Sam loves when he can make Dean forget to be big brother gentle. Because Dean’s never stopped touching Sam like he’s sweet sixteen and soft, and maybe he’s still as blown-glass breakable as Dean remembers sometimes, but Sam can’t deny how much he likes it when Dean breaks him just a little.
His brother’s hands have gun-grip strength around his wrists when they’re pinning him helpless. Tangled in his hair, they feel just as big as they did wiping away schoolyard tears years ago; now Dean’s the one that makes his eyes water. He’ll get his fingers twisted so tight they’re just this side of bliss and just that side of agony until Sam bends his neck and says “please”.
Dean’s mouth is so rough on Sam’s throat—like each and every wet claim-kiss is his name stamped fresh, so the ink needs to be dark. You’d never guess by the deep indent of his teeth that Dean calls him ‘sweetheart’ with a smile sometimes.
The only time Sam really sees himself is reflected in Dean’s blown-wide eyes as he’s looking down at him. When Dean holds him still and makes him take it, fucks him so full there’s no room for quiet thoughts, that’s when Sam feels the most free.
Sam wears boyfriend bruises under his collar until even the press of his fingers against them can’t stop them from fading. Because his favorite way Dean says ‘I love you’ is bitten blood-sore and lasting on his skin.