Work Text:
It's only just a crush, it'll go away
It's just like all the others it'll go away
Or maybe this is danger and you just don't know
You pray it all away but it continues to grow
I want to hold you close
Skin pressed against me tight
Lie still, and close your eyes girl
So lovely, it feels so right
I want to hold you close
Soft breath, beating heart
As I whisper in your ear
I want to fucking tear you apart
~ She Wants Revenge, "Tear You Apart"
~~~~~
It's just unadorned black leather. Just a band of hide with two shiny silver snaps to hold it snug around Dean's left wrist. But Sam's the one who gave it to him and every time Sam looks over at it, he feels something clench down low in his stomach and he thinks, "Mine."
Which scares the living hell out of him.
i want you to wear this.
what the fuck are you talking about, sam? i have a bracelet and…
no, man. i want you to wear it for me. it's like a signal. it'll mean… when i take it off of you or you... give it to me, that means i'm in charge. that you're mine.
i… jesus. yeah, sammy, i'll wear it. i'll wear it all the time.
But it's been days—almost a week—of long hard hunting as they destroyed LeChard's altars and scoured all the land, the whole fucking town, for all the sketchy pieces of himself he'd left everywhere. Blood and bone and come and tears scattered like dust motes, infecting the entire place. Hell, they burned down the cottage and the whole botanical garden, magic-pollen sex-flowers and all. They haven't had any time to explore this new thing between them, been too tired each day to do anything but collapse into bed for a few hours before getting up to do it again.
Sam convinces himself about a dozen times a day that he's going insane. That the swaggering, obnoxious, cock-rock blaring man at his side, his big brother, could not possibly be the same debauched, needy, submissive creature who sobbingly reassured Sam he was the first one to fuck his ass (M'not lying. I...fuck. Not saying I've never been with anybody. But not that.) who begged and pleaded (Just you. Please, oh Sam... want it, hold me down, so good, anything, I'll do it any way you want, Sammy, please…) for Sam to fuck him harder, faster, more, forever...
No.
It can't possibly be real.
But it is. Sam sees the cuff black and tight on Dean's wrist out of the corner of his eye.
Without looking, Sam reaches across the front seat, hooks one long forefinger into the band and snaps it open and off. Dean gasps—actually gasps out loud. He turns toward Sam and his cheeks flush. He does this sort of desperate squirm in his seat. Sam glances at Dean's lap and sure enough, his cock is a clear, hard line against the dark denim.
Still not looking directly at Dean's face, Sam slips the cuff into his pocket and rests both slightly trembling hands back on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Dean still staring intently at him. He doesn't think he can stand to see the expression on Dean's face straight-on without driving off the road, so Sam keeps his eyes fixed on the windshield, his hands on the wheel.
"Don't have to be anywhere for a while," Sam says lightly, almost a question.
Dean sounds breathless when he answers, quiet and deep in a voice that makes Sam's blood run hotter, "Yeah. What… I mean where are we…"
"Just back to the room," Sam says quietly and licks his lips.
Dean nods. "I wasn't sure if…" He cuts himself off and tips his head back to rest on the top of the seat. "Thank you, Sam."
Sam finally risks a look now that Dean's eyes are closed, lashes curled against his pink cheeks. He looks… Dean looks so relaxed, almost peaceful, and something unclenches in Sam's heart about the whole fucked up situation.
He wants this. Thank God, he still wants this.
Sam drives faster.
~~~~~
"Dean," Sam rocks his hips against Dean's, pushing him a little harder up against the wall.
Dean's eyes are closed, his head thrown back, and his body moves against Sam's in a rhythmic undulation, rubbing and grinding in a wave. Lost in this, in just having Sam hold his arms high above his head and press their bodies together.
Sam repeats, more insistently this time, "Dean."
"Yeah." It's breathy and soft. "Yeah, Sammy."
"I need you to do something."
"Oh God, anything you want."
"I need you to ask me. I need you to ask for what you want."
"You, Sam. Oh, please." Dean arches his back and grinds up against Sam.
Sam smiles. "Sorry, baby, not good enough."
Dean stiffens; his eyes fly open and he looks sort of panicked and lost. "I can do it. Whatever you want, Sam. Please, I can make it good enough."
"Hey, shhh…It's okay. I know you can. You're okay." Sam runs one hand over Dean's hair and face in a soothing caress. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just setting a rule. A new rule for…" Sam swallows. "For this. When we do this. I need you to tell me what you want me to do to you. I need you to ask, very clearly and very precisely, because I don't know what the hell I'm doing with this…this thing either and I have to be sure, Dean. I won't do anything that you don't ask me for. Do you understand?"
Dean's eyes shine brightly as he gazes up at Sam and nods. "Yeah. I understand." He bows his head and burrows his face into Sam's shoulder. "It's just… I understand. I will, Sam. Whatever you want."
"I know it's hard." Dean sags a little at the understanding in Sam's voice, "but… it'll be good, okay? You get what you want and I get to know exactly what to do so I don't have to worry. Do you want me to worry? And it'll be so fucking hot to hear you say it. You want to make me happy, right?" Sam trails his fingertips up Dean's bare back, feels goose bumps rise to the surface to add texture to that smooth warm skin. Dean makes a muffled sound and rocks into Sam.
"Yes, God. That's all I want."
"Good. 'Cause it makes me really fucking happy to make you beg. So tell me. Ask me for what you want me to do to you. Now. I'll let you have anything you want if you just ask me, right now."
There's barely a pause. "I want… I want you to fuck my mouth." Dean's face is still buried in Sam's shoulder. "Like you did when… back at LeChard's cabin. I want to taste you. H-hard. I want you to do it hard."
Sam's head swims with the mental picture, the way Dean squirms against him and the worldview-tilting notion that something Sam feels so fucking guilty for is the first thing Dean asks of him. More blood fills his cock, turning it from a pleasant distraction to an urgent and demanding need. "Jesus. Yeah, Dean. Okay. That's good, that's real good."
Sam backs up and Dean follows him until Sam's standing next to the bed. Dean falls to his knees, oddly graceful, and brings both hands up to unfasten Sam's fly and take out his dick. Dean's body sways lithely with the movement and he smiles and crawls a little closer, then licks at the head of Sam's cock. Sam breathes in sharply.
"Again," he says softly. "Just like that."
Dean's fingers tighten where they hold the folds of Sam's jeans apart and he closes his eyes as his tongue dabs out to swirl around Sam's cock again, teasing, promising. It curls around the ridge, sinuous and wet and Sam's legs want to buckle and melt. "Like that?" Dean asks.
"Yeah," Sam agrees.
"Good?" Dean persists.
"Yeah, Dean. Real good."
Dean smiles up at him, elated and dazzling. "I'm good at this part."
That reminds Sam that although he has an exclusive claim on Dean's ass, he isn't the first to have this mouth. This mouth that's now his. He doesn't even think about it; his hand snatches out to grab a handful of Dean's fine, short hair. Sam feels the insanely wrong something that comes when Dean looks at him this way—eyes watering, pained and grateful—bloom out into his brain like blood diffusing into clear water.
"Don't," he grits out, the low and dangerous note of his voice a little frightening. As all of this sort of is, when it's not hot as a supernova. He jerks Dean's head back so that freckled face is tilted up at him, eyes half-slitted in pain and something that resembles ecstasy. "Don't tell me how good you are. Don't tell me about other people who've fucked you. All you have, all there is, is me."
Dean makes a noise, soft and weirdly kittenish, and tries to nod. Sam scrapes his thumb roughly over Dean's cheek and Dean butts up into it, eyes closed, breathing hard and swaying. Sam lets out his breath and softens. Just a bit. "All right? You okay?" He puts a gentle hand on the top of Dean's head like absolution.
Dean nudges into it and whispers, so quiet Sam almost can't hear him. "Can I talk?"
Sam's knees almost buckle at the unsure look on Dean's face and his voice sounds more breathless than commanding. "Yeah, I love your voice, Dean. You can always talk unless I tell you specifically not to, okay? What is it?"
"I…" For a moment, Dean looks like he's steeling himself, then he looks up directly into Sam's eyes. Dean's pupils are blown wide, only a thin ring of vivid green around the edges. "Can I touch myself this time? While I suck you?"
Sam groans and his hips thrust forward, painting the line of Dean's jaw in pre-come. Who's the one that's supposed to be in control here? Jesus. "Yeah, Dean. Yes. You can touch yourself. God, yes, I'd like that a lot."
Dean breathes, "Thank you, Sammy," out against Sam's cock and then rubs his lips against the head—Sam loves his lips and he knows it—holding onto Sam with one fist and using the other hand to unzip his pants and rub himself slowly through his boxers.
"Dean… oh Christ."
Dean speaks, mouth still against the skin of Sam's cock. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, Sam. I swear. Just you wait; I'll make it so good."
Dean teases with light butterfly kisses and licks, swirling around the head with his tongue and watching Sam, almost gently rubbing one hand over the bulge of his boxers. Sam lets him, rolls with it for a few, but the aching urgency of his cock needs more. And he realizes all at once he can take more, Dean will let him take it. He wants Sam to take, he's waiting for it. It shows in the restless glitter of Dean's eyes through his eyelashes. Sam palms the back of Dean's head. "Dean, Dean, I need. I need it to be… "
Harder. Faster. More. Forever.
Dean's eyes shine with pleasure and something like a challenge and he pushes back against Sam's hand on his head and says, "It's you, Sam. I want you to. Anything you want. Use my mouth, come on."
Dean is a manipulative little bastard—there on his knees, rubbing himself, looking like a live-action poster-boy for the kinkiest brothel in Amsterdam and actually baiting Sam. And there's the slightest bit of hesitation in his eyes. Oh God, Dean's testing him. Okay, fine. That's just fine. Sam will show him that he can measure up. He wants to be fucked? Sam will show him fucked.
The gentle hand in Dean's hair suddenly clenches and Sam pushes his cock back between Dean's lips. Dean chokes a little, then sighs and breathes in, sharp and deep. He moans around Sam's cock and takes him deeper. His eyes flutter closed and he seems to relax all over. Dean's hand finally snakes into his fly and takes out his own rock-hard dick, blood-red and thick.
And it's not that Sam doesn't care or that he ever forgets for one second that this is Dean when he's sheathed himself in the silken clutch of Dean's throat. Quite the contrary. He's acutely aware that Dean chose this, that Dean asked for this, specifically this, and that having Dean here, gulping down Sam's cock like it's ice cream, is a gift he'll never be able to repay except in being the first person to really and truly give Dean what he wants.
Suddenly, Sam pulls Dean in one direction and his dick in the other, leaving Dean's mouth open and empty. Sam's cock is wet and slick, shiny with saliva and his own fluid; Dean's mouth looks the same and something about that juxtaposition puts Sam so close to orgasm, he has to wrap his fingers around himself and squeeze.
The panic's back on Dean's face and Sam would be a lying bastard if he said he didn't like it. Just a little. Dean, who's never been afraid of anything. "S...Sam," he protests. It's feeble, ineffectual. "You said. You said I…"
"Bed," Sam commands, pushing Dean towards it. Dean on his knees is…God…Dean on his knees, but Sam's legs aren't going to hold out. Dean is really good at this. "Get naked and get on the bed, Dean. Lie down. Lie flat."
Dean does; simple as that. Not another word, not an argument. Just that long, strong body, moving because Sam told him to, shedding his clothes like an afterthought, face strangely peaceful again. Sam takes a moment—okay, really a bunch of them—to look at Dean as he settles his back into the mattress. Before LeChard's pollen, before…all of this, Sam had never thought much one way or the other about how Dean looked. Dean got the girls—and a fair sprinkling of the boys—but that was more about Dean than the merely physical. Now Sam's in a position to appreciate the pure aesthetics of Dean and he doesn't want to waste the opportunity.
Sam comes to the edge of the bed and reaches out with just his forefinger, tracing a line from the sole of Dean's foot—which shies away ticklishly, flexing—up one lightly furred shin, along a trembling thigh. At the soft yielding heat of Dean's balls, Sam adds a second finger, still just…touching, exploring, sampling texture and heft.
"Sam…Sammy…" Dean's voice is breathless, weak. He's flushing, his face and neck and chest darkening almost to the same color as his upstanding cock. He looks shamed, he looks desperate.
"Shhh," Sam murmurs, still intent on this—his fingers, Dean's skin. He's got to have Dean's skin; it's so warm, resilient. The hairs are coarse but not rough. Sam glides his touch along the length of Dean's dick and feels it twitch and shake with longing for more. He circles the wet head softly, reverently, and then brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting. Dean groans and his hips lift from the mattress. Sam presses him flat with his other hand, fingers still against his tongue, savoring the bitterness of Dean.
It isn't enough, his fingers, his hands. The rest of Sam's skin cries out for it, the touch of Dean. Quickly, Sam sheds the rest of his clothes and climbs onto the bed, onto Dean, sliding their bodies against each other in flat smooth thrusts. Dean looks at him, gaze dark with pleasure, with want. Sam smiles at him, happy and slow, and like the sun from behind a cloud, Dean smiles back.
Sam just stills, stares into Dean's eyes, pressed together, warm and soft and hard, down the whole length of their bodies. He runs two fingers over the side of Dean's face, a gentle caress; Dean leans into it, his eyelashes fluttering. Sam palms Dean's jaw lightly and strokes his thumb over Dean's plumped lips which part invitingly for him with the motion, the pink skin dragging against the pad of Sam's thumb. Sam crooks his first finger and knuckles at Dean's chin then—mindlessly, selfishly wanting to see more of him—and Dean's mouth just opens. Opens for him with no resistance, no hesitation, jaw loose and pliable, and that's this exactly. Open. Sam's cock throbs where it's pressed into Dean's hip.
Dean's so open for him, open everywhere, so naked and vulnerable and his. It's dizzying. The rush of power at this—having Dean under him, under his hands, under his control. Sam can barely think and something in the center of his chest twists and he's terrified. He isn't worthy of this. To have Dean this way. Strong, beautiful, indefatigable Dean, who always took care of him. Well, now it's Sam's turn.
Except he doesn't know what to do. How to show Dean. How to look into his eyes and feel so much then want to use him so roughly. But then Dean hands clench tight around Sam's hips, pulling Sam toward him and up and his eyes are closed and he's, oh sweet Jesus, begging again.
"Please Sam. Please. Let me. Fuck me. Oh God, I'm sorry, please, I can't wait anymore. Sam."
Sam feels silly, awkward and ridiculous for the briefest moment, perched there, almost sitting on Dean's chest. But then Dean licks his lips, staring fixedly at Sam's cock, wraps both strong hands around Sam's hips and pulls Sam's pelvis in and down. He sucks Sam's cock between lush pink lips with a throaty moan and then Sam doesn't feel silly at all. In fact, it's all he can do to simply grip the headboard and shake and try not to come as Dean pulls Sam's hips in again and again until Sam starts to take control of the thrusts without realizing it. Until he finds himself groaning and fucking into Dean's hot, wet mouth.
Sam hears his own voice, scraped raw and growling deep, before he knows that he's spoken. "Is this what you wanted?" Dean whimper-moans a clear assent. "Do you like it?" Dean nods slightly and squeezes his eyes shut; tears leak out the corners and make his long eyelashes glisten. Sam pulls back again, pulls out, partly because he can't take it, it's just too much. He'll come, he'll come too fast, too soon unless he takes a break. And he wants to hear Dean say it again, needs to hear him say it one more time.
Dean lifts his head, Christ, trying to follow Sam's cock as he pulls it away. Jesus…Jesus… "Sam," Dean gasps and lets out a needy whimper. "Please."
Sam's shaking too, trembling above Dean, "Tell me. Tell me you want this."
Dean's head drops back onto the pillow. "I want it. Sam. God. Please. I want it. You can… please, fuck me harder. You… you can do it harder, Sam. I can take it. I want it. Please."
Sam makes an absolutely unclassifiable noise and it's for real now. Sam can let go now, Dean can let go now and Sam tells Dean in a low commanding voice he barely recognizes, "Don't move. Keep your head on that pillow, Dean, and don't move it."
Dean's breath speeds up and his mouth trembles, eyes half-lidded and heavy and staring just at Sam's dick. Sam circles his hips and rubs the wet head of his dick up against Dean's lips. Dean opens his mouth and licks out his tongue but Sam draws away. Dean makes a small, protesting noise and shakes harder. "Don't." Dean closes his eyes and parts his lips obediently. Sam moves forward again and strokes against Dean's mouth with his cock head, slow and languid, watching, just watching Dean's lips move and drag and rub against him.
Fuck. He could come from just this, just caressing Dean's gorgeous, illegal, cocksucking mouth with the tip of his cock.
"Sam," Dean breathes again, a plea.
"No," Sam tells him. "Not until I say. Not 'til I'm ready. Not 'til I'm done playing with these pretty, soft lips of yours."
"'kay." The puff of Dean's breath ghosts over him and it's almost more than he can stand, to not plunge deep and hard all the way down Dean's throat; break his jaw, break his neck just to be inside Dean. Dean that belongs to him. Dean that's his. The pollen had been great, but it couldn't really compare to having this, having Dean clean and sober and every moment of it stark and clear in his mind to savor and cherish.
Forever. Forever mine.
Sam parts Dean's lips, slips just the head into his wet mouth and Dean keens around him, licking desperately at the underside and not trying to draw Sam further in at all. Dean shifts, just a little, and Sam remembers there's something else he can give Dean, something else Dean wants. "It's okay," he murmurs, smearing the shining wetness from his dick across Dean's mouth like gloss. "It's okay, Dean. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to wrap those clever hands of yours around your dick."
Dean groans and Sam hisses with the vibration, his hips rocking in small involuntary circles. "Do it, baby. I want you to touch yourself. I said, remember? We're in this together. Now do it."
Sam knows the moment Dean's fingers close over his cock; Dean's breath catches and he tilts his shoulders and head just a little bit, sucking Sam that much deeper. The muscles of his throat close around the head of Sam's cock and Sam shudders hard. "Yes," he breathes. "Yeah baby. Do it. C'mon. You and me."
Dean moans and Sam can't help it, that ticklish vibration is too much. He plunges deeper, watches Dean's eyes roll back in his head, eyelashes flickering.
Sam runs his fingers down Dean's face again, worried yet, even around the tightwethot suction—Christ, Dean's going to suck his fillings out through his dick—and feels himself, hard and rigid through Dean's cheek.
Feels the rocking thrust of his own dick. In Dean's mouth. Dean's hot, soft, born-to-suck-cock mouth. The sight of it is so fucking gorgeous, better than porn, better than anything because he knows this mouth, knows it's his.
Sam fights back orgasm again and slows, content to just look; watch himself slide in and out of those stretched lips, feel the flutter of Dean's tongue and the gentle pressure of teeth, just right, listen to the thick wet sound they make, moving—fucking—like this, while Dean's chest rises and falls like a bellows under Sam's thighs and ass.
"God Dean…" It still feels weird, the words tangling on his tongue, but he can't help it, wanting, having, enjoying this too much. It's too much. "I didn't know. I didn't know how good you were. How sweet. You're so fucking sweet, riding my cock like this…"
Dean moans, huffing, vibrating around him, tongue slurping hard against the underside of Sam's dick and robbing him of any decency or sense. Dean's shoulders shake as his hand speeds up the stroke on his cock. His head cranes forward, trying to take more of Sam, trying to urge him on.
"Slow," Sam says sharply, tangling his fingers in Dean's hair and pushing it back against the pillow again. Dean's eyes flash, still glazed, still oddly ecstatic, and his head falls back, surrendering. "We do this how I say, or not at all." Sam tugs on the short strands, hard enough for Dean to feel it. "You wanted this, Dean. Now you have to deal with me owning your ass. My way." He thrusts back in hard and feels Dean's throat tighten up around him, closes his eyes at the soft choked noise Dean makes before he goes back to the soft, slow pace he'd set before. "Got it?"
Dean's nod is barely perceptible, but the soft mewl he makes is all the answer Sam needs. Sam turns his head and watches Dean stroke himself. Dean's cock is nearly as red as his lips, nearly as wet.
"Slow," Sam repeats. "Let me see you."
Dean's back arches a little and his fingers and hips slow, stroke lengthening so that Sam can watch the length of his cock slip in and out of his fist. His hand, his dick, are sodden with pre-come and making delicious wet noises on each thrust.
"You're so gorgeous, Dean." Sam's fingers tighten on the headboard as Dean groans and sucks harder. "Can't believe how good you are at this, how pretty. Yeah, that's it. C'mon, I know you can take all of it. Take it all and I'll give you what you want. I'll fuck you harder."
Like he'll be able to help it. Jesus.
Dean inhales and it's like gravity; Sam sinks into Dean's mouth, Dean's lips rubbing against him all the way, Dean's throat opening like a highway to hell.
"Oh…oh fuck, Dean…" His hips piston; the headboard pulls back and slams into the wall, rhythmic, thunderous, momentous. Dean's eyes shut tighter. The soft noises he makes are almost continuous, adding a whole new level of sensation. But it's not protest. It's not pain, God save them both. "Baby, oh God, Dean…"
Dean's hand slides over Sam's flank, his fingertips digging into his skin and his thumb stroking into the hollow of Sam's hip. He's known Dean his whole life. They don't have to talk, they never have. And he knows what Dean is telling him: It's okay. It's really okay. Let go.
Sam's head falls back on his neck, too heavy to be held upright any more. They want this. They want this, him and Dean.
"Yes," he says. He reaches down for one second and brushes his thumb across Dean's soft-wet bottom lip. Dean tips up into the touch and Sam feels the shudder go through Dean's whole body. "I know," he tells Dean. "I know, baby. C'mon. Love your mouth. Love you. God. Dean. My Dean. You're mine."
Finally, Sam pulls back, not able to fight it anymore. He unclenches one hand from the headboard to fist around his dick, pulls himself out of the deep of Dean's mouth and throat and comes in hard, fiery pulses over Dean's tongue, feeling like it's wringing his whole body dry.
When the first spurt floods his mouth, Dean shudders and tilts his head back, offering up the silken heat of his tongue and palate like they're Sam's to thrust into, to come against, whenever he wants. The noises that come from Dean's throat—moaning and continuous—go straight to the base of Sam's spine, tugging the orgasm out of him in violent bursts until Sam thinks he might lose consciousness like he's so clearly lost anything resembling sense.
When he's emptied what feels like every droplet of moisture from his body through his dick, Sam starts to collapse, his arms and legs like jelly. Dean's hand slides from Sam's hip to the bas-relief of his ribs, easing Sam down; his thumb teases the rock hard peak of Sam's nipple. Sam slithers down Dean's body, draping himself over him. Dean is still stroking himself off and gasping, his mouth red and swollen. Sam knocks Dean's hand away from his dick and takes hold of him. Dean is firm and fever-hot, arching up into Sam's grip with a near-soundless whine.
"So fucking beautiful, Dean. Christ, you made me come so hard. Your mouth, it's so good." Dean whimpers and tries to turn his face to the side. "No, come on, let me see you." Dean's eyes are open and wet and drugged-looking. Sam leans down and sucks and bites at his swollen mouth, runs his tongue over and between his lips and strokes Dean harder. He murmurs against Dean's gasping mouth, "Yeah, that's good. You're so good. Come for me, Dean, c'mon."
Dean's eyes snap shut as he cries out and comes into the palm of Sam's hand, shuddering and sobbing and clutching Sam's slowing arm. Sam leans his forehead against Dean's neck, still murmuring. "So good, baby. So fucking good. I'm so lucky. So lucky, my good boy. Dean."
Against his chest, Sam feels their hearts slow and even out in counterpoint to each other. "Sam," Dean croaks, voice shaking.
Sam whispers, "I know." He swirls his hand over Dean's naked skin and they lay like that for a while, breathing. Thank God, Sam thinks. Thank God I didn't fuck this up any more than it already is. Because…because I think I need this. I think we both do.
Sam leans off the bed, keeping one hand still grasped around the back of Dean's neck, and rummages around for his pants. He plucks the leather cuff from his pocket and pulls Dean back in against him. He holds out the cuff. "You want this back?"
Dean reaches out and takes it but shakes his head slightly and leans away from Sam to drop the cuff on the nightstand. He rolls back over and almost completely covers Sam with his body, hot, heavy and sprawling. Dean shakes his head again. "Not yet."
"Okay." Sam strokes over Dean's hair with one hand and pulls Dean's arm up with the other until he can drop a little licking kiss on the inside of Dean's wrist. Dean shivers and closes his eyes. "Not yet."