Dean comes back into his head to the feeling of water pooling in the small of his back. Sam's water glass is pushing in at the swell of bone over his pelvis, kept steady by Sam's easy grip on the rim of the glass. A wave of goosebumps breaks out on his skin as the cold hits him, and he almost makes a faint noise of protest, before he swallows it down.
There's only water in the glass; used to be beer, before Dean had taken his first shot at not drinking anymore. Dean would never say it- not when he's himself- but he's grateful for the change. The scent of the beer would have been a distraction, a point of focus other than Sam that would drag on him like chains as his mind struggled to reach that floating, flying place Sam can put him in. Here, together, when Sam makes his thought quiet, is the only time Dean would ever think of flying and safe in the same breath. He'd probably make it through a whole flight without freaking out if they both wouldn't get arrested for doing the things it takes to get him so wholly outside of himself.
The glass is cold on Dean's naked skin, but it's warmer than it was a few minutes ago; the ice must have melted. Melted is good. Melted means Sam'll ask Dean to move, soon.
For a few more long minutes there's no sound but the clatter of Sam's right hand on the keyboard. It's harder to stay still now that the pain in his thighs has faded and taken the clarity with it. Dean doesn't like to call it subspace, how Sam makes him feel. It sounds cliché, and worse, weak. Sam doesn't agree, but that's why Sam's the one that gets off on watching Dean fly apart and not the other way around. As the silence draws out and Sam keeps working, Dean falls himself dropping back down as his focus narrows back to the basics; the chill of the air, the heat of his skin, the barely perceptible smell of Sam's musk edging its way out from underneath Sam's clothes. It's like tunnel vision, as his whole body falls back into the rhythm of Sam's breath, Sam's touch, Sam's- everything.
The glass lifts from Dean's skin at regular intervals as Sam drinks, and Dean fights to keep his center balanced.
Dean shivers as Sam takes another drink and can't help but tense when Sam puts the glass down on the side table opposite from Dean. A bead of water is dislodged at the motion and slides off Dean's back and down his side. The sudden spread of the cold is startling, but less so than the sudden contact of Sam's finger against Dean's skin, following the train of the water around Dean's side until his hand, large and steady, is wrapped around the flare of Dean's hip.
The pull comes without warning, Sam hauling Dean up, lifting him bodily onto Sam's lap on the chair. It's only the bulging muscles in Sam's arms that give hint to the fact that Dean isn't one of the petite girls Sam tends to favour. Dean only ever feels like a small man when he's with Sam, overshadowed and overwhelmed on the all-too-rare occasions that Sam made full use of his larger size.
"Mmmmm," Sam murmurs, pulling Dean close so that their torsos press together, Dean's naked back flush with the thin material of Sam's shirt and his ass presses down into the bulge of Sam's cock. "You thirsty too?" he asks, and runs one of his hands down the length of Dean's leg, fingers wrapped tight to press on the inside of Dean's thigh. The skin is tender, just starting to darken with bruises, but there's only the slightest ache at Sam's touch.
Dean clears his throat, legs spread wide to accommodate Sam's touch. "Always," he replies, and his voice is rough, about to get rougher.
Sam ducks his head and presses his nose into the skin of Dean's neck, inhaling deeply, the powerful rise of his chest lifting Dean in time with Sam's breath. Dean shivers; he can feel the thud of Sam's heartbeat against his back, pumping in time with his own.
One of Sam's arms untangles from them and then is back, pressing two fingers into Dean's mouth. "Suck," Sam says, and Dean does. Sam's fingers are coated in water, and Dean smiles as he sucks the liquid from Sam's fingers. He takes his time, replacing the sheen of the water with that of his spit, and then bobs his head back down in a loose parody of where he knows his night is headed.
His goes down until his cheeks press against the fingers Sam has curled into his palm, and shudders when Sam flicks his fingers out and hits lightly against Dean's uvula. If he didn't have so much practice at this, he'd be gagging right now.
Sam withdraws his fingers and Dean twists around, impatient for what they both want. His feet hit the floor as he twists, and just like that he's on his knees between Sam's spread legs.
Sam blinks and smiles at Dean, surprised and pleased. It takes Dean back to time before there were lines on Sam's face, that chubby kid who would always smile for Dean.
Dean reaches up and undoes the button on Sam's slacks. He's careful with Sam's cock as he pulls it out, tender. He indulges for just a moment and nuzzles the shaft. He can't help but lick his lips as it twitches in his grip, then goes back to pulsing in time with Sam's pulse.
"Do it," Sam breathes out, the tiniest puff of air, and Dean falls on his cock like he's starved.
He's not trying to be fancy, just shoves himself forward, swallowing past the instinctive panic and letting out a deliberately theatrical groan as Sam's cock swells to full hardness inside his mouth.
Sam, to put it simply, has a huge cock. Even half hard it's still big, and Dean can't help the second, sincere moan the vibrates its way out of him as he feels Sam's cock thicken its way down his throat. There's a light touch under his eye, and Dean looks up to see Sam watching him, a ripped open look on his face, torn half-way between loving and proud. The shivery place inside him calms at the worship there, and Dean keeps their eyes locked as he goes to work. He draws himself off Sam's cock, upping the suction as he goes, then softens his tongue as the inside of his lips hit the flare of Sam's crown. He tongues at the slit, and feels his cock twitch as he's rewarded by a sudden burst of pre-come over his tongue.
Dean lets his eyes drift closed as he reaches up and grasps Sam's cock from the underside, pumping down to the base twice before he spreads his fingers and takes Sam's balls into his hand. With a too-loud pop, he breaks the seal his lips have on Sam's cock and nudges down to mouth hungrily at Sam's sac.
"Shit, Dean," Sam murmurs, and in a sudden burst of motion he propels himself off the chair, forcing Dean back until Sam is crouched with his knees spread around Dean's face. It forces Dean's body into an awkward bow, but before he has time to adjust Sam snarls and steps away. Sam strips with hungry, almost angry motions as Dean blinks; he'd always forgotten Sam was still clothed. It feels like a moment, an eternity, and then Sam is back, naked. He comes at Dean from the other side and drops down to his knees with a thump that Dean feels all the way down his spine. Sam's got his knees spread wide, wider than the width of Dean's shoulders. His legs are long, skinny, and even slightly crouched his balls are hanging a good foot above Dean's face.
"On your elbows," comes Sam's voice from above, his face hidden from Dean's angle. Dean's vision is filled with the sight of Sam's thighs and ass, his balls, cock. He lets his eyes drift closed as he tilts his chin up and opens his mouth wide. He curls his tongue once up the seam of Sam's testicles and then sucks them into his mouth, more careful than ever to keep his teeth tucked away.
Sam lifts off, and Dean strains upward to follow him, earning himself a laugh from above. "You want more?" Sam asks, and lowers himself back down into Dean's open, waiting mouth before Dean has a chance to answer.
It goes on for what seems like an age, Sam dipping down into Dean's eager mouth then pulling away, Dean sucking one teste into his mouth after the other, spreading his lips wide so he can get both in at once. Sam murmurs encouragements, but it's the hand he can't keep off his cock that Dean focuses on, almost idle motions that pause whenever Sam's breathe hitches.
Pressing upward to take Sam in crushes Dean's nose against Sam's ass, the musky smell of sex and Sam swirling in his head even as it cuts off his only source of air. He's never the one to pull away, even when Sam lingers and Dean's chest tightens against the lack of oxygen.
"You like that?" Sam asks, tensing as he rises up and out of Dean's reach.
Dean licks his lips, the skin all around his mouth wet with his own spit. He doesn't take his eyes off of the matching shine of Sam's skin above him. "Yeah. Love how you taste," he husks out.
There's a sound of consideration from above him, and then Sam is tipping himself forward over Dean, hands out to grip Dean's hips as he flips them over so that Dean is the one on his hands and knees above Sam, who's flat on his back on the floor. Dean blinks, and cranes his neck down to look through the tunnel of their bodies to where Sam is smirking back at him. Sam's hands come up and bracket Dean's legs, rubbing his thumbs into the new bruises idly. His hips thrust upward, commanding Dean's attention.
Sam's balls are still shining, thoroughly soaked from Dean's attentions, but it's Sam's cock that grabs his eye. Fully hard, Sam's cock is a behemoth, perfectly formed and perpetually able to send Dean to his knees and his mouth watering. More than anything else it's what he wants in his mouth, filling him up with flesh and come.
He ducks his head and uses his tongue, clumsily, to lift Sam's cock up and into his mouth. Sam hasn't said not to use his hands, but he knows Sam likes it when he just uses his mouth.
The taste has changed. Sam must have been leaking while Dean had sucked him sac, spread the pre-come all over his cock as he masturbated; Dean sucks the taste down eagerly, hollowing his cheeks as he bobs his head. This is what he's wanted to quench his thirst on all night.
"Yeah," Sam says from below him, "You love how I taste." Sam's hands shift from Dean's legs to his ass, parting the cheeks and spreading him open, bare for Sam's discerning eye. There's a breath of warm air against his hole, the wet feeling of Sam breathing out against his ass. "I love how you taste, too," he says, and his voice is filled with so much hunger Dean could almost cry, before Sam distracts him by spearing his tongue straight into Dean's hole.
For a moment Dean chokes on Sam's cock, caught off guard, and then his rim clamps down, pleasure shooting through him. He takes a moment to get a hold of himself as Sam tongue-fucks past his sphincter, then slides his mouth further down Sam's cock, lips sealed around the mid point. Sam's cock jerks and spurts in his mouth, the heavy, hot taste of flesh forcing its way down his throat punctuated by the deep thrusts of Sam's tongue, the taste of Sam tasting him.
Sam isn't after finesse; he pushes his face into Dean's ass, as close as Dean had been to Sam just minutes ago, and sloppily withdraws his tongue to trace the rim of Dean's pucker before plunging his tongue back inside, spreading the tender skin open over and over. Dean's sloppy from an earlier fuck, so Sam slides in easy, sucking his soul out from the back.
Dean moans and spreads his knees out wider, running his hands around the back of Sam's ass and gripping it, pulling Sam up as he forces himself further down, and Sam's cock slides the last few inch into Dean's throat, burying Dean's nose back into the lose skin of Sam's sac as Sam shifts his grip. He grips Dean's cock in his left hand and starts jerking him off, and withdraws enough to give a soft bite to the skin around Dean's hole.
Dean tenses, spine winding tight as his cock twitches eagerly at Sam's attention. It's all sloppy, squelching sounds when Sam licks his way back in, sucking his come out of Dean's hole, and Dean's cock pulses, a sudden burst of pre-come so powerful it splashes wetly onto Sam's stomach.
"Like that, don't you?" Sam pulls back just enough to say, and then he's back at Dean's ass, making out with it like a virgin on prom night, precision sacrificed to rough, heady eagerness.
Dean bobs his head on Sam's cock in an approximation of a nod, then moans as Sam shapes his index finger and thumb into a ring just under the head of Dean's cock. Sam presses his thumb in over the vein and holds it there, uncaring when Dean's mess of a cock dribbles all over Sam's stomach, the precome dripping down with gravity; he just twists his tongue further into Dean, tensing it into a short stab of muscle that rams suddenly and unexpectedly into Dean's prostate. He can barely hear the pathetic, needy mewls that Sam's cock has locked into his throat with the gag of his cock.
Sam's cock pulses in Dean's throat and he swallows, drawing back just in time to taste the salt of Sam's precome on the back of his tongue. Sam fingers the slit of Dean's cock, angling one fingernail to dip inside, and Dean counters by drawing back enough to lap at Sam's slit with a pointed tongue, getting just enough of it inside to taste the tender flesh inside.
Sam growls, and the sound reverberates through Dean from his core. Sam drops his left hand and uses his right to reach up and behind Dean's balls; his fingers press into Dean's perineum as his tongue once again finds Dean's prostate from the inside, and just like that, and Dean's temperature ratchets up another degree, the crest of orgasm just barely out of his reach.
Dean tenses and tilts his head up; Sam's cock flops wetly onto Sam's stomach as it's released from his mouth. "Sam, I'm gonna come," he warns, voice tight, but Sam gives no indication of caring, just tenses his core and bodily lifts himself, his left hand reclaiming its previous position around the crown of Dean's cock in a grip just this side of painful. Dean shivers at the display of strength, his head forced back down toward Sam's cock, and takes Sam back into himself, unable to stop the soft sounds of pleasure that escape his mouth as Sam winds him just that bit tighter.
Sam loosens his grip as his tongue withdraws from Dean's ass, but the whimper of protest hasn't even had a chance to escape Dean's throat when Sam thrusts his fingers inside of him, prostate bullseye, and says, simply, "Come, Dean," as he carves out Dean's insides.
Then it's white out, bliss, and Dean watches from outside himself as his spine arches and his cock pumps a heavy load of come out of him and onto the flat of Sam's stomach. His balls clench up hard to his body, giving Sam everything they've got, and he shivers as Sam's cock, still in his mouth, oozes precome in tandem. Sam's cock is pulsing, feeding him a perpetual stream of precome, Dean's has to swallow or choke.
Sam waits for Dean, no sign of his eagerness other than the heat his body is pumping at Dean and faint twitches of his cock. Dean gathers himself and starts bobbing his head again. His jaw hurts, but he ignores it, and Sam's hips start rocking upward, fucking into Dean even as Sam turns his mouth back on Dean, licking up from Dean's perineum to his hole with a fierce sort of tenderness that counters the brutal pace his hips have taken on in pounds his way to the back of Dean's throat.
It's not unexpected when Sam comes; Dean knows the signs in Sam better than he knows his own. When Sam lets his head fall back to the ground as his hips try to reach even deeper, Dean draws back until just the head of Sam's cock is in his mouth, jerking Sam off with one hand, and lets Sam's load hit him full on the tongue, not swallowing until Sam's done, letting the spunk just fill his mouth. When Sam flops back to the ground, loose limbed and spent, Dean lets himself draws back fully, keeping his lips carefully sealed as he moves back that final inch, careful of the tender head as he pinches his lips closed and draws free. He rolls off of Sam and shifts so they can look each other in the face again, opens his mouth to show Sam his prize, and then swallows, mouth still open so Sam can see. Once, twice; the sound of his throat working is loud in the otherwise silent room.
Sam looks wrecked, staring at Dean with the sort of reverent worship Dean hates as much as he craves. The his brother's eyes soften, and he waves Dean forward. "You're a hungry little slut, huh?" he asks, gently carding his fingers through Dean's hair. The words are rough, but the way he says it makes Dean want to hide—makes his insides glow.
Dean ducks his head, grateful for the safety of their roles, the mask that lets him hide away. "Yeah." Short, simple answers are best when his chest feels this raw.
Sam reaches forward and draws Dean close, kissing him with soft lips. It's almost agonizingly gentle. "You made a mess on my chest," he says, indicating Dean's come still splattered across his chest and belly, probably chill to the night air. "Are you going to clean it up?"
Dean shivers. He presses himself closer to the heat of Sam's side, nudges into Sam's touch in his hair, and says, "Yeah, I'll clean it up."