Title: Wounded
Author: KinkyNicky
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest
Word Count: 1795
Spoilers: None.
AN: Sam is possibly slightly ooc, but not enormously so. Just a little cockier that we usually see him on the show, but who wouldn't be with Dean's undivided attention?
Summary: Dean is wounded, Sam knows how to make him feel better.


He's wounded. It's not the first time and it won't be the last, but sitting alone in the dark motel room is just depressing beyond belief right now, and knowing that Sam is out there alone researching the latest big nasty is just torture. How can he concentrate on resting and healing when all he can do is worry about Sam?

Maybe he should call him again. Just to make sure he's okay. Six times in one hour isn't too much is it?

Of course, it would help if he could reach his cell-phone. Throwing it across the room just 'cause Sam decided to hang-up the last time he called probably wasn't the best idea, and now all Dean can do is sit and look at the damn thing.

It started raining around half an hour ago and Dean expected Sam to make his way back, but still, there are no shadows underneath the door, no silhouettes passing by the window and Dean is getting more and more frustrated.

"I'll be two hours, tops. Just watch TV or something, don't stress yourself, you heard the doctor. I won't be long."

"Liar." Dean huffs. Reaching for the remote he goes to throw that too, his frustration getting the better of him. That demon made a bad day worse, and with barely four hours of sleep under his belt Dean is just plain pissed off.

"What do doctors know about Furcas demon wounds anyway?"

It's about then that the door swings open, causing Dean to drop the remote and try to sit up, wincing and eventually settling with leaning up on his elbows and scowling at the figure in the doorway.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

The door is closed, the cold being shut out as the figure steps inside. "Missed me then, huh?" Sam smiles and kicks off his beaten-up shoes. It's been raining heavier than Dean thought and Sam's clothes are wet through, water dripping down his face from his floppier-than-usual hair. He flicks it out of his eyes, making Dean jerk slightly as the spray hits him. Of course, the hair just falls right back again but Sam's smirking like he sprayed Dean on purpose and the older Winchester growls.

"Thanks Sammy." He snarks, wiping the drops from his chest and mumbling to himself, wondering why he missed Sam in the first place.

That is, of course, until Sam shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, pulling his hoodie off over his head. The rain has even soaked through that and now Dean can see the ripples of muscle in Sam's stomach through his wet t-shirt.

He's staring and Sam knows it. Plays it up, taking too long to slide the wet shirt over his head and running his hands slowly back down his body before his fingers wrap around his belt. Sammy's been so smug since he realised exactly how much Dean wants him, so smug that it makes Dean wish he could look away and knock the brat's ego down a few notches but he can't.

Sam's body wasn't like this before he left. Sure, he'd gotten tall and lean with those broad shoulders that made him seem tougher than he was, but he'd never been toned. Now he had abs you could wash clothes on, abs that Dean just couldn't help wanting to put his mouth on.

And now the jeans were at his knees, revealing toned thighs too, ones that wrapped high around Dean's waist, tensing and squeezing in rhythm, in synchrony with grunts and pants.

"You're sporting quite a tent there, Dean." Sam whistles, shaking his head as he kicks off the jeans and rids himself of his socks. His eyes travel up and down as he walks closer to the bed, and Dean hates that he can only nod. Hates that Sam can make him this devoid of words just by dropping his voice a little and giving him that look.

The closer Sam gets, the more Dean can tell just how hard it's raining outside. He's always been a black Calvin's kind of guy, but Sam wears those white briefs that let the rain soak right through and the outline of his cock is just right there, right where Dean could reach out and touch it if he still remembered how his limbs worked.

"Why'd you take so long?" At least his vocal chords are working again, but Dean doesn't sound half as angry as he would've liked, mostly because Sam's moving around to the foot of the bed, one knee making a dent as he grabs Dean's ankles.

Dean's thinking 'Answer me, damn it.' but it's so hard to be angry when Sam's running his hands up Dean's legs like that, making circles on the skin of his thighs with his thumbs and reaching up further to remove Dean's underwear. So hard to be angry when he's so damn perfect; looking up through his wet hair with that twitchy smile, taking Dean into his warm, still-wet hand. He moans too, along with Dean from just touching him, and it's always been such an ego boost for Dean to have his little brother express so much pleasure at the mere sight or feel of him.

"You want me to touch you, Dean?"

This stuff took a while. Dean's always liked the dirty talk but Sammy couldn't handle it without blushing red all the time until a few months ago. Now it's like a dam broke inside of him because most of the things Sam utters in Dean's direction are full of innuendo, and when they're alone he says things that make Dean go hard in an instant without so much as a change of expression.

"Come on, Dean. Tell me. Tell me how much you want it."

And his voice is so husky, so full and perfect and if only Dean could find the words to explain how much he wanted Sam right now, how much he wanted Sam always. There's nothing he can say, so he reaches his hand up to stroke Sam's face, and his brother responds, nuzzling into the big, warm palm there, turning his head to take a long lick along the salty skin he finds there. Before Dean knows it, Sam's got those lips wrapped around his index finger and it's hot and makes his dick twitch in Sam's hand.

Sucking. Sam's sucking hard on Dean's finger, pumping his dick in rhythm. Oh he can feel Sam's tongue on his skin and its torture, the wrong place, not where he wants it. "God, Sam...fuck...I need your mouth."

Sammy laughs as he lets go of Dean completely and sits back on his heels, looking down at his big brother. "You need my mouth."
He repeats, sounding too amused. "Really romantic, dude, but it's not gonna do. Tell me where. Say it."

Yeah, Dean created a monster back when he made Sam say this stuff until it wasn't embarrassing for him anymore, 'cause now Sam loves it as much as he does, maybe more, especially when it's Dean doing all the begging.

"My cock." He's too hard to be shy about it, but still Sam stays where he is, unmoving, that same smug look of amusement on his face.

"Goddamn it, Sam!" He can try all he likes to not get angry but it's what Sam wants. "I want you to suck my dick...want you to make me come."

He isn't going to say please and Sam knows it. All those years at college obviously taught him a lot about human nature because he always knows the point where he almost crosses the line. He never pushes Dean too far. Then it wouldn't be a game, it would be a war, and while all this dirty talk and wind-up stuff is exhilarating, Sam still loves it when he falls asleep wrapped up in Dean's strong arms, warm body against his back, legs tangled in his.

So he complies, lowering his mouth to within an inch of his brother's throbbing erection, unable to resist just hanging there a moment, teasing Dean with gushes of breath.

"Sam." A warning growl, and one that he takes note of, looking upwards through his lashes and gaining eye contact before swiping his tongue along the weeping tip. Dean surges up towards his mouth, tugging on his wounds but it's not important. "Fuck, oh shit, Sam...please...please..."

Begging again, but Dean doesn't care. He's so hard it hurts more than the inch deep gashes in his chest and he wants Sam's mouth so much. So much that when he finally has what he wants, when he finally has that godlike mouth surrounding him, it's like nothing he's ever felt. It's always like this with Sam, better than the last time, better than with anyone else.

Teeth clenching and the tendons in his neck standing out, Dean tries to mutter 'fuck' but it comes out more like 'fugh' and Sam is chuckling around his dick, vibrations at first until Sammy lifts his head, laughing some more.

"Dude, what the hell was that?" But Dean's already tugging on his neck, digging his fingers into his shoulders, making a slight whining sound until he gets that mouth back.

There's a fight to keep Dean's hips on the bed but every time Sam's tongue snakes up and around the head of his dick Dean lurches upwards again, grunting brokenly and gasping.

Sam wasn't an expert the first time but Dean still came too fast, probably from the kink of it, so now with months of practise under his belt Sam can push Dean's buttons better than a pro. Barely a minute in and Dean's abs are spasming, his hands clenching into Sammy's skin, fingers finding their way into his hair.

And he's making noises again, nonsensical ones that probably sound like words in his head but just don't translate through his mouth as anything but grunting noises. Sam catches a 'jesus' but not much else before Dean's arching up off of the bed, fingers pulling a little too hard at his hair.

Sam swallows now, actually enjoying the taste of his brother if only slightly, feeling Dean's body loosen, falling limp, a perspiring wreck on the motel bed.

As he lies panting, Sam licks his way up his brother's body, dipping his tongue momentarily into Dean's bellybutton before carrying on. He doesn't stop, doesn't lose contact with his brother's body until his lips reach Dean's, and the older of the two is breathing so hard he can't talk, but he has enough air to kiss back, his hands coming up to grasp Sam's cheeks.

They kiss slow but deep, the lack of frantic desperation meaning that they avoid their usual clashing of teeth. Dean thinks he can taste himself in Sam's mouth but his brain is still buzzing from his orgasm that he can't be sure, and Sam is pulling back, sucking on Dean's bottom lip before letting go and pressing their forehead's together.

Dean makes to let go, makes to move his hands down Sam's body but his brother holds him in place.

"You didn't come yet." Dean says in a whisper that he can't explain, but Sam only shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second with a smile.

"Don't even worry about it, you just get some sleep." He nuzzles his cheek into Dean's, licking up the side of his face just cause.

Dean's still holding his face, fingers running back and forth along Sam's defined jaw-line, and he smiles with a nod. "Love you, Sammy."

Sam shuffles downwards, curling around Dean, avoiding his wounds. "It's Sam...and I know you do."