Soft fingers card through his hair, rousing him from a deep sleep. The fingers, long and nimble, can only belong to one person.
“Hey baby,” he breathes and opens his eyes to see Sam staring down on him. Sam’s gaze is almost reverent, loving and fond all at once.
His eyes are a clear moss green.
Fingers brush along Dean’s nape, just beneath his ear, causing him to shudder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there’s a small nagging feeling, rejecting the touch. Sam smothers it easily as his thumb brushes the corner of his mouth, slides along his cheekbone, flutters across his eyelashes and eases his eyelids shut.
Dean lets out a happy sigh, thick with the feeling of it being too long since they’ve had this.
A soft hand skims his side and comes to rest on his ass. A hot mouth teases his nipple, tongue swirling around the nub. Sam’s mouth moves before he desensitizes, biting a trail across his taut abdomen. Tiny nips pull on the hairs, but not to hurt. Never to hurt.
“Sam,” he chokes out, reaching out blindly. His fingers grab hold of Sam’s hair and his soft –oh so soft– hair. Everything about Sam is smooth, he notices – hands, hair, and skin. Everything feels like it’s been bathed in silk.
Sam licks and nips until Dean is fully hard, holding on for whatever Sam has to offer. Sam keeps licking, lower and lower, playing his tongue across his balls. His shoulders come to rest under Dean’s knees, pushing his legs up, giving him easy access. One long finger finally presses, just the tip resting against the first muscle, pushing until it gives and Dean’s body hungrily accepts it. He adds finger by finger until Dean’s begging.
Sam rolls on to his side behind Dean, pressing his cool skin to Dean’s fevered body. A velvet cock slides between his cheeks, catching on the rim before smoothly gliding in. Everything is easy. So easy.
Sam thrusts languidly, causing Dean to moan gutturally, his speaking voice caught in his throat, held captive by sheer lust. Sam doesn’t make a sound.
It feels like Sam is everywhere, dousing his body in satin as his hands roam, coming to rest against his heart. He’s not sure what Sam’s doing to him; his thrusts, his touch – all of it is intoxicating.
His body feels like it’s on fire. Then there’s a mouth on him, licking his neck and mapping out his collarbone. It latches on to a nipple, but he can still feel Sam’s hand on his heart.
There’s a kiss beneath his ear as the mouth travels lower, retracing the earlier path Sam left behind. There’s a quick lick at the slit before it feels like his entire cock is swallowed whole.
There’s only one thing Dean can manage: a plaintive benediction of “Sam”, over and over again. The only thing left he knows.
Sam pulls out, turning him around and on top of him.
Dean’s straddling Sam, arms hanging loosely at his sides, legs spread wide for Sam.
Sam pulls him closer on top of him, soft touch ghosting through his hair again.
Sam’s thrusts in, but doesn’t move. There’s no movement except for the fingers in his hair and Dean’s own pounding chest.
He feels a hand where Sam’s cock is nestled inside of him. Fingers skim the puffy skin whilst he squirms. His mind can’t seem to compute where the sensations are stemming from until two fingers slip in alongside Sam’s cock.
Dean’s eyes flutter open to find Sam’s gaze fixed on him. Clear pools of green stare at him while the hand in his hair lulls him and the hand pressing against his shoulder blade keeps him place.
Dean feels drugged, feels the sluggish thrusts of the two fingers inside him. Slowly untangling his head from Sam’s grasp, he cranes his neck to see who Sam has let into their room and sees him.
Behind him is another Sam, slipping his fingers free from Dean’s hole. Behind him is another Sam, holding on to his glistening cock. Behind him is another Sam shuffling forward. Behind him, Sam has hazel eyes.
The fingers in his hair shush his thoughts. Sam moves to thrust deeper inside him, settling the confusion. Sam would never hurt him.
The Other Sam with the equally silken touch, rises up on his knees, cock in hand, head aimed for Dean’s already stuffed hole.
Dean presses his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, awaiting.
Pressure builds up inside and out as he feels the press against his hole. He feels himself stretch and stretch, and he waits for the pain. It never comes.
His smile turns into bliss as Other Sam slides in along Sam. Sam pulls out with Other Sam’s thrust in. Two cocks stretch his walls, putting pressure on all the right places as they move synchronously out of sync.
Other Sam puts his arms on either side of them, pressing his head into Dean’s nape as Sam’s hands come to rest in Other Sam’s hair. Long hair tickles Dean with every thrust forward.
Dean’s trapped cock is caressed just right with every push and pull between their bellies. It’s not enough and yet too much. He wants to move, move with them. But his body is boneless, guided by their motion.
Both Sams pick up their thrusts, cockheads dragging against each other, using and giving Dean all they’ve got. One Sam spills after the other, shot after shot deep into him. Every pulsating drop is like tiny embers inside.
Dean is turned on his back as both Sams pull out. Without preamble, his knees are pushed apart and up again. Light brown glossy hair disappears between his legs, licking at his fucked out hole. Sam’s tongue plays with the puffy skin, licking out and pushing everything back in.
Other Sam’s jet black hair looms up from his side, engulfing his straining cock as far as he can.
Their tongues fuck him on both ends as strong, large hands entwine their fingers with his, holding him down. The only movement Dean is still capable of is turning his head. With every nerve ending on fire, he would be thrashing his entire body about, if not for his trembling limbs milked from their contained exertion.
With tiny stabs of Sam’s tongue inside of him, Sam’s hand rolling his balls, and Other Sam’s mouth sucking every inch of his cock, Dean comes. Even in his dream (it must be), Dean comes as if his world is coming apart and the walls are crumbling down around him. Both Sams suck him through everything, assaulting him still until there’s nothing left but the twitching of his fingers. He comes down again with one, long shaky breath as his only sound.
Sam lies down beside him, fingers back in their starting position: Dean’s hair. Other Sam cleans him, soft touches between his legs, before lying down on his other side and throwing the sheets over the three of them. Soft hair nestles in the crook of his neck, entwined fingers rest on his stomach.
The last thing Dean sees before he’s been pulled under with sleep, is another Sam in the armchair in the corner of the room.
His eyes are golden.