care less," Sam says, his chest still heavy with the weight of need and want and his mouth bleeding carbon dioxide as he breathes out a weary sigh.
Dean kisses him again, shoving his tongue between Sam's lips without his prior consent and licking into the moose's mouth. The kiss is deep and surprisingly, becomes more gentle as it progresses. And Dean becomes more gentle. And Sam doesn't know if he likes that or not.
He decides he does.
"Sammy...you don't have to do this if--"
"Dean, shut up and fuck me."
Sam's eyes have fluttered shut but he knows Dean is sporting an idiotic grin.
Dean abides and commands Sam to lift his arms. When he does, Dean lifts Sam's t-shirt, gently at first, but then he rips it off in a flourishing motion. He latches his mouth onto Sam's neck again, and sam can feel his own hard cock twitch.
Fuck, these jeans are too tight.
Fortunately, Dean must be able to read Sam's mind, because he undoes Sam's belt and tugs the zipper down. The button pops open without prompting and Dean grins into their kiss, grinding his hips, and, by default, his own cock, against Sam's.
Goddamnit, Dean is rock hard and just as large as Sam's always imagined.
Unrequited moans fall from Sam's mouth as Dean's hands sneak down over his ribs before they reach his jeans and Dean shoves them down. Sam's hips buck involuntarily up into Dean and his head falls back agains the wood of the cabin wall.
"Fuck, Dean," his breaths are slurred and his moral conscience is almost obsolete.
Dean's next breathe is a shallow growl and he sneers, "Damn right, bitch."
"Jerk," Sam's voice falters and he whines when Dean cups a hand over his ridiculously hard appendage. Dean's other hand jogs up Sam's back and Dean's fingers tangle in Sam's hair, tugging his head back to make Sam's neck more accessible to his lips.
"Gonna fuck you so hard, Sammy," Dean hums against Sam's skin and the vibration reciprocating along Sam's neck makes his cock straighten further, and he can feel it peeking out the top of his boxer briefs.
"Please," Sam whines again and rolls his hips desperately.
Dean's lips detach from the hollow of Sam's collarbone and he peeks up at Sam through husky lashes.
"Say it again," Dean growls, and when Sam doesn't say anything, just gives the older man a weird look, Dean snarls, gathers Sam's hair in his hand, pulls - hard - and tugs Sam over to the bed in the corner, dragging him by the unkempt mop atop his head.
When they're about half a metre away from the bed Dean's hand releases Sam's hair and both hands glide upward over Sam's lithe waist to snake against Sam's toned chest. After a second of tilting his head and watching his hands on Sam's skin, Dean's entire body pauses, even his breathing, and he blinks up at Sam, that smirk that implies unpredictability making a guest appearance.
Dean shoves Sam back so abruptly that, when the backs of Sam's knees hit the edge of the bed, he has no control over how quickly or where he falls. Luckily, he falls into the bed; not so luckily, he falls fast and lands hard against what's supposed to be the pillowy softness of the comforter.
The older man crawls up over Sam, his legs straddling Sam's and his arms bracing Sam's head.
"I said, say. It. Again," Dean's voice rumbles from deep in his chest and his reiterated dominance sparks Sam's moans again.
"Please," Sam heaves as Dean leans in and bites his neck, leaving his mark again.
"Please, what, Sammy?"
"Please, Dean. Please, fuck me. Fuck me hard, Dean," Sam's voice is high pitched and brusque and he's just completely breathless.
"That's right, Sammy. Beg. Fucking beg--"
"I want you inside me, Dean. Please."
Dean fists the back of the collar of his shirt in his hand and pulls it over his head in one swift motion. His eyes meander lazily over Sam's naked torso, obviously admiring his build and his chiseled abdominal muscles.
"God, Sammy, you're beautiful," Dean repeats and he undoes his own jeans, pulling them and his boxer briefs down, letting his cock slap up against his belly for second.
Then he leans in and trails kisses down Sam's chest, open mouthed and greedy. Dean's breath tickles in bumps over Sam's blushing skin and his lips leave a sheen of sparkles behind them down the centre of Sam's torso.
Dean arrives at the waistline of Sam's boxers and flicks his tongue over Sam's slit, licking up the pre-come before fitting his mouth perfectly over Sam's tip.
Sam's sharp breath hitches in his throat and his back arches, his chest pushing into Dean's soft touch and his head hanging back. His breaths become even quicker - if that's even remotely possible - and his chest convulses as he desperately gulps in air.
"Jesus...Christ, Dean," he chokes out between breaths.
Shit, Dean hasn't even taken all of him yet and he's almost coming like some damn thirteen year old virgin.
Dean hums and pushes Sam's underwear down further so he can get to Sam's cock more easily, then swallows him whole, to Sam's inexorably blatant surprise.
"H-how..."
Dean slides up slowly, dragging his tongue up the base of Sam's member and his lips fall off with a pop. And he performs the entire act while watching Sam, and fuck, it's hot.
"I'm surprised at you, Sammy. That you didn't notice all the guys I brought home when we were kids," Dean pitches softly and Sam catches it easily, his eyes widening as he recalls all of them.
"I thought they were all just your friends--"
"Ha! Wow," Dean nods and reaches down to push some sweat-stained, stray brown hair out of Sam's eyes. He pauses, his hand against Sam's jaw, fingers hooked behind his ear, and thumb carving circles over Sam's cheekbone. "I did it to make you jealous, ya know. All of them. Every single one, Sammy. Just to make you feel terrible about not telling me about your little school-boy crush on your big brother."
Sam lays there in stunned silence, and when he musters the energy to speak, he doesn't get a syllable through his lips before Dean's kissing him again.
Dean pulls away and squints, seemingly trying to be nonchalant about it, then surprises Sam for the billionth time that day and leans over, reaching down to the second drawer of Sam's bedside table, and grabbing the lube.
"How did y--"
"I know you, Sammy. And I know where you would keep it."
Sam resigns himself to Dean's apparent absolute understanding of him, and stares longingly up at his older brother.
Dean applies a generous amount to his middle finger and slides into Sam without hesitation. He switches between Sam's mouth, gaping in a silent, choked up moan and his sporadically quivering throat that moves as he pants and his own finger moving in and out of Sam's ass.
Sam's eyelids flutter shut and he can't see Dean, but he feels his brother's eyes traveling over his uncontrollably shuddering chest and he feels his brother breathing out on top of him when his eyes reach Sam's pleading dick.
Dean's hand hovers over Sam's abs, then lands on the sculpted muscles, a quiet consolation, Sam realises, as Dean sneaks another finger past that sensitive ring of muscle.
"Ah, shit! Dean!" Sam lifts his hips and pushes into Dean's fingers, wanting him deeper, wanting him thicker, wanting all of Dean inside of him. "Dean, please!"
"Fucking beg," Dean replies, his words slurred and improvident, his touch inadvertently intoxicating. "Beg, Sam. Do it for your big brother."
"Dean, I want all of you. Please. Dean."
Dean leans in and his teeth graze Sam's ear as he whispers, "Gonna come inside a' you, Sammy."
Sam suddenly feels a third finger pressing against hole and he struggles not to collapse, not to let his lungs give in on him.
Dean's fingers scrape at the walls of his ass and they're long and somehow completely expert at what he's doing. At one point, Dean curls his index finger in and just barely slides over Sam's prostate - twice - teasing Sam, shamelessly and ruthlessly taunting his fervent want of Dean, making his moan cut off and gargle in the back of his throat.
Dean moans back, apparently enjoying the sounds of Sam's filling the heavy-chested air.
Sam feels himself, nice and open for Dean, just for Dean, and he spreads his legs wider than he thought they could go as Dean pulls out as slowly as he can, taking his sweet fucking time. Irritating little shit.
At least it invokes another moan to stumble from Dean's mouth.
Dean shifts and lines himself up quickly and, without any warning, whatsoever, Dean shoves himself all the way in, apparently completely without regret, and remains relentless with his thrusts, moans and groans trickling from his mouth left and right.
He suddenly angles himself up and his cock skims against Sam's prostate every time.
Dean's mouth explores Sam's body, making it's way back up to Sam's ear, making Sam's skin quiver under his hummed moans and his wobbling exhales, and an inexplicable shiver creeps up Sam's spine and nibbles at his neck, his ears, his hair.
"Fuck yourself, Sammy. Come for me," Dean's voice penetrates Sam's mind and shakes him to his very core.
So Sam complies without defiance and as Dean sits back on his heels again, Sam starts in on his own torso. Sam slides his hands gingerly over his chest and finds an already hard-as-fuck nipple, clamping his fingers down on it and moaning for Dean. A genuine moan, but a moan meant for Dean, nevertheless.
And Dean returns it without a second thought.
Sam's other hand snakes down toward his neglected cock and he grips the base, softly, hesitant and reluctant and tentative and unsure and all of the above at first. He's never jacked himself off in front of anyone but Jess, the one time when she drank about ten too many shots and when they got back to the apartment, she was feeling kinky as all fuck.
But as soon as he moves up, any inhibitions he may have had escape his body through his parted lips when he moans in a gasp and a harsh breath.
He matches pace with Dean's thrusts easily, his hand gliding upward over aching dick, his mouth hanging open, and his throat struggling to choke in the right amount of air, his heart struggling to pump the right amount of blood through his jumping veins and to his trembling appendages, his lungs struggling to extinguish a fire they've built themselves.
And it doesn't take long, with Dean's cock inside him, slamming into his prostate with every in thrust, and with Sam's own hand tight around his own cock.
It's not even the fact that he was rubbing himself off, it was the fact that Dean was watching; that, though Sam's eyes have been screwed shut the entire time, he could feel Dean's own breathtakingly green eyes riveted to Sam's hand - to it crawling over his cock, bringing himself to the edge just for Dean.
And it's this fact, that it's Dean towering over him and commanding him to come for his older brother, that pushes Sam so far over the edge that he's not sure he'll be able to pull himself back up. Not sure that Dean will save him, like he always does. Like he's always been obliged to doing. He'll just walk away without a second glance back.
And, now, he's coming all over his stomach and over Dean's, and his moan is caught painfully in his throat, but he manages to croak out a desperate, tightened cry of 'Dean!'.
"Oh, God!" Sam's voice returns and his deviant sounding moan shrieks throughout the entire cabin, and probably out into the depths of the otherwise empty woods, and his hips buck up into his own hand as he works himself down from his... lovely...high.
"That's right, baby, I'm your God, and you're just my little plaything," Dean jeers and his growling smirk makes Sam want to come again.
And apparently the walls of his ass clamping up around Dean is literally enough to make a grown man cry out. Because that's exactly what Dean does when he's done taunting Sam and goddamnit it's so fucking beautiful and Dean is filling Sam up in the most frustratingly, fascinatingly, entrancingly nauseating way and Dean collapses over Sam, his cock, still twitching but softening now, still inside him and his breaths are so splendidly shaky and it makes Sam grin - everything that just happened makes Sam grin - and in the most moronically asinine way.
Dean pulls out and falls into the bed next to Sam, blinking slowly up at him with those pretty, insanely green eyes.
And, to Sam's utter surprise, Dean's lower lip wobbles and his eyes tint red. And he hides his head between his hands and Sam just kind of pulls him in, gathers him up possessively, not understanding what's wrong, but not exactly wanting to understand either. He knows if he asks, Dean will yell at him.
He does anyway.
"What's going on, Dean?" He whispers defensively, keeping his guard up just in case.
And for the billionth time, Dean surprises him and answers, quietly, almost inaudibly, but an answer, nevertheless.
"What the hell just happened," he's laughing.
What the fuck?
"Dean?"
He snorts, starts shaking in Sam's arms but not from crying, from uncontrollable laughing.
"Heh, what..." Gasping laughter. "What did we just..." Snort. "Do Sammy?" Heaving. Gulping air. Trying to calm down. Another burst of laughter. "We really fucked up this time." Rolling over on his back and grinning sarcastically at the ceiling. "Literally."
Sam pulls his eyebrows down like shades over his eyes and rolls the hazel irises to the left before squinting and scrunching up his mouth and nose.
He turns his head quickly, his hair scraping against the pillow making the weirdest scratching sound, and he watches Dean screw his eyes shut and clap a hand over his mouth before dragging it downward while he laughs.
"Sammy, are we dumbasses?"
"Uh...Dean wh....are you okay?"
"Far from it, Sam. You are too," he turns his own head and raises his eyebrows, his mouth tumbling over itself and erasing his previous smile, replacing it with a slight mock frown.
"Dean..."
"Sam."
Sam's eyes gallop over Dean, the beautiful pout of his lips, the beautiful scratchiness of his stubble, the beautiful sculpt of his chest, the beautiful chisel of his stomach, the beautiful slope of his hips, the beautiful muscle of his thighs, the beautiful bend of his knees, the beautiful scarring of his shins.
The epitome of a savagely beautiful elegance that Sam doesn't deserve to have lying next to him.
A sudden thought strikes him, punches him right in the stomach and he imagines keeling over at the pain of the heart-stopping realisation.
"Dean?" Sam's voice gets caught in the tightened depths of his throat, soggy and willowing and scratching, desperate to free themselves.
Dean notices the change in Sam's voice, ever the obliging big brother, and turns back over onto his side, his hand clambering up to touch Sam's cheek.
And, Jesus fuck, heknows what Sam is thinking - exactly what is going through his giant mind. And how the fuck does he always do that?
"Sammy, I'm not goin' anywhere. Ever."
"Why would you stay. Dean?" His voice comes out high-pitched and strained. "What reason...could you possibly have?" He sighs inwardly and shakes his head before whipping his hands out ceremoniously and adding, "I mean, besides free sex, right?"
"Damnit, Sam! Why do you always say things like this!"
"I can't help it...Dean, you're always leaving...always."
Dean's dusty eyes turn a heartbreakingly culpable shade of green and his lips fall open and his guilt is a skyscraper that looms eerily, a guilty shadow that flickers against Sam's own hazel eyes.
"Sam. I'm never going to leave your side. This isn't because of sex. This isn't because dad's brainwashed me into be an older brother that feels like he's required to take care of you. This is because I want to stay. This is because I love you, Sammy. Unconditionally."
"But you just said we're du--"
"I don't fuckin' care what I just said," Dean literally breathes the words out. "I don't care, 'cause you're still my little brother, and I couldn't stop loving you if I tried."
Sam's lips try to break free from his face, shaking almost inhumanly.
He peeks his arms away from his sides and traps Dean in an admittedly tight embrace and Dean struggles to breathe, to push away just a little - not enough to break free, just enough to fucking breathe.
"Don't leave me again," Sam whispers, a tear sneaking past his eyelashes. "Promise, Dean. Promise me."
Dean lets out a slow breath and resides himself to Sam's encircling arms. He collapses into the taller man and smiles briefly, a terribly fleeting but obnoxiously affectionate smirk that crosses his lips quietly, leaving just as sneakily as it came.
"I promise, Sammy."
And Sam knows damn well that Dean keeps promises like these.