((I haven't done a writing challenge for a while, and I really liked this NSFW headcanon ask meme (fairy-tail-babes . tumblr. c0m / post / 127326718826 / headcanon-game-a-to-z-nsfw [with "com" spelled correctly instead of with a zero, obviously, because this website is shit]), so I decided to turn them into story format prompts. All ficlets.))
They don't talk about it. Dean's pretty sure he would punch Sam in the face if he tried to bring it up in the light of day, and he's fairly confident Sam knows that.
So they don't talk about it. But it definitely happens. And secretly, it's one of Dean's favorite things. It's almost better than the sex itself, which is probably the most ridiculous thing he'd ever thought in his life. Considering his life, that's an astronomically high rating.
Doesn't change the fact that it's true. It's the after that Dean really loves. Orgasms are insanely good, don't get him wrong, but after all that is said and done, he gets almost as high just from touching Sam; no sexual intent at all.
When the sex is really good, when it's really intense (after a near-miss, after a really good day, after hours of flirting and teasing), Sam sometimes trembles. Over exertion, over stimulation, Dean's not sure what, but it makes him want nothing more than to put his hands all over his brother; stroke every spasming muscle and caress every jittering bone.
He gets lost in it; the feel of Sam's damp skin against his hands or his lips, the warmth of their bodies, the sound of Sam's breath slowly calming. He loves it, loves when Sammy returns the touch, his huge, gun-calloused hands stroking over Dean's skin in a gentle massage.
Sex is good. Sex is friggin' great. But it wouldn't mean half as much if they didn't have the after; when every touch was a silent way to say 'I love you.'