Title: Bad Habits
By: Consternatio
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest
Note: I'm still not sure if this is AU or not. This is quite different from any of my other fics, because the POV shifts back and forth through this fic. I'm still not sure if it entirely works, but I couldn't write this one any other way. I'm still not 100% sure I've got the boys spot on, character wise, but I'm getting more comfortable writing them, so I hope so.
Series: 1) A Little Fetish, 2) Good to Talk...
Disclaimer: They're not mine, sadly. No, not even the car.
Summary: Things are moving on between the boys.


All the way to the bar, Dean keeps telling himself that he's crossing a line he has no business crossing. A line he shouldn't even be *thinking* about crossing. It's not like he can blame Sammy either, although his brother isn't exactly helping.

But, dear god, now they've started on this road, Dean's finding it harder and harder to do the right thing and call a halt.

He knows he shouldn't have kissed Sammy on that dark side road. He certainly shouldn't have pushed his brother to his knees and made him wrap that sinful mouth around Dean's cock. It was seven shades of wrong to have called his brother and engaged in phone sex that had driven them both to orgasm. And he absolutely, positively should not be thinking about their motel room and skin-on-skin, kissing, touching and fucking.

If he hadn't been driving, Dean would have thumped his head on the steering wheel. It's as if by that one action, the simple, thoughtless, act of kissing his brother, because it was either that or shoot Sammy, he's opened a door that he didn't even know was there. And now he can't stop thinking about the feel of Sam's hands on his hips, of how his brother's cock felt in his hand, of the thought of Sam, sitting in a public place and stroking that cock while Dean did the same thing, of the desperate sounds Sam made as he came.

Pandora's box, Dean thinks, and considers slamming his head against the steering wheel anyway, driving or not.

He still doesn't now where this hell all this came from. On the road away from the asylum he'd been hurt, and angry. He'd known Sam wanted to apologise, but Dean wasn't ready to hear it, not when the betrayal was still so new. It wasn't entirely Sam's fault, but that didn't make it burn any less. Then, Sam had started talking, and all Dean wanted was to shut him up. He'd been seriously tempted to just haul off and punch the stupid SOB, but he didn't want to get blood on the leather.

Dean remembers slamming Sammy against the car, remembers being vaguely surprised at the fact that his gun was in his hand, because he couldn't remember drawing it. He remembers Sam's reaction though, remembers realising that somehow his thigh had ended up between Sam's and oh my, what do you know, seems little brother has a kink for guns, violence and Dean, and isn't that an unexpectedly bright spot in an otherwise shitty day.

Dean's always been peripherally aware of the currents between them. He'd got so used to them that he barely paid the tension between them any mind. He doesn't quite understand how he could have missed the signs, how he totally failed to spot the heavy sexual undercurrents. All he knows is that when he had Sam pressed between his body and the car, everything he thought he knew about his brother went to hell.

Just thinking about it makes Dean shiver. He doesn't care what people think, he's used to being the outsider, the freak, but he has the sense to know that they're following a path that's dangerous, for a whole host of reasons. He knows that the way things are going, they're going to end up doing a whole load of stuff that isn't acceptable to most people, never mind the fact that most of the things he'd like to do to Sammy would, most likely, be illegal in several states, brothers or not. But he already keeps enough secrets, one more isn't going to cause him to lose any sleep.

It's Sam who worries him. His brother is prone to over thinking things, and Dean wouldn't have been entirely surprised if Sam had freaked out over this. Hell, he's surprised Sam hasn't already flipped on him. He'd worried that Sam had only submitted because he felt bad about shooting Dean, about the things he said, even though Sam had quite obviously got off on it too.

It was part of the reason Dean had teased and pushed the telephone conversation. He hadn't intended to indulge in phone sex with his brother. Would never have expected Mr-Uptight-and-Straight would even consider it. But he needed to know whether Sam was as into this as he was. It had been like in the car, a reaction Dean neither intended, nor could control. But, oh god, it'd been hot and dirty and so good. Knowing that they shouldn't have been doing it, knowing that they were both in public places, knowing he was the reason his brother lost that college education vocabulary and descended into curses and gasps and broken, desperate sounds had pushed just about every single, kinky, button that Dean had.

Dean pulls into the car park of the bar, parks, and then gives in to yet another temptation, and thumps his head on the wheel. Repeatedly. There are just so many ways he can screw this up. So many ways that it can blow up in their faces, and leave a devastation that nothing will put right. So many ways for Dean to lose his brother again. But he can't stop this thing that he's started, can only go carry on down this road and try not to fuck up too badly.

It's heading towards early evening and the bar is relatively quiet when Dean enters. A quick scan of the room establishes the Sam isn't there yet, although that doesn't surprise Dean. He suspected that Sam would have to get a change of clothes after leaving the library. The thought makes Dean grin, even as it makes his pulse jump for a second. He can still feel the tingle from the earlier orgasm, from the high of illicit sex, mingled with the buzz of anticipation. It's like waiting for a new lover; that reckless sense of restless expectancy.

The first beer goes down quickly, the second not much slower, and still Dean can't shake the twitchiness, the flutter of nerves and adrenaline. It's kinda like the euphoria he gets after hunt. That sense of being grateful that they're both alive and, mostly, unhurt.

Dean scans the bar restlessly. He needs to do something to try and burn some of this excess energy off. He spots a couple of guys playing pool, and knows he's smirking. He grabs a third beer, and wanders over to the pool table, smiling like a shark scenting blood.


Sam feels a frisson of nerves and desire as he walks into the bar. He's spent the whole journey from the library, to the bar, via a change of clothes, telling himself that this is it, this is as far as they go. The first time was born of fear and anger and guilt. The second time was harder to explain away, but it could just have been an aberration, a conversation that got out of hand.

When Sam spots Dean, sprawled, goddamed sprawled on the cheap leather seat of a booth, beer bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other, he knew that he was lying to himself. Now that they've gone and unrepressed all this shit, there's no way back.

Dean is clearly slightly tipsy, because he only smokes when he's pleasantly buzzed on beer, and he's either killed something big and ugly, or fleeced some poor sap. Sam's betting on the latter in this instance, if only because of the lack of blood and gore.

Sam slides into the booth, sitting across the table from Dean, watching his brother drink. The sight of those lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle was more than a little distracting. The way Dean takes a drag on the cigarette really isn't much better. Sam had never been bothered enough to actually smoke himself, although he enjoys inhaling the smoke from Dean's infrequent cigarettes. He watches as Dean's eyes half close in pleasure as he inhales, then purses his lips to exhale the smoke. The scent of tobacco drifts over the table. As Sam watches the smoke swirl around Dean's head he's gripped by a sudden desire to lean over the table and steal the smoke directly from Dean's mouth.

The urge is so strong that he's bracing his arms on the table and starting to lean towards his brother before he even realises he's moved. Sanity, or something, kicks in, and he freezes, eyes meeting Dean's, seeing the realisation dawn, the way Dean's pupils expand rapidly, the way his breathing hitches, then speeds up, just a little. Sam can't look away, fascinated by the sight of his brother, aroused and clearly waiting for Sam's next move. It's not a challenge, which throws Sam for a moment. Normally, everything with Dean is about proving he's better, smarter, quicker. But the smug 'I-dare-you' expression is missing, and instead there's a hint of uncertainty, a little hopefulness, and a whole lot of lust.

It's so wrong. So very wrong in so many ways that Sam can't even begin to catalogue them. And he doesn't care. He should, and he probably will when this strange madness loosens it's hold on him, but right now, all he wants is to taste the second-hand smoke in Dean's mouth, to know how Dean's mouth feels on his cock, to press up against his brother and watch him lose control.


Dean sometimes wonders if Sam knows how expressive his face is. Or maybe it's just that Dean can still read him so well, despite the time apart and the distance still between them.

One minute Dean's sitting in the bar, savouring a victory beer and a cigarette, his recent winnings warming his pocket, and the next Sam's there, looking at him with a strange expression, part nostalgia, part lust, and part, dear god, like he wants to devour Dean. Frankly, Dean's all for the latter.

Sam makes an almost imperceptible move, that he aborts a second after it starts, but Dean knows what Sammy was thinking about, can see it in his face. Dean thought he knew his brother, but if he'd ever really thought about this before, he would never, in any fantasy he could conjure, have imagined this. Sam, wanting Dean, wanting him enough to forget that they're sitting in a bar, forget that they're brothers, forget everything but how much he wants Dean. And yet, Sam 's sitting across from him, eyes wide, lip caught between his teeth, expression open and honest and oh my fucking god so needy in a way that makes Dean want to hurt him, want to let Sam hurt him.

They might be going straight to hell, but fuck, Dean thinks, it's going to be one hell of a ride.

Sam's gaze shifts, flitting from Dean's, to the burnt down cigarette that Dean's still holding, to the pack on the table, to Dean's mouth, and back to Dean's eyes again. He's not sure what his little brother is thinking, but he has the distinct impression that it's going to be interesting. He watches Sam lick his lips, and, oh yeah, this is going to be good, in the worst way.

When Sam stands, abruptly, Dean isn't surprised; he can sense the tension in his brother almost as keenly as he can feel it in his own body. Sam leans forward, closer than he needs to be, but not yet as close as Dean would like.

"You ready to go?"

Dean's pretty sure Sam intended that to come out as an instruction, but the slight edge of uncertainly turns it into a question at the last minute.

"Sure." Dean knocks back the last of the beer and stands, intending to follow Sammy out of the bar.

Sam looks at the pack of cigarettes in Dean's hand, then back at Dean's mouth, and Dean knows Sam's got something in mind. Seems Sammy has more than one kink, and Dean's wondering why he's never known this about his brother before.

"You, uh, want a cigarette for the way back? Seeing as how you didn't finish the last one."

Dean finally thinks he's figured out where this is going, and damn, but sometimes Sammy has some good ideas. He grins, knowing it pisses Sam off when he does it, and lights another cigarette, enjoying the way Sam bites his lip when Dean inhales the smoke. When Dean breathes out, it's like Sam's released from whatever paralysis held him, and he's heading to the door like a man on a mission. Dean takes another drag, and hastens to follow his brother.


They leave the bar just as dusk is falling. Sam waits until the door slams closed behind Dean, waits until his brother takes a long drag on the cigarette, then Sam grabs his arm, pulling him away from the door, and round the corner of the building, away from prying eyes.

He slams Dean against the wall, his brother's back hitting the unforgiving surface harder than Sam had intended. The hastily smothered gasp and the widening of Dean's eyes erase the faint regret though, and Sam is almost tempted to do it again, to see if the reaction would be same, but the sight of the smoke, drifting between them reminds him that they're here for a reason.

Sam slams his body into Dean's, his hands wrapped around his brother's biceps, giving in to the temptation that he knows is going to damn them both, the sin that he still doesn't want to acknowledge, that he fears with consume them.

Dean's head hits the wall, and he's looking somewhat stunned, and that just makes Sam want to do it yet again. Dean's always the one in control, the one with the smart answers and the wise-ass remarks, and the knowledge that for once he's the one on the back foot sends a slight shiver up Sam's spine. The competition between them is forever going to be twisted and tainted with lust and sex and the unspeakable things Sam is sure they're going to end up doing, sooner or later, and Sam welcomes it. There's no fighting this, they were never going to be able to stop once they started, and Sam can't lay all the blame for that at Dean's feet, though he started it.

Sam releases one of Dean's arms, realising that his brother's going to be wearing finger shaped bruises for days afterwards. Sam doesn't expect the wave of lust that ripples through him at the thought, he barely recognises himself right now, and he can't decide whether he likes the new him or not.

He plucks the still burning cigarette from Dean's fingers, pressing the filter to his brother's lips. The way Dean's tongue slips out, moistening his lips, before they part to accept the cigarette. Sam feels his pulse jump as Dean inhales, cheeks hollowing, eyes slipping partly closed. Sam realises he now knows just how Dean would look, sucking on his cock. Sam snatches the cigarette away, pressing even closer to Dean, legs tangling, then, finally, just as Dean is exhaling, kissing his brother.

The taste is smoke, and beer, and lust and oh god, it shouldn't be that arousing, that erotic, to have Dean breathe the smoke into his mouth. It's shocking, the feel of their bodies, and their lips, pressed together, sharing the cigarette, as Dean's hips arch. Perfect sin, and it's going to get them killed, or arrested and he couldn't care less right now.


It's beyond sinful, beyond dark and dangerous, and Dean's willing to drown in the sensations. He's still not sure that Sam's isn't going to have a complete freak out at some point, but as long as he doesn't do it now, Dean doesn't care.

He slides his free hand into Sam's hair, tightening his fingers, angling his brother's head, holding him steady as he reasserts himself, biting and licking Sam's lips, mourning briefly the loss of the cigarette. Sharing the smoke with Sam had been strangely arousing, leaving him hard and slightly breathless.

Dean can't help arching towards his brother, even though Sam is pressed as tightly against him as he can get, trapping Dean between his body and the wall. Dean thinks, in some distant part of his brain that they really should take this back to the motel room, but the flex of Sam's body against his is distracting, and he can't quite get the thought to form into words, and in any event, Sam doesn't seem to be in any hurry to stop kissing him, and isn't that fun.

Finally Sam quits, and drops his head onto Dean's shoulder. They're both gasping and Sam's making little sounds that are driving Dean *mad*. Sam's more or less slumped against his brother, and Dean can't stop thinking about how much better that would be if they were horizontal and naked, and sweaty and Christ, they need to move now. That irritating little voice in the back of his head, the one that keeps shouting 'he's your brother, dammit', pipes up briefly, but Dean's libido quickly slaps it into submission.

Dean shivers, fingers digging into Sam's scalp. Submission. Heaven help him, but there's an idea that definitely needs exploration.

"Sam, come on, we need to get back to the motel man. Sam? You with me here?"

Sam doesn't even bother lifting his head, just shivers and rocks his hips against Dean's almost absentmindedly, as if he can't help himself. Dean groans and drops his head back, momentarily forgetting what he was trying to say.

A car door slams somewhere, not too far away, and Dean finally gets scrapes together enough sense to remember that they're not exactly in private here, and getting caught dry humping your brother by the side of a dingy bar in some back-water town is going to put a really big damper on any form of horizontal activity in the near future, though Dean's trying really hard not to think about handcuffs and Sam in the same sentence.

He grabs Sam's hips, because if he doesn't, he's not going to make it back to the motel room before he comes, and he's pretty certain that however young and virile he might be, getting it up three times in the space of a couple of hours is not going to happen.

"Sam, we gotta move, ok? We can't do this here."

Sam raises his head, and it takes all of what's left of Dean's willpower not to say to hell with it and fuck him where they're standing. Sam's eyes are nothing but pupil, there's a light flush across his cheekbones, and as Dean watches, he licks his lips. That's way more temptation that any man should be presented with, and for just a moment, he hesitates. The sound of voices tips the balance, and he shoves Sam gently away from him.


Dean grits his teeth. At any other time, seeing Sammy so confused and dopey would be amusing and Dean would welcome the opportunity to tease his brother. Now, however, it's nothing but a delay and is wasting time that could be put to much better use.

Sam's looking at him like Dean just shot his puppy, but Dean can't be bothered to try and explain, from the look on Sam's face, he isn't going to understand anyway.

Dean grabs his brother's arm, and drags him towards the car. Sam's utterly pliant, and still looking slightly dazed when Dean opens the passenger door and shoves him in, and pliant is really not a word Dean needs to be thinking about in any great detail right now if he wants to get them to the hotel without crashing.

He slides into the drivers seat, fires up the car, and heads for their room, deliberately not looking at his brother.


Sam can't take his eyes off Dean. It's as if everything that was previously familiar has suddenly taken on a whole new meaning. All his adult life, and before, he's wanted to be normal. That's all. A normal, quiet life. No demons, no monsters, no ghosts. And yet, here he is, chasing Dad, and things that go bump in the night again, only this time he's also thinking of all the ways he and Dean can fuck each other stupid.

It's so far from what he wanted, what he imagined when he left for college that he can't reconcile the two. And yet, it's almost a relief to give in. To just stop fighting, at least on this. He still doesn't want to spend the rest of his life hunting, still doesn't want to go back to being at Dad's beck and call, and he knows he's going to spend a lot of time, sooner or later, wrestling with the knowledge that if they keep on this way, this, whatever this is between them, is just going to make life even more complicated. In the here and now though he doesn't want to think, doesn't want to consider his actions or the consequences. He just wants to touch Dean, wants to learn how to make Dean moan, wants to discover how his brother's skin feels, under his hands, against his body.

He can't stop his hand moving across the central console of the car, until it's resting on Dean's thigh. It's absurdly gratifying, the way the car swerves momentarily, the way Dean sucks in a breath, the way he bites his lip. For a moment Sam's content to leave his hand where it is, soaking up the warmth, but, inevitably, he has to do more. His fingers stroke the denim on the inside of Dean's thigh, and he can't help but look down. He can feel, and see, the muscles bunch beneath his palm as Dean shifts, slightly. It's almost as though they've gone back in time, to the night all this started, the night they drove away from the asylum. The tension in the car, the heavy silence, despite the sound of the engine. But this time, oh, this time, the tension is completely different. It's always been sexual, Sam realises that now, but now it's out in the open, now there isn't any betrayal to taint it, now the sound of the car is drowned out by the sound of their own harsh breathing.

The car stops suddenly, and Sam can't quell the surge of lust as his mind replays the last time Dean abused the brakes so aggressively.

He looks up, and Dean's so close that Sam can do nothing else but lean forward to kiss him again. There's still a lingering taste of cigarettes and beer, and before Sam realises it, his hand has slide up Dean's thigh until his palm is pressed against the outline of Dean's cock. The whimper that produces has him pressing down again, angling his hand so that he can rub the heel of his hand against the denim, so that his fingers can slide between Dean's thighs, can feel the denim stretch as Dean tries to spread his legs to allow him better access.

The shudder that runs through Dean, and the broken little moan that escapes their kiss makes Sam want to climb over the console and into Dean's lap, makes him want to drop to his knees and wrap his mouth around his brother's cock again, makes him want to strip Dean naked and fuck him as hard as possible.

Dean's hand has somehow found a purchase in Sam's hair, and he uses it to pull them apart. They're both gasping again, Dean's shivering as if he's chilled to the bone and Sam can barely remember his own name.

He watches Dean take a breath, lick his lips, and clamp a hand around Sam's wrist, stilling the hand between his legs. His eyes open halfway, sleepy and sultry and a whole load of other words beginning with 's'.


Sam bites his lips, and tries not to groan. Dean's voice is rough, and low and almost more intimate that the kiss they just shared. This is a side to Dean he's never seen, and now that he has, he knows he's going to want to see it a lot more, because there is just no way they're going to be doing anything other than fucking when they get into that room.

It's that thought that finally gets Sam moving, dragging his hand out of Dean's lap, making sure he presses against Dean's cock as he does so, relishing the choked gasp. Then they're both moving, sliding out of the car, and walking towards their room, as if everything is fine, as if they'd never even consider anything other than a normal brother/brother relationship.


Dean can't quite wrap his head around this new version of his brother. The version that slams him up against walls, steals the cigarette smoke from his mouth, that strokes his cock in the car. He can't quite square the Sam he thought he knew with this new, sexual being. Doesn't mean he's not going to take the opportunity and enjoy it though. Oh boy, is he going to enjoy it. He's ignoring the nagging thought that once they get through that hotel door, everything will change, and they'll never be able to go back. Everything will be forever coloured by the fact that his brother is also his lover. And damn, if that thought doesn't make Dean's breath catch, and his pulse jump.

Sam gets to the door first, and Dean smirks as he fumbles with the key. Sam takes so long that Dean finally gives into temptation, and wraps himself around his brother, hands sliding down Sam's arms until they're resting over Sam's fingers. Sam's frozen, but Dean can feel the slight tremble he can't hide, the way his breathing speeds up. It's heady feeling, to know that he can evoke such a reaction in Sam.

Dean leans into his brother, cock pressed against Sam's arse, chest against Sam's back. There's a narrow strip of skin showing between Sam's hair and the collar of his jacket and Dean can't resist kissing it, which causes Sam to shiver. When Dean runs his tongue over that skin, in little kitten laps, Sam exhales a soft moan that makes Dean's hips thrust against Sam's arse, and makes Dean sink his teeth into the back of Sam's neck.

Sam gasps, then moans, and Dean has to do it again, just a little harder, and this time the sound is closer to a whimper, and when Sam's body practically melts into Dean's, he knows that they've got to get that door open now, because he needs to mark as much of his brother as he can, and if they don't get into that room right now, they're going to end up fucking where they're standing.

Dean snatches the keys from Sam's hands, manages to get the key into the lock and turned, despite not being able to see what he's doing because he's damned if he's going to move, not when he's virtually all that's holding Sam upright, and Sam is pressing back against him, hips shifting restlessly.

The door opens suddenly, and Dean drops his hands to Sammy's hips, pulling him back hard against his cock, and biting the side of Sam's neck with enough force to bruise. Sam arches his back, and groans Dean's name, and for just a second Dean thinks his brother is going to lose it and come, but no, despite the shuddering breaths Sam's still holding on. Dean gives him a quick shove, sending him stumbling into the room. Dean follows quickly, slamming the door shut with a quite deliberate intent.

For the second time that day, Dean unexpected finds himself slammed into a hard vertical surface by the weight of his brother's body, while Sam attacks his mouth, licking and biting Dean's lips, grinding their hips together in a way that is utterly lewd, and undeniably erotic.

Dean grabs a handful of Sam's hair, and yanks his head back. Sam's eyes are wide, and the look on his face makes Dean curse. They need to get horizontal, and now.

The motel room is so small that the bed is no more than two steps from the door, and Dean braces his back against the door, and shoves his brother hard enough to send him sprawling on the bed. Dean takes a moment to appreciate the sight. Sam's eyes are nothing but pupil, wide and shocked; his lips are parted, his breathing loud. One foot rests on the floor, his legs spread wide. Oh yes, horizontal is good, Dean thinks, horizontal and naked would be better.

It's clear that for once he and Sam are actually on the same page, because as Dean's stripping out of his shirt, Sam's doing the same. Dean's fairly sure that they're both going to be missing buttons, come the morning, they disrobe so quickly.

Dean wins this race, and he takes full advantage of the victory, taking two steps to the bed, and then crawling slowly onto the bed, until he's kneeling over Sam. Dean feels both triumphant, and vulnerable, predatory and hesitant. He's used to feeling conflicted where Sam's concerned, but this is a new level, even for them.

Sam shifts under him, and his thigh brushes Dean's, and it's enough to remind Dean that they can brood and fret over this later. He grins. Sam starts to reach for him, but Dean's quicker, and he's got Sam's wrists pinned to the bed. He gets just enough time to feel smug, before Sam bucks, twists, and somehow manages to tumble them both off the bed.

Sam might be a lanky bastard, but he's still heavy, a fact that Dean realises when he lands on his back on the floor, and Sam lands on top of him, amid a tangle of limbs.


Dean makes a muffled 'oof' sound, as he hits the floor, and Sam takes advantage of his brother's momentary distraction to kiss him. The feeling of a warm body beneath him is hardly new to Sam, but the knowledge of exactly who it is he's kissing and rubbing against adds a definite air of the surreal. Now that he's accepted that there's no other way this can go but with the two of them fucking, Sam can enjoy the thrill that comes with the illicit nature of what they were doing, the excitement of breaking a taboo.

Dean twists under him, but there isn't enough room between the two single beds for him to dislodge his brother, and Sam enjoys the way Dean's actions cause his cock to rub against Sam's. Sam manages to get hold of one of Dean's hands, pinning it to the carpet while his lips wander along Dean's jaw, down to his neck. Dean throws his head back, and Sam is briefly swamped with lust at the thought of his always competitive brother in such a submissive position. He bites down hard, leaving a bruise to match the one Dean left on the nape of his neck, and Dean arches up, hissing and squirming.

The thought that they'd both be carrying similar marks for at least the next few days is enough to spur Sam to move things along. They've spent the last three days indulging in foreplay of a kind, and Sam's suddenly eager to get on with proceedings.

He manages to drag his mouth away from Dean's skin to ask a question.



"Lube, tell me you've got some somewhere."

"What the hell do you think I am? A walking drugstore?"

"You've just about everything else!"

"Last time I checked, lube was not a necessity in a first aid kit."

Sam rests his forehead against Dean's. Right. Mr I-flirt-with-anything-with-a-pulse doesn't have lube. Great.

"I don't believe it."

"I do. Any bright ideas college boy?"

Sam grits his teeth. He's so aroused it's damn near painful, he's bursting with the need to fuck his brother, and Dean is still throwing insults and getting under his skin. So much for this changing anything.

"We could... I don't know... Soap?"


"Gun oil?"

"No! Might need it for the guns."

Sam's about 2 seconds away from headbutting Dean right now.

"Well, we can't use spit..."

Dean shudders beneath him, and Sam can't blame him.

"No, absolutely not."

"What then?"

"Out of options smart-ass. Fucking is gonna to have to wait."


Dean laughs, low and slightly rough, and Sam's couldn't help but grind his hips against Dean's in response.

"Later. Now get the hell off me."

"What?" Sam's beginning to wonder where his usual extensive vocabulary has gone to, 'cause he's certainly not used it much today.

"I have a Plan B, but no way am I doing it on this floor, so get off me."

"Right, so you didn't have any qualms about fucking on the floor, but you don't want to do whatever it is you're thinking of on the floor. How the hell does that work?"

"Sam, do you want to stay here and debate, or do you want to get on the bed and do the next best thing to fucking?" Dean arches his hips for emphasis, and Sam decides now is not the time for their usual brotherly disagreements. He gets up, pulling Dean with him, and before he knows it, he's back on the bed, on his back, with Dean sprawled across him, hands running over his chest, lips sucking at his neck and collarbones.

When Dean's hand slides down his chest, over his stomach, and fingers wrap around his cock, Sam can't help the way his hips arch, the tremors that run through him, or the shout that sounds terribly loud to his ears. He throws his head back, eyes closed, lost in the pleasure of finally getting some real stimulation. He'd forgotten how quickly Dean can move, because it feels as though one minute those lips are leaving stinging bites over his chest and nipples, and the next, they're sliding down his cock, and this time, the shout is even louder.

Dean takes his mouth off Sam's cock, and mutters

"Keep the noise down. Unless you want me to gag you."

And, fuck, but that thought goes straight on to the list of things that shouldn't be sexy, but are.

As Dean goes back to doing obscene things to Sam's cock, Sam realises that Dean knows what he's doing, and dear god, he keeps licking and sucking, and gently scraping his teeth up the underside of Sam's cock and Sam's been hard for so long. Three days of frustration and brooding and arousal, and it feels as though it's been years since he came, though it was only a few hours ago.

He manages to remember to bite his lip when he comes, back arching, fingers digging into Dean, leaving more bruises that Sam's not going to be able to look at without wanting to do this again, and again. He's dimly aware that he's whimpering, but he doesn't care.

He feels Dean shift, and sit up. He gets together enough energy to push himself up on his elbows, and watches his brother, kneeling between his spread thighs, head thrown back, the bruise that Sam made just beginning to bloom on his throat, hand stroking his cock. It really shouldn't be sexy, watching Dean jerk himself off, but fuck, it is.

It's hot to watch the way Dean holds himself, the way he twists his hand as he strokes his cock, the way he can't stop his hips jerking at the end of each stroke, the little gasps and moans he makes, the way the fingers of his free hand flex, curling and uncurling.

Sam knows the instant his brother is going to come, sees it in the way his body tenses, the way both hands clench, the hastily smothered curse that he shouts. Sam watches, enjoying the sensuality of his brother. As before, it's the vulnerability that hits him hardest though, makes him want to protect his older bother, even as he wants to fuck him through the nearest mattress.

Dean slumps over the end of the bed, head hanging off one side, while his feet dangle off the other, Sam draws his legs up, shuffling up the bed until he can lean against the headboard.

He wonders if this is where the awkward silence starts.

"Ok, next time, you get the lube, otherwise I'll fuck you without it."

Ok, so clearly he had nothing to worry about on the awkward front. Even sated and orgasm sleepy, Dean's still a dickhead.

"Who said you're going to be doing the fucking?"

"I'm older."

"No way, you're not pulling that 'I'm older' shit here Dean..."

Dean turns his head and smirks. Sam glares back. No way he's letting Dean get away with that crap, he's going to buy the lube, and he's going to be the one fucking Dean, and that's final.


Dean can see the gears turning in his brother's head. What Sam hasn't figured out yet is that there's a lot of hick towns round here, and Dean's prepared to let Sam do him first, just for the amusement value of watching his brother buy lube in some small-town, ultra conservative backwater drugstore. Watching Sam die of embarrassment is definitely going to be worth getting his ass pounded. Oh yeah.


Next story in series - And so to bed....