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Sam's drunk. Drunk enough to not know how they got back to the motel.

How they ended up like this.

Dean's wrists feel too delicate in his grip, and he presses them back to the door harder. Dean's hips cant towards his, a broken sound falling from his lips that Sam swallows down. It's too hot, Dean's dick against his, their lips meshed together. His head is spinning.

He slides Dean's hands up so they're above his head, shoves his whole body into Dean's. Dean's leg is hooked around his hip, their erections crammed together. He can't breathe. Dean's tongue too far back in his throat.

The sounds they're making are obscene. Dean grunts into his mouth, writhing against the door, pushing his hard-on into Sam's. He smears his tongue under Dean's ear, licks down to his neck. Dean moans, bangs his head against the wood, baring his neck. Sam latches his mouth there, sucks hard. He lets go of Dean's wrists to hold him closer. One arm around his waist, the other clinging to the opposite shoulder. He steps back, and Dean's head falls further back against the wall.

''Sam,'' he groans. Like it hurts, like it's too much. The breathless, raspy tone that Dean uses to call to him makes him whimper, sucks harder on Dean's neck. Dean's hands fist in his shirt, and he tugs violently, ripping buttons out, Dean shoves at the cloth impatiently. But Sam can't stop kissing his throat, doesn't pull back.

The shirt ends up hanging from one side, as Dean insistently tugs at the under shirt, managing to pry Sam off him, digging his teeth into Sam's collarbone. The pain shots through him like lightning, and he comes in his boxers, hot and sticky. Rutting on Dean, and panting on his ear.

Dean pushes him back. They tumble to the bed. Dean falls on top of him, humps against Sam's hip till he finds his release.

Sam's chest is heaving, he's panting, then Dean's tongue is there and he's choking on it, moaning around it. They're both spent, fully-clothed and gross. Fucking drunk out of their minds. Dean is between his legs, still thrusting against him and it hurts for real now. The rough feel of denim friction is too much. But he doesn't move away, doesn't even try. Hooks both legs around Dean, sneaks his arms under his brother's shirt so he can feel the sweaty skin there.

He falls asleep like that.


The light is too bright behind his closed lids. Something's trying to claw his way out of his skull with a hammer.  It's too hot and stuffy, and he can't move. The weight on his chest shifts. Sam's eyes pop open.

He hisses at the light and squeezes them shut again. But he's fully awake now, and other sensations start to register.


Dean's body is pinning him to the mattress. He's snoring and he smells like whiskey and sex. Sam knows where that's from; he can feel the evidence in his pants. It's sticky and disgusting, and his bladder is about to explode. There must be a way to get up without disturbing Dean.

The pounding behind his eyeballs persists, forces him into the lying pledge of never drinking again. Dean nuzzles his neck, moves his hips and his morning wood catches on Sam's zipper. Sam's eyes snap open. He lifts his head to look down and feels like crying as he takes in his brother's naked back.

He remembers last night with vivid details. Never been a forgetful drunk, must be his fucking luck. Dean was fully clothed when they passed out yesterday. At some point during the night, Dean got up, took off his clothes, and laid down on Sam again. Fucking naked. He must've been drunk still at the time.

Weird thing is, Sam doesn't feel like moving him. His only regret is that his clothes are still there.

The sounds of the traffic gets louder as the sun rises higher in the sky. Sam's dozing off again when Dean groans and lifts himself up. He's adorably confused for a second, then his eyes widen and he freezes. Staring down at Sam like he's willing him to disappear.

Sam is truly wishing him good luck on that one.

''Mornin' ''

Dean blinks at him. ''Morning?'' he asks, like he's never heard the greeting before.  Then it clicks and he nods his head at Sam. He gets up but not out of bed, sits on the edge near Sam's legs.

''Ugh, fuck.'' The sound is muffled. Sam is not looking, but he knows Dean's head is in his hands now.

Sam gets up, enters the bathroom and starts the shower. Relieves himself then gets under the water.  Listening to the frantic pacing outside despite the water rush in his ears. He can't help being tuned to Dean.

He goes through his routine, takes his time. Dean bitches at him when he gets out. ''What took you so long, princess?''

After they check out, they have a tasteless breakfast in a nearby diner.

Dean reads the newspaper, a marker in his mouth. Lips pouting around it, a little shiny from spit. Sam stares and thinks about last night.

This is new.

It doesn't feel like it.


Their next hunt takes them to Saint Charles, Missouri. Numerous deaths that spell vengeful spirit. As Dean puts it, ugly, bloody and spooky. The research on that one is a bitch.

They butt heads left and right, arguing and snapping. Sam's head keeps pounding like he's still hung over, and Dean's eyes won't meet his.

They manage to ignore it, even though it eats and breathes with them. Getting heavier and heavier each passing day.

They salt and burn the bones after five days.

Dean is wound tight, his shoulders tense. Tone clipped as he tells Sam to get in the car. It's the kind of tension he carries when he goes without a good fuck for too long.

Sam is almost offended. It's been only a week.

They drive back in silence.

Dean goes out as soon as he's out of the shower. Not throwing his usual wink and ''don't wait up'' over his shoulders.

He has darkness in his eyes, and new blisters on the inside of his palms. Sam imagines licking them while holding eye contact. How much deeper Dean's eyes will get, how much greener.

The motel they're in is one of the worse ones, but Sam makes do. He stretches out in the empty tub with his feet near the faucet, and turns the shower water with his foot. The water isn’t warm; causes the hair on his skin to stand on end, goosebumps raising. His dick is still hard and dripping pre-come, the ghost taste of Dean in his mouth.

He couldn’t get the real taste, with Dean’s mouth as drenched in whisky as it was. But if he can't have the taste, the smell and the heat never left him. Dean smelled like the car, he smelled like sweat and salt when Sam had him pinned to the door, sounded like he wanted whatever Sam might do to him.

He slides his hand down his chest, curls his fingers around his cock. He hisses at the contact, his hand is chilly. The tub is too small, but he works with it, rests his head on the edge, and throws one of his legs over. The other bent, foot to the cold porcelain. Water cascading down his chest, doing nothing to calm the heat he's emitting. He closes his eyes and Dean is there. His hands on Sam, and they're kissing.

He tugs a bit rougher and his breath hitches. Thumbs at the slit, gathers the pre-come and spreads it, wonders if Dean likes it the same way he does. He can't help the whine that comes out of his mouth. He goes faster, squeezes a bit more.

He wants to drop to his knees, take Dean into his throat, suck at his dick the same way he sucked at his tongue. He wants to choke on it. His hands moves faster and it's not enough. He puts two fingers in his mouth. Sucks on them hard, moans around them. They're slippery as he thrusts them in and out, and he pushes them farther down, almost gags. Keeps sucking on them.

Dean would taste bitter, all that meat he eats. He would thread his fingers in Sam's hair and tug, maybe say something cheesy. Call Sam ''baby'' or ''sweetheart''. Talk dirty, force him to swallow.

Sam's breaths goes labored, his chest heaving.

He takes his fingers out, sneaks them under his balls. He hasn't done this in a while, and he's not ready. Doesn't have something to ease the way. But he needs it.

Fuck. He needs it so bad. And it's never been like this before.

He pushes one finger inside and groans. It's a tight fit, and he's dry. But he doesn't wait, inserts another digit and crooks them inside, finds that place that makes him dizzy with pleasure.

He's panting, and moaning. Fucking himself down on his fingers. Matching the pace with the hand on his cock. He imagines Dean walking in on him, with his legs spread open, and two fingers up his ass .  He comes so hard he almost passes out.

He stays there in the tub, his dick spent, but the tension in his muscles still there. The memory of Dean between his legs, Dean's lips on his.

It was like children play, and still the best sex he's ever had.


Sam lies fully clothed on his bed, ends of his hair still dripping onto the pillow. He's expecting a long, sleepless night.

The door squeaks, then keys clatter on the table. Sam lifts his head, watching Dean taking his boots off, then slumping down into one of the chairs around the table.

''You're back early.''

''Yeah, well,'' Dean says. A bit bitter. Sam gets that scratchy feeling under his skin, hotness in his gut. He gets up, intending to sit with his brother for a while. But Dean's shoulders tense like he's expecting a fight. The defensive reaction to his approach turns that heat in Sam’s stomach to fire, and suddenly he's angry.

''What's wrong, you couldn't get it up?'' he almost snarls.

Dean stands fast enough to knock his chair back, pointing fiery gaze towards Sam. There's something else there too, other than rage, something Sam is feeling just as strongly, and still can't name.

Dean marches to him, stops so close their chests almost touch.

Time stands still even though Sam can hear the clock ticking. His heart is beating in his ear, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins getting hotter, can breathe the anticipation. But Dean closes his eyes, takes a step back.

''That's what I thought,'' Sam taunts. And that's it.

Dean's on him before he can blink, tongue pushing inside his mouth, and fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss is so hard he can taste blood, doesn't care whose it is.

Finally. Oh God finally. Dean's hot against him, swallowing down the noises Sam's helpless but to make. Dean takes his hands away long enough to shed his shirt, then they're back on Sam, tugging his shirt out of his sweat pants, sneaking below the waist band. Dean's fingers on his ass, thumbs brushing on his hips. Something slows for just a breath.

Dean yanks his shirt up, separating their mouth for less than a second, baring Sam's chest. Dean kisses him again, takes his bottom lip into his mouth and sucks on it, scrapes it with his teeth as he pulls back. He slides his lips down Sam's neck, kisses from his shoulder to his clavicle.

Sam remembers Dean biting on it and he groans as the memory becomes one with reality, Dean's incisors no doubt leaving marks on the delicate line of bone.

Sam frames Dean's head with his hands, lifts it back up, crashes their mouths and licks his way inside Dean's. Hot, and wet. Taste like cheap booze and his brother. He's crazy with it, dick so hard like he hadn't come just an hour ago.

He walks Dean back. Dean's fingers graze the table, grips a chair, knocks it down. Then his hand is in Sam's hair again, holding and yanking. Like Dean wants it to hurt. Sam moans loud, and Dean eats the sound up like he needs it to survive. Dean's back hits the wall and he groans as his arms circle Sam's waist and pulls him flush against his chest.

But Sam has other plans; he pushes on Dean's chest till Dean lets go and falls to his knees. Dean looks down at him with awe, unbelieving.

''Fuck. So pretty on your knees, Sammy,'' he pants, his voice shot to all hell, whiskey-like.

Sam's fingers tremble as he unfastens Dean's buckle, pulls the belt and throws it out over his shoulder. Dean impatiently takes his jeans off, kicks down his boxers. His dick is fucking gorgeous; perfect pink, hard and long, curved to the side and dripping. Sam's mouth waters, and he can't help licking the drop of pre-come making its way down the shaft. Follows the trace back up to the head.

Dean moans. His head banging on the wall, fingers threading in Sam's hair. Sam keeps eye contact as he takes the tip in. It's fucking delicious, hot and musky. He closes his eyes and groans at the flavor. Dean loses it, uses his hold to yank Sam in, forces his dick into Sam's throat.

Sam gags, tears gathering in his eyes, but he doesn't let Dean pull out. Hollowing his cheeks and sucking as he starts to bob his head.

''Fuck, Sam. Your mouth,'' Dean blabbers. And Sam likes it. He tries to take more again, only managing about half of Dean's length. He uses his hand to stroke what doesn't fit, the other hand gripping Dean's hip. He whimpers around the length in his mouth, and his dick is twitching now. He wishes he took the time to strip his sweatpants.

He lets Dean's hip go and shoves his hand in his pants, relaxes his throat muscles and looks up at Dean through his lashes. Message loud and clear. Dean curses. His fist in Sam's hair tightens.

A moment, Dean locks their eyes together, he's making sure, so Sam nods. Dean slams his hips in, and both moan, the tip of his cock forcing Sam's throat open. Sam keens and whimpers, drool running on the side of his chin. Dean throws his head back and lets go, thrusts into Sam's mouth like he doesn't fucking care. The noises he's letting out drive Sam crazier by the moment.

''Will you let me come inside Sammy? Swallow it all like a good boy?'' Dean husks, and fuck Sam had guessed his big brother would talk dirty, but he didn't count on how much he'd be into it. Dean's raspy tone goes straight to his dick. He jerks himself with Dean's rhythm, feels Dean twitch in his mouth, right before warmth floods the back of his throat. He chokes on it, can't swallow it all, and Dean hisses an apology and pulls back, last strand of his release hitting Sam on his mouth and cheek.

He fucking shoots his brain out from his dick, and Hell. This is the best orgasm of his life yet, and if they keep doing this he has no doubt it won't be the best for long.

Dread clamps on his heart, because what if they didn't do this again?

He looks up and Dean's eyes are there, pinning him in place, fire in their depth. Sam gulps. Dean's staring down at him like he wants to devour him whole. He starts tugging Sam up, hands on his arms, getting him upright then pushing him back to the bed. Sam falls down on his ass, eyes never leaving Dean.

Dean growls, fucking growls, the sound so hungry it makes Sam shiver. His spent dick gives a useless attempt at getting hard again. Dean bends down, licks the come he's left on Sam's face, and then shares it with him. Sam moans into the kiss, hands coming up to cling on Dean's shoulders. But Dean is having none of it. He breaks the kiss, takes Sam's wrists and shoves him back. He's looking up at the ceiling, back on the bed and feet on the floor, his ass on the edge.

Dean tugs his sweats down, kneels between Sam's bare legs. He throws Sam's thighs on his shoulders, pulls him so his ass is exposed. Sam has less than a second to think of what's going to happen then Dean's tongue is down there, licking right on his hole, hot and slippery. Sam gasps Dean's name in an embarrassingly high-pitched tone, and Dean huffs a chuckle on his skin.

''My turn to make you feel good, Sammy,'' he breathes.

Sam feels like he's going to melt, Dean's tongue is in his ass, fucking him open in the filthiest way possible and it's so fucking good Sam doesn't know what to do with himself. He reaches down, tries to grip on Dean's hair, but it's not long enough, so he fists his fingers in the sheets, hold on till his knuckles turn white.

Dean is going to town, sucking at his rim, biting on his ass cheeks, then dipping the tip of his tongue in. Licks hard and hot along Sam's crack, up to the patch of skin below his balls. Dean lavishes the sensitive spot , Sam's thighs quivering either side of Dean's head. Dean's hands gripping them open. There'll be finger shaped bruises and fuckin stubble burns on his inner thighs and he loves it.

He's moaning too loud, uninhibited. Feels crazy as Dean starts sucking on his balls.  There's dried come that Dean's lapping up like it's his last meal, and Sam is hard again. His balls tight under Dean's velvet tongue.

The sound he makes as Dean inserts a finger inside him is a whine he'll deny till his dying breath, Dean pushes it all the way in wiggles it, and licks around it. Then stops, moans.

''Sam, fuck. You're loose .'' he's awed, a bit breathy. And Sam feels reckless enough to tell him.

''I fingered myself in the bath.''

''Fuck. That's hot.''

Dean goes a bit faster after that, shoves in two more fingers, and it's a tight fit now, even with how much Dean's licked at his hole. Too dry if Dean wants to fuck him.

And God, please let Dean be willing to go that far.

Dean pulls his fingers out, and Sam's hole clinches on air, feeling open and empty. Dean then stands up, and Sam's legs fall like jelly. He slides himself on the bed till half his head is out of the other side. He should turn around, but Dean's back, and his fingers are lubed and he's kissing Sam like he wants to take all the breath in his lungs. So Sam doesn't bother.

Dean places his hands under Sam's knees, spreads him open. One thrust and he's inside Sam. Hot, and hard and perfect. So deep Sam can almost taste it. He feels even bigger than he did when Sam had him in his mouth, making himself a place in Sam's body. Sam's so full he thinks he'll never be whole again without Dean's cock in his ass.

''Sam, Sammy,'' Dean moans onto his neck, hips slamming forward, pushing Sam further out of the bed, his head is hanging off the side, his hair all dangling down. Dean pounds him harder, feeds Sam his curses and groans of his name.

''Dean, fuck. Harder.'' he pants, almost can't believe it when Dean's hips pumps harder still, nailing him just right, his fingers digging into the back of Dean's neck.

He's looking upside down at the other bed, and it's surreal. Dean fucking him like both their lives depend on it, and all Sam can think is they should do this forever. Never stop, ever, ever .

His hand slips on Dean's back, he's sweaty, and the muscles there are contracting under Sam's palm, he hooks his arm from under Dean’s, cups his shoulder blade, the other he throws around Dean's neck and hangs on.

Their moans get louder, broken versions of both their names mixing up in Sam's ears. It's too hot, he can't kiss Dean anymore. Dean's sucking on his earlobe, then under it. On his neck, the round of his shoulder. Dean's teeth graze the flesh there, sink in and Sam's done. He whites out, coming without a hand on his cock, third time for the night.

He clenches his walls around Dean's dick, and Dean groans around the mouthful of Sam's flesh he's still biting on, bites down even harder when he fills Sam. Pushing it in with jerky, unorganized thrusts.

He collapses, heavy and sweaty, cheek plastered to Sam's chest. Both of them panting.

His arms are still around Dean and he feels reluctant to move them. His shoulder hurts, he can sense the blood sliding down, and he wants to smile at the burn, call his brother kinky. But Dean pushes himself up, holds his weight on his forearms, stares down at Sam with too many questions in his eyes.

''Sam,'' he whispers. Voice hoarse. And Sam doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want excuses about how they can't do it again, because they already did and they can. They can .

''It doesn't have to be hard,'' he rushes to say ''we both want it, it feels amazing. Best sex ever,'' Dean gives him a smirk, and he smiles back. ''It's so easy, Dean.''

And it is, it can be. Why look for sex out there with strangers when they can have it here, better and safer and on demand.

Dean considers him for awhile, face unreadable. Then he grins and moves his hips forward, reminds Sam that his dick is still inside. ''Best sex ever, huh?''

Sam throws his head back and laughs. He knew that stroking his brother's ego would get him some points. ''Yes, Dean,'' he concedes. ''Best sex ever.''


It becomes a habit far more easier than Sam's expected. The sex fits right in. They don't talk about it but the rules are there. Petty lines like they haven't crossed every one imaginable.

It's casual, satisfying and has no strings attached. And Sam grows addicted to it. It's them talking one second, and the next they're kissing and stripping and can't get to the bed fast enough. Sometimes they don't.

They get kinky, and they get too familiar with each other. Shower sex turns to making out under the stream of the water, Dean's fingers in his hair, and his lips gentle and slow. Sam likes these showers the best.

They fuck a lot.

In both their beds in every motel room. In the backseat of the car. On the car, and beside the car.

Sam gets bent over most of the tables they come across. Gets his dick sucked in public bathroom stalls, and blows Dean while he's driving.

Life is great and wonderful.


The weather gets colder the further north they drive. Despite the sun outside, and the fact that they're in a somewhat crowded place, Sam's hands are cold. Dean's humming under his breath as he skims the menu. Sam refused his.  Doesn't matter, these diners are all the same. Dean orders a giant burger, cheese and extra onions, and a side of French fries. Some beer, or a coke, whatever's colder. Then he makes a jab about Sam's salad. Same old, same old.

The one thing different (or not really, but Sam had forgotten about it) is something that Sam just now notices.

''Anything else I can do for you?'' the waitress croons. She's young and shapely. Small waist,  round ass. Her black hair tied up in a stylishly messy ponytail. Her big, brown eyes lined with black, and her lips painted pink. She's leaning so far down her cleavage is in Dean's face.

Sam huffs, looks at the window. She's so Dean's type: a willing woman.

''Thank you, ma'am. That'll be all,'' Dean's tone is politely dismissive. He knows exactly what he's doing. 'Cause he's looking at her face and never below the neck, making a point of it too. His smile is friendly but nowhere near the one he uses on his potential dates.

She nods, and Sam watches her leave; sees the wishful glance she throws at Dean over her shoulder.

He turns back to Dean, but Dean's eyes aren't on him. He's looking down at his hands with wide eyes, like he's as unbelieving of what just happened as Sam is. When his eyes meets Sam's, he flinches. Looks almost spooked.

He can't be regretting turning a chick down. Sam won't let him regret it. He gets up and takes Dean by the wrist, leads him to the bathroom.

Once they're locked inside, Sam closes the lid of the toilet and pushes Dean down on it, drops to his knees, careless of the filthy ground and Dean's question of what's gotten into him.

He can't answer because he himself doesn't know for sure. But something in him is preening at the fact that Dean didn't flirt back, didn't ditch him for that girl. He's happy about it, almost giddy and he wants Dean maybe more than ever. Circumstances be damned.

He deep throats Dean right away, so much better at this than he was when they first started. He doesn't gag easily now, can take Dean almost to the end, and he knows what Dean likes. He pulls every trick he knows to get Dean to the edge.

When his brother is too close, he pulls away and squeezes the base of Dean's dick. Strains himself up till his mouth is on Dean's ear.

''I want you to fuck me,'' he whispers. And Dean shudders, cock growing impossibly harder in Sam's hand.

''Sam,'' he rasps, and that's the tone Sam was looking for. Dean, calling to him. Wanting, and needy.

''Don't even need to prep me, I'm all open and wet.'' Dean groans, hands cupping Sam's face, kissing him passionately, almost violent. ''Bet I still have some of your come in me.''

And that seals the deal. Nothing gets Dean more worked up than seeing his marks on Sam. And his come inside Sam's ass is one of his favourite things. He pulls Sam up, flips him and shoves him face first onto the stall's door. Leaving Sam's ass near his face.

Sam's already hard, the anticipation alone is making sweat drip down his temple. He helps Dean getting his ass bared, jeans shoved down just to his mid thighs. He bends his waist, sticks his butt out, and Dean doesn't waste time grabbing two fistfuls, opening him up and licking into him.

''Fuck, you are still open,'' he slurs around Sam's rim, hot tongue sweeping over Sam's twitching hole. They can't afford to stay long, and even if they did Sam doesn't have the patience for this now.

''Dean, come on. Please. Fuck me,'' he whines, not in the least surprised at how worked up he got. It's a thing. Dean chuckles, bites on the apple of his ass and Sam whimpers. They discovered that they both had something of a biting kink. Dean is a half vampire, likes to sink his teeth in. And Sam fucking loves it. The edge of pain, how primal and animalistic it is. He loves that it leaves more marks on him. He has so many bite marks on his body. On his back, shoulders, clavicle, neck, and his hip bones. The inside of his thigh and now his ass. Dean bites just under the swell of it, plants a gentle kiss on the same spot.

Dean's hands fit around his waist, and guide him back and onto Dean's cock. He's sitting in Dean's lap backward, bracing himself with his hands on the door, waist arched so his forehead is on the wood, too. He can't spread his legs any wider, his jeans around his ankles, no time or will to bother. Dean fucks up into Sam as hard as the position allows. The door rattles as Dean shoves him further with every thrust, making him moan and ask for more.

Two fingers make their way into his mouth and Sam leans back against Dean so he can take them deeper. Sucks on them like he’ll die if he doesn’t, humming and groaning around them. Dean nails his prostate with every shove of his hips, one arm holding Sam around the waist. He rubs at Sam’s tongue with the pads of his fingers, mouthing on the back of Sam's shoulder through his shirt.

Sam doesn't know how Dean can find the coordination to do this, hands at work, his mouth and dick. Turning Sam into a mess. Dean is too good at this, and it makes Sam wonder how can anyone let Dean out of their beds after they have him like this. How can they move on, have sex with another while knowing that it could be like this .

Dean licks a trail from the side of Sam's neck to his ear ''Come for me, Sammy.''

Sam's orgasm shoots through him like lightning, and he slumps forward against the door. His body loose and unmoving. Dean fucks him through it, then fucks him some more till he's sure he's lost all brain power. Dean comes, then, filling Sam up for the second time that morning. Warmth blooms in Sam's heart and stays there. The only thing he wants is to kiss Dean then fall asleep in his arms.

But they can't do that.

They clean up best as they can with toilet paper. Dean helps him put himself back together, wets his hand and strokes through Sam's locks, trying to tame them back into something that doesn't scream 'I got fucked in the bathroom stall'

Sam hopes it doesn't work. Dean smirks at him like he knows, and kisses him like he wants the same. Keeps kissing him till both their lips are red, and swollen and there's no mistaking what they did back here.

They eat cold food and drink warm coke, but their smiles are big and their silence is filled with contentment. When they get out, Sam's smirk at the waitress is a bit too self satisfied, and gets even more so when she gives him a look that's the bastard of anger and envy.

He's not planning on sharing Dean anytime soon. And that thought alone should've made him stop and consider. Instead he follows Dean to the car with a silly smile on his face.


They're supposed to be watching whatever movie is on in the background. And they were, Dean was running the commentary on stupid chicks who go into an obvious early graves.

He doesn't remember how he got like this, though. And this time he's not drunk. He's on Dean's lap and it's uncomfortable as hell. He has to lean down too far to kiss him and his neck is kinda hurting.  But Dean's hand is massaging his scalp, his other arm holding Sam close, and it's so warm.

Sloppy kisses, then sweet kisses. Kiss after the other, till Sam's limbs turn loose. It's like being drugged, his mind getting numb, everything in his body turning off, except the parts touching Dean. Like he doesn't exist out of this moment.

Dean slows it down, only sugary brushes of lips, and gentle nips. No tongue, just chaste sweeps of their lips against each others. It's maddening to think about it, but neither of them is going anywhere with this. They're on the couch, ignoring the movie in favour of kissing, and it feels like the best thing ever.

''You wanna turn this off and head to bed?'' Dean whispers against his skin. Intimate feel of his breath on Sam's chin. And he knows, that his brother doesn't mean sex. Just to sleep.

He buries his face in Dean's shoulder, inhales deep. Dean's scent, sweat and beer and leather, it makes his heart squeeze, and it aches but he craves more of it anyway.


They strip down in silence, climb to the bed that's meant for Sam. And Dean shifts till his nose is on Sam's clavicle, arms around Sam's waist. Dean sleeps, but Sam doesn't.

His heart drums, by the time the light creeps in from the window, Sam's exhausted and the unknown feeling in his gut doesn't seem so foreign anymore.


It comes like a punch under the belt even expected. Sam isn't delusional enough to have thought it wouldn't happen sometime. But he's hoped.

Damn it, he shouldn't be this surprised. But he is .

They've been doing so well. And he never refused Dean anything.

So why ?

What is it that Dean needs and he can't give so he has to go look for it somewhere else?

The list of answers on that one is longer than Sam cares to sort through, and Dean doesn't owe him anything. It was supposed to be casual, that was the deal.

The smell of cheap perfume on Dean doesn't feel less like a betrayal. And it gets stuck in Sam's nostrils, he smells it on Dean the moment he steps close. Even states later, miles away. So many showers and laundry trips. He can still smell it because Dean did that. He fucking did that and Sam can't do anything about it.

He's self-aware enough to know he's jealous, but not brave enough to think about the why.


''What's wrong with you?'' Dean asks from between grit teeth.

''Nothing.'' It's nonchalant because he's a good actor, but it's a lie and they both know it. Dean narrows his eyes, throws a meaningful glance at the shattered cup on the floor.

''Yeah? Since when do you throw cups around while screaming to be left alone?''

It's ridiculous, completely childish. He thought he had more control than that. But nothing has been under his control since he turned his head away from Dean's touch. Dean couldn't leave it alone. He keeps wheedling and nagging. Till Sam explodes.

He turns his face away, catches a flash of an angry gaze before he closes his eyes.

''You're being a bitch you know that?''

And it's nothing Dean hasn't said before, but Sam is so bitter, confused and angry.

His knuckles connects with Dean's jaw before he can stop himself, and Dean moved to duck but was not fast enough. They stare at each other, Sam wide eyed, trembling. Dean, calm, the eye of the storm. He lifts his hand, slides his thumb on the cut of his jaw, holding Sam captive with an icy glare.

Dean takes a breath and lets it go slow, then turns around. Sam's heart falls to his feet, and he's a second from begging.

All his breath leaves him in a gasp, back slammed to the wall, and Dean's face is so close. Hands fisted in Sam's collar.

''You wanna tell me what's wrong?'' Dean's tone is cold, but that only means Sam has managed to piss him off royally.  

''What, I can't say no to you now?'' he spits.

''Sam,'' Dean warns.

''You have no problems finding it elsewhere, why are you so upset now?''

For a second he thinks Dean is gonna hit him, or kiss him. Neither happens. Dean leans close, breath hot on Sam's neck, sends shivers down his spine. Then Dean bites down, and Sam's knees buckle. Dean takes advantage, kicks Sam's legs wider and tugs his head back, clamps down harder till Sam hisses.

He grabs Dean's neck and pushes, Dean's teeth losing their hold, then Sam twists around in half circle, shoulders him in the chest throwing him back. Kicks Dean’s leg to make him fall. He follows him down, straddles his hips. Dean doesn't settle. He bucks up, using his momentum to try and flip them over. It's useless. Sam plants himself, lowers his chest to pin Dean more securely, and Dean's hands get hold of his hair. He yanks him into a brutal kiss, teeth clacking and lips bruising.

The world spins, Sam finds himself on his back, staring up at Dean, who's smirking down at him.  Dean fights dirty, and Sam is not opposed to being under Dean, but he's still too angry to let it go. He claws at Dean's back, get him flush against him as they kiss again. Dean moves, let him go, starts tugging his pants down. Once his ass is bare Dean's grabbing at the drawer beside the bed. They fell right beside it, the room too small for them to be anywhere else. Dean's fingers shove inside with no warning, and Sam keens. It hurts, too much too soon and exactly what he wants to match the storm hitting his chest. Dean's impatient, slicks himself up, slams his lips against Sam's same time as he pushes his dick in. Starts a rough rhythm. Sam kisses him back with everything he's got, puts all anger and betrayal and insecurity into it.

He bites at Dean's lips, and tongue, and it burns in his heart. He's hurting, and Dean's thrusts are shoving him, his head banging against the night stand and it's not what's hurting him.  His eyes sting as Dean moans above him, lets go and fucks his hips harder.

Sam takes Dean's hands in his, threads them together, and Dean looks at him like he's never seen him before, slides their clasped fingers above Sam's head, kisses him again. It feels too good, it's amazing. It's everything. And if he's feeling it this intensely, how can Dean not feel it too? Why can't it be enough for him?

''Sammy,'' Dean groans. ''Sam. Sam. I can't, Sammy. I can't,''

It's pained, wrenched out from somewhere deep. Sam gasps as Dean fucks him just right, hips pumping in hard enough to make him see stars. Dean lets go of his hands, loops his arms around Sam and holds him, Sam clings back, with his legs and arms. Dean's words are scalding against his neck, raspy. Desperate.

''I can't be in this alone, so please.'' His breath hitches, thrusts getting frantic. Sam feels the heat pooling in his gut. '”Tell me why Sam, just tell me.''

It's too late to hold it back.

''It's because you're mine.'' Sam's heartbeat is just as erratic as Dean's, like they're syncing it up, Dean's heart pressed against his own. ''It's because I can't share you. I don't want to.'' It's more whiny that he wanted it to be, too much little brother in it. But Dean shudders above him, and his hips go out of rhythm.

He lifts his head stares down at Sam, and Sam doesn't know what Dean's looking for so he repeats himself. ''You're mine.''

Dean kisses him, and it's not really a kiss, closed mouth and hard pressure. ''Thank God ,'' he groans, kisses him again, short and rough, like he wants to bruise. Press of lips after the other, till it's too gentle it hurts. ''Thank God.'' Dean breathes. Licks Sam's lips open and kisses him for real. Till he's dizzy, and his lungs burn, till he's stupid and reckless.

His balls draw tight and he loses it, comes so hard he stops breathing. Every muscle in his body going loose. Dean follows him, doesn't stop kissing him as he fills Sam up.

Sam's arms are still looped under Dean's own, clinging to his shoulders. And he knows what it means now, knows why Dean went out. An attempt to run.

He's just as stupid as Sam.

''You're mine, too.'' Dean's trying for a statement, ends up with a little more insecurity than he intended to. And Sam finally has a name to the fire in his soul.

''Always,'' he promises.

Dean kisses him.

On the filthy ground of a nameless motel, in whatever state they're. For the millionth time:

Sam falls in love with Dean.