Rated M for language, sexual themes and situations. I do not own any of the characters.

I'm a Ghost. You're an Angel.

We're one in the same, just remains of an age.

Lost in a daydream, what do you see?

If you're looking for Jesus, get on your knees!

30 Seconds to Mars – Stranger in a Strange Land.

(.:.)

Dean muttered something under his breath before taking another swig from his beer, eyes scrolling left and right across the laptop screen full top to bottom with text about something or other that reached that little bit above his head. He knew he had a brain sitting in his noggin, knew he had a decent enough knowledge to get him by but why they had to fucking bullshit through everything and write so complicated really managed to piss him off. Sam would know – he knew his little brother would be able to translate all the jargon and crap into terms he could understand and actually work with.

"Sam!" he called, snapping the laptop shut none too carefully, swinging back on his chair as he took another gulp of beer from the bottle. "Sammy! They're talking bullshit again – I don't understand," he whined. "Come read it so I don't have to."

"I – Dean? Seriously," Sam muttered, entering the room in an eruption of steam, towel slung around his waist, another in the process of drying his hair, "just – bookmark the page or something. I'll get on it tomorrow."

"You'll get on it now baby boy," he murmured, bottle top paused at his lips. "We got work to do."

Sam raised an eyebrow, the younger brother caught in a place between disbelief and amusement. "It's almost midnight Dean – I don't plan on – what work have we possibly got to do that can't wait till tomorrow morning?"

Dean leant back in his chair and placed the bottle back on the table at his side. Sam bit his lip nervously, taking a cautionary step backwards into the doorframe as his brother pulled himself out of his seat and made his way over, his elder never taking his eyes off the floor, even when he stood directly in front of him. Sam shifted uncomfortably with his brother's presence so close, feeling incredibly and almost ridiculously vulnerable in just a towel – silly considering how many years they'd spent in the field together. His breaths came quick, shallow and barely offering him oxygen enough to keep standing. He was anxious – jumpy, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"You know Sammy," Dean murmured, directing his words towards his brother though his attentions still seemed to be on his feet, "when I say do something – you do it. Okay?"

"De-"

"So," he sighed, regarding him properly now for the first time, Sam's breath hitching in his throat, "when I say jump – you say how high."

Sam licked his lips, his mouth arid. "Right bu-"

"And when I say fuck me Sam – what do you think you're supposed to say?"

His brother's fingers were cold against his body, his skin still slick and steaming from the heat of the shower. They crawled across him like spiders, little pinpricks of feeling here and there but feelings that still had his heart hammering against the walls of his chest. He could feel Dean's breath against his neck, the younger of the two men standing remarkably still for a person overcome by the need to fidget, every exhale sending a shiver down his spine that he knew his brother could feel, hands settled on the boundary line where his hips met the soft fabric of the hotel towel.

"So," the eldest purred into his brother's ear, breath ruffling his hair, "what are you going to say?"

Sam swallowed, gaze focussed in on a single square of wallpaper on the opposite wall, not trusting himself anywhere else. "How hard?"

"Good boy."

And then Dean bit and bit down hard, Sam digging his nails into his brother's shoulder, throwing his head back and letting out an almost feral noise as Dean tugged against his skin, teeth buried deep into the flesh of his neck. Tears sprang to his eyes as the older hunter drove them both back into the wall, doorframe digging sharply between Sam's shoulder blades, his brother's hands pulling him in as his hips ground into his own. Dean's fingers buried themselves into the very roots of Sam's damp hair, the hunter releasing him with a gasp, barely allowing his sibling a breather before he captured his lips in his own, kissing him ferociously, eagerly as he bared down on the taller man, taking no prisoners and showing no mercy towards the boy he'd literally brought up by himself. In his mind – that made Sam his property and, in some sick way, neither of them seemed to mind the outcome of that.

"Dean?" Sam muttered as they caught a breath, the youngest already beginning to feel the bruises form at his back from where he'd been pressed into the wood.

"When I say get the fuck on the bed-"

"I get the fuck on the bed," he murmured breathlessly into his brother's hair.

His brother didn't give him a chance to do so voluntarily, Dean dropping his hands to Sam's small waist to guide him slowly backwards, recapturing Sam's steadily reddening lips in his own with an almost insatiable hunger. As the younger's calves hit the mattress Dean hooked a hand beneath his thigh to settle him softly onto the bed, no more than an inch or two of space ever coming between them as the two men transitioned from vertical to horizontal in one fluid, highly practiced movement. And not soon enough one hunter was knelt bent over the other, one clad in a worn jacket and pair of steadily tightening jeans and the other shivering and exposed, towel still draped carefully around his waist. Such interactions had stopped being 'wrong' a long time ago, their relations more forces of habit now than something that was only ever done under the influence of alcohol and severe angst, though sex often led to days after of the former and the latter until both of them had drunken themselves into a stupor even they couldn't pull themselves out of – no matter how well practiced they were.

With Dean losing interest in his brother's sweet lips (though said disinterest wouldn't last long) he began to migrate, tasting Sam's warm and scented skin as though he'd never had the pleasure before, paying special close attention to the area at the base of his brother's throat that always seemed to make him clench his toes. Dean had been with men before, kissed men before and fucked a fair few but none of them were a patch on his brother – his Sam. The moment Sam had been brought into the world their own fucking dad had branded him as his, 'look out for Sammy', 'keep an eye on Sammy', 'keep Sam happy'. He was made for him, built for him, moulded to him. They were like those two little bullshit puzzle pieces you always get in a box, the two that can fit in various different places but never perfectly, only ever slotting into their real place when they were put together. And that always took time, hours until you were left with those last two. And that was how their lives had panned out.

"Sammy", he breathed, inhaling the scent of his brother's hair, a heady mixture of honey and sandalwood, a scent that almost had him salivating. "Sam – please."

He pulled back when he felt his brother's hands at his waist, fingers nimbly stripping him of his belt, leather hissing as it was pulled deftly from the denim, clanking against the floor tiles of the kitchenette as Sam tossed it aside. Dean pulled his shirt over his head as the younger Winchester set to work on his jeans, a small smile setting a spark alight in the coiled pits of Dean's stomach when he noticed how incredibly, almost painfully, hard his brother was beneath the constricting denim of his pants.

The eldest took a short moment to appreciate the true beauty of what he had wound up beneath him. Sam was lithe and more thick-set than any of the men he'd ever bothered to spend a night with, skill, hard work and spilt-blood trapped in the muscles of his body, marked and fractured skin pulled taught over tight limbs, scars of hunts past reading like chapters in a book over his body. Dean let his fingers wander over some of them, his brother's eyes burrowing down into his skull, gaze wavering a little as he squirmed beneath his brother' touch, Dean's attentions drawn to the mottled bruises and cuts that covered his little brother's ribs.

"Cut you up good didn't they baby boy," he murmured, Sam's back arching a little as Dean set his tongue to work, the tip of which outlined each and every rib individually, not wanting to leave a single one out for fear of being seen as 'unfair'.

"Dean," he hissed through gritted teeth, eldest nipping at the skin just above his hip. "Stop fucking around already."

"Gonna' have to beg for it Sammy," he breathed, the cold tip of his nose running across the skin just below Sam's naval. "You know how it is."

Sam made an incredibly odd noise from beneath him, a sound that was made of about two parts frustration and one part uncontrollable lust. The oldest grinned and, taking that as his cue, ran his fingernails down either side of his brother's body, Sam writhing in his grasp like a fish on a line.

"For fuck's sa – Dean," he gasped.

Dean wormed his way back up his brother's body, taking a minute to grind once more into his brother's hips, biting his lips against his own rising hunger in a bid to get him all fired up. He loved Sam and he loved sex with Sam, but when that sweet little boy begged dirty for him it did things to him that he couldn't even begin to put into words. It was the highest of the high – the best he could ever get. He wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, one hand yet again burying itself in his Sam's thick hair as he continued to rotate his hips, teeth grazing the boy's ear, smiling when he heard him curse him under his breath.

"Beg for it Sam – for me. Let me get you all dirtied up again little brother – make you need another shower."

Sam tugged at the elastic on Dean's boxers, pulling them down over his hips, Dean nipping once again at his little brother's neck as if to scold him.

"Ah, ah. What did I say?"

"And what did I – fuck – what did I say? Stop fucking about"

The eldest sighed, stopping his tirade, Sam almost whining in protest. But he was a Winchester with a fair bit if practice under his belt, and he had more than one way to make his brother come apart at the seams. He would beg for it, he always did – it was just a matter of persistency.

"Oh Sam – Sam, Sam, Sam. Just beg – be a good boy. Thought you'd have learnt your lesson by now."

Dean settled his head into the crook of his brother's shoulder, comfortable in the fact he had the upper hand. In one deft move he'd stripped him of the towel covering what little dignity he had left, the last shreds of which would fall to the floor in pieces as soon as he'd dirty his own pretty little mouth pleading for his brother's cock. The older hunter wrapped one hand around his brother's wrists and yanked them above his head, grinning like a child at the look of horror that dawned on Sam's face as he slowly began to figure out his intentions.

"I fucking hate you."

"Sure," he mumbled into his brother's neck, running his tongue along his free palm, offering Sam a quick kiss on the cheek in reassurance.

"You're a son of a-"

Sam bit off the last of the sentence, mouth hung open, breaths coming thick and fast as his brother stroked his tender flesh with his slick palm, each and every movement sending shockwaves throughout his entire body. Pinpricks of heat set his skin alight and tingling, blood pulsing through his veins, thumping in his ears as he forced his brother's name through his now gritted teeth.

"Fuck – Dean – Christ."

"Never call me a son of a bitch Sam," he growled, increasing the intensity, Sam mewling like an animal in his ear, eyes squeezed shut against the waves of feeling Dean knew were racking his body to pieces.

"Okay – Dean – alright. Lesson over."

"You know, I'm not sure it is."

Dean was gone; drowning in the sick sense of delight he got from tormenting the man that managed to drive him insane almost every single day of his waking existence. In his own mind it was pay-back, retribution for all the times in the past he'd had to jack himself off thinking about the way Sam had touched him the day before, revenge for the times he'd left him in a state. He knew Sam wouldn't come, knew he could have him screaming for it if he carried on long enough. The pleasure was still all his, having the chance to observe the proceedings, the way he fought against his bonds through both instinct and through desire, always wanting to do something with his hands whether that was burying them in the sheets or having them comb through his big brother's hair. Take away that and he was a broken man, fighting against desire with no outlet, writhing and arching against the mattress in a way he only ever did for Dean, because Dean was the only one who'd really ever bothered to spend the time to learn how.

"Dean – Dean just – fuck," he babbled, licking his lips damp. "Fuck me – please. Christ. Need you – I need you to stop."

And that was all the oldest Winchester needed to hear. He threw a leg over his little brother, careful not to jostle the panting hunter too much as he removed his own slightly damp boxers, throwing them into the growing pile of clothes and clutter in the corner of their room. He lent down over Sam, planting a kiss against the tattoo on his chest, hyper-aware of his brother' warm cock resting against the inside of his thigh, the Winchester rolling his hips once for good luck as he returned his attentions to his brother's mouth.

"S'all you had to say baby boy," he smirked, nipping lightly at Sam's lower lip.

He was well practiced at 'prep-time', knew all the best ways to get Sammy fired whilst making sure he didn't hurt the poor bastard. With a few fingers, a hell of a lot of saliva and some patience he had the younger Winchester already teetering on the edge of orgasm, the hunter almost coming apart in his hands as he worked him relentlessly, never aggressive, never forceful, the veteran taking his time to get everything right. In the end Sam was so drawn out he wondered how much longer he could hold on, Dean's arm bleeding from where Sam had bitten into him to stop himself from shouting out, the older man painfully hard and aching for some form of release as, eventually, he lay on top of his little brother.

"Gonna' come for me Sammy – just like always," he hummed against his brother's collarbone, lips working their way up his feverish neck, the salty sting of sweat sweet and heavy on his tongue.

"Please," he pleaded, voice hoarse, mouth dry.

Dean tangled both hands into his brother's hair, laying his forehead against his brother's as he felt Sam's legs wrap around his waist, clamping their sweat-slickened bodies together in an embrace only the two of them could manage. They closed their eyes on each other, comfortable, trustful in their other half as Dean gently rocked his body against Sam's, the younger boy humming with the rhythm of their two bodies, raising his hips to meet his brother's. Sam planted his hands carefully despite his lustful haze, one hand sitting lightly against his brother's thigh in a bid to hold him closer, the other against Dean's back. It was something he'd always done, ever since their first time, a habit he'd picked up and never dropped. He didn't know if his brother noticed (which he did), but he loved the feel of the muscle shifting beneath his brother's skin, each movement, each thrust like a wave as it slowly worked its way up his body, starting at his hips, ending near his shoulder and back down again. He was obsessed with it, allowed himself to drown in it, get carried away as each wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over his shattered body.

It was always the same with the two boys – no matter what they changed. It would start off dirty, raw or aggressive and end up as something far more, a bonding moment between the two boys that transcended something far more than just pure sex, a moment when the two of them could make themselves feel closer than anyone else could ever be, wrapped up around each other, inside each other. They were addicted to the taste of each other's skin, hooked on the predictable movements of their bodies whenever they'd take time out to truly intertwine. They'd mapped out every inch of each other even before they'd taken their relationship to a sexually physical level, treating each other, piecing each other back together, sewing up wounds, mending broken bones, picking each other up off the ground when nobody else would. They were psychotically, irrationally and erotically co-dependant on one another, the latter coming far later than they would have liked, but it had occurred all the same. They were fated, two halves of the same whole.

Dean fucked into his little brother as slowly and as steadily as he could manage, eyes still closed, breaths as heavy and as strong as the man that had wrapped himself around his body. Sam was warm and soft against him despite a lifetime of pain, training and hunting, a familiar scent and a familiar feeling that allowed him, for their moments together, to forget about the world outside that was in the process of trying to wipe them off the face of the earth. For when Dean was with Sam there was only Sam; there was no dad or mom lost, no Bobby or Ben or Lisa. There were no demons at their door, no spirits haunting the fuck out of the place across the way. There was just them, the heat of Sam's body against his, the rhythmic movement of his body tight around him, comforting, safe, predictable.

"I love you Sam."

Only then did he open his eyes. His heart fluttered a little when he met his brother's looking back, kiss-swollen lips gently parted as he breathed, hair mussed from where he'd adventured earlier. There was no lust or longing in his eyes anymore, both long removed and replaced with a purity that Dean would sell his soul to see on a dark day, a sincerity only Sam could ever truly show. They came apart in each other's arms, bodies racked with shakes as they road their highs out together, bodies still clinging to one another, forehead against forehead, Dean with one hand against his brother's heart, Sam's dwarfing it with his own. Dean could fall asleep to the beat of his brother's heart, had done in the past and would do again. It was as steady and as sure as the ground beneath his feet, the only thing he could rely on. The moment Sam's heart would stop beating would be the moment his world would crumble – it had done in the past and he'd ridden out hell for that boy. And, if it came to it, Dean would do it again in a heartbeat of his own. It was in their chemistry – always would be.

Dean's own body gave out then, the hunter falling into his brother, trusting him to hold him up. And Sam did, in his haze he pulled his older brother in and wrapped his arms protectively around him, one arm cradling his head into his shoulder, Dean's lashes tickling the skin at Sam's throat. The younger man rested his lips against his brother' forehead, a hand combing through his hair, gently smoothing down the skin either side of his brother's eyes as he closed them against the big wide world, Sam's fingers lingering on the pendant that sat boldly against his chest like a badge of honour. He waited for his brother's breaths to fall heavy and even, hand limp against his chest as it rose and fell with his every breath, an angel taking refuge in the only place Sam was sure nothing could harm him. With a sigh he tucked the covers around their shoulders and planted a petal-light kiss against his brother's parted lips, closing his own eyes against the glare of the streetlamps outside their window.

"Love you Dean."

(.:.)

The End is coming,

Everybody run now,

We're gonna' live forever, gonna' live forever tonight.

Tonight, tonight.

30 Seconds to Mars – Stranger in a Strange Land.

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