The Promise 'Verse

The Promise 'Verse

Part I

Never Make A Promise You Don’t Intend To Keep

†

It had happened rather suddenly. The supernatural beastie they’d been after had managed to first escape their impeccably well-laid trapped, before getting a scent of Sam and then going chasing after him as if it were a bull and Sam had been dropped into a tub of red paint.

Dean had immediately given chase, a startled Sam! echoing in his mind as he ran through shrubbery, and weaved through trees. He could faintly make out in the dark, the shadows of his brother and the thing wildly chasing after him.

It was over in a few minutes max. Dean had seen his chance. But not until the thing had managed to use its ungainly head to smash Sam into a nearby tree, hard. Sam had dropped like a rock, but it had been the perfect opportunity for Dean to take a clean shot. And even while Dean’s mind was screaming at him to go and check that his brother was alivesafeok, he knew the procedure: take the thing out, or else Sam might still get hurt.

It had taken 5 shots before the thing had simply keeled over, making creepy grunting noises as it did so.

Despite the need for caution, it could still be alive, Dean ran to Sammy’s side, skidding to a stop, and grabbing him by the shoulders. A quick scan, with both eyes and hands, indicated that nothing was amiss, or broken. Sam was simply unconscious, though a scratch on his forehead was leaking a little bit of blood. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean hauled Sam’s tall form over a shoulder, the rifle he’d used awkward in his hand as he tried to steady his brother’s cumbersome height. He was tempted to let it drop, but then he’d have to deal with Sam making a big deal about it, and no doubt smothering him in chick flick hugs for Dean having valued keeping Sam balanced over an antique 4th model Winchester rifle, in the 156xxx serial number range. But when it came to Sammy, Dean could be insane like that. He just didn’t want anyone to talk about it out loud, that’s all.

It was a slow trek back to the Impala, but Dean managed without dropping Sam once. He felt it quite an achievement, though the muscle burn he was feeling was telling him otherwise. Dean took his time, propping Sam up against the side of the car, before opening the door and somehow folding Sam within. It was always a challenge. But then again, Dean had had more practice than most, and he found his body seemed to remember how best to shift Sammy to get him to fit neatly inside. Quite a feat, given just how many of those Sam was tall.

Once Sam had been settled, his head still lolling to the side, Dean gently brushed his hair back off his face. And then did what he’d done for years. He leaned in and chastely kissed his brother on the lips. A feather light touch, but one filled with awe and joy. It was Dean’s own personal ritual. It was something he had to do. After every hunt they went on, Dean stole a kiss, and had done so for as long as he could remember.

Only this time, it didn’t occur to Dean that Sam mightn’t have been as unconscious as he thought. As Dean quietly shut the passenger side door and moved around to get in the driver’s seat, he didn’t see Sam’s eyes slide open slowly, surprise alight within them. They closed quickly though, hiding the thoughts of their master until the time was right, as Dean opened the door on the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. Rest now, hunt again later, thought Sam.

Dean started the engine, completely unaware of his brother’s mind racing away at a hundred miles an hour. In actual fact, Sam was busy recalling time and time again of how he’d dreamed of his Prince Charming, yeah, Sam knew he’d been a hopeless romantic from day one, waking him with a kiss. And as Dean drove at a gentle pace, that is to say, at not quite his usual speed lest he jostle awake what he thought was a still sleeping Sam, Sam was thinking of the times that reality had seeped into his dream world.

Sam often saw the truth of the world in his sleep. It would be nice, for a change, to dream of something worth remembering, instead of the pain, death and destruction to which he was becoming accustomed.

Sam realized, upon waking up to find himself face down on his bed in the motel room they were currently staying in, that he must have nodded back off at some point during the drive. He was glad, if only because it leant credibility to his having been asleep the entire time.

Sam moved a bit more quickly than was wise, rolling over onto his back and tried to groan at the slight pounding he felt rattle his brain. He raised a hand to his head, and felt under his fingers a small bandage near his hairline. Looked like Dean had already patched him up. Other than the slight bump on his noggin, and a bit of a dry, sore throat, Sam thought he felt right as rain, good as gold, and that was where he ran out of idioms.

However, when he went to say something, all that his dry throat let out was a raspy breath that disgustingly sounded like he was trying to cough up a hairball.

As soon as Sam emitted the noise, Dean was at his side in an instant, looking at him, concerned, as he handed him a glass of water. Sam took it from him, and guzzled it down greedily. He handed the empty glass back to Dean before rubbing at his still sleep heavy eyes.

“How you feeling?” Dean asked softly.

Sam looked at him blankly for a moment before a wide smile split his face.

Dean shifted back uneasily. Though it seemed that Sam wasn’t grievously injured, beyond possibly being insane... That smile... it hadn’t boded well for Dean in the past. He wondered if now would be any different. And so, cautiously, he asked, “What it is, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sam replied nonchalantly, that smile still stretching grotesquely. Oh fine, Dean knew it was an adorably bright and sunny smile, he just hated what it stood for, and so said, “Dude, that smile is not a “nothing” smile. It’s that stupid ‘I think I know something you don’t know’ smile of yours that always gets me in shit.” The last part was snarked out rather suspiciously.

“So, what you’re saying is...” Sam said chirpily, “that whatever it is I think I know, and that I also think you don’t know, is in fact something that you do know, but that I only recently figured out?”

Dean pondered the semantics of Sam’s enquiry, before asking quite seriously, “How the fuck can you even think a sentence like that after smacking yourself unconscious against a tree?”

Sam shrugged, “That’s how I normally think. I suppose I tend to turn it down when I’m required to speak in a somewhat less convoluted and direct manner, particularly in the presence of those who prefer that I do so, if only such that it makes more sense, and takes less time to understand whatever point it is that I’m trying to make. Too much effort to do that right now...”

“Right,” said Dean succinctly.

“You never answered the question,” Sam reminded him.

“Thank you, Prosecutor; I’m afraid I was trying to sort through your spielage.”

“Spielage isn’t an actual word, Dean,” Sam pointed out, amused.

“It is now. And to answer the question. Yes. That’s what I was saying.” I think... Dean felt a sudden urge to scratch his head.

“That so?”

Dean nodded, warily, still a little unsure as to where all of this was going.

“Huh.” Sam said, sort of, seeing as it’s not really a word, more like a meaningful noise.

“Hm?” Dean replied, wondering at the intellectual level of their current conversation.

“So...” Sam continued, but left it at that. There was a pause of silence that lasted a few seconds before...

“Oh, for God’s sake, Sammy, whatever it is, why don’t you just spit it out?”

“You’d have to put it in before I’d be able to spit it out,” Sam replied, completely straight-faced.

Dean’s eyes, on the other hand, bugged out of their sockets, and he spluttered in shock, “Sammy! What the fuck are you on?!”

Sam sat up from where he’d been lying, propping himself up on his elbows, before shooting Dean a rather ‘come-hither’ look. “I could be on you, if you wanted. Around you, swallowing you. Taking you however you wanted me to. Or I could be in you. Would you prefer we do it like that?”

Sam’s voice was huskier than Dean had ever heard it. Oh, except maybe those times he’d accidentally, honestly, caught Sam while he was otherwise occupied. He’d never made his presence known at times such as those, and Sam had always been too busy choking back his own moans, and lost in seeking his pleasure, to really take note of the world around him. So honestly, Dean had never really actually heard Sam’s bedroom voice. And for that Dean was eternally grateful, he wasn’t sure how he would’ve ever kept himself in check had he been subject to this supreme form of torture for any extended period time.

Dean was, however, still really just confused as to what had suddenly made Sam turn into some kind of brother-devouring nymphomaniac. Wondering if he were possessed, but not wanting to give the real Sammy ammo if he wasn’t, Dean hastily swallowed the Christo that had tried to escape his lips. Instead, he tried to stand up and put a little distance between them until he could figure out what the fuck was going on.

He hadn’t expected the speed at which one of Sammy’s hands shot out to grab his wrist and tug, just hard enough that he lost his balance, and stumbled forward, knocking his knees against the bed, and gasping at the sudden pain ricocheting through his legs as they folded. He landed right on top of his baby brother, who then proceeded to haul Dean astride his hips.

Those big, warm hands wrapped themselves along Dean’s hipbones and ground their bodies together where they touched. Dean tried to stifle his moan, but Sam decided to poke him in the side with a long finger, in that exact place that always made him gasp and laugh out loud. His laughter mingled with his moan of pleasure, and Dean found himself thinking that it was a surprisingly euphoric sound. One he didn’t think he’d ever made before today. Before this moment.

“W-wait. Wait!” Dean cried desperately, even as he panted, and felt hotter than he’d ever felt in his entire life. “What are you doing, Sammy?” His enquiry was curious, and a little panicked, but Sam could also hear the tinge of worry that was laced through it.

“I’m keeping my promises,” Sam stated simply.

Dean blinked at him, “Which ones?”

And that was a reasonable enough question. They’d made many over the years. But Sam couldn’t believe he’d let go of this one, had buried it beneath thoughts of unworthiness, uselessness, undesirability. The way in which Dean had asked though, it was more like he was asking Sam which of those promises could lead to this.

Sam looked deeply into Dean’s eyes before responding gently. “When I woke up... I remembered something. Something you promised me. Something important. It’s... it’s actually kind of a reason why I left.”

At that admission, Dean tensed and made as if to scramble off of Sam’s thighs. Dean didn’t want to be having this conversation, but Sam’s hands held him fast. “No, Dean. I need to say this.”

Dean stilled, and nodded curtly, indicating that Sam should continue, but he was still tense, tightly bound and ready to go off.

“I once told you that I didn’t want things to be the way they were before. The truth is, that’s because I wanted something before that I never thought I could have. So I thought that I’d have to make do with the next best thing.”

“Jess?” Dean asked softly.

Sam closed his eyes in response, “Sort of. Kinda. She was a part of it. I did love her though, Dean. But in all honesty, there wasn’t actually all that much left of me to give. She didn’t mind though. She knew, and she said...” Sam’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

“She said... I was worth it...” Sam’s voice was strangled as he choked out those words. Dean’s hands were immediately reaching out and running along Sam’s chest, tenderly, soothing him the best they could.

Sam smiled at that, it told him a lot in fact, that Dean could touch him in that way, and not even seem to realize he’d stepped over a boundary, a line separating platonic love from the love that belonged to lovers. Sam knew that for his part, that line had always been slightly blurred, first with hero worship and then respect that as he got older quickly turned into admiration, adoration and... lust. There was no question about love. That had always been there.

The thing about Sam was, he wanted Dean. All of him. In the traditional sense. And apparently in exactly the same way Dean wanted him. Forever, and always. Only, he’d forgotten that he’d once known this with all his heart and soul, with all the innocence of a 5 year old. It had just taken a blow to the head for him to figure out that Dean wanted all the same things. Not to mention a kiss. That made Sam smile. In a way, it really was as if his Prince Charming had awoken him with a kiss. A kiss that brought to him the light of a thousand possibilities as to how much more they could have, how much more they could be.

Sam cleared his throat, and continued. “That smile, the one you hate. You wanna know what made me smile that way just now?”

Sam could see the uncertainty warring in Dean’s eyes. Yes, he was curious but no, he was expecting something bad, devastating even. And Sam suddenly remembered the last time he’d smiled that smile for Dean.

He’d just received his letter of acceptance to Stanford. Sam supposed that that smile was appropriate for a moment like this. The kind of moment in Sam’s life where he would make a choice, a life-changing choice. The kind that held the power to make him or break him.

After a few moments’ silence, Dean finally caved into curiosity, despite his untold fears that the words out of Sam’s mouth were gonna be the same as before, I’m not going to live this life forever. You’re gonna have to let me go my own way, but worse, that this time Sam would add, I don’t want this anymore, Dean. You’re gonna to have to let me go. And you’re gonna have to do it now.

Dean knew it was coming. Someday. But he’d thought it was in the distant future. That normal would be an abstract concept for at least a few years more. Years in which he would still be able to steal kisses and be a family with Sam. Years where they would just be, together.

“Alright, Sam,” Dean said, and he felt pride well within him, that his voice didn’t shake, didn’t break. That tears weren’t already streaming down his face. “Tell me,” and I’ll do as you ask, anything you want, I’ll give. No matter what it costs me.

Sam breathed in deep. “When I was 5, Dean, you promised me we’d get married.”

Dean looked, and felt, like he’d been slapped.

“You...” Dean had to stop, his eyes prickled and stung. His voice was caught on some unspeakable emotion that was right now constricting around his heart, crushing it slowly but surely. He felt like he couldn’t even fucking breathe.

“Left because of that?” And just like that, he really wanted to cry. Cry like he hadn’t cried since he was a little boy afraid of the dark.

Sam’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief, “What? No! Dean...” and suddenly Sam’s hands were everywhere, reaching for him, wrapping themselves up around Dean’s back and pulling him close, until his face was buried against Sam’s neck, and he breathed deeply of Sam’s scent, and felt a tickle of contentment calm him. “God, no, Dean... I left because even though I knew you wouldn’t have forgotten that promise, I thought that maybe... maybe you wanted to. Forget. So instead, I forgot it for you. But you know what, Dean? For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted you. All of you. Anyway you’ll have me. And I thought that you wanted the same of me, that you had intended to keep that promise and all the others like it, until... she came along,” Sam spat the pronoun with such venom that Dean looked up at him in surprise.

“Who?” Dean asked, honestly confused.

“Kimba-Lee Hotchkiss...”

The name was uttered with such loathing that Dean almost couldn’t tell that it was still his sweet little Sammy speaking. The name only served to confuse Dean more.

“Who?”

Sam looked at Dean a moment, before barking out a self-deprecating laugh. “You really don’t remember who she is, do you?”

“...Should I?” Dean asked slowly.

“God. I’m such an idiot,” Sam muttered under his breath.

Dean grinned a little at that, “Hey, you said it, not me.”

Sam graced him with the ghost of a smile, before saying, “I’ll refresh your memory. Kimba-Lee Hotchkiss was the only daughter of Benjamin Hotchkiss, one of Dad’s Hunter friends. Dad had wanted to introduce you to her. Said that if you were ever looking for a girl to marry, you should pick one from the fucking ranks.” Sam stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself before he continued. “He said he’d introduce you... if you wanted.”

And just like that, the memory of this conversation came back to Dean in stark relief. “And I said, ‘yes, sir, I’d be honoured...’”

Sam gazed at him sadly, before looking away, “And that week that Dad went hunting with her father, and she stayed with us...”

“I fucked her.”

Sam looked back with tears in his eyes, “Not just that though. God, if it had been only that. But it wasn’t Dean. That whole week, you didn’t have time for me, you barely even talked to me and then only if I asked you something. I mean, you didn’t want to be too obvious in your ignoring me, right? And I thought to myself, well, look at that, Sammy, some promises just can’t be kept.” The tone of Sam’s voice held an unspeakably profound depth of bitterness, and the oft-objected to nickname sounded more like a mockery of affection than anything else. A self-deriding smile played across Sam’s lips as he continued quietly, “That’s when I decided I’d sit my SATs, get the highest score I could, go to the best Uni I could, and then maybe...” Sam trailed off, his head flopping back hard against the mattress, before Sam turned his face to the side, his cheek once again resting against the rough material of the multicoloured pillow case.

“God,” Sam laughed bitterly. “I was such a fucking drama queen.”

“Then maybe what, Sam?” Dean pressed, needing to know what it was that had driven Sam away from him. “Then maybe what?”

“Then maybe...” Sam voice was strained, cracking a little from emotion. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, but when he spoke again, his voice was bold, and fervent. “Maybe, I’d be worth something. Even if we weren’t brothers. Even if I were a girl, uh, to whom you weren’t related...” Sam paused a little awkwardly in his impassioned diatribe, before continuing just as heatedly, “Dad never would have considered me in the ranks. I never was good enough. Not for him. And never for you.”

Dean’s hands clutched reflexively at the T-shirt he held within them. Dean felt cold with disbelief. He never would have imagined that something so meaningless, something so trivial could scar someone so deeply. Looking back though, counting the years, Dean realized Sam couldn’t have been more than 15. Only just breaking out of puberty, emotional and dependant. And on the brink of becoming a gorgeous young man. It was around then that Dean had started to distance himself. To try and give Sam space enough that he’d be able to make his choices. And Dean thought Sam had. That he had chosen Stanford, that normal was his choice, that normal was what he had wanted most in the world. When all along, it had been Dean.

“When you said... that there wasn’t much left of you to give...” Dean spoke gently, as he turned Sam’s face back to him, his calloused fingers softly stroking against a tear-stained cheek.

“It belonged to you,” Sam whispered. “All of it, all of me. All yours. But that she’d loved what was left...” Sam’s voice was awe-filled, seemingly at the mere thought.

And Dean was glad for Jess. That she’d given Sam something that he himself had never realized Sam needed. To feel worthy of love. Dean had seriously screwed this up once. He wasn’t going to a second time round.

“How could she not love you?” Dean asked solemnly, his eyes boring into Sam’s. “Any of you? All of you?” This last part Dean whispered into his ear.

It took a moment for Dean to scrape up the courage to put into words what Sammy must have always known, but still for some reason needed to hear.

“I love you,” Dean proclaimed proudly. Again he said the words, this time the way one would say ‘the sky is blue,’ or ‘fire burns,’ with the conviction of absolute truth. “I love you. Always have. Always will.”

And Sam seemed to freeze. To stop breathing altogether for a few seconds or more, before he exhaled raggedly, and his long lashes fell to cling to still damp cheeks.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered hesitantly.

“I need you, Dean. Right now...” There was a desperation to the words, as if Sam had been waiting for this moment all his life. But that’s the thing, so had Dean.

“Then take me,” Dean told him simply, as if the answer to Sam’s need should have been obvious. “However you want. Tell me, Sammy. Anything and it’s yours. Anything at all, I’ll give.” Dean pitched his voice low, and soft, before languidly licking at the shell of Sammy’s ear and whispering into it, “I’ll even give you my virginity, if you want it.”

Although Dean had slept with women, possibly more than he could count, and definitely more than he could remember, there’d only ever been one man he’d ever let inside him, be it figuratively or literally, emotionally or physically.

“Or would you rather fuck my mouth first?” Dean continued. He punctuated his words with a trail of kisses starting at the small hollow behind Sam’s ear and traversing his jaw, ‘til at last Dean’s mouth rested against the corner of Sammy’s. “That would be another cherry for you to pick...” Dean’s voice took on an even huskier quality, as he suggested, “Or maybe...”

Dean paused for effect.

“I could be in you.” At those words Dean’s tongue slicked along Sam’s slightly parted lips before plunging in and stroking against his at a maddening pace, one that was all too close an imitation as to what the plans for the evening might entail.

Drawing back, a little breathless himself, Dean asked heatedly, “Would you prefer we do it like that?”

And those were Sam’s words coming out of Dean’s mouth, only this time it was Sam who was struggling to hold back a moan.

“Sammy...” Dean sing-songed. “What do you want?” More licking ensued, and Sam’s eyes fluttered shut in reply to the saccharine sensation. “If you don’t say anything, then you won’t get anything...”

At that Sam’s eyes flew open, and hardened. Then again, Dean thought to himself, amused, that wasn’t the only thing that had hardened. He could feel Sam, warm and big, pressed up against him, as he resumed his position of straddling Sammy’s hips.

And then the bedroom voice was back, and Dean swore his brain almost leaked out through his dick.

“Strip.”

Dean had been raised to do as he was told.

The shirt, of course, was the first to go. As soon as skin was laid bare, it was worshipped. Fingers streaked across it, and his flesh rose in goose bumps. Dean’s eyes slipped closed as he revelled in his brother’s touch, warm and soft.

Dean could feel Sam’s wonderment, seeping out from the tips of his fingers as they made their way across bare skin. And he basked in it. No one would ever be able to compare to Sam and what he could evoke within him.

Dean suddenly found himself on his back, and his eyes flew open to find Sam hovering above him, eyes alight with desire.

“Getting a little impatient, are we?” Dean grinned wolfishly up at Sam, while Sam growled down at him in response, before leaning forward and roughly licking a dusty nipple in a slow, wide lap.

“Fuck!” Dean exclaimed in his surprise. The pleasure the action brought him was unexpected. He’d never really been a fan of chicks touching his nipples... Just another thing to add to the list of things only Sam can do to him, Dean supposed. Dean knew the list was only going to get longer as the night progressed. Or broke into dawn. Whatever. Cerebral blood loss meant an impediment to mental processes, but fuck if it wasn’t totally worth it.

“Now who’s getting impatient?” Sam queried smugly, smirking in a way that fascinated Dean. It was almost predatory, and yet different from any expression Sam had ever worn on the hunt.

Dean abruptly lost his train of thought, as teeth gnawed hungrily at a nipple, abusing the flesh, Sam's hot moist tongue ensuring that it was adequately rewarded, while those long, beautiful fingers scratched blunt nails lightly over the other. Dean cried out, the contrast of sensations making his head spin. Or maybe that was just Sam.

Not wanting to be selfish, Dean’s hand quickly found its way down to Sam’s erection, cupping it gently, but firmly. He began squeezing rhythmically. Sam bucked helplessly, his mouth opening wide against Dean’s chest, and Dean felt Sam’s moan ripple across his skin in delightful little tremors that made him twitch.

Sam growled again, nipping at Dean’s exposed skin before retreating back onto Dean’s thighs, putting himself just out of reach of Dean’s hands, unless Dean were to bother to get up and extend his sphere of influence. But he felt too boneless, pleasure melting him into a puddle at Sam’s feet, or rather between Sam’s knees.

And Sam smirked that damned smirk again at Dean’s wordless protest, and at his reaching hands. Dean’s hands were gently swatted out of the way, before Sam bent forward to nuzzle at the Dean’s hard length, still encased in denim. It almost seemed like Sam was sniffing him. And Dean almost snorted out loud at the thought, but for the fact that it felt like heavenohgod.

Apparently, Sam decided it would be a good idea to open his mouth over him, instead of using his nose to bump up against him lovingly. Dean could feel Sammy’s hot breath seeping in through the material.

Then he added his tongue.

And all Dean could think, all he could feel was hotwetpressure, as the denim clung to him. He knew he’d forgone underwear today for a reason.

Whilst slightly lost in a haze of untold pleasure, the sound of a zipper being drawn resonated loudly through Dean’s mind, and if it were possible he found himself getting harder. He tensed, eyes drawing shut, not wanting to come the instant that that hot, wet appendage brushed against him.

A moment later, what Dean heard instead was the wet sound of flesh on flesh, as well as a muffled moan against his own cock. He looked down to find Sam peering up at him from under his bangs, laughter shining behind all the pleasureheatdesire in his eyes, as he fucked his own hand in a slow and steady rhythm. Wanton, and willing, right before Dean’s eyes.

“Tease,” Dean whispered huskily, before shuddering as Sam laughed directly against him.

It was then that Sam got off of him entirely, swiftly pulling his own T-shirt off over his head and letting it fall to the floor. He dropped both his jeans and his underwear next, as he stalked from the bed, into the bathroom. Dean watched him go, eyes greedily taking in every inch of uncovered flesh. Sam disappeared for a second, and Dean could hear him rummaging around a little. He reappeared a few seconds later, lube in hand, coming to a stand still at the end of the bed. Dean’s eyes came to rest on a few choice inches, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

“Shouldn’t you be naked already?” Sam asked, a brow quirked in amusement at him.

Dean stared stupidly at him for a second, before looking down to see a wet spot on the crotch area of his jeans. Mainly Sammy’s fault, but right then, Dean didn’t really give a shit. Instead, his hands made fast work of the button and the zipper, and he wriggled himself out of his jeans, his dick bouncing lightly against his abdomen as he shuffled himself free.

The jeans were off him soon enough, and all that was left was Sam and Dean. Nothing between them but heat and skin.

“God, you’re beautiful...” Sam mumbled, awe-struck and wide-eyed as he took in the sight of Dean sprawled over Sam’s own bed. Aroused and squirming under his gaze.

Dean blinked in surprise at Sam’s words. Despite the fact that Dean was by now quite used to such compliments, he felt himself blush, just a little. It darkened quickly though, as if to directly correspond to the increase in the intensity of Sam’s stare.

Pulling his bravado back around him, Dean flashed Sam a cocky look and said, “Oh? ...So what are you going to do about it?”

“First, I’m going to taste you,” Sam replied matter-of-factly. Hands slid against ankles, before brushing up toned calves, caressing Dean’s knees, smoothing over thighs to come to a rest on hips. And then Sam was kneeling between legs that Dean hadn’t realized he’d spread open in invitation.

A pink tongue darted out from between parted lips to hesitantly taste the tip of Dean’s cock. The pinprick point of pleasure caused Dean’s breath to catch in his throat, as he looked down at the tousled head of hair that was now descending to take him further in. To swallow him whole, and possibly rip out his soul whilst at it.

Sam hollowed his cheeks around him, pulling Dean in so far, so fast, that Dean wasn’t sure if he was going to last more than a few seconds. He didn’t.

It was the feeling of Sam’s teeth scraping lightly against hypersensitive flesh that drove Dean over the edge. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he came. And the world seemed to escape him for a moment. When he came back to himself, he realized his breathing was harsher than he’d ever heard it. A breathy “Sammy...” managed to slip past Dean’s lips before they were plundered by a mouth that tasted of himself.

Dean shifted, preparing to get up, flip Sammy over and reciprocate. Sam, of course, had other ideas. Hands pressed against Dean’s shoulders, pushing him back down against the comforter, Sam shifted to settle astride Dean’s chest. His hard cock barely a centimeter away from Dean’s mouth.

Those gorgeous eyes were still ablaze with hunger. And Sam seemed to be trembling. “If I recall correctly, you said something about me fucking your mouth?”

Dean swallowed a little convulsively, and whimpered lightly at the suggestion. Sam took that as an acquiescence. But first, he grabbed Dean’s hands from where they’d been resting at Sam’s sides, pulling them up to hold them against the bed-head, and twisted his hips slightly, brushing his hot, hard length along one of Dean’s cheeks.

“Nnnngh!” Dean moaned at the contact, his eyes almost crossing as he focused close range on the cock sliding against his face. He writhed beneath Sam, not at all struggling to get away, but simply unable to contain his pleasure. He bit his lip to stop himself from begging, but it was inevitable. Sam spent a few moments more, enjoying the softness of Dean’s cheeks, thrusting against one before shifting to move against the other. Alternating whenever the mood took him.

It wasn’t long before a strangled, “Please...” was heard.

Dean tried begging wordlessly, pumping his hips into the air for some blessed friction but finding no relief. The teasing was driving him insane, so he desperately cried out, “Fuck me!”

Those words seemed to go straight to Sam’s cock, as it twitched and a drop of pre-come escaped from its head. And just like that, Sam was brushing his length along Dean’s lips, leaving glistening traces of himself behind. Dean opened his mouth in surrender, he wanted Sam’s cock inside him. However he could get it. Right. Now. It had only been a few minutes since Dean had come, but he was already so hard it ached, and it felt as if it were getting harder by the second.


He thought to himself that he might very well come from the thought alone of Sam taking his pleasure from Dean’s wide and willing mouth. Fucking his mouth hard and fast, and saying dirty, dirty things in that sinful voice of his.

Sam plunged in deep, swearing at the sensation that surged under his skin as the heat of Dean’s gorgeous mouth, and ohgodthoselips, wrapped around him snugly. Dean’s breath hitched around the mouthful, whilst Sam’s back arched sharply at the feel of Dean’s mouth around him. Sam’s hands let go of his hold on Dean’s, quickly moving to take hold of the bed-head, to brace himself for a rougher pace. Dean’s suddenly freed hands gravitated straight back to bare skin, grabbing onto Sam’s hips and tightening to help steady Sam’s thrusts.

And thrust he did. Dean’s throat felt as if it were burning as he tried to keep swallowing. Sam was looking down at him, their eyes meeting and holding, sending shivers down both their spines.

And then Dean got sneaky. He released one of his hands from Sam’s hips and Sam didn’t even seem to notice. Dean reached around Sam to touch himself. Not to bring himself off, just to collect on the tip of his index finger a little bit of pre-come. There was lube lying on the bed, within reach, but Dean wanted Sam to feel this. To have it burn. To have nothing at all but them on each other, and in each other. At least for the time being.

Having lubricated his finger slightly, Dean used the one hand on Sam’s hip to massage the flesh of his ass, before pulling at the cheek and pressing his finger up against Sam’s opening. Sam cried out loudly at the unexpected intrusion. Feeling himself being breached, he faltered in his rhythm, gasping harshly at the sudden assault. Dean managed to get two fingers inside Sam, before it felt too dry to add another.

But the feel of Sam tightening sharply around Dean’s fingers, the burningsmoothtight constriction, in addition to Sam’s now shaky thrusts caused Dean to groan loudly from deep in his throat.

The intense vibrations set Sam off instantaneously. He let loose a hoarse shout that vaguely resembled Dean’s name as he came, harder than he’d ever come before.

The taste of Sam on his tongue, flooding his mouth, the thought that he was in Sam and that Sam was in him, at the same time, had Dean coming for a second time that night.

Sated, and out of breath, Sam slid down to lie against Dean only to find himself on top of a puddle of come on Dean’s stomach. His nose wrinkled adorably, and Dean laughed breathlessly. “What? Don’t like it?” Sam pouted in response. “Well,” Dean continued hoarsely, possibly from the abuse Sam had meted out to his throat, “You made the mess, why don’t you clean it up?”

The heat in Sam’s eyes flared again, and his fingers dipped into the pool before being raised to his lips. “I never knew tidying up could taste so good,” Sam said before sucking the come off each of his fingers.

Little Dean gave an exhausted twitch of interest, and Sam giggled as he felt it against his naked flesh. “Did I break you?” Sam asked mischievously, even as he leaned away from Dean to grab Dean’s T-shirt from the floor to tidy him up a bit more effectively.

Dean grunted, “Give it a rest and it’ll be back to its former glory in no time.”

There would be plenty of time to play, come tomorrow, Dean thought with satisfaction. Neither of them was going anywhere. Not without the other, anyway. So for now, rest was in order.

Sam found Dean to be incredibly pliant when he was languishing in post-coital bliss. He smiled gently, and kissed Dean tenderly, even as he expertly manoeuvred them under the covers. “Promise?”

Dean smiled sleepily and sighed out in contentment, “Yeah, Sammy... Promise.”

And as Dean drifted off into sleep, wrapped in a warmth he never in his wildest dreams, and there had been some wild ones, believed he could be surrounded by, Dean was glad he would never live to hear the end of this. Because this too was a two way street, and so neither would Sammy.

†

To Be Continued...