Title: Bruises
Pairing: Sam/Dean (mentions of Sam/Jess)
Rating: R (hard)
Word Count: 2,126
Warning: Wincest
Summary: Just an excuse to defile the Metallicar, really. Although, the hot boy sex came in as a close second.

Bruises

They had never talked about it. It's not that they were ashamed, but Dean always cut Sam off with one of his quips, or turned the music up. Dean didn't like to talk, so they never had, but that didn't change the fact that it had happened, and that didn't help Sam now when he was sitting in his brother's car for the first time in two years, cataloguing the things that had and hadn't changed.

Mile 189. Hm.

Sam sighed and sat back, dropping his head onto the seat and staring at the top of the Impala, ignoring the bright moon outside the window, the loud thumping of AC/DC coming from the speakers, and the chill from the glass next to his shoulder competing with the warm air from the heater.

He forced himself to think about Jess; sweet, beautiful Jess, waiting for him back in Palo Alto. All he had to do was close his eyes and sleep for another three hours and then he'd be home and he could leave this all behind. Again. Or, at least that was what he told himself; he'd never really been able to put it all behind him. He dreamed about it all the time, nightmares that made him strategically hide hunting knives around the apartment, just in case.

He took a deep breath and tried to keep thinking about Jess, but the car smelled like Dean, even stronger than two years ago when Sam had last been there. Two years seemed like forever ago, but that wasn't far enough, not when that strong musky smell of Dean's sweat still made his cock twitch with interest while his mind replayed years of fooling around in the backseat of the Impala and dingy motel rooms. Oh yeah, two years definitely hadn't been long enough to erase that.

He looked over as Mile Marker 191 slipped past. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How far away are we?" He asked like he didn't know, like he wasn't just asking so he could hear Dean's voice. He missed it and in a few hours he was going to have to give it up again, this time for good.

"Three hours."

He nodded and shifted in his seat. "Hey, Dean?"

"What?"

His throat closed, but he forced the words out. "I'm sorry I can't stay and help you look for Dad."

Dean turned up the music and Sam turned it off. Dean turned it back up and Sam turned it off again. Dean reached over to turn the music up for a third time but Sam grabbed his wrist. "You touch that dial and I will fucking break it, dude. I am not kidding."

Dean looked at him for a moment. Sam fought between the urge to stare him down and the urge to lecture him about keeping his eyes on the road. Glaring won out, but only because it was the middle of the night and the road they were on ran pretty much straight. After a minute of staring, Dean pulled his hand away and put it back on the wheel. "Whatever."

"You always do that."

"What?"

"The minute I want to talk, you..."

"Do you want to have sex?"

It was just a distraction technique, one that Dean used to use often, and Sam knew it, but that didn't stop him from faltering as his mind screeched to a halt. The word sex coming from Dean's mouth sent jolts of excitement to his cock, making it instantly hard. He stopped breathing. Did he want to have sex? Yes, but no. Yes, because he missed Dean so much, missed the smell of him, the feel of him when they were together like that; but, no, because he had Jess and he wasn't supposed to want anyone else. The only reason Dean was doing this was so that Sam wouldn't try and start some heart-to-heart conversation that he didn't want to have.

Without another word, Dean pulled over to the side of the road. There weren't any street lights and the houses were set so far back on the road, Sam could barely see the darkened windows. Sam tried to tell himself no, he didn't want this, or, okay, he did want it, but he couldn't do it, but Dean reached over and put a hand under Sam's chin, forcing him to turn around and into a kiss. It was all at once foreign and familiar; he knew those lips, but the stubble was new, Dean always used to keep himself clean shaven.

Sam kept his mouth closed for a few seconds, thinking he wasn't going to play this game. He wasn't going to let Dean fuck him in the car on a country road, knowing that in three hours he was going to be lying next to Jess in their sheets that smelled like her lavender body rinse and the fruity shampoo she used. But Dean's mouth moving over his made his defenses crumble. It took him back years and years and pushed Jess further away. He slowly started to reciprocate, opening for the tongue that touched his lips, spreading his legs for the hand that massaged his thigh.

Dean's palm was warm through his jeans. Sam moaned softly, arching up into the touch and invasion of tongue in his mouth. Sam got a knee in his thigh and an elbow in his sternum as Dean crawled over him so that he was straddling his lap, still palming Sam's cock and moving his mouth lower, sucking and biting on the tender column of Sam's neck.

"Dean."

His brother's mouth closed around his again, effectively shutting him up. Sam didn't care, though, since Dean's hands were expertly flipping open the button on his jeans and unzipping them, slipping past the waist band of his underwear and, oh, god. He moaned louder into Dean's mouth, thrusting his hips up harder into the hand gripping him.

He's missed this, so much so that it ate him up inside. He could even admit in this moment, that when he first saw Dean standing in his apartment, this had been what he thought of. It was wrong and it was a sin and they shouldn't be doing this at all, he shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting it. He'd always wanted it, ever since he was thirteen and old enough to know what 'it' was.

Dean took his hand out of Sam's pants and sat up enough to let Sam lift his hips so he could wriggle out of his jeans. Sam's knee hit the glove compartment and Dean's boots scraped against his leg as he used his feet to finish pushing Sam's jeans and underwear down to his ankles. Getting Dean out of his pants was a little more difficult, but an elbow in the face and a knee in the stomach later they managed to get him naked from the waist down.

Instead of letting Dean twist around and risk getting hit again, Sam leaned past his brother, burying his face in Dean's skin, licking and sucking on his brother's shoulder while he rummaged around in the glove compartment for the lubricant that had always been there in the past, and was still there now. Briefly, he wondered what that meant. Had Dean been having sex with other men? He hadn't before. Before it was Sam and the occasional waitress from some bar or diner. Back then, Sam had been okay with that - they were just cheap sluts that didn't mean anything. Dean wouldn't call them back, wouldn't even remember their names in the morning. As he slicked his cock, Sam wondered if he'd be okay with it now. Not that it mattered, in three hours he'd be back in his normal life, with his normal girlfriend. He wondered if that bothered Dean as much as the idea of Dean with some backwater tramp bothered him.

He slipped his wet fingers between the cheeks of Dean's ass, feeling the puckered entrance as it open to let him slide one finger inside him, just to the first knuckle. Dean groaned so softly it was more a loud exhale. It was perfect, exactly the way Sam remembered it. Dean whispered in a low voice, husky with need. "Sammy, either get on with it, or so help me I will bend you over this seat and show you how it's done."

Sam chuckled into Dean's shoulder, "Later." They both knew better. There wouldn't be a later, but that didn't matter. He pumped his finger a little, giving his brother a poor imitation of what they were both itching for.

"Sam..."

There was a warning in that word that made Sam shudder. Removing the finger, he gripped his cock in one hand and Dean's hip in the other as he guided him down, moaning as Dean's body reluctantly took him in. It was everything Sam remembered and the question of whether or not Dean had been with other men was solved. Dean was so tight it was almost painful.

He watched Dean's face, concentrating on the way it tightened and the way those full lips were slack and open just a little so he could see the clenched teeth behind them. Once Dean was fully seated on his lap, they both released the breath they hadn't noticed they were holding. Belatedly, Sam realized that Dean still had his shirt on and that was a shame. Then Dean shifted and Sam couldn't think anymore.

Sam slumped to sit lower in the seat and pulled his hips back as Dean lifted up as much as he could without hitting his head on the top of the car. They had done this so many times, that even two years removed, it was still second nature to them. Dean didn't even have to think about how to move his hips to get Sam's cock to brush the right place that felt so fucking good that within minutes, Dean was cumming and Sam wasn't far behind, gripping Dean's hips hard enough to leave bruises.

They sat there, both of them sweaty and sated. The heater was still blasting and wasting what little gas Dean had in the impala, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His ass burned in that pleasant way that said he'd just had sex with Sam. That's all that mattered for the first minute.

Dean had fallen over with his forehead against the top of the seat, panting softly. Sam knew what he was doing; he knew that Dean was breathing him in while he still could. He remembered the nights in motel rooms when Dean thought Sam was asleep and he'd do just this. They sat like that for a while; locked together in post coital bliss, knowing eventually they would have to pull apart.

The next three hours were awkward. More awkward than the time Sam had walked in on Dean having sex with one of his high school teachers. Or the time Dad had busted in on them taking a shower together and Sam had had to pretend he was sick, so that Dean's excuse of 'he needed help getting cleaned up' didn't look like such an obvious lie. Or the time Sam had accidentally said Dean's name when him and Jess were having sex and, really, he hadn't been able to explain that - she'd looked at him sideways for weeks.

When they pulled into Palo Alto, Sam wished Dean a quick good luck. He meant it, even if he was secretly saying 'don't come back,' since he didn't know if he was strong enough to chose between Dean and Jess again.

Dean gave him a brief hug and Sam could smell himself on Dean. He knew his cum was dried on Dean's ass, and the smell of sex was going to linger in the Impala for days. That shouldn't make this harder, it should have disgusted him, but it didn't and he had to rip himself away from his brother like he was ripping off a limb. It hurt to turn around and walk back up the stairs and listen to the Impala driving off without him.

He almost wished he could go back to the way things were before, but he had given that up. He'd given it up for a normal life and a girl that baked him cookies, and took long showers with the bathroom door half open so that lavender scented steam filled the bedroom, making him feel light headed in its familiarity. He closed his eyes and threw himself onto the bed, not sure who he'd betrayed first. Not that it mattered, really, because he'd made his choice and he couldn't take it back, and didn't want to. He just had to figure out how he was going to explain all the freaking bruises to Jess.

Then he opened his eyes.