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*waves* Helloooooooooo out there! So sorry for the long delay. I have been sick, recovering, and then *sick again*, omg. I swear, it's been the lamest, longest season for being sick *ever*.
Plus, it's so damn cold lately - i weep over my heating bill.
Two fun things - my sister introduced my mother and i to 'Slings and Arrows' over the xmas holiday, and i've watched all three seasons and my *gods*, that is so, so *fun*! So fun, so funny, so silly and so touching. I laugh and *cried* and just...loved it. I definitely recommend it.
I'm also on the verge of having watched *all* of season one of 'Torchwood' and i *love* it. Love them all! Yes, i love Gwen, too. Heh. As soon as i see the last episode, i'll be watching the two new eps of season two which i'm a bit spoiled for. But...wheeeeee! A show where the slash is canon - what could be better?
Anyway - on with the fic! Thanks, everyone, for being so patient. Enjoy!
By the time Sam pulled back from the kiss it had gone from slow, soft and comforting to something else entirely. Something that made his hands shake and his heart kick in his chest, rabbit-thump behind his ribs that almost hurt. Dean was staring at him, that look on his face again. That dark, hot light smoldering behind half-shut lids, his lips flushed redder, color high in his cheeks. It made Sam's belly clench tight, little knot of heat and tension, the shivers from being cold chased out by the sudden rush of heat.
"Dean, I...want –"
"Fuck, yes," Dean muttered, and twisted his fingers into Sam's shirts, reversing their direction back up the corridor and towing Sam along behind. There was an immediate – almost painful – flashback to being six, seven, eight years old, when Dean *my Dean, not this one...but maybe this one, he had me for six years, I had him...* would latch on and drag him along, hurrying his short legs and keeping him upright.
Sam snorted laughter at the thought – laughed again when Dean all but growled, turning half way around and jerking him closer, making their booted feet collide.
"What's so fucking funny?"
"You – this...nothing, it's...fuck, where –?" Sam grabbed at Dean's shoulders to keep from stumbling – slid his fingertips across the velvet-furred nape of Dean's neck and had to bite his lip from making an embarrassing noise of pure need.
"Here, in h-ere –" Dean said, voice catching and tripping as Sam's fingers rubbed up the nap of bristle-cut hair into the longer strands that covered his skull. Never long enough for Sam to get a good grip and it irritated him at the same time that he loved it, the slippery-smooth plush of it that was like cat's fur.
Dean rattled a doorknob and shoved, cursing, and they stumbled over a threshold into a dark space. A moment later, Dean's grip on Sam's shirt eased and then his Zippo snapped to life, sun-bright. He was lifting the chimney on a lantern, lighting the blackened stub of wick. Sam pushed the door shut – groped for a lock and found it, sending the bolt home with a satisfying little snick of steel. The old-amber light of the lantern flared up, filling the room, and Sam had time to take in the weirdly smooth walls and what looked like bales of cotton sheets before Dean was on him again.
Shoving him hard into the door, thump of Sam's head and his elbow before he got his balance and his control back. And lost it just as fast because Dean's hands were in his hair, pulling him down, and Dean's mouth was on his, urgent and wolf-sharp, tongue and teeth and the prickle of stubble, Dean's thigh between his, rocking up, and Dean's groin pressing hot and heavy into Sam's. The burr of denim on denim and Dean's tongue snake-flicking into his mouth. Sam caught it in his teeth – sucked it against his own, his hands finally coordinating enough to catch at Dean's hip and side and cling tight.
Pull him close and closer, burrowing under too many shirts, frantic for the touch of the skin that radiated heat through three layers. "Jesus – fuck, God damn...shirts, Dean –"
"Yeah, yeah, shut up," Dean muttered, hands slipping out of Sam's hair as his mouth pressed down again, cutting off any sound and half of Sam's air. Dean grabbed at the hems of flannel, Henley and t-shirt and dragged them all upward. Over and off, jerking back only far enough for them to clear his face and then his mouth was back on Sam, on his jaw – throat. Biting and sucking and Sam's head thumped back a second time, his hands tingling as he swept them over Dean's skin. "Shit, lemme –"
Dean shoved Sam back – third thump and Sam let out a breathless, dizzy laugh because Jesus Christ, he was gonna fall on his ass in a minute, seeing stars and oxygen deprived and his heart pounding, pounding, pounding. And then Dean was grinding him hard into the door, thigh almost painfully tight in the V of Sam's legs, pinning him there while he snatched at Sam's hems and jerked Sam's own borrowed layers off. Rattling the lantern when he tossed them aside and Sam caught his breath and jerked Dean in close again, his mouth latching onto the long curve where shoulder met throat.
"Fuck...me," Dean rasped, stubs of his bitten-down nails digging involuntarily into Sam's ribs and Sam hissed and twisted and ground down on Dean's thigh, slicking his tongue over the flesh he'd just bitten.
"Yeah, I'm gonna...just...fuck you so good –"
"God." Dean's tone was frantic – thick with need – and his hands scraped down Sam's sides and scrabbled at his belt. Jerked at the buckle hard enough to bring Sam up off the door and then back down, thump! again and Sam started laughing, couldn't help it, laughing and yanking at Dean's belt and then the button and fly underneath, worn denim shredding a little under his pulls, sudden chill of the door against his tail-bone when Dean finally got his jeans open and down.
"Fuck, man, shoes, I – boots –"
"Yeah, got it..." Dean clearly didn't, though, because in the next heartbeat his hand was worming between Sam's thighs, cupping his balls and tugging – grinning against Sam's mouth as his callused fingers slid over Sam's cock – curved and held and squeezed, knuckles pushing into Sam's belly and the ragged edge of a hangnail catching at the crown as Dean's thumb rubbed over the head. Sam groaned, knees bending – belly shivering as Dean stroked up and over, up and over. Hand at the back of Sam's neck, digging in and Sam grabbed a handful of muscle – ass and thigh – and moved. Shoved Dean back two, three, four steps until they both went down, tumbling into the stacked bundles of sheets.
Dean was laughing now, hiccups of mirth that made his belly jump under Sam's palm and Sam got a thigh across Dean's and slithered down, rubbing his cheek against the warm skin, biting at the line of Dean's ribcage and then the ripples of his abdomen, finding the curve of his navel and catching the rim with his teeth and tongue.
Dean's hips arched up and his hand was in Sam's hair again, pushing through it, tugging at it. Sam skated his palm up Dean's ribs, fingertips finding one peaked nipple as his mouth found the velvet head of Dean's cock. He pushed down, his mouth slurring open, blood-heat and the savory-salt taste of pre-come blooming over his tongue. "Christ, fuck –" Dean jackknifed up, ribs bumping the top of Sam's head and then he was hauling Sam up, bruising grip on his biceps, kicking to get Sam's leg off and rolling them over. "Want...like this –" His mouth coming down mid-word, mid-thought and finding Sam's again, icy press of his belt buckle to Sam's belly and then the hot curve of Dean's hip – his cock – fitting like a puzzle-piece into the cradle of Sam's hip and belly.
"Yeah, yeah –" Sam ran his hands up the braced, shivering muscles of Dean's arms – slid his fingers into Dean's hair and pulled him down. Dean groaned into his mouth as Sam kissed him – as Sam's hips lifted, searching for the friction – the heat. Dean pressed down – shifted and slid and shuddered. Sam dug one heel in and pushed back – twisted and bucked and got a hand in the small of Dean's back, pressing him closer. "Fuck, wanted – thought we could – slower –"
"Are you out of your fuckin' mind?" Dean gasped. He slithered a little sideways and tucked one arm closer – got the other down between them, fingers trapping their cocks together, rough palm and ragged nails and his hips working in stuttering arcs as Sam threw his head back and tried to breathe. "Want it right now, want to know what you look like, want to feel you lose it over my fucking – hand – Sam, fuck –"
Sam lifted his head and caught Dean's mouth with his, palm cupping Dean's skull, his other hand skidding lower. Flex and bunch of the dense muscles there and Sam sank his fingers in deep and hauled, wanting Dean closer – wanting him to move faster, harder. Pressure and friction making him warm – making him hot. Sweat-slick slide that wasn't really a slide, stutter and catch and Dean's hand squeezing – rubbing – his thumb again just there and Sam wanted to scream.
Wanted to climb inside Dean and feel him from the inside – wind around his bones and never let go. Dean broke the kiss on a ragged gasp and Sam put his mouth on Dean's throat. Column of tendon and muscle and skin, and there, right there, Dean's heartbeat shivering under Sam's mouth and Sam pushed his tongue flat. Tasted sweat and the sour-sweet of soap and something else, smoky and spicy and so fucking good. Sam licked that spot again – heard his own mouth whining out some kind of helpless, ridiculous noise. His whole body shivering, shuddering, moving against Dean's on pure instinct, mindless and ruthless and selfish.
The knot of heat in his belly was a blazing coal – a fanned flame that twisted tighter and higher with every grind of Dean's cock against his – every pinching rub of palm and fingers. Dean's chest against his, Dean's thigh between his, Dean's knee digging into muscle and it hurt and it was perfect and it was not enough, not quite enough, just there and Sam came with a shout, arching up hard, fists closing on hair and ass and making Dean hiss in surprised discomfort. Sam's hips snapped up, again and again and Dean was making that same noise – breathless and wordless and Christ, stupid, and Sam fitted his mouth over Dean's heartbeat and bit.
"Jesus fuck -" Dean yelped, and then he was coming too, rutting down onto Sam in vicious little jerks and Sam growled around his mouthful of flesh – growled and shook and let his teeth slip-snap off, getting both arms tight around Dean and crushing him close. Orgasm feathering out into nothing, spastic jerks and thrusts settling to little hitches – to an all-over throb of Sam's body, his cock thrumming along with his heart and the simple act of Dean dragging his hand free making Sam groan and try to squeeze his thighs closed, everything in that moment just too much.
Sam let his head thump back against the sheets, eyes closed on spangled darkness, lungs heaving and snatching for air. Dean groaned and pushed halfheartedly at him and then slumped back into position, his breath hot in the crook of Sam's neck. Sam could feel Dean's heartbeat, a double-time tattoo against his own chest, and he let his thumbs rub slow circles on the skin under them. Patch at the top of Dean's ass – somewhere under his shoulder blade.
"Fuckin' vampire," Dean said finally, his voice muffled, his words a vibration of air and lips and tongue against Sam's throat.
"You liked it," Sam said, and Dean shifted and lifted his head and in the antique brass of the lamplight his eyes looked liked smoky emeralds, impossibly big, impossibly green.
"Did he?"
Sam blinked – dragged his hand up Dean's back, nails skipping lightly over each small rise of bone. "He..." Sam stopped, thinking, and for one panicked moment – infinite and weightless and utterly crushing – he couldn't remember. Then the memory came, soft-edged and wisp thin. "Yeah. He did." Sam felt – or thought he felt – a little shiver go through Dean. Thought he saw something drop across his gaze, a veil to hide behind and Sam felt a sudden sharp twist in his chest, like his heart had dropped a beat.
"I didn't...think. Dean – I wasn't pretending –"
"I know you weren't," Dean said. His voice was hoarse and he pushed himself up a little, disengaging. Sam let him go so far and then no further, forcing Dean to prop himself on one elbow, ribcage still pushing into ribcage and their legs still tangled, jeans and boots and belts sewing them together.
"I bit my girlfriend, too. I have a kink," Sam said, solemn, and Dean's expression lightened, quicksilver grin flicking across his mouth.
"You'll have to tell me all about 'em."
"Maybe. If you ask nice." Sam lifted his hand – touched his fingertip to Dean's lip, lightly. Making Dean twitch away from the tickling touch. "Where's that scar from?"
"Oh, fuck." Dean laughed, rueful. "That's my least cool scar."
"What, some chick do it? Scratch you with her Lee Press Ons?"
"Fuck you." Dean idly twisted his fingers under the thin cords of leather around Sam's wrist. "No, it was some dumb-ass kid in Seattle. Thought he was a gangster – went after me with this fucking straight razor. I dumped him into the Sound with a broken arm. Little shit. Couldn't have a drink for a month without it burning like hell."
Sam stared at Dean until Dean looked up, and then Sam grinned. "You're right. That's lame."
"Fucker." Dean surged up, his mouth coming down on Sam's, his hand yanking free of the cords and curling around the back of Sam's neck and Sam let himself sink into the kiss. Let Dean tangle his fingers in Sam's hair and hold him this way – that way. Let Dean nip at his mouth – tease with the lightest flicks of his tongue and then take his breath away when he pushed in deep, fucking Sam's mouth. Let him do whatever he wanted until they were both breathless, half hard and moving against each other like snakes.
"Hey, Dean – wait, I –"
"What, what..." Dean muttered, letting Sam push him an inch away.
"I wanna do it again," Sam said, surprised at how raw his voice sounded. How broken. "But I wanna do it slow this time. I want...want to find out about...you. What you like...how you're different." Sam caught Dean's gaze and held it, hating the starved expression there – the baffled wonder and the half-hidden desperation. Nothing Dean should ever feel – nothing Sam ever wanted to see there again. He took a quick, ragged breath – forced a crooked smile. "Want a real bed and...I want some fucking lube."
Dean laughed – choked little bark, and pushed himself upright, dragging Sam with him. "Anything for you, little brother. Anything for you."
Part fourteen.
Plus, it's so damn cold lately - i weep over my heating bill.
Two fun things - my sister introduced my mother and i to 'Slings and Arrows' over the xmas holiday, and i've watched all three seasons and my *gods*, that is so, so *fun*! So fun, so funny, so silly and so touching. I laugh and *cried* and just...loved it. I definitely recommend it.
I'm also on the verge of having watched *all* of season one of 'Torchwood' and i *love* it. Love them all! Yes, i love Gwen, too. Heh. As soon as i see the last episode, i'll be watching the two new eps of season two which i'm a bit spoiled for. But...wheeeeee! A show where the slash is canon - what could be better?
Anyway - on with the fic! Thanks, everyone, for being so patient. Enjoy!
By the time Sam pulled back from the kiss it had gone from slow, soft and comforting to something else entirely. Something that made his hands shake and his heart kick in his chest, rabbit-thump behind his ribs that almost hurt. Dean was staring at him, that look on his face again. That dark, hot light smoldering behind half-shut lids, his lips flushed redder, color high in his cheeks. It made Sam's belly clench tight, little knot of heat and tension, the shivers from being cold chased out by the sudden rush of heat.
"Dean, I...want –"
"Fuck, yes," Dean muttered, and twisted his fingers into Sam's shirts, reversing their direction back up the corridor and towing Sam along behind. There was an immediate – almost painful – flashback to being six, seven, eight years old, when Dean *my Dean, not this one...but maybe this one, he had me for six years, I had him...* would latch on and drag him along, hurrying his short legs and keeping him upright.
Sam snorted laughter at the thought – laughed again when Dean all but growled, turning half way around and jerking him closer, making their booted feet collide.
"What's so fucking funny?"
"You – this...nothing, it's...fuck, where –?" Sam grabbed at Dean's shoulders to keep from stumbling – slid his fingertips across the velvet-furred nape of Dean's neck and had to bite his lip from making an embarrassing noise of pure need.
"Here, in h-ere –" Dean said, voice catching and tripping as Sam's fingers rubbed up the nap of bristle-cut hair into the longer strands that covered his skull. Never long enough for Sam to get a good grip and it irritated him at the same time that he loved it, the slippery-smooth plush of it that was like cat's fur.
Dean rattled a doorknob and shoved, cursing, and they stumbled over a threshold into a dark space. A moment later, Dean's grip on Sam's shirt eased and then his Zippo snapped to life, sun-bright. He was lifting the chimney on a lantern, lighting the blackened stub of wick. Sam pushed the door shut – groped for a lock and found it, sending the bolt home with a satisfying little snick of steel. The old-amber light of the lantern flared up, filling the room, and Sam had time to take in the weirdly smooth walls and what looked like bales of cotton sheets before Dean was on him again.
Shoving him hard into the door, thump of Sam's head and his elbow before he got his balance and his control back. And lost it just as fast because Dean's hands were in his hair, pulling him down, and Dean's mouth was on his, urgent and wolf-sharp, tongue and teeth and the prickle of stubble, Dean's thigh between his, rocking up, and Dean's groin pressing hot and heavy into Sam's. The burr of denim on denim and Dean's tongue snake-flicking into his mouth. Sam caught it in his teeth – sucked it against his own, his hands finally coordinating enough to catch at Dean's hip and side and cling tight.
Pull him close and closer, burrowing under too many shirts, frantic for the touch of the skin that radiated heat through three layers. "Jesus – fuck, God damn...shirts, Dean –"
"Yeah, yeah, shut up," Dean muttered, hands slipping out of Sam's hair as his mouth pressed down again, cutting off any sound and half of Sam's air. Dean grabbed at the hems of flannel, Henley and t-shirt and dragged them all upward. Over and off, jerking back only far enough for them to clear his face and then his mouth was back on Sam, on his jaw – throat. Biting and sucking and Sam's head thumped back a second time, his hands tingling as he swept them over Dean's skin. "Shit, lemme –"
Dean shoved Sam back – third thump and Sam let out a breathless, dizzy laugh because Jesus Christ, he was gonna fall on his ass in a minute, seeing stars and oxygen deprived and his heart pounding, pounding, pounding. And then Dean was grinding him hard into the door, thigh almost painfully tight in the V of Sam's legs, pinning him there while he snatched at Sam's hems and jerked Sam's own borrowed layers off. Rattling the lantern when he tossed them aside and Sam caught his breath and jerked Dean in close again, his mouth latching onto the long curve where shoulder met throat.
"Fuck...me," Dean rasped, stubs of his bitten-down nails digging involuntarily into Sam's ribs and Sam hissed and twisted and ground down on Dean's thigh, slicking his tongue over the flesh he'd just bitten.
"Yeah, I'm gonna...just...fuck you so good –"
"God." Dean's tone was frantic – thick with need – and his hands scraped down Sam's sides and scrabbled at his belt. Jerked at the buckle hard enough to bring Sam up off the door and then back down, thump! again and Sam started laughing, couldn't help it, laughing and yanking at Dean's belt and then the button and fly underneath, worn denim shredding a little under his pulls, sudden chill of the door against his tail-bone when Dean finally got his jeans open and down.
"Fuck, man, shoes, I – boots –"
"Yeah, got it..." Dean clearly didn't, though, because in the next heartbeat his hand was worming between Sam's thighs, cupping his balls and tugging – grinning against Sam's mouth as his callused fingers slid over Sam's cock – curved and held and squeezed, knuckles pushing into Sam's belly and the ragged edge of a hangnail catching at the crown as Dean's thumb rubbed over the head. Sam groaned, knees bending – belly shivering as Dean stroked up and over, up and over. Hand at the back of Sam's neck, digging in and Sam grabbed a handful of muscle – ass and thigh – and moved. Shoved Dean back two, three, four steps until they both went down, tumbling into the stacked bundles of sheets.
Dean was laughing now, hiccups of mirth that made his belly jump under Sam's palm and Sam got a thigh across Dean's and slithered down, rubbing his cheek against the warm skin, biting at the line of Dean's ribcage and then the ripples of his abdomen, finding the curve of his navel and catching the rim with his teeth and tongue.
Dean's hips arched up and his hand was in Sam's hair again, pushing through it, tugging at it. Sam skated his palm up Dean's ribs, fingertips finding one peaked nipple as his mouth found the velvet head of Dean's cock. He pushed down, his mouth slurring open, blood-heat and the savory-salt taste of pre-come blooming over his tongue. "Christ, fuck –" Dean jackknifed up, ribs bumping the top of Sam's head and then he was hauling Sam up, bruising grip on his biceps, kicking to get Sam's leg off and rolling them over. "Want...like this –" His mouth coming down mid-word, mid-thought and finding Sam's again, icy press of his belt buckle to Sam's belly and then the hot curve of Dean's hip – his cock – fitting like a puzzle-piece into the cradle of Sam's hip and belly.
"Yeah, yeah –" Sam ran his hands up the braced, shivering muscles of Dean's arms – slid his fingers into Dean's hair and pulled him down. Dean groaned into his mouth as Sam kissed him – as Sam's hips lifted, searching for the friction – the heat. Dean pressed down – shifted and slid and shuddered. Sam dug one heel in and pushed back – twisted and bucked and got a hand in the small of Dean's back, pressing him closer. "Fuck, wanted – thought we could – slower –"
"Are you out of your fuckin' mind?" Dean gasped. He slithered a little sideways and tucked one arm closer – got the other down between them, fingers trapping their cocks together, rough palm and ragged nails and his hips working in stuttering arcs as Sam threw his head back and tried to breathe. "Want it right now, want to know what you look like, want to feel you lose it over my fucking – hand – Sam, fuck –"
Sam lifted his head and caught Dean's mouth with his, palm cupping Dean's skull, his other hand skidding lower. Flex and bunch of the dense muscles there and Sam sank his fingers in deep and hauled, wanting Dean closer – wanting him to move faster, harder. Pressure and friction making him warm – making him hot. Sweat-slick slide that wasn't really a slide, stutter and catch and Dean's hand squeezing – rubbing – his thumb again just there and Sam wanted to scream.
Wanted to climb inside Dean and feel him from the inside – wind around his bones and never let go. Dean broke the kiss on a ragged gasp and Sam put his mouth on Dean's throat. Column of tendon and muscle and skin, and there, right there, Dean's heartbeat shivering under Sam's mouth and Sam pushed his tongue flat. Tasted sweat and the sour-sweet of soap and something else, smoky and spicy and so fucking good. Sam licked that spot again – heard his own mouth whining out some kind of helpless, ridiculous noise. His whole body shivering, shuddering, moving against Dean's on pure instinct, mindless and ruthless and selfish.
The knot of heat in his belly was a blazing coal – a fanned flame that twisted tighter and higher with every grind of Dean's cock against his – every pinching rub of palm and fingers. Dean's chest against his, Dean's thigh between his, Dean's knee digging into muscle and it hurt and it was perfect and it was not enough, not quite enough, just there and Sam came with a shout, arching up hard, fists closing on hair and ass and making Dean hiss in surprised discomfort. Sam's hips snapped up, again and again and Dean was making that same noise – breathless and wordless and Christ, stupid, and Sam fitted his mouth over Dean's heartbeat and bit.
"Jesus fuck -" Dean yelped, and then he was coming too, rutting down onto Sam in vicious little jerks and Sam growled around his mouthful of flesh – growled and shook and let his teeth slip-snap off, getting both arms tight around Dean and crushing him close. Orgasm feathering out into nothing, spastic jerks and thrusts settling to little hitches – to an all-over throb of Sam's body, his cock thrumming along with his heart and the simple act of Dean dragging his hand free making Sam groan and try to squeeze his thighs closed, everything in that moment just too much.
Sam let his head thump back against the sheets, eyes closed on spangled darkness, lungs heaving and snatching for air. Dean groaned and pushed halfheartedly at him and then slumped back into position, his breath hot in the crook of Sam's neck. Sam could feel Dean's heartbeat, a double-time tattoo against his own chest, and he let his thumbs rub slow circles on the skin under them. Patch at the top of Dean's ass – somewhere under his shoulder blade.
"Fuckin' vampire," Dean said finally, his voice muffled, his words a vibration of air and lips and tongue against Sam's throat.
"You liked it," Sam said, and Dean shifted and lifted his head and in the antique brass of the lamplight his eyes looked liked smoky emeralds, impossibly big, impossibly green.
"Did he?"
Sam blinked – dragged his hand up Dean's back, nails skipping lightly over each small rise of bone. "He..." Sam stopped, thinking, and for one panicked moment – infinite and weightless and utterly crushing – he couldn't remember. Then the memory came, soft-edged and wisp thin. "Yeah. He did." Sam felt – or thought he felt – a little shiver go through Dean. Thought he saw something drop across his gaze, a veil to hide behind and Sam felt a sudden sharp twist in his chest, like his heart had dropped a beat.
"I didn't...think. Dean – I wasn't pretending –"
"I know you weren't," Dean said. His voice was hoarse and he pushed himself up a little, disengaging. Sam let him go so far and then no further, forcing Dean to prop himself on one elbow, ribcage still pushing into ribcage and their legs still tangled, jeans and boots and belts sewing them together.
"I bit my girlfriend, too. I have a kink," Sam said, solemn, and Dean's expression lightened, quicksilver grin flicking across his mouth.
"You'll have to tell me all about 'em."
"Maybe. If you ask nice." Sam lifted his hand – touched his fingertip to Dean's lip, lightly. Making Dean twitch away from the tickling touch. "Where's that scar from?"
"Oh, fuck." Dean laughed, rueful. "That's my least cool scar."
"What, some chick do it? Scratch you with her Lee Press Ons?"
"Fuck you." Dean idly twisted his fingers under the thin cords of leather around Sam's wrist. "No, it was some dumb-ass kid in Seattle. Thought he was a gangster – went after me with this fucking straight razor. I dumped him into the Sound with a broken arm. Little shit. Couldn't have a drink for a month without it burning like hell."
Sam stared at Dean until Dean looked up, and then Sam grinned. "You're right. That's lame."
"Fucker." Dean surged up, his mouth coming down on Sam's, his hand yanking free of the cords and curling around the back of Sam's neck and Sam let himself sink into the kiss. Let Dean tangle his fingers in Sam's hair and hold him this way – that way. Let Dean nip at his mouth – tease with the lightest flicks of his tongue and then take his breath away when he pushed in deep, fucking Sam's mouth. Let him do whatever he wanted until they were both breathless, half hard and moving against each other like snakes.
"Hey, Dean – wait, I –"
"What, what..." Dean muttered, letting Sam push him an inch away.
"I wanna do it again," Sam said, surprised at how raw his voice sounded. How broken. "But I wanna do it slow this time. I want...want to find out about...you. What you like...how you're different." Sam caught Dean's gaze and held it, hating the starved expression there – the baffled wonder and the half-hidden desperation. Nothing Dean should ever feel – nothing Sam ever wanted to see there again. He took a quick, ragged breath – forced a crooked smile. "Want a real bed and...I want some fucking lube."
Dean laughed – choked little bark, and pushed himself upright, dragging Sam with him. "Anything for you, little brother. Anything for you."
Part fourteen.
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I'll take that as a compliment.
:)
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