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Dean sat in his armchair in the Dean Cave ostensibly watching reruns of Fear Factor (I’d like to see those guys face down something like a chupacabra Dean liked to say). In reality, though, Dean was studying Sam who was reading instead of watching. Dean not-so-secretly loved the fact that despite the size of the bunker, Sam usually chose to spend his evenings wherever Dean was. They shared most meals, too.
Actually, they shared a lot more than that now. They had always been unusually close for brothers, and something had shifted irrevocably about a year earlier. Maybe it had something to do with them having a home – a real, safe place to call all their own. However it had happened, whatever made them give in to the feelings they’d both been denying for most of their lives, they were now not only brothers but, though the term made Dean cringe, lovers. But it was the right term, because they were hardly just fuck-buddies or brothers-with-benefits. They were each other’s most significant relationship of any kind, ever. Soulmates from the time they were born, and now in every way possible.
And Sam was an extremely accommodating partner, not to mention talented. The guy’s hands...not to mention his freaking lips, which should probably be illegal. And if Dean spent too much time thinking about Sam’s gifted tongue, he’d pop a boner in seconds.
However, things had remained fairly vanilla so far. Lots of mutual hand jobs, more recently blow jobs. But since Sam had allowed Dean to actually fuck him (an experience that made any and all previous sexual encounters pale, including but not limited to the highly-flexible twins and a Dr. Sexy lookalike who gave blowjobs like he was being paid for it), Dean had started to get ideas. He just wasn’t sure how to bring them up, since Sam hadn’t showed any desire to do anything other than what they were already up to. He was nearly as horny as Dean was, or at least, he never, ever rejected Dean’s advances, but it was pretty hard to get Sam to completely lose his mind, like to the point that he forgot the English language. But when he did, it was easily the hottest thing Dean had ever seen or experienced.
What Dean didn’t want to do was pressure Sam into doing something he didn’t enjoy just so Dean could get his rocks off. Nor did he want Sam to feel like Dean’s wasn’t satisfied with things the way they were. It wasn’t true – Dean would be perfectly content (damn pleased, actually) if things stayed exactly as they were. He was just curious, and he always had been, particularly about getting and receiving pleasure. He always had ideas and questions in his brain. Would this feel good? How about that? What would Sam like? What would make him lose his mind? But it wasn’t worth messing up what they had to push things.
It was frustrating. In pretty much any other area of their lives, Dean would just bring it up, probably bluntly and rudely, and ask Sam straight up. For once, they were completely on the same page with no secrets between them. But this…this was different. In some respects, they were still finding their way around this newer aspect of their relationship, and Dean did not want to screw it up, not for anything.
“Spit it out, Dean,” said Sam unexpectedly. He sounded slightly amused and didn’t even look up from his musty old book when he spoke. “Whatever it is, just spit it out, okay?”
Dean sent his brother a half-hearted glare. Of course Sam knew that Dean was watching him and thinking, even if he didn’t know what it was about. And now that he knew, he wouldn’t let it go. Guy was a damn bulldog when he got something between his teeth. Still, he’d given Dean an opening. If Sam was offended by the idea (which wasn’t even one of Dean’s more ambitious proposals), Dean could point out that Sam had forced him to share it.
Yeah, he was feeling a little cowardly. “It’s not – I’m not unhappy, okay? Just...just curious,” Dean stalled. This uncertainty was unusual and annoying.
Sam sat up straight and gave Dean his full attention. He looked slightly confused, but not worried. Actually, he looked a little concerned about Dean. God, Dean loved the guy.
“Just say whatever it is, Dean,” Sam encouraged in his earnest way. “I promise I’ll listen.”
Dean sniffed. “It’s not that big of a deal.” He rubbed a finger over his bottom lip and let himself think about all the golden skin and rippling muscles that Sam’s clothing hid. “Have you, uh, ever heard of edging?”
Sam tilted his head like a golden retriever. “Um...maybe? Is it a sex thing?”
Dean shook his head in amazement. The geek could name fourteen different kinds of boogeymen and how to kill them, but he’d never heard of edging? “Yeah. It’s when somebody is brought to the edge of orgasm a bunch of times before being allowed to come. It’s supposed to be intense. I was thinking it might be fun to try. On you. If you want.” Wow, real smooth. The whole relationship with the most important person in your life thing was a whole lot different than anything short-term.
Sam’s brow furrowed, just slightly. Then he said, “Okay.”
Okay? All of that stupid un-Dean-like angst, and Sam just agreed? Well, Dean was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He grinned. “Cool. Not tomorrow, though, okay? I need to think about this for a little first.”
Sam gave him a smile back, open and genuine, happy to see Dean happy. He gave a little shrug. “Okay. Whenever.”
Oh, yeah. Dean was going to make Sam feel good.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That night, Sam fell asleep in Dean’s bed, but all they did was sleep. His nose buried in his favorite spot just behind Sam’s ear, Dean had slept like a rock with dreams that he didn’t quite remember but knew were pleasant.
The next day, Dean did all of his normal errands like getting groceries and checking their PO box. He didn’t really have preparations to make, but he wanted to get a general plan in his head. Besides, he was plenty old enough to appreciate the value of anticipation. After all, that’s what this whole thing was about, really.
He felt Sam’s eyes on him a few times, but there was no trepidation there, just curiosity. Heh. Apparently, it was a besetting sin of Winchesters. But Sam didn’t ask and Dean didn’t tell.
Sam went to his own bed that night, which he did a few times a week, and Dean had no problem with. It was, he reasoned, like skipping breakfast on Thanksgiving Day. He fell asleep to that delicious thought.
Dean was just shuffling down the hall toward the kitchen, and more importantly, coffee, when he heard the shower turn on. Hmmm. Coffee could wait, for a couple of minutes, anyway. He went a little faster to the kitchen and switched on the already-prepared pot, then went into the shower room. He didn’t stop outside the door of the stall Sam was using either. Each stall had a door, and inside was a shower head, a toilet, and a sink. There was nothing to hide the shower from the rest of the little room, and Dean went in without hesitation.
Sam looked up, surprised, and Dean took a few long seconds to admire the picture in front of him – naked, wet, soapy Sam with his morning wood at full sail. If they ever needed money, they could sell a few pictures of Sam just like this and they’d be set for life. Of course, one of Dean’s greatest thrills was that all of this was just for him. He licked his lips and Sam moved to the side in clear invitation. One of the many, many things Dean appreciated about his partner was that the guy was pretty much always ready and willing.
But Dean shook his head. He had to exercise restraint today, or he’d never complete his experiment. “Don’t finish that,” he reminded Sam, nodding toward the very impressive erection, since little brother was hung like a horse.
Sam’s expressive face revealed that he’d forgotten. Dean would have been offended (since he’d hardly thought about anything except the plan for the day) except that Sam was fairly useless before coffee.
Sam blinked, looked down at himself and back up at Dean, and took his hand off the base of his dick. “I forgot,” he confirmed, sounding disgruntled. “You don’t want to…” he trailed off hopefully.
“Nope!” Dean didn’t bother to keep the grin off his face. Minus the huge (amazing) body, Sam looked like a crabby toddler. “I’m making breakfast. You can play, if you want, but don’t finish.”
Sam’s lips flattened. “I won’t.” He looked so irritated that it really lifted Dean’s mood, but he didn’t poke the bear any longer. (Though, yeah, he’d really like to, er, poke Sam.) Instead, he went to the kitchen and made up some eggs. The night before, he’d chopped onions and peppers and mushrooms. Sam, he thought, could use the pampering and the protein to face his day. As for Dean, he found himself humming Seek and Destroy. When the eggs were ready, he sprinkled them with cheese and covered them, leaving them on the warm burner, and went to find his dawdling brother.
Dean’s timing was impeccable. Sam was in his room pulling on his t-shirt, and Dean enjoyed the view from the doorway. Besides the shirt, Sam was wearing just jeans. Dean had never realized that it was possible to appreciate feet until he’d gotten in the habit of enjoying Sam’s inherent sexuality. There was something about Sam barefoot and wearing jeans that was somehow sexy.
“Leave off your belt and don’t tuck in your t-shirt,” he instructed huskily.
Sam turned at the words, not surprised, but acknowledging Dean as he sat to pull on socks. He stood again and picked up a flannel, then dropped it back on his bed, apparently deciding to go without it. Dean was fully on board with that plan. “Easy access?” Sam asked lightly. There was a husky tone to his voice, too.
“Exactly.” Dean moved behind Sam, his chest against Sam’s back. He slid his hands under the front of Sam’s shirt. Sam capitulated immediately, leaned back slightly against Dean and wrapped his long arms loosely around Dean’s waist. It was a gesture of trust and willingness, not to mention very sexy.
Dean nosed lightly against Sam’s neck and began to move his hands. One moved upward and lightly traced shapes over the younger man’s chest, then oh-so-gently teased first one nipple, then the other, then back to the first. Dean knew Sam’s nipples were highly sensitive, enough that he sometimes didn’t even let Dean touch them lest he come too quickly. Dean’s other hand went to Sam’s waistband. He trailed his fingertips back and forth lightly just above the top of the jeans, then dipped just barely inside and went back and forth over and over again. Sam’s head fell back against Dean’s shoulder and his breaths grew shuddery.
Then, Dean stopped. He bit back a grin as he settled Sam back to stand on his own. “Breakfast,” he reminded Sam, probably not keeping his amusement entirely off his face when Sam gave him a look of annoyance and mild betrayal. Then Sam seemed to see the humor in the situation too and he smiled back, just slightly. “Fine,” he said, heading for the kitchen. And if Dean took a second to enjoy the sight of the bulge in Sam’s jeans and the jut of his nipples visible through his t-shirt, who could blame him?
Breakfast was pretty normal, and eventually Sam relaxed...exactly as Dean wanted him to. Dean could admit a little thrill in Sam’s capitulation to Dean’s idea, not demanding details or fighting him. Sam seemed, at first impression, relaxed and easy-going. But when something mattered to him, he didn’t back down from anyone or anything, ever. And even when he cared for someone, he never gave his entire self. Except to Dean. His utter trust, something Dean had taken for granted in their childhood, now not only filled a gap inside of Dean’s soul that nothing else would ever be able to touch, on a sexual level, it was highly arousing. More than Dean had expected.
Dean stood first after breakfast. He set his plate on the counter and waited for Sam to finish taking a drink of coffee. Then Dean leaned over him, resting one hand between Sam’s legs, making only the barest contact with his crotch. He put his other hand on Sam’s chin and tipped his face for a kiss. Sam opened for him immediately and Dean put everything he’d ever learned about kissing into his effort. He seduced and teased and plundered, sliding his hand into Sam’s hair and turning his head exactly as he wanted him. He kissed him deeply, possessively, and didn’t miss the way Sam widened his legs in probably unconscious invitation. But Dean didn’t move the hand down there or give Sam anything except his mouth and the hand in his hair.
Twice, Dean moved back just slightly but let Sam chase him and draw him back into the kissing. But the third time, he tightened the hand in Sam’s hair just enough that he couldn’t stop Dean from breaking their mouths apart. Close enough to feel Sam’s lightly panting breaths on his face, Dean enjoyed the sight of Sam’s dilated pupils and wet, kiss-swollen lips for a second. Then he let go of his brother and stood up.
“Could you get the dishes?” he asked as calmly as he could, walking toward the door. (He was never unaffected by kissing Sam. The guy had some serious skills.) “I gotta grab a shower.”
Sam huffed a small laugh behind him. “Of course,” he said after a moment.
Dean had told Sam to do whatever he’d already planned for the day, though he’d asked him to stay in the bunker. As he worked on an ancient generator that didn’t appear to have anything wrong with it but simply wouldn’t turn on, Dean wondered if Sam was having any trouble concentrating. For himself, Dean kept doing stupid stuff like dropping bolts, but in the end, he found the clogged hose. It would take a while to clean it out, but Dean was pretty certain that the generator would work once he’d completed the task and put the whole thing back together. What for? Who knew. But it could be a useful thing to have in reserve.
For now, it was time to reward himself. Dean easily found Sam in a small room packed full of books. An armchair and a little table were its only furniture aside from all of the built-in shelves, but Sam had taken a liking to it. “You eat anything?” was Dean’s greeting. They rarely ate more than two meals in a day, but had a tendency to snack during the middle of the day.
“Not yet. You?” asked Sam distractedly. He had that same really big book as the other night. Most of what Dean could see wasn’t written in English, which could be why Sam was taking notes in a small notebook.
“Mmm.” Dean was distracted too. He took Sam’s book, notebook, and pen and set them on the table while Sam looked at him in amusement. The book was big and worn enough to stay open when laid flat, so Dean simply set it down open to the page Sam had been studying. He wasn’t looking to irritate his brother right now. Well, not precisely irritate. He studied Sam for another minute, then tugged him to his feet and pulled at his t-shirt, making it clear that Sam should remove it. “It should be illegal for you to wear shirts,” he decided.
“Oh, really?” Sam pulled the shirt off with the hint of a smile. He was being awfully accommodating, and Dean was definitely going to make it worth his while. Eventually.
Dean waved at the revealed chest. “Yup. I mean, look at you. Why would you cover that chest up?” To Dean’s delight, Sam blushed lightly. He was certainly no virgin, but even so, he was easy to fluster with dirty talk or even compliments about his body. “Even better,” Dean pronounced as his staring caused the flush to spread until it reached Sam’s collarbone. He traced said collarbone with one finger, then abruptly turned to sit in Sam’s chair. He hooked one of Sam’s beltloops and patted his own thigh with the other hand. “C’mere so I can properly appreciate it.”
Sam laughed a little. He muttered something about Dean being an idiot, but after a brief hesitation, he obeyed, one knee on each side of Dean’s lap. He had a weird hang up about being “too big,” like he’d hurt Dean or something, and Dean was working on disabusing him of that. There was nothing wrong about Sam’s bigness...just the contrary. Dean loved every inch of his no-so-little brother.
“There ya’ go,” Dean praised, pulling Sam even closer so their crotches were pressed tightly together. Through two pairs of jeans, it was just enough to tease but never enough to really give them the friction they needed. And though the position increased the distance between their heights, it gave Dean perfect access to exactly what he wanted. He trailed his fingers over every inch of Sam’s chest, back, shoulders, and even neck. Then he started again, this time covering everything he could reach with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Sam didn’t quite seem to know what to do in return. He started out holding onto Dean’s biceps, but eventually he ended up with one hand on the back of Dean’s neck and the other fisted in Dean’s t-shirt.
Better yet, Sam’s head was tipped back and he was rocking against Dean. That felt so good that Dean slid his hands down from where they were tracing the movement of all those intriguing muscles on Sam’s back to cup his denim-clad ass instead. He began to arch up rhythmically, each time pulling Sam in hard. He never stopped working with his mouth, more than pleased with the way Sam’s breaths were punching out of him on every exhale.
Dean bit down on Sam’s right nipple, hard enough for him to feel it, but not truly hurt. Then he soothed over the spot with his tongue over and over and over again until Sam’s rocking had turned to squirming. Then he did it to the other nipple. Finally, he sat back and pushed Sam’s hips back just far enough that he could see his red, puffy nipples. He smiled up at Sam.
“Are you...having fun?” asked Sam, slightly out of breath.
“Oooooh, yeah.” Dean tapped Sam’s thigh twice to signal him to stand up. Sam did, giving Dean an inscrutable look. Dean thought he might almost be embarrassed that he’d lost control of himself like that, which was just stupid, considering that Dean had been inside him, but Sam didn’t always make sense.
“You oughta leave your shirt off,” he suggested, as he stood and headed out of the room, but when he came back with a plate of fruit and cheese to share with his brother, Sam had his t-shirt back on. Dean propped a hip against the table, ate a little cheese, and contemplated how he’d make his brother pay for that little rebellion.
It was quite a while before Dean got back to Sam, though. He didn’t have any pipe cleaners, and it took him a long time to get the generator’s brittle hose un-gunked and reattached. By then, Sam had relocated to the map room and was pecking away on the laptop like he was getting paid for it. Dean saw – and appreciated – the way Sam swallowed just to see him coming. Pavlovian, he thought. Already. It was heady.
Dean came up behind him and brushed the hair away from the back of Sam’s neck and began tasting him there, then worked his way around to the junction of his neck and shoulder, a weak spot for Sam.
“Think you can keep working?” he asked softly, keeping his mouth so close to Sam’s skin that speaking made his lips brush against him again.
“Uh…” Sam began typing again. “Yeah…?”
“Mmmm. Good boy.” Dean had no idea where the words had come from, but they made Sam freeze, for just a second. Then his typing started up again. In reward, Dean sucked lightly on the delicate skin behind Sam’s ear. When he blew on it, the typing stuttered but continued on. Dean was rather impressed, considering that Sam was basically halfway home just from Dean walking through the door at this point. He drifted back down to the same spot as before again and laid a hand about halfway up Sam’s thigh. Not even touching anything interesting, and the typing still slowed perceptibly. Dean squeezed gently and slid his hand slowly higher. When his fingers skimmed the crotch seam, the typing stopped, then there were two more defiant clicks before it stopped entirely.
“Dean,” there was a slightly manic undertone to Sam’s voice, a plea that Dean couldn’t resist. He was drunk on it. In response, he pulled Sam up from the chair and opened the button and zipper of his jeans.
Dean wet his right index finger as he shouldered Sam to lean back against the wall. He slotted a leg between Sam’s and used his left hand to lift Sam’s thigh. This put Sam off-balance just enough that his shoulders held most of his weight against the wall but there was a little space between his ass and the wall and Sam was riding Dean’s own thigh. Sam flailed for Dean’s fly, but he ground out, “hands against the wall,” and loved when Sam complied without hesitation, slamming his hands back against the wall.
Dean slid his right hand inside the back of Sam’s boxers and set the wet tip of his index finger against his asshole. Sam’s sharp gasp was a beautiful thing. Dean shifted them just a little farther, tipping Sam up onto his toes and pressed just the tip of his finger into the tight hole, then back out again. And again. Sam shuddered, caught between sensations. When he rocked backwards, he just barely impaled himself on Dean’s finger. When he rocked forward, he rubbed himself against Dean’s hard thigh. Neither sensation would be enough, Dean knew. He kept his finger from doing more than teasing, and the pressure against Sam’s dick wasn’t the friction he’d need to go over the edge. Dean tipped Sam back just a little farther so he could grind against him even harder. Sam let himself go, hands flat against the wall and head tipped back slightly.
Dean wanted his mouth against Sam’s neck again, but he found himself just watching instead as Sam fell apart. He’d always loved the ability to make someone feel so good that everything else faded away. He loved watching a mask fall away as the person he was with forgot to try and project something and just felt, and knowing that he’d done that. There was a special thrill when it happened to Sam, though.
For one thing, Sam was this huge, strong, competent man. He could have pulled himself away, pushed Dean off, or ended the experiment with one word, but he didn’t.
For another reason, Sam was so highly controlled, conservative. Even while they had sex, he almost always held himself slightly in check, so his surrender was extra sweet. Now, he let Dean push him to the point of incoherence, up on his toes with his mouth open and eyes glazed with pleasure. Little grunts were falling from him as his rocking grew more erratic. One hand came off the wall to paw at Dean’s arm.
Dean was suddenly worried that he’d pushed Sam farther than he’d intended. He lowered Sam’s leg so both feet were on the floor and slid the hand out of his pants to hold his back instead. Dean used his left hand to cup Sam’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Sam kissed frantically at first, but Dean eased him back, gradually slowing and gentling their mouths until the kisses were long and sweet. By the time he pulled back, Sam’s breathing had slowed too.
“You okay?” Dean asked, feeling a little bit guilty. “You know the safe word?” They had never come anywhere close to needing a safe word, but Dean had insisted they needed to agree on one before they ever needing it just in case they ever needed it.
“Yeah.” Sam sounded dazed, but not upset. Actually, he sounded slightly drunk.
“I need to hear you say it,” Dean insisted.
“Albuquerque,” Sam said obediently, making Dean automatically wince. There was a good reason they’d chosen that word; a hunt had once gone embarrassingly wrong in Albuquerque, and the reminder would definitely be enough to jolt either Winchester out of the moment. Sam gave a lazy kiss and grumbled when Dean pulled back again. They were still chest-to-chest, but Dean arched back enough to pull his mouth free.
“I mean it, Dean,” Sam reassured his brother. “The way you make me feel – well, there’s nothing you’ve ever done that I didn’t love.” His pupils expanded slightly. “Except you’re not finishing what you started…?” He finished the sentence on a rising, hopeful inflection.
Dean relaxed. Sam was serious and was fully on board with what they were doing. He smirked. “Not yet. That’s kind of the whole point.” He patted Sam’s chest and moved back completely before he lost the ability to stop himself. “Just go read or something for a while.”
Sam gave him a glare that was more pissy than pissed-off. No, it was frustrated. He not only liked what Dean was doing, he wanted more. Dean’s grin widened. Sam didn’t quite stomp off, but it was a near thing, and there were many muttered imprecations as he went.
What happened next was sort of fascinating to Dean. First, Sam cleaned. Then he moved a bunch of boxes of books that he had set aside to be reshelved in a different room. Then he used the shooting range for a while. He was restless and distracted and Dean couldn’t be happier. Of course, Dean was pretty worked up himself, but that was part of the fun, too.
Sam kept up his manic pace until Dean dragged him to supper. He’d baked some chicken, but neither of them ate very much, even more keyed up than Dean had realized. He made a point to touch Sam often throughout their meal, not overtly sexual, but never letting him really relax.
Finally, as Dean stood to bring his plate to the sink, he dragged a hand lightly along Sam’s jaw. Sam leaned into the contact and laughed a little tightly when Dean kept walking. “You are a real jerk, you know that,” he commented.
“Whatsa matter, Sammy?” Dean asked with a cocky little smile. “You want something?”
“No,” grumbled Sam, standing to put his own dishes in the sink. He sounded petulant, almost like he was pouting. “Actually, yes. The same thing you want.”
“You think?” Dean stared at Sam’s fabulous ass and thought about what he really wanted. “What I want is you naked, leaning on Baby’s hood with your legs spread wide and just waiting for me. That what you want?” Sam’s entire body had gone rigid, and Dean remembered just how much fun a little bit of dirty talk could be. He stepped close enough behind Sam that he could feel the other man’s body heat, but didn’t touch him. He made sure his breath ghosted over Sam’s neck and ear. “Or maybe you don’t care about the where, as long as I’m buried in you so deep you can taste me. Whaddaya think, Sammy?”
Sam gripped the counter with both hands. “You’re the one who’s a horn-dog, not me,” he said, but it was hoarse and not convincing in the slightest.
Dean laughed darkly. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’ll be begging by the end of the night.”
When Sam didn’t answer or even move, Dean laughed again. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and set one on the counter and took the other with him as he left. “I’ll be waxing Baby if you need me,” he lied. He couldn’t have stopped smiling if he wanted to. He might be hard enough to make walking difficult, but it was so worth it.
Dean actually went to his Dean cave and put on The Incredible Hulk. It was something that he enjoyed but didn’t take his entire attention, and he wouldn’t care if he got interrupted. The movie wasn’t even halfway done when Sam walked in. He was carrying the same big book he’d been working through much earlier in the day, and Dean was amused at the thought that Sam wasn’t getting much done...because it was a good bet it was because of how distracted he’d been.
Dean was sprawled on one side of his favorite piece of furniture in the history of furniture. Yes, even more than his bed with its amazing memory foam mattress. The sectional was the newest addition to the Dean cave and had been a bastard to get in there, but it was so worth it. It was L-shaped, though the angle was larger than 90 degrees, with each side long enough for even a Winchester. Where the sides met, it was much deeper than a normal couch. Sam liked to sit there with his legs crossed underneath him like a weirdo, and that’s how he sat now, coming in and settling down without a word to Dean.
But when Dean reached over and pulled one ankle free, then the other, then tugged both toward himself, Sam didn’t fight it either. In fact, his breathing picked up slightly. “Why don’t you lie down?” Dean encouraged in the low rumble he knew did things to Sam. (His younger brother had admitted such in a weak moment, and Dean had taken note.) Sam blew out a long breath and set his book carefully aside.
“Wait,” Dean decided as Sam moved to obey, despite how turned on he was just from that little sign of submission. (Who knew he was a closet dom? Not him.) “Shirt off first, huh?”
Sam huffed but pulled off his shirt and laid down. He shivered as Dean reached for the button of his jeans, goosebumps breaking out across his stomach from the slight touch of Dean’s knuckles against his skin. Dean was almost awed. He’d said, like, five words and hardly touched Sam and the guy was halfway to wrecked already. “We gotta get out handcuffs some time,” he said, just to watch Sam shiver again.
Dean pulled off Sam’s jeans and socks and tossed them away without looking. He left on Sam’s boxers because he didn’t trust himself that much. And he was pretty sure that Sam wasn’t ready to beg yet. Dean might, though.
He crawled up over Sam and noted that there weren’t any marks left on Sam’s body from where he’d teased and worried the skin of the juncture of his neck and around his nipples. Dean fixed that, taking a great deal of time all three places. Then he brought his face lower to hover just above the very impressive tent in Sam’s boxers. He blew hot air over it, his mouth open wide, just to watch it jump and hear the little noise Sam would make. But no begging. With a mental whatcha gonna do? Dean left the underwear in place and began to mouth and suck Sam right through them.
Sam, bless him, moaned like a porn star, inhibitions gone. Dean had to pin his hips down just to keep from getting bucked right off the couch. He had to hold himself back from humping the couch when Sam fucking gasped his name, but Dean didn’t lose his concentration. He backed off as soon as he could tell Sam was about to come. He sucked hickeys into the insides of his thighs for a few minutes, something Sam would usually stop before he really got started. Then Dean went back to work on Sam’s fabric-covered cock. After the third time, Dean stopped entirely and sat back to look over his canvas and Sam made a sound that was perilously close to a whimper. A whimper. Dean ground the heel of his hand against his own fly at the sound. Not to mention the sight. Sam was sprawled back, one foot on the floor. His face was red and his mouth was hanging open. His nipples were bright red, the special spot on his neck a little lighter red. His boxers were wet with Dean’s spit and stretched to their limits by Sam’s erection. But…
“I didn’t hear any begging,” Dean said, and he sounded as fucked-out as Sam looked. It took Sam a few tries to really focus on Dean and another minute to untangle the meaning behind Dean’s words. He blinked in something like disbelief. Dean ignored it, still admiring his brother’s perfect body. “You should just walk around naked all the time,” he decided. “You could borrow the dead guy robe sometimes, if you left it hanging open. Or wear it backwards.” He contemplated that mental picture. It wasn’t like his dick could get harder at this point anyway.
Sam propped himself up on his elbows. He was still staring at Dean. With his wild hair and wide eyes, he looked a little deranged. Dean liked it. Finally, awkwardly, Sam got to his feet. “I’m going to work out,” Sam called out as he stalked out of the room as well as he could with his hard-on. He didn’t stop staring at Dean until he was out of the room, and he left his clothes and precious book behind.
“Naked?” suggested Dean hopefully. Sam unsurprisingly didn’t answer. Dean hummed Stairway to Heaven as he picked up Sam’s forgotten book and set it safely on the coffee table.
Working out, huh? Dean trusted that Sam wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t supposed to – he was as invested in this as Dean was by now – but he didn’t want to miss the show. He went to their gym, grabbing himself a beer on the way. Sam wasn’t naked, but all he’d bothered to pull on was a pair of spandex shorts that didn’t hide anything. It couldn’t have been easy to stuff that big, angry dick and blue balls into the skin-tight garment, but Dean couldn’t complain about the resulting vision. He whistled in admiration. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that selling pictures of Sam’s body could net them big money.
Sam ignored him, doing push-ups that flexed his shoulder and back muscles beautifully. Dean propped his ass against a table full of weights and just watched. Mine, his mind supplied helpfully. Sam looked at him balefully when he switched to pull-ups, which were even better to watch. Time and exercise didn’t seem to be working to lower his erection. Sam watched Dean’s throat as he swallowed another drink of beer and Dean knew he was the reason that Sam was still at full mast. Oh, yeah. All of that controlled power belonged to him. He’d put a tiger on a leash – with the tiger’s permission.
“Wanna spar?” asked Sam, stalling his hypnotic motion.
Yes! “No.” Dean was in control of when and how they touched today, and as tempting as it was, he wasn’t going off-script. “I’m just here for the view.”
“Hold the bag, then?” Sam waved toward the old but serviceable punching bag.
Dean stepped up silently and Sam stopped to wrap his hands. Watching Sam attack the thing was a new level of torture. Dean was now close enough to smell his brother’s sweat, which maybe should have been disgusting but instead was just the opposite. And there was something about watching Sam fight bare-chested that was primal and perfect, even if he was only hitting a bag. By the time Sam’s hair was sodden with sweat, Dean’s dick was reminding him again that his ideal sexual partner was literally within arm’s reach ready and willing to let him dip his wick.
Sweat-soaked, almost naked, and pretty much flawless, Sam stilled his motions and held out his hands in a silent request for Dean unwrap his hands. Dean did, but he didn’t touch Sam other than to hold each wrist in place in turn. “Shower,” Sam said next, and Dean happily followed that incredible, spandex-clad ass through the halls.
Patience was hard. Dean was harder, and he was done waiting. In the shower room, Dean folded his arms and propped a shoulder against the door in a way that said you’re not closing a door on me. Sam didn’t even complain, his gaze lingering on Dean’s biceps pushing against the sleeves of t-shirt, then over his corded forearms. Sam had a weird thing for Dean’s arms, and Dean wasn’t above using that. Besides, he had the same kind of fascination with Sam’s shoulders, and his damn fine adonis belt.
Sam stripped, and he was back to fully hard by the time he stepped under the water. Dean licked his lips. He hadn’t seen that cock since early this morning, and it was glorious. Huge, red, impatient.
Sam was utilitarian about his shower, his motions jerky, but there was no way to wash your hair without a lot of muscle movement, meaning Dean really enjoyed his show. He’d pulled off his shirt, socks, and shoes by the time Sam was finished. The time for screwing around was done. No, actually, the time for screwing around was finally here. He let Sam just barely start drying himself before the thread of his patience officially snapped. Dean stole Sam’s towel and threw it away, spinning his brother around and putting his hands up against the wall by his head.
Sam muttered something like, “fucking finally” and leaned his cheek against the wall too, spreading his legs. Dean dropped to his knees, but he didn’t feel the hard floor or the water seeping into the knees of his jeans. He spread Sam’s cheeks and licked across his tight, hot hole. Then, and it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, Dean paused and rested his check against Sam’s ass for a second. They hadn’t done this before, and he needed to give Sam a chance to veto it if he wanted to. Instead, Sam tilted his hips back and widened his stance slightly. Permission. Thank fuck.
Dean dove in with his mouth, licking, teasing, nipping, and finally sliding his tongue inside Sam’s heat. Sam made sounds that Dean had never heard from him before. Most of it was incoherent or nothing close to words. And when Dean slid a finger wet only with his own spit in next to his tongue and stroked Sam’s prostrate, he keened.
Then. Then. “Oh g-g-god, Dean, pl-please fuck me. Please Dean.”
Dean stood so fast his head spun. “Bed.” He didn’t sound a whole lot better than Sam did. They made it to Dean’s room somehow and Dean lost his jeans along the way. Then Sam climbed on the bed on his elbows and knees and put his face down on his forearms and stayed there. Dean nearly tripped over his tongue at the sight. Ass-up had been a no-go for Sam so far. They’d always had sex face-to-face, which was amazing enough that Dean had never had a complaint. But this. This was a wet dream. “Are you sure?” he asked in a broken voice. He couldn’t even believe he’d question it...he’d never wanted anything more, but this was Sam, and he didn’t want him to have any regrets.
“Please. Please fuck me like this.” Sam’s dick gave a little jump as he begged, and, well, Dean was only human. He spilled lube everywhere getting it on his fingers and dick. Sam wasn’t ready, not even close, so Dean pushed two fingers in. When they slid across Sam’s prostate, his back arched in a way that was so pretty that Dean’s brain began to leak out of his cock. “Ah, please, now, please, please,” begged the man who never begged anyone for anything.
Dean never could refuse him. He pushed in hard but not fast and had to stop to catch his breath as he bottomed out and Sam rocked back against him. He used every technique he knew to keep himself from getting off too fast, because dammit, this was going to last.
Once he had himself under a little more control, Dean began to thrust long and deep and rhythmically. He knew only vaguely that he was holding Sam’s hips too hard and leaving marks. Most of his attention was stuck on Sam’s sounds, lots of fucks and pleases and Deans and a number of harders. Most of it, though, was mangled and more whines and groans than words. Then Sam was arching and screaming silently as he shot and shot and shot.
Dean didn’t stop, and Sam didn’t try to get him to. Instead, Dean leaned closer and wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist and changed his angle to go almost down, pistoning into his brother harder than he’d ever fucked anyone before. It was love and lust and impatience and that animalistic side of every Hunter. Sam’s legs were spread even wider, his body pliant and needy and taking it all in a way nobody had before. It lasted forever and not long enough, and Dean should be worried about Sam being sore, but he just wasn’t. His orgasm, so long denied, climbed up his throat and past his eyeballs and filled him to finally explode out. Dean growled, then sucked hard at the red spot he’d left on Sam’s neck and gave his dick two quick tugs.
Sam said, oh soft and shocked and perfect as he orgasmed again, just a little come spurting out over Dean’s hand this time.
Somehow, as he remembered how to breathe again, Dean kept them up and not falling in the puddle of spunk. He winced as he pulled out. He pulled them both over onto their sides and wrapped an arm over Sam’s chest. They needed a little more recovery time before they could even think about cleaning up.
Dean mouthed lazily over the mark on Sam’s neck and Sam said oh again. He put his arm over Dean’s and entwined their fingers, his body lazy and sated and pleased. Dean was as happy as he’d ever been in his entire life.
They stayed just like that for a few moments, then Sam said, “Over the hood of the car, huh?”
Dean smiled and hummed an affirmative against Sam’s warm skin. “And handcuffs. Above your head.”
Sam shivered, then sighed happily as Dean used both their hands to rub a lazy circle over his stomach. “When you’re ready,” Dean said. Not if. No, he thought they were past that now.
Sam turned his head enough to steal a lazy, sloppy kiss. “’Mkay.”
Hell, yeah.