Chapter Text
Dean had barely opened his eyes when a gust of cold morning air hit him right in the corneas. It was dry, fucking unpleasant as all hell, and the glare of sunlight it brought with it helped not at all. Must’ve left the window open. Or maybe the thing broke, like the vending machine outside. Windows that don’t close and no option of late night soda. He was really living it up.
It wasn’t surprising to see- or rather not see Sam in bed beside him. Being forty made Dean feel all out of whack, like his joints were old door hinges, but Sam, barely younger, was more energetic than ever. Maybe ‘cause the night terrors had let up. Whatever hazy trail of thought he’d been stumbling down abruptly stopped, another stream of cold air making his hair stand on end. His soft sleeping shirt and boxer briefs were little help against the chill. Dean grumbled at the worn window frame.
A soft thudding sounded outside, more like footsteps than a knock on the door. A mechanical click noise followed, and the yellowing door knob turned. Sam swung the door open with a smug smile on his stupid face. “Morning, old man.”
“Shut up.” Dean forced his eyes to open the rest of the way, blinking through the air and the light. Sam had just been on a run, as evidenced by the tank top and athletic shorts. He opened his mouth to remark on how insane it was to do cardio at any time, let alone this early, but Sam’s ragged breaths made him forget his teasing. He had a little stubble going, hair slicked down and darkened with sweat. There was a wet patch on his chest, and Dean could just about glimpse the ones on his sides.
Dean had spent his twenties and most of his thirties thinking of Sam as a kid, force of habit more than anything else. There were only so many chest hairs he could pick out of his mouth before the denial felt a little bit ridiculous. The man standing before him was a man alright, and a far more chipper one than himself.
Sam pulled off his shirt, and Dean smiled. Sam had plenty of scars, and his skin was a little less tight over his muscles with age. They’d made it further together than either of them could’ve imagined. It was a warm and peaceful thought, and Dean found his eyelids getting heavy again. The draft was bothering him less.
His grogginess lent itself to sleep, the sheets were all comfortable, and now Sam was back. There was officially nothing to worry about. The bed dipped and creaked between Dean’s legs. A ghostly touch of hot air dampened the front of his briefs, and he could feel Sam’s gaze with his whisper. “Need help waking up?”
“Sammy,” he exhaled, a little surprised. “If I ever say no to morning head, it’s an evil clone. You waste it on the spot, you hear me?”
Sam laughed. That hadn’t changed since they were younger, all bright and musical. It made Dean’s chest just as light now as it did when he was seventeen. “Got it.”
Something soft and wet touched his tip through the fabric, soaking it through. It was Sam’s tongue, slow and teasing, about as coy as the guy could be with Dean’s dick in his face. Dean whined very quietly, trying to rut against Sam’s mouth, but a set of huge hands held his hips down. “Let me take care of you.”
He heard Sam inhale really deep, his nose pressed against Dean’s underwear, barely separated from a mess of curly hair. Sam gave his groan of approval with sincerity, eyes dilating as he looked up at Dean. His recent crow’s feet and smile lines had his eyes betraying more emotion than they used to, and right now they were hungry.
He looked like he could swallow Dean whole, but the only moves he made were still fucking…kittenish. Like a shy girl. The tip of Dean’s dick was almost painful, pulsing with every little touch. “Taking care of me is teasing me to death, ‘s that it?”
“Oh, only you can enjoy yourself?” Sam chuckled and hooked a finger in the waistband of Dean’s briefs.
“I’m not enjoying myself,” Dean grumbled.
“Aww,” Sam’s tone was far more mocking than sympathetic, but he pulled the briefs down to Dean’s thighs all the same. His dick arched towards his stomach, flushed red and half hard. A wet droplet of precome had formed at the tip from Sam’s teasing- which had yet to let up.
Sam traced one of his calloused fingers up the underside of Dean’s shaft, along a vein. It was a fluttery sensation, feather-light and ticklish, but a pleasurable one. It made him ache.
He was going to complain again, but the ‘come on, Sam’ got lost between his mind and his lips. Mostly because Sam’s lips were wrapped around the tip of his dick.
The wet suck he gave made a kissing noise, and Sam was far more confident with his tongue now as it rubbed under the head.
“Baby,” Dean groaned, hands reaching down to thread in Sam’s still-damp hair. The usual softness of his shag was marred by warm sweat, sticking the hair together and coating Dean’s fingers. He couldn’t help but withdraw a hand briefly, bring a slick finger to his lips and taste the salinity.
Dean’s content sigh became a moan when Sam sunk further down, his soft lips now forming an ‘O’ maybe an inch or two from Dean’s pelvis. His mouth was pure pleasure, just tight and soft, cheeks hollow as he started to suck. His stubble was scratchy, it bristled against Dean’s thighs. It was a little grown out, Sam had given it two more days than his usual shave schedule. Dean could almost picture himself later, rubbing lotion into his raw, red skin. As Sam bobbed his head now though, the subtle burn was welcome. Feeling a man’s face, unmistakably, between his legs, but looking down into wide, innocent eyes… it was a welcome contrast. The sensation had his dick plumping and twitching against Sam’s skilled tongue.
The cool air streaming through the window couldn’t touch him between the hips and knees, and if Sam was downwind of the Arctic instead, he didn’t seem to notice. Dean’s nipples pebbled, his low stomach felt hot, but his hands stayed fixed firmly in Sam’s hair. His own moan was met with a satisfied sort of mmf from Sam, one that followed the soft gagging noise he made when his lips touched Dean’s untamed bush.
Dean pulled Sam’s hair and thrust gentle and shallow into his mouth, which Sam made no effort to prevent this time. His eyes fluttered closed, satisfied, showing his approval with a hard suck. Sam’s face was getting messy, his lips and chin shiny with spit, despite attempts to clean the excess as he went. All his effort only resulted in a nasty slurping sound, and Dean briefly glanced at the open window.
“Fuck,” Dean let Sam keep the rhythm, his own movement more leaning into Sam’s lead than full-on fucking his mouth. Sam had told him before that he liked this, he liked to take his time. Morning was Sam’s favourite time to blow him. Because he was pliant.
Sam kept sturdy hands in the gentle dip between his abs and hipbones, and Dean didn’t joke, he didn’t fight. He just watched Sam’s jaw stretch, cheeks redden, eyes shut gently like seeing his work would dampen the sensation. Sam liked to feel, to taste, to smell. He liked Dean’s pubic hair curled against his nose and lips, he liked slightly bitter precome coating his mouth, he liked how hot a dick felt against his tongue.
The things Dean and most other people just endured for the sake of their partner’s pleasure, Sam revelled in. “Freak,” he mumbled out loud, more appreciative than mean-spirited. “God Sam, fuck…”
By nature, Dean was a talker, and once he got a good ramble going, there wasn’t much that could end it. Sam’s obscene sucking and slurping was met with Dean sighing and gasping, groaning on about “Your fucking mouth, Sammy.”
“Think anyone can- ah, hear us outside? Hear how good you are? You think they can hear you, out in the parking lot, all filthy on- fuck!” Sam liked the thought, clearly, because the way he pressed his tongue right into Dean’s most sensitive spot had his vision clouding over. Dean’s thighs were shaking, he could feel his heartbeat in his chest, but more in Sam’s mouth.
“I’m gonna come, and they’re gonna hear you swallow it all up, is that what you want, baby?” Sam’s eyes opened for a brief moment, wide and dark, telling him ‘yes.’
Dean held Sam’s hair in tight fists, hips bucking with far less control. He chanted in a panting whisper, “so close, so close…” until he finally reached total bliss. His back arched and he moaned out as he sent a few spurts of thick come into Sam’s ever-obedient mouth.
Sam pulled away with a punctuating pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Dean’s exposed dick. Sam’s sweaty hair was a mess, his pupils still blown, his lips red and puffy. Dean could’ve sworn he made a show of swallowing, the way his Adam’s apple dipped down his throat. He didn’t even grimace at the taste, which Dean knew for sure he didn’t like. Sam’s voice was rough when he talked, worn out, and he looked awfully proud of himself. He wiped off his mouth through a smug smile. “Good morning. Feeling more awake?”
“Christ, Sammy. Yeah.” Dean grinned. He had a favour to return.