Sam holds Dean’s chin, moving his head around where he wants. Dean is pliant, letting his brother do what he wants, how he wants.
There’s a glint in Dean’s eyes and Sam knows that he’s getting off on it as much as he is.
The drag of soft, kiss bruised lips over the head of his cock is ecstasy. Dean’s hand slides up over Sam’s hip, his fingernails digging down into flesh. He teases his tongue around Sam’s belly button, making Sam’s muscles jump with sensation.
Dean’s eyes barely leave Sam’s, dark and intense like Dean gets, but when they do stray, it’s down to the fresh swirls of black ink on Sam’s chest.
He’d been without it for far too long. Dean had been bugging him about getting it redone. Sam needed to be safe, it was the smart thing to do, but Sam knew the truth. It was part of them, who they are, and Dean hated being half of what should be whole.
Seeing it now, the unmarked skin surrounding it still red from the scratch of the needle, his own chest burns even though the ink on his own skin is old, it feels alive.
Sam pushes his thumb into Dean’s mouth, presses it down onto his tongue, feels the scrape of Dean’s teeth. He’d seen Dean lick his lips so many times when he’d sat watching him at the tattoo shop that morning. They hadn’t spoken, and Sam enjoyed the sharp sting of metal digging in him almost as much as he did from his brother’s heated stare.
Like now, they don’t need words to just know what the other is thinking. Dean grins and puts his hand over Sam’s wrist until Sam removes his thumb. He slides his lips over the head of Sam’s cock and hollows his cheeks, giving it a good suck while he works his tongue around the hard ridge.
Sam blows out a breath, feeling the bulge of himself through Dean’s cheek. He lifts his hips, encouraging Dean to take him deeper.
Dean gets up on all fours, a better angle to do what Sam is asking for, and Sam trails his fingers lightly over his chest, hissing at the harsh contrast of pleasure and pain.
Opening his mouth wider, Dean sinks down, savoring the discomfort in his throat that he’s never gotten used to. But like Sam, he’s not adverse to a little edge to their fucking.
When Dean’s nose hits Sam’s pubic hair, Sam’s body jerks violently. It’s glorious.
Sliding his hand over his heart , Dean rubs the bloom of black, presses his palm to it. It might be his imagination, or maybe just the echo of his racing pulse, but if Dean had a gun to his head, he’d swear that there was not one beat in his chest… but two.