Title: For the Sake of Sam
Rating: NC-17/R
Pairings/Characters: Wincest, Dean/Sam
Spoilers: Season 3? I guess
Warnings: incest, self-hating thoughts, smut and lots of it… you have been warned
Word Count: 4600

A/N: So… wincest. It isn't really my thing. But my friend wanted it sooo… this is the result. I'm pretty awful at writing pr0n so just go with it. If you don't like it you really don't have to read it. Completely unbeta'd. *rolls away and hides under the covers*

Initially it was Sam who started it, oddly enough. Dean, ever the martyr, had been so self deprecating as to have denied any feelings he had for his brother on the basis of the fact that it was wrong—he was wrong—and Sam should remain oblivious to the depths of Dean's personal depravity. It wasn't so much that Dean was gay—he'd never been attracted another man before, save his brother. And, even then, it wasn't attraction, as such, not the kind he felt with women. No: it was an all-consuming need to be completed, as if Sam were the other half of everything Dean was. The handsome wrapping was just the icing on the cake; the fact of the matter was, Sam was literally the world to Dean, in every conceivable way, and if that wasn't the deepest kind of love Dean didn't know what was.

But, for the sake of his brother, Dean shoved all those feelings deep into the corners of his heart and tried to let only those of a strictly fraternal nature seep through.

It didn't always work, though, no matter how much Dean tried. And damn, did he try. Yet still the other bits of his all-encompassing love would leech out, more often than Dean wanted: a hand lingering on a temple as he scuffed it through Sam's mop of hair; a gaze that strayed a bit too far down after Sam got out of the shower… Dean could only hope that Same didn't notice or, if he did, that he would ignore it.

It was in vain, though. Sam did notice, and he had ached for Dean for as long as he could remember. He had a big heart, filled with love and empathy, but at the core of his affection it had always been deandeandean. His own doubt, fear of rejection and absolute love of his brother, however, kept him from acting on his feelings, convincing himself instead that those moments they shared were imagined, and only one-sided.

But when he learned that Dean had sold his own ever-living soul for his baby brother's life—his—Sam could bear it no longer. And that was why Dean, on a beer-food-and-ammo run came back to the motel room to find his brother curled up, his long limbs held tight to his chest, in the corner against the bed, sobbing quietly into his arms.

'Sam!' said Dean, alarmed by the fully grown man crying like a child. He dropped his supplies onto the other bed and hurried to Sam, who in an instant had become his kid brother again, crying on his first day of kindergarten, having been picked on for being new.

Dean knelt down and grasped his wrists, pulling them apart to see Sam's tear-stained face. Sure, they were both used to emotions running high in their lives, and were no stranger to shedding the occasional tear (not that either would admit it—they were Hunters, not sissies) but the scene of Sam before him, knees to his chest and crying like a child was so incongruent with Sam's personality, and was thus deeply unsettling. The sight hit Dean as surely as if someone had reached through his ribcage and was tugging cruelly on the valve-strings in his heart.

'Sammy?' he said, more softly. 'What the hell's wrong?'

Sam didn't say anything but sniffed, silent tears making their way slowly down his cheeks.

'D-dean,' he said finally, looking Dean in the eye then. The tears had made Sam's eyes go a vivid green, shot with light brown in the middle. They were heavy with some unknown pain, but clear and bright, the way Dean had remembered them being in Sam's childhood.

'What, Sam, what is it?' said Dean, worry staining his tone.

'I – I can't do it anymore,' choked Sam. 'I can't not – not have you.'

'What – '

'No, Dean!' said Sam, 'I need to get this out. I don't care if you never speak to me again, but I can't lose you. You did this for me, but you shouldn't have. I'm – I'm not good enough for that.'

Dean made to start speaking, but Sam powered on, voice becoming more and more sure. 'I love you, Dean,' he said. 'I need you, not just as a brother, but as an – as my everything. You are the only one there ever was—hell, you practically raised me.' Sam swallowed, never breaking eye contact with Dean. 'I need you, Dean. In every way. I know you don't feel the same way, but – '

'Sam,' said Dean, his voice catching in his throat. 'What are you saying?'

Sam's brow creased, fresh tears making their way down. 'I love you, Dean,' he said, not hiding the bitter quality in the timbre of his words, 'In a way that's not how brothers love each other. Hate me, call me a freak, I don't care,' he said brokenly, 'But I can't help how I love you. I always have. And now you're going to go to hell because of me and I can't do a damn thing about it.'

Dean's face was a myriad of emotion and confusion, and he didn't speak for one achingly long moment before swallowing thickly. 'Same,' he said, finally.

Confusion overrode Sam's features. 'What?'

'I love you like that too,' insisted Dean. A moment passed, and he looked Sam directly in the eye and took a deep breath. 'Now we can shut up,' he said, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Sam's with such softness, such painful care, that Sam couldn't stop a small sob escaping.

Emotions Dean couldn't even name surged through him at that first touch, the smooth give of his baby brother's lips beneath his own the sweetest damn thing he had ever, ever felt. The sweetness didn't last, however, as both brothers moved to deepen the kiss with urgency, lips parting to allow their tongues to meet and twine together, the sheer sensation of their meeting making Dean moan. He moved a hand up to thread his fingers through Sam's stupidly soft, long hair, gripping it at the base of his head to tip it back, to make the angle easier for both of them.

That's how they kissed, Dean kneeling up high, Sam sitting on the ground, head tilted up to his brother, difference in height reminding them both of earlier, easier years.

'Don't you dare… stop…' huffed Sam against Dean's mouth, his words sticking in his throat with the aftermath of having been crying for so long. He felt Dean smile a little at that.

'I don't think I could, even if I tried, Sam,' he said in one breath, his words half swallowed by their kiss. 'Not anymore. God, I've wanted this for so long…'

Sam whined at that, a high, keening noise, as he slid the very tips of his fingers under the hem of Dean's t-shirt. 'Why didn't you just take it?' he gasped into the corner of Dean's mouth. 'I'm yours, I've always been yours.'

Dean growled at that, his kisses becoming harder, more sucking and less mere pressing of lips, as he traced the line of Sam's jaw with the point of his tongue, revelling in the day's growth of stubble under his caress. He'd yearned to do just that for as long as Sam had been able to grow facial hair.

'Sam,' he said, running his loosening hand up Sam's forearm, to his shoulder, the other bunching the t-shirt at his chest. 'Sammy…'

Sam, in reply, did nothing more but slide his hand further up Dean's shirt and mutter something about 'too many layers'. His other hand strayed to the join between Dean's leg and crotch, causing Dean to buck in surprise and break contact with Sam's neck which he had been fully engrossed in kissing. He looked down into Sam's eyes then, which were darkened with something he hoped was desire. A smile quirked at the corner of Sam's mouth, at odds with his puffy red eyes and dilated pupils.

'Don't worry, Dean, I'll take care of you,' he said, voice turned husky-low with the weeping and subsequent want.

Dean couldn't stop a quiet chuckle at that. 'Stop stealing my lines, Sam,' he said. 'That's my job. I'm the one who looks after you.' Sam felt his stomach flip with happiness at the deep possessiveness in Dean's voice.

'Whatever you want,' said Sam, his head tipped up to look Dean in the eye.

He stroked his thumb across the rise of Dean's cheekbone, and it made him shiver with pleasure to see how brightly Dean's eyes burned with want for him. After all this time.

'Dean,' he said almost inaudibly, never breaking contact with those grass-green orbs, near losing himself in their depths, 'Can you do something for me?'

'Anything, Sammy,' said Dean instantly, his voice gravel-dark but his eyes intense and chained to Sam, his eyebrows high and lips slightly parted belying and expression of awe, as if Sam were a gift or a dream that he couldn't believe he was lucky enough to get. Which, of course to Dean, he was.

'Make love to me, Dean,' Sam said.

A look of absolute pain crossed Dean's face. 'Sam, I can't—we can't – '

'Please, Dean!' begged Sam, reaching to smooth his other hand across Dean's chest, splaying it under his brother's shirt, making his amulet bob to the side. 'Please, I need this, I need you, I always have, there is nothing I want more than you, you and me as one…'

Dean couldn't help but close his eyes at that, his moan stifled and stillborn in his throat as Sam's fingers began to work at the waistband of his jeans, turning the button, and drawing the zip down.

'I – I couldn't do that to you, Sammy,' said Dean, biting out the words as if he were physically hurt. Sam, though, could tell he wanted more than anything in the world to fuck Sam senseless, make Sam come hard and fast and repeatedly. 'I couldn't do that, use you, I couldn't – '

'Dammit, Dean!' said Sam, at once gripping his brother tight through the thin cotton of his boxers, making Dean twist and yelp in surprise at the intense sensation of Sam's hand pushing at his already half-hard cock. 'I want this, how much clearer can I be? It's fucked up, I know, but when have we not been?' He buried his face in Dean's sage-green t-shirt then, and his hands moved to grasp his hips tight as he inhaled the smells of his brother: worn leather, ignition fluid, gunpowder and rock salt, and underneath all that, the peppery scent of Dean, sharp and alluring and totally masculine. And fuck, if that didn't make Sam the horniest sonnvabitch ever.

Dean didn't say anything, but moved to hold Sam's chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting his face up towards him again. He rested his forehead against Sam's, just bathing in the fact that he was here with him now, no matter what hellfire and condemnation his future would hold.

'Anything for you, Sam,' he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion on the last syllable. 'I'll do anything you want, baby brother.'

They lost their clothes swiftly after that, moving up from the corner to the bed proper.

Dean laid Sam beneath him, revering in the strength his brother's limbs now carried, the scars of their lives written into every muscle and movement.

Dean was a surprisingly affectionate lover, kissing down the tendons of Sam's neck and collarbone, slipping the tip of his tongue out to run it across the tattoo they shared. He didn't hold Sam pinned at all, but rather let his hands roam across Sam's skin, down the dip and jut of his hipbones, over his abdomen, through his hair which (holy hell it turned Dean on so much) was silky-fine between his fingers.

Every touch from his older brother felt fiery on Sam's skin, and he clung to the narrow sway of Dean's waist like a drowning man clings to life itself. As Dean kissed lower across his belly, nudging the very tip of Sam's erection inadvertently with the underside of his chin, Sam made a small sound which, in other circumstances, could be construed as a whimper, but it was a damn siren call to Dean.

'Oh, god, c'mon Dean,' said Sam, voice hoarse. 'Please, please…' He stroked Dean's hairline behind his ear with the pads of his fingers, which made Dean tremble. Sam, sensing the pleasure the gentle caress brought his brother, continued drawing his fingers up, and his thumb began to stroke a soothing-soft line just above Dean's brow.

Those gentlest of touches made Dean groan into the curve of Sam's hip, into the hair there which was still downy, where an inch lower it grew coarse and dark. The fact that so strong a man as his brother could still hold some hidden softness still to be discovered made Dean moan more. Sam rolled his hips slightly in frustration at the sound. His dick stood high and leaking, practically untouched and so hard it was definitely bordering on pain.

'Shit, Dean, fuck me already!' was all Sam could manage. This made Dean look up at his brother, lids heavy, lashes framing the green with such smooth grace he looked painted, the angles across his face modular and chiaroscuro, not at all harsh as Sam had expected. High colour spotted his cheeks, illuminating the dusting of freckles there, and making him seem several years younger.

'I just wanna make it last,' Dean murmured, warm fingers running down the back of Sam's thigh. 'Can't we make it last?' His breath was hot across the line of Sam's public bone, which made his cock twitch with anticipation. Sam saw the flash of despair deep in Dean's eyes, then, a return of the feeling that somehow he was just dreaming, that this would end any second. His brother's expressions were, after all, as clear to Sam as a sheet of glass.

'But,' said Sam, 'I want you now, inside me, oh god, I don't wanna go slow…' He meant every word.

Dean's eyes shadowed at that, his teeth suddenly bared in a predatory growl. 'But you come first, Sam. Always you.' Sam didn't even have time to respond before Dean had the base of him circled and tight and –

'Fu –u – u – u – uck…' he groaned. He was on fire, he swore it, the feeling of his brother's hand on him the closest he'd ever come to heaven. And, if he was being honest with himself, it was probably better that any kind of heaven could be.

Dean pulled at Sam unerringly, feeling all parts, from root to tip, trying to discover what Sam liked the most. He had never given a guy a blowjob, but obviously knew the mechanics of the thing. And damn, did Dean want to taste Sam.

So he bent down and began to lap at Sam's dick, the music of Sam's throaty vocalisations melodic to his ears, in perfect harmony with the deep hum of pleasure that had settled through his nerves.

The benefit of being brothers, Dean soon discovered, was that they seemed to share sensitivity in certain places. As Dean began to suckle the wetted slit of Sam's head—a technique Dean was particularly fond of when used on him—Sam practically crooned with unabashed delight, a tirade of expletives and praise falling from his tongue smooth and sweet as caramel. He didn't take Sam fully into his mouth, but rather licked down the underside, feeling the rigidity of the flesh. Overwhelmed by the fact that he could just take this, he slid his tongue even lower, laving at the puckered seam of the sack that was in high and close. He felt the soft drag of delicate skin contrasting to the rough of his tongue and fuck, it felt amazing, that taste of clean, fine flesh. Both brothers had the gift—probably from the blond Campbell side—of possessing minimal body hair. Dean felt the coarse curls under his fingers (which were still jacking at the base of Sam's cock, trying to suppress his withheld bucking), but was thankful the balls currently in his mouth were hairless.

Feeling Sam give another little twist below him and a mumble of impatience, Dean licked lower still, down the line that lead like an arrow to Sam's hole, all the while keeping hard pressure around his younger brother's engorged cock. Dean wished he had another limb with which to jerk himself concurrently, but he would have to wait—Sam always came first. Dean smirked at the double ententre that had been lost on Sam. Dean would make him orgasm so intensely he would be feeling the aftershocks through into next week, smelling Dean's scent all through his hair, marking him… And fucking hell, that made him go all shivery and weak and hot as Hades inside.

But, at the same time, warring within him was the fear of hurting his little brother, that somehow he would irrevocably break him. That this was still in his head, that he was somehow assaulting Sam. It was completely illogical—Sam had initiated this—but still those thoughts were there, deep down, linked in tight with all Dean's feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing, so deeply ingrained as they were into his personality. Occasionally these things would bubble to the forefront, as it did when Sam finally broke and half-yelled something to the effect of 'oh, god, fuck me senseless'.

Dean raised his head to look at Sam in the eye, momentary panic on his face. 'But—but what if I hurt you?' he said in a small voice, utterly un-Dean-like.

Sam still managed to snort in disbelief, strung out though he was, dick thick and red and wet with pre-come. 'I'm a big boy, Dean,' he said, with the expression he had perfected in infancy, the bitchface to end all bitchfaces. It conveyed his exact meaning, even through his sex-flushed cheeks and lust-darkened eyes. 'I want it, you want it,' he ground out, 'And I don't want to have to convince you of this all the way through sticking your dick in my butt.'

And, suddenly, Dean's demons just stilled and shut up, Sam's words calming balm. Actually, more like a slap that had knocked sense into him. Odd, really, how Sam always took care of him, even though it wasn't his job. Dean sure as hell doubted in God, especially since the deal, but there was a lot of thankfulness in his heart right then, and that would have to be prayer enough.

He bent back over the bed and reached for his jacket then, fossicking in the inner pocket for something.

'Aha! Bingo!' he said with a wide grin, so Dean-like Sam couldn't help but smirk back, biting his lip with want at seeing the effect his words had played in bringing Dean back on board. And yes, he did jerk his hips a little at that, cock twitching with another droplet of pre-ejaculate.

Dean leapt back onto the bed, flourishing what he had retrieved—a half-filled bottle of KY and a Trojan.

'Loose the condom,' said Sam darkly. Dean didn't even question it—hell, he couldn't help but move to stroke his own stiffened cock, attention-starved as it was.

'No!' barked Sam, 'Wait for being inside me, dammit.'

'Fuck yes,' Dean growled, throwing the silver packet behind him, caution to the wind because shit, he trusted his brother implicitly, and longed to bareback him, feeling that hot friction of skin-against-skin, nerves fraying at each other, and blood pumping through thin membrane…

Large quantity of lube poured into one hand, Dean placed the slick flat of his palm against the pucker of Sam's cleft, trying to get the majority of it where it was supposed to be. Sam hissed slightly at the cold, but it soon warmed as Dean began to massage around the tight knot of muscle under his fingers. His other hand he laid on the inner of Sam's thigh, gently holding him wide.

At the first slip of Dean's index finger within, Sam's breath hitched and came short. 'Faster, Dean,' he said. Dean heeded him, pushing in his finger as far as anatomy would allow. He revelled in the soft, slippery skin inside, clenching tight around his digit, and hummed with the thought of feeling that surrounding him, nuzzling the inner of Sam's thigh.

'Oh god, Sammy, you don't know what you do to me,' he murmured, kissing a trail along the sensitive skin of his inner leg. Sam gave a little twitch of his hips, desperate for purchase, movement, anything.

'Dean… Dean,' he breathed, and Dean eased another finger inside. He just left them there for a moment, as he ran his tongue along Sam's thigh, stopping to suck, closing his eyes at the feeling of Sam, raising a bruise where he placed his mouth. A whine from his younger brother brought him back, the undulation of Sam's inner walls making his desires known. Dean closed his eyes and began to stroke the delicate inner flesh, moving his fingers further apart in an effort to stretch the muscle as much as possible. As he did, the tips of his fingers brushed against a small area that felt different to the rest. As he did, he felt Sam suddenly buck, tense and panting.

'Do that again,' he gasped, his legs fighting to clench together. Dean ignored the tightening thigh muscles and kept his hand wide, holding him down. He opened his eyes and licked a stripe up Sam's reddened cock. He curled his fingers, and smiled against the smooth skin of the head as Sam stiffened again, his legs shaking minutely. Dean didn't have the faintest idea of what he was touching within Sam, only that it brought him pleasure, so he continued to stroke the slightly ridged, velvety flesh inside, laving his tongue wide over the leaking end of Sam's cock. The liquid was slightly sweet, slightly salty—different, but not unpleasant.

As Sam arched in a moment of particular pleasure, Dean slipped a third finger in, stretching the ring of muscle even wider. Sam was beginning to sweat now, slick pooling in the jut and hollows of his stomach, the finer curls of the hair that trailed down to his cock becoming damp. Dean worked his fingers faster, harder, pressing at the place inside his brother that made him cry out, before he locked up around Dean's fingers, his entire body shaking as he came with his brother's name at his lips, liquid pulsing from him in hot spurts that caught Dean's neck and chest.

Dean looked up at his brother, the clear liquid trickling across his golden skin, becoming pearly as it cooled. 'Sammy?' he said softly, shades of questioning belied through intonation alone.

'Dean,' was all Sam could say through the spiralling aftershocks, his hands at Dean's face as the elder of the two reached up to kiss him with aching sweetness and love. His lashes were wetted through emotions he couldn't begin to understand, but Dean could instinctively tell it wasn't through pain or hurt.

'I have you, Sammy,' Dean murmured in reassurance against his lips, biting gently at his bottom lip. He had withdrawn his fingers, almost unnoticed, as he had shifted positions, the contractions from Sam's orgasm unwilling to let him go.

Despite the over sensitized skin, Sam clutched at his brother, urging him for more, aware that Dean had made no move to seek his own release. He wanted Dean inside him more than anything, feeling as close as they could get… His dick jerked at that, already filling with blood, even so soon after coming. 'Inside me, Dean,' he said, feeling the strong muscles of Dean's back under his fingers, scars marring the skin with raised knots of tissue. It was a command, despite the circumstance, and Dean groaned into Sam's neck at the thought of complying.

Reaching for the lube once more, he drizzled a substantial amount of the frictionless liquid over his straining cock, before smoothing it over his length.

'I'm gonna make you come again, Sam,' he said lowly, eyes half lidded, even at the brush of his own hand. He was so hard after making Sam come, hot and heavy and he needed to feel.

At the barest stroke of Dean's head against his hole Sam bucked, grabbing Dean's arm, his other snaking out to grasp the back of his neck, trying to pull Dean closer, faster, into him quicker. As Dean began to push in without brevity, it was all Sam could do to stop his eyes rolling in pleasure. He gripped his brother between his legs tight, feet hooking around one another behind his waist.

Dean's breathing was heavy as he entered Sam, tightness entrapping him and pulling all sensation to the one point of his body, the parts where they were touching as close as two people can come. By the time he was entrenched as far as he could go he was shuddering, head bowed to Sam's chest, unsure if he could stave off the wash of pleasure and keep his promise in making Sam come again, so great was the swell of desire, emotion and sensation at being buried hilt-deep in his brother, his brother the one solid thing in his life.

'Dean,' said Sam, 'Move, move please.' Impossibly, he could feel Sam growing hard once more between their stomachs, and he groaned at that. He rocked, out slightly, then in again, lube ensuring the way was smooth, the feeling of his balls hitting the stretched skin of Sam's cleft the most gorgeous thing ever.

'More, Dean,' Sam said more forcibly, gripping his arm tighter, legs wrapped around him harder, ignoring Dean's stuttering breath and demanding everything and nothing at once.

They settled into a rhythm as effortlessly as if they had been born to it, the intimacy and joining of the act paling all sex Dean had ever before been a part of. It was only a short stretch before he could supress himself no longer and he came, clinging to Sam as he rolled through the orgasm, not caring for the vocalisations he produced, nor how he flooded Sam's channel with hot, liquid fire, only that he was here with Sam, against him, within him, as close as he had been desiring all his life. Sam had reached between them, bringing himself to completion again with a few deft tugs, almost as close as Dean from having come so recently. His own release covered their bellies with smeared strings of warm fluid before Dean fell against him, his weight reassuring and the closeness everything he needed. While still shaking from his orgasm's aftereffects, Dean withdrew and curled up flush against Sam, nestling his head in the hollow between shoulder and neck, just inhaling. They wrapped their arms around each other, desperate as two small orphan boys alone in the world, with not another soul to help them but each other.

They lay like that for hours after, limbs entwined, the mere fact that they were together keeping away the cold and the dark. Through a foggy emotion Dean couldn't identify—was it relief? happiness?—he sensed that it was all that mattered, in the end. He had Sam, his anchor, his reason. Come what may, as long as he had his brother in his arms and his world was for Sam's sake, he was afraid of no monster in heaven or hell.

Because he had Sam. No one could take that away from him.

He smiled.

Not any more.