In my head, Sam and Dean are 13 and 17. Age isn't mentioned in the story so feel free to adjust the ages to fit your preferences/comfort level.

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They listened to the sound of wheels crunching pebbles in the beaten up parking lot, getting quieter until the sound disappeared altogether. Sam turned excitedly to Dean.

"Well hold on a hot minute, you know he forgets stuff sometimes. We should wait til we know he's not coming back," said Dean with a smile. Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back on the pillows turning his attention back to the TV.

"Does this fan have a higher speed?" Sam whined. The room they were staying in had no air conditioning, one window, and a creaky ceiling fan that barely kept the air moving. Dean got off the bed and walked to the kitchen to get them each a glass of lukewarm tap water.

"It's summer in Arizona, Sammy, you'll just have to deal with it," he said upon his return. Dean leaned back next to Sam and they stayed like that for another half hour or so, absentmindedly watching the TV, sweat collecting where their arms touched. Finally, Dean leaned over the edge of the bed to dig around in his bag. Sam sat up excitedly; Dean laughed at him and pulled two neatly rolled (but slightly crumpled) joints from the innermost pocket of his duffle. He lit one, took a few hits, and passed it to Sam before standing up to shuck his jeans. Sam coughed loudly and when Dean glanced up his brother was staring at him. Sam quickly looked away when they made eye contact.

"What?" Dean demanded, "it's hot in here. you're not wearing pants anyway, slob."

"I don't care what you wear," Sam said rather loudly. He took another hit. Dean made a face and climbed back into the bed, kicking the comforter onto the ground. They continued smoking in silence and Dean clicked through the channels, looking for something that would be good to watch stoned.

A few minutes after they finished the joint, Sam sat up and said "Hey, can you look at that scratch?" It took Dean a few moments to process Sam's words; his brother sounded like he was sitting at the bottom of a very deep well. He finally opened his eyes, and figured out that Sam must be talking about a scratch on his back that he got during their last hunt. It had been infected for about a week, but seemed to finally be getting better.

"Yeah, sure," Dean mumbled. Sam scooted so he was sitting in front of Dean, who pulled up the back of Sam's shirt to expose the festering wound. Dean gently felt the nearby skin for heat. It felt a little warm, but it was less red and a lot less swollen. "It looks okay," he reported. Dean exhaled for what felt like an hour and rested his head on Sam's shoulder. He heard Sam laughing, and again he felt like the sound was traveling miles from Sam's mouth to his own ears.

"Are you really high right now?" Sam asked. Dean chuckled, sat up, and grabbed Sam's shoulders.

"You leave me alone, you little shit. I'm just...adjusting," he said, giving Sam a shake. Sam laughed again. Dean began absently rubbing Sam's shoulders, and closed his eyes again, tilting his head back and searching for that feeling of flying through space inside your head. After what could have been a few seconds or a few years, Dean asked, "Why are you so goddamn tense, Sammy? Your back feels like a rock. This shit is supposed to be relaxing."

"I dunno," Sam said with a shrug and a laugh. Dean began a more purposeful massage, pressing his fingers into Sam's traps. He readjusted himself so he was kneeling, putting himself a little bit above Sam and giving him better leverage. He glanced down and saw… something that he needed a few minutes to digest. Eventually he let out a chuckle and asked,

"Uh… are you hard, Sammy?" Sam didn't react for a moment, then froze, then quickly scrambled forward away from Dean and pulled the scratchy motel sheet over his lap. Dean heard something that was probably a quiet stream of swear words. He wasn't really sure what to do, so he just sat there for a moment, staring at the back of his brother's head. Sam moved to get off the bed. "Wait, Sammy." Dean moved towards him. "It's okay, dude. Come back."

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered.

"It's fine, nothing to be sorry for," Dean said, reaching an arm out to Sam. "C'mon, come back here. Don't ruin your own high feeling embarassed." Sam hesitated but eventually complied. He crawled back to the head of the bed and sat down in front of his brother again, leaning back against his chest. Dean rested his chin on Sam's shoulder and they stayed like that for a while, observing the squeaky cartoon playing on the television.

Dean broke the silence, "Alright, it's a little too warm for this," and gently pushed Sam off of him before resuming his massage. Sam sighed, and seemed to start to relax. Without knowing for sure why he was doing so, Dean began working his way down Sam's back until he reached the hem of his tshirt, then slipped his hands underneath. He felt Sam's breath quicken, but he didn't move, so Dean continued, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs until he reached Sam's shoulder blades. "Can I take this off?" he almost whispered. After a few moments, Sam silently lifted his arms over his head and Dean pulled the shirt off.

He sat still for a moment, holding this shirt loosely in one hand and just staring at Sam's soft, exposed skin. Finally, he let the shirt fall to the ground alongside his pants and the discarded comforter. He slowly ran his hands down Sam's back, using his whole palm, before coming to a halt with his hands on his brother's hips. Dean placed a kiss on Sam's spine right between his shoulder blades, working his way up to his neck and stopping right under his ear. He looked at Sam's face, just an inch or two away from his own. Sam's eyes were squeezed shut. "You okay?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. "Do you want this?" Dean slid one hand to rest on Sam's shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck with his thumb.

"Want what?"

"You want me to touch you?" There was a moment of silence before Sam nodded again. Dean smiled and kissed Sam's temple, then pulled off his own shirt and piled up some pillows behind him. He leaned back against the pillows and pulled Sam with him, Sam's back pressing against his chest, skin on skin, both of them slightly sticky from the heat.

Dean retrieved the second joint from the bedside table and lit it. He passed it to Sam and rubbed a hand over his chest, smooth and soft but still decently muscled for a kid his age. He could feel Sam's heart beating against his ribs like it was trying to break free. Dean passed his thumb over Sam's nipple and Sam choked on his smoke and coughed all over the place once again. Dean smiled to himself and made a mental note to come back to that. One hand took the joint back while the other slid down to Sam's stomach, dragging his fingers back and forth and causing Sam to sharply suck in air. Dean buried the slightly off feeling he was getting from this interaction in another hit and slipped his fingers under the waistband of his brother's boxers. Sam gasped and jerked a little; Dean paused. "Is this too far?"

Sam closed his eyes and thought about this question. He reached blindly for the joint and Dean passed it to him. He knew he did want this, but he felt like he shouldn't. It's just cause I'm high, this stuff always makes me think with my dick, he told himself, but there had been more than one time he had imagined a situation like this while sober. He wondered if Dean had thought about this before too or if he was just really out of it now. What if he hates me when he sobers up? Sam took another hit and decided that sitting here debating the morality of the whole thing wouldn't do anything for his raging erection. "No," he said suddenly.

"Huh?" Dean had taken Sam's silence to mean he wanted to stop, and had moved his hand to Sam's arm instead. What did he mean no? He didn't want Dean to touch him at all?

"No, it's not too far," Sam clarified. Oh. It had been several minutes since Dean's question and he had sort of forgotten what exactly he had even asked. Dean nodded slowly and cautiously moved his hand back down, cupping Sam's dick. Sam dug his fingers into Dean's leg and pressed his head into Dean's neck. Dean started moving his hand, and almost immediately Sam started moving his hips in the same rhythm. Dean felt the friction from Sam's movements against his own hard on. He bit Sam's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from cumming right then and there. Sam let out a rather filthy groan, and Dean almost laughed at the thought that anything that dirty could come out of Sam. He started fussing with the waistband and Sam quickly got the message, yanking his boxers off and flinging them away. Dean didn't waste any time getting his hand around Sam's bare cock. He stared, mesmerized, and watched the hand jerking his brother off. It felt disconnected from him and far away, as if he was just a spectator and wasn't actually present in the room. But Sam's soft moans felt very real. His hard cock rutting against his brother's back felt very real.

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Dean rolled Sam off of him and they lay facing each other, eyes closed, foreheads touching. Sam was still catching his breath. Several minutes later, Dean was almost asleep when he felt Sam's hand on his cheek and then Sam's mouth on his. He was still barely awake and felt really hazy, but he didn't bother trying to fully wake himself up; some things are just as good or better in a warm, stoned haze.

Sam squeezed a hand between them and started jacking Dean off; Dean wondered when his underwear had come off because he didn't have any memory of removing them. He raked his fingernails down Sam's back, which was slick with sweat. Dean buried his head in Sam's chest, feeling his hair stick to his brother's sweaty skin and his own sweaty forehead.

"I've thought about this before," the words escaped Sam's lips before his brain had a chance to approve them. No, that was not a good idea, he thought. He hoped he hadn't just ruined this moment; he tried to keep going like nothing had changed and to forget what he had said. He heard Dean chuckle.

"Me too, if I'm being honest," Dean replied quietly.

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