Title: Family
By: cryabluemoon
Rated: umm..it's dirty. Except not. R?
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Spoilers: nothing. Honest.
Warnings: SIGH. Incest. Or, thinking about incest. No actual TOUCHING goes on. How about that?
Disclaimer: My mind is a dirty, dirty place. And wouldn't yours be? IT IS JENSEN AND JARED, hello. SIGH. Too pretty to be mine.


Sometimes you wish Sam wasn't your brother. It's a split second thought, and mostly has to do with the way your leg shakes, and that lump in your throat when you see him getting ready for bed.

Watching his long legs tangle in the sheets and for maybe, five minutes you wish he wasn't your brother. Cause then you could lean against his mattress and press your lips against his pale pout. You could kiss him over and over and actually enjoy that burning feeling in your groin that spreads down your legs like wildfire, forcing your hips to raise and you gasp. Or the feeling of acid rising in the back of your throat, coffee and bile on the cheap porcelain in some motel bathroom.

He gasps in his sleep. Baby, breathy gasps. You wonder what part of his throat they're coming from, and you want to press your lips against the base of his throat to find out. You know that in the blink of an eye, it'll turn to tears. You grit your teeth, the gasps turning into soft sobs. The sound alone is like cold water to the veins. You feel the warmth in your lungs, and the taste of acid and blood on your lips as you bite down against your own flesh. For ten minutes you wish he wasn't your brother. He could be anyone but related to you by blood.

You run your hand under the waistband of the same pair of jeans you've been sleeping in for the last few days, just so he couldn't see you undress. The idea makes you dizzy, and falling down would be hard to explain. Your hand presses against your stomach,your skin is even hotter tonight. Feverish, almost. You close your eyes tighter as your hand keeps sliding until your palm curls over your erection. Your fingers squeeze as you slide your fist between your legs. Your head falls back, throat strained, lips pursed. If only he wasn't your brother.

Your hand stops. Your hand stops and eyes widen almost automatically. Your hips tilt forward trying to press your hardness back into your palm. He opened his eyes and he was watching. God, if only he wasn't your brother, you almost say outloud. His eyelids are heavy and it's just a slit of greenish brown looking back at you. Bedroom, sex eyes. Your skin is littered with goosebumps, and if you didn't know any better, you could close your eyes and it would feel like a million spiders crawling over your body.

It sounds like a strangled moan, something you've never heard come out of your brother. Your hand moves slower, watching his lower back arch and his hips tilt to turn over. The back of his tee shirt has risen and you squint really hard to focus on that one piece of skin. You wonder if he's covered in light hair like you, and if his feels soft.

You want it to be over. You'll slide your jeans down over your legs and tuck the sheet up under your chin. As soon as you give into sleep, you know the sheet will become tangled in between your own legs. You've given up on closing your eyes, and not seeing the curve of his neck or the hollow of his hips where his jeans hang off his body. Your muscles tense and before you can blink, there's stick on the front of your boxers. Your muscles want to dissolve into the scratchy cotton sheets.

You want to crawl over into his bed and curl up beside him. You did once, and lay there for a few seconds, but ended up running outside, bile from your mouth, dirt on your knees as you vomitted behind some bushes.

He'll get up in a few minutes. He'll move quietly, but awkwardly, trying not to disturb your non-existant sleep. You'll roll over on your side, muffle your tears of disgust and sadness with your pillow. He'll throw on the bathroom light and you'll growl some sort of insult. Sam will laugh, he always laughs, like he can see right through your tough boy act, and he'll close the bathroom door. With Sam in the bathroom, your body gives in to sleep.

He'll stand over you, watching you with wide, curious eyes. Nine out of ten times he'll have a cup of coffee.

You just wish he weren't your brother.