Warnings: jealousy, anger, little bit of brotherly fighting, rough sex, angry sex, biting, blood (only a little), some bondage, dirty talk, marking, bottom!Dean, fingering, and anything else that I might have missed and conveniently left out.
For as long as Sam can remember, he's always been the tall kid with the weird family; he can't remember a time when anyone - guy or girl - ever gave him a second glance, unless he was standing next to Dean. When he turns eighteen, however, it's like someone's hit him with a spell; he shoots up a few inches (standing at six foot, height even with Dean) and he's got muscles where he used to have fat. He's all arms and legs, wrapped in lean muscle and taut, tan skin, with dimples and a smile that could kill.
Since becoming a man (as Dean likes to say), Sam hasn't really noticed the way people look at him; if a woman at the library smiles and bats her eyelashes at him, Sam doesn't think she's doing it because she's interesting in him, or even because she's flirting. People don't flirt with Sam Winchester — they go for Dean, who's always been rugged and tall and gorgeous, with a just enough knowledge of everything under the sun to make him interesting to men and women alike.
But recently, Sam has started to notice how men and women will stare at him, their eyes roaming up and down his body, grazing over his broad shoulders hungrily. When they stare, he turns red and looks away, bottom lip caught between his teeth; he almost always looks back and catches someone else looking at him like they're two seconds away from pouncing.
One particular afternoon, Sam and Dean are at the library; Dean's reading lore on witches and the history of the town, while Sam's sitting across from him, a book on Shakespeare sonnets laying across his lap. Neither of them are talking, save for Dean's occasional mumbling about how witches are gross and how he wishes John would have taken the case instead; Sam pretends not to hear him and has to bite back a chuckle.
Hours pass and Sam gets up to take his book back, running into a woman on his way to the shelf. They're within earshot of Dean and he perks his head up when he hears Sam laugh and mutter an apology, eyes scanning to see if his baby brother is in trouble. When he sees that Sam's talking to a woman, he grins and mutters, "Go Sammy" under his breath.
"I'm so sorry," Sam mutters, laughing in between words. "I didn't see you there — are you alright?" The woman nods and Dean watches the two interact, barely able to catch their conversation; he hears her say that her name is Megan and Sam introduces himself. Their hands touch and something boils inside of Dean as he watches their fingers clasp together; he snaps his head down and bites his lip, face growing warm.
Megan giggles and Dean's head snaps up again, watching as Sam pushes a lock of brown hair away from her ear. That's my move, Sammy, Dean thinks to himself, anger and jealous boiling in his blood. He stares at the scene in front of him: Sam is touching Megan's neck, fingering a gold necklace, his eyes downcast and Dean would bet that they're locked on her cleavage.
"This is a very pretty necklace." Sam's words are soft and he looks up at Megan through his bangs, licking across his lip slowly. The girl laughs again and tosses her hair like every other bimbo Dean has seen (and been with) and he clenches his fists on top of the table.
Dean can't stand to watch what's going on but he knows he can't break it up either; Sam is eighteen, he can do what he wants, and Dean's sudden bout of jealousy isn't going to convince the kid to stop flirting with Megan, even if he wishes it could. And, the truth is, Dean doesn't even know why he's jealous — it could be because Sam's tall and good looking, smart and funny, not to mention one of the sweetest people Dean's ever known. Or it could be that Dean's noticed how gorgeous Sam has gotten in the past couple of years and he doesn't want to share that with anyone, especially strangers.
Somewhere in the span of Dean brooding and looking away, Sam leans down and whispers something in Megan's ear; she giggles again, turns red, and buries her face in one of her hands. Dean looks up just in time to see Sam pull away and he shuts his book loud enough for his brother to hear it; Sam looks toward him, face turning pink and lip between his teeth again.
"I'm sorry," Sam starts, dropping his hand away from Megan's necklace, "I've gotta go. It was nice meeting you." He mumbles the last few words and moves over to Dean quickly, dropping his book of sonnets on the table before taking a seat. The way the kid is looking at him makes Dean think there must be something wrong with his expression and he tries to soften it.
Dean tries his best to smirk at Sam and teases, "You gonna get lucky tonight, Sammy?" He tries to keep his tone light and playful, tries to keep all hints of jealousy and anger from his voice and, by the way Sam blushes more, he figures he's done a pretty good job at hiding his feelings.
"I dunno, Dean."
"Why not? She looked into you," Dean replies, shrugging a shoulder as he leans back, crossing both arms over his chest as he looks at Sam. His eyes roam over every inch of the kid they can reach; Dean looks at his shoulders, his arms, his hands, fingers, lips, jaw, and his eyes, only to snap his gaze back to the book in front of him. Calm down, he thinks to himself, swallowing thickly. He's just your brother.
"You told me not to get attached; so, this is me not getting attached to someone I know I'll have to leave behind in a few days." Sam speaks in a matter-of-fact voice and Dean bites the inside of his cheek; yeah, he can remember telling Sam that a long time ago. Relationships on the road rarely ever work and Dean knows from experience.
From the corner of his eye, Dean can see a group of girls staring at Sam and giggling, pointing in their direction. At first, he thinks they're looking at him, but that thought quickly fades away when one of the girls comes up and stands right beside Sam's chair, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Before she can open her mouth, Dean is moving across the table, taking Sam's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. He doesn't know why he does it, not at first, just knows that he wants the girl to leave them alone and she does. She looks at their hands, turns pink, mutters an apology and runs back to her friends, shaking her head the entire way.
"Dude, what are you —" Sam starts, but Dean cuts him off.
"They're jail bait," he answers, shrugging a shoulder as he pulls his hand away from Sam's, letting it drop to the table again. The look on Sam's face is one Dean has seen a hundred timed before: he's angry and Dean will pay for it, but he's honestly okay with it; his jealousy is gone, for the moment, and he grins lazily at Sam. "Let's get going, it's getting late."
Making a noncommittal noise, Sam gets up and grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He glares at Dean and crosses both arms over his chest, watching his older brother stand up and stretch, the fabric of his shirt riding up his stomach a little, exposing a sharp hipbone. A sinful, almost inhuman noise comes from Dean's mouth as he stretches and Sam blushes, looking away from his brother, eyes scanning the library.
When Dean nudges him, Sam turns back and follows him out to the car, not saying a word the whole way; the silence between them is uncomfortable and Sam's wondering how much time he'd have if he were to run right now — the answer is not long. Dean would be on him the second Sam decides to run, and he's not in the mood to have his older brother pin him down against the pavement.
They get into the Impala quietly, Sam tossing his bag over the seat, almost hitting Dean in the face which would normally pull a complain from his brother, but Dean doesn't say a word. He starts the engine, puts her in drive before pulling out of the space, almost hitting a Toyota behind him; a small apology is muttered before Dean veers off and speeds through the parking lot.
"You could have killed someone," Sam mumbles, turning around in his seat to look at the car they almost hit. Beside him, Dean snorts and moves a hand off the steering wheel, turning the radio on and pushing a cassette into the player. When Led Zeppelin pours through the speakers, Sam groans and turns back around, slumping against the seat.
When Dean comes to a stop sign, he throws a glance at Sam and grins. "What's the matter, Sammy?" He says over the music, turning it down a little. "Can't stand a little Robert Plant and Jimmy Page?" Sam glares at him and raises an eyebrow, giving Dean one of his famous bitch faces, which makes his brother laugh.
The rest of the drive back to the motel is filled with Dean's singing and air drumming, fingers tapping against the steering wheel a few times and, despite his best efforts, Sam lets his mood soften slightly. By the time they pull up in front of their room, Sam's calmed down significantly and he sighs, pushing his door open before stepping out of the car.
Sam's not even out of the car when Dean comes around and pushes him against it, his breath falling hot on Sam's throat. A surprised noise leaves Sam's mouth and he jabs Dean in the ribs with his elbow, turning around to lock his arm around his throat, pulling him toward the room. He leaves the car door open and goes to open the door to their room when Dean gets out of the hold, pinning Sam's arm behind his back.
They tumble into the room and Dean shuts the door with his foot, shoving Sam toward the bed, watching him fall on it. He's huffing and breathing hard, rubbing his neck as he watches his little brother roll onto his back and sit up, eyebrows raised.
"What the fuck was that for!" Sam yells, getting to his feet before Dean pushes him down again, holding his wrists over his head, looking down at Sam with a fire in his eyes. He doesn't say anything, just squeezes Sam's wrists until he's cursing loudly and trying to buck Dean off his lap; none of it works and Dean finally loosens up a little as he straightens up.
"I don't like when you flirt with other people." The confession comes out and Dean digs his nails into the sides of Sam's wrists, certain that he's drawing blood. "So, when you flaunt in front of me and touch someone else," Dean growls, twisting Sam's wrists enough to make him cry out, "I want to tear you away and do this."
Dean nods pointedly to Sam's wrists and the way he's pinned underneath him, breathing harshly as he moves up to straddle Sam's stomach. Both of his legs are tucked underneath him and Dean's looking down at Sam, studying his eyes carefully before moving one hand to his jeans. "And I want you for myself."
"You - ngh - had the chance to have me," Sam spits, twisting out of Dean's grasp to roll him over, pressing him face down on the bed, "but you gave it up in favor for blond women in bars. You could have had me for years, Dean, but you didn't want it until someone else wanted me. You're like a fucking kid with a toy — you don't want it until someone else has it, and then you've just got to take it, right?"
A bitter laugh escapes Dean's lips and he twists his head around to look at Sam, sucking on his lower lip thoughtfully. The way Sam looks behind him - his hair mussed slightly, face flushed and his expression angry - turns Dean on in an odd way and he huffs, moving an arm to push Sam off his back.
They roll over and Dean straddles Sam again, pinning him down against the bed by his shoulders; he leans down, fingers gripping him through the thin fabric, and brushes his lips against Sam's. He presses down for a biting kiss and is surprised when Sam kisses back just as fiercely, sucking and biting one of Dean's lips between his teeth before releasing it.
"I've always wanted you, Sammy," Dean breathes, the words coming out in a harsh pant, "but s'not been legal until now." That's not entirely true; Dean could have had Sam a number of years before he turned eighteen, but he never really thought about it, not until Sam's hormones kicked in and Dean caught him jerking off in the bathroom. Since that night - Sam was fourteen when it happened - Dean had always looked at Sam in a different light and thought about him when he was with someone else. Hell, Dean would say that Sam was his top jerk-off fantasy for four years.
Sam huffs and bites at his lower lip, narrowing his eyes at Dean, mumbling, "Then why didn't you do something about it, you idiot?"
Rolling a shoulder, Dean settles on Sam's stomach again, tucking both legs underneath his brother's, holding his shoulders down tightly. He thinks about the question and rolls his ass back, biting back a moan when he feels how hard Sam's gotten.
"Because dad was always around." Dean's lying; John always left them alone for months at a time and he didn't care what they did, as long as they didn't die. So, if Dean had seduced Sam - or even fucked him - while John was around, the old drunk wouldn't have cared, wouldn't have even given them a second glance. "And you were so young and innocent, little brother," he mumbles, moving a hand off Sam's should to touch his cheek.
Sam swats Dean's hand away and takes a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down until their noses are touching. They're both breathing hard and Sam's glaring at Dean like he wants to kill him, like nothing in the world would make him happier than to see his big brother bleeding and writhing underneath him.
"Bullshit," is all Sam says before he pulls Dean down into a rough kiss, biting at his lips until they're bleeding and not pulling away until there's a thin coating of crimson on his mouth. The pain and roughness only make Dean harder and he rolls back against Sam's lap again, whining. "You want this, huh? Want your little brother's cock in your ass? I bet you'd be such a little bitch for it." And Sam's right — Dean would take his cock any time of day; he'd even beg for it, too, if Sam asked him to.
"Just shut up and fuck me." The words come out as a growl and Dean licks at his lips, hissing when he laves over the broken skin. He watches Sam, watches the fire and the heat in his brother's eyes and something rises inside of him; he feels warm all over, wants Sam's hands on his body, in his hair, marking him as his own.
Without warning, Sam rolls them over and pins Dean down onto the bed, holding his wrists above his head. He's smirking, lips curled back into a snarl that Dean's only seen a handful of times and the fire in the pit of his stomach radiates. Small, breathless pleas leave Dean's throat and he cants his hips, growling Sam's name, taunting him.
"Bet you don't have the guts to fuck me," he teases, tongue darting across his lips, dragging blood across them. "You're all talk, Sammy. You say you wanna bury your cock in my ass, but you're not doing it, are ya? S'cause you're scared baby brother? You afraid that I can't handle that dick of yours? Or are you worried that I'm not gonna like it — that I'm gonna compare you to all the other dicks I've had up my ass?"
The teasing gets to Sam and his face goes red; he tightens his grip on Dean's wrists and holds them in one of his hands. The other hand goes to his belt and he undoes it quickly and with skilled fingers, like he's done this a million times before and yeah, Dean thinks, he probably has. "Shut the fuck up," Sam spits, yanking his belt out of the loops before bringing it up and wrapping it around Dean's wrists.
Sam makes sure the leather is wrapped tightly around Dean's wrists before he ties it around the bed post. He tugs it once, listens to his big brother moan and hiss, and smirks before moving off the bed. Once he's standing, Sam pulls his clothes off, along with his boots, and walks to Dean's bag, kneeling down to rummage through it.
In the bottom of the duffel, Sam finds a bottle of lube that Dean's stashed away and a couple condoms that have probably been in there forever — but anything's better than nothing, Sam thinks. He straightens up and moves to the bed, condom wrapper between his teeth and the lube bottle in one hand. Dean looks up at him with half-lidded eyes and growls, barring his teeth as he twists his arms, trying to get out of the damn belt.
"You sure you even know how to fuck someone, Sammy?" Dean continues to tease, giving his baby brother a bloody grin, his teeth and lips covered in crimson. "It's a little different than just jerkin' off or fucking yourself with your fingers."
Taking the wrapper out between his teeth, Sam smirks back at Dean. "I know how to fuck someone, Dean," he replies, leaning down to set the condom and lube on the nightstand. "Or did you forget all those times you brought someone back to the motel room when you thought I was sleeping? Everyone forgets about poor little Sammy until he's old enough and big enough to take care of himself."
Sam clicks his tongue against his teeth and undoes Dean's jeans quickly, pulling the fabric down his legs. He takes the boots off next and tosses them onto the ground, watching as Dean twitches when they clatter against the floor. It's almost amusing and Sam smirks even more, pushing the denim off his brother's legs, letting it fall heavily to the floor.
"Never thought you were awake, Sammy," Dean says and his voice is soft, though Sam can still hear a hint of anger in his words. "Always thought you were asleep or hiding under the blankets from the noises." He laughs bitterly and licks his lips again, laving his tongue over the top one first before bringing it down to the bottom one, screwing his eyes shut when he finds the split.
"Yeah, well, I was." The words are so nonchalant and soft that Dean thinks Sam may be calming down, but changes his mind when his brother smacks the outside of his thigh. "And I asked dad what you were doing one night," Sam continues, working Dean's boxers down his legs, "and he said you were helping a girl who was afraid of ghosts. So, I asked why she kept moaning and saying 'harder Dean,' and he came up with some crackpot story and told me to go clean my .45."
As Sam talks, Dean remembers that night and chuckles quietly, twisting his wrists against the hold of the belt. He wants to ask Sam if he ever heard him with any guys but already knows the answer — if Sammy heard him with a girl, there's not denying he was there when Dean brought home men that were twice his age.
Sam pulls the boxers off and drops the fabric to the floor before spreading Dean's legs and moving a hand down, dragging his fingers over his brother's balls before pressing them against his perineum. He draws small circles on the skin and watches Dean's eyes flutter shut, his head roll back against the mattress. A loud whine leaves his brother's lips and Sam smirks, dropping his hands lower, rubbing the tip of his middle finger against Dean's entrance.
"And then you brought man after man back to the motel, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, their voices gruff and low," Sam pauses and presses his finger past the first ring of muscles, licking his lips when Dean whines and begs for lube. "They all fucked you, didn't they? You were a little bitch and cockslut, so fucking eager for it. I could hear you whimpering, you know, and begging for them to fuck you, to split you open like the goddamn whore you are."
Panting, Dean lifts his hips and pushes them back against Sam's hand without thinking, crying out when he pulls his fingertip out. He blinks his eyes open and settles them on Sam, eyes roaming up and down his body, taking in the sight. It's nothing Dean hasn't seen a million times before but this time it feels different; he can see that Sam is more tanned than he was before, his muscles more defined.
"Sammy," Dean croaks, tugging on the belt, eyes snapping up, meeting Sam's gaze. "Please, you gotta," he pauses and huffs before continuing, "gotta gimme something, little brother." The use of that name makes Sam bite his lip and he nods slowly, reaching over to grab the lube off the nightstand, popping the top.
He moves a hand to Dean's left leg and lifts it, bracing his foot against the mattress before contorting his brother's body a little. Dean moves easily, going where Sam wants him to, only crying out when his arms get twisted and his shoulders ache from the position he's in.
"Suck it up you big baby," Sam mutters as he pours lube onto his fingers, getting them nice and slick before pressing two against Dean's entrance. He slides his fingertips in and feels Dean's muscles clench around the digits until he smooths a hand over his thigh, smacking it lightly. "Calm down or I'm not going to fuck you. I'll leave you here, with your hands tied and your cock hard for me. Do you want that?"
Dean shakes his head and takes a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax; they do and, eventually, Sam's fingers push inside of him slowly. The digits inch inside until they're in up to the last knuckle and Sam leans over, pressing his lips against his brother's ear, biting at the lobe. "Gonna fuck you nice and hard," he mutters, dragging his tongue along the shell of Dean's ear, breathing against it.
They stay still for a moment until Sam's sure that Dean has adjusted and he starts pulling his fingers out, separating them slowly until his brother is moaning, begging for another. A smirk plays on Sam's lips as he pulls back and pushes a third finger against Dean's entrance.
"God, you want it, don't you?" Sam asks, pushing the three digits inside.
Dean gasps loudly and nods his head, moaning out. "Wanna see if you really can fuck something, Sammy. Wanna - ngh - see if you've got it in you. Bet you don't, baby brother, bet you'll fail at fucking me. I should show you - ah, fuck - how it's really done. Fuck, oh god, just like that Sammy… s'good, so fucking good. Your fingers, Sam, god."
Pumping his fingers in and out, Sam twists them and scissors them slowly, crooking the tips just enough to make Dean cry out. When he pulls the digits out, Sam rubs his fingertips along the outer rim slowly before pushing them back in all the way. A loud moan comes from Dean's chest, deep and rough, and Sam fucks him with his fingers, setting a relentless pace.
"Ready for my cock?" Sam's voice is deep and low, words coming out slightly breathless as he moves his free hand to his cock, stroking it slowly. All Dean can do it nod his head and whimper, pushing his hips back against Sam's head, babbling incessantly, his words senseless.
Sam grins and pulls his fingers out, wiping them on Dean's shirt before going to grab the condom, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. He spits the plastic out onto the floor and takes the condom out, sliding it down over his cock, watching Dean writhe on the bed; the scene makes him throb harder and Sam can't wait to stick his cock in his brother.
Once the condom is in place, Sam grabs the lube and pours some onto his cock, stroking it in quickly before situating himself on the bed in front of Dean. He takes Dean's left leg and hitches it over his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, smirking when his brother groans 'fuck you' under his breath.
Clicking his tongue against his teeth and shaking his head, Sam grabs Dean's other leg and bends it over his other shoulder, both hands wrapped around his hips tightly. His fingers dig into the smooth skin underneath and Sam presses his thumbnails into Dean's hipbones before teasing his entrance with the head of his cock.
"You want this big cock inside your ass don't you, Dean?" Sam watches Dean nod his head, his lip caught between his teeth, blood trickling down the side of his mouth; it shouldn't turn him on, but it does, and Sam pushes into his brother slowly, groaning at the tight heat. "How long - fuck - s'been since you've had a dick in this tight, slutty hole of yours?"
Everything Sam is saying makes Dean groan and whimper; the words make him angry and he pushes back against Sam's cock, moaning out, "S'been a while, but you're definitely - ah - not the - ngh - biggest I've ever hard."
Sam smirks and slams his cock into Dean, not waiting for him to adjust. "That's a lie," he groans through barred teeth as he pulls out halfway, only to slide back in at a slow, almost teasing pace.
"Yeah," Dean replies, finding it hard to form any other words when he feels Sam inside him, their hips rocking against each other. He digs his heels into his brother's back and pushes against him harder, silently begging for more and moaning loudly when Sam obliges.
Starting an even - but quick - pace, Sam fucks Dean and bends him in half, leaning over to bite and suck his lips. The taste of blood fills his mouth and Sam moves down, dragging his tongue along Dean's stubbly jaw, moaning against it. He tells Dean what a slut he is, punctuating each word with a sharp jab of the hips, his fingers digging into his brother's skin hard enough to leave bruises. And that's exactly what Sam wants; he wants to mark his brother, show him who the Alpha male is, and show him that he's not twelve year old 'Sammy' anymore.
When Sam straightens up, he sees the trail of blood connecting Dean's jaw and mouth and he groans, fucking into Dean harder, thumbing across his hipbones quickly, hips snapping against his brother's ass. The room is filled with the smell of blood and sweat and sex, their moans and groans and Dean's tiny whimpers filling the air, drowning the rest of the world out.
Tonight, Dean is all Sam's and he has every intention of showing that to his older brother. He leans down, pushing Dean's shirt up quickly and catches a nipple between his teeth, pulling and tugging on it before laving his tongue over the hardened skin. Dean moans Sam's name loudly and arches his back, twisting his wrists and hands until the leather chafes his skin and then he does it more; he can feel blood between his wrists and the leather but he doesn't care.
"Sammy!" Dean cries out, curling his fingers in on his palms, digging his nails into the rough, calloused skin. He wants to pull Sam's hair, tug him up and kiss him until their mouths are both red and swollen, his fingers itching to be buried in the long, dark brown locks that are sweeping over his chest. A moan forms deep in Dean's chest and he lets it out, letting the loud sound fill the air and he hopes, for a brief second, the people in the room beside them are enjoying the show.
"Gonna show you," Sam pants as he pulls away, jabbing his hips toward Dean's ass again, losing all rhythm as he gets closer to coming, "that I'm just as good as you — just as good as the whores you pick up." He's so angry at Dean for everything - for not being with him, for being angry at him for flirting, for it all - that he feels tears rim his eyes and he growls, slamming into Dean harder.
"Yeah, little brother," Dean says, his voice broken and rough, "you're just as good as them. Maybe — maybe even better than them, Sammy." He mutters the words again, repeating them whenever Sam pulls out and slams back in, the phrase like a fucking prayer on his lips. "Christ, fuck, Sammy… Your cock feels amazin'. S'the biggest I've ever had, I lied."
"I know." The words come out as a pant, breathless and low as Sam straightens up, running his thumb over Dean's nipple, pressing down against it. He fucks his brother harder, eyes fluttering shut before snapping open, locking on Dean's face; for a moment, Sam's not angry at Dean but angry at himself. How could he have gone so long without telling Dean how he felt? It's all his fault and — no, Sam thinks abruptly, snapping his hips against Dean's again, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the void between them.
Leaning over Dean's body again, Sam starts to lose all rhythm and his hips snap brutally against his brother's, the noise lost in a sea of their pants and Dean's near screaming. When Dean's muscles clench around his cock, Sam moans loudly and pulls his cock out a little, only to slide it back in slowly, working his hips in a counter-clockwise circle.
"Gonna…" Sam pants, pressing his forehead against Dean's shoulder, sweat drenching the fabric of his shirt. "Gonna come, Dean. Fuck, gonna come in your tight - ngh - fucking ass. You want that?" Before Dean can respond, Sam's body trembled and tightens, his hips pressing against his brother's ass as he comes.
Fingers trembling, Sam drags them down and grips Dean's thighs as his orgasm washes over him; he pants, moans his brother's name and breathes heavily against his skin, turning to nose against Dean's jaw. When his orgasm subsides, Sam pulls out and drops Dean's legs from his shoulders, laughing breathlessly when his brother complains and curses.
"You gonna…" With a nod of the head, Dean motions to his cock and twists his hands against the belt again, hissing when the leather cuts into his skin. Sam blinks at him and nods, licking his lips slowly as he wraps a hand around Dean's cock, stroking it quickly.
It only takes a handful of strokes and Dean's coming undone underneath Sam, lifting his hips and moaning loudly, calling Sam 'little brother' and telling him that he loves him. He apologizes, moaning the words 'I'm sorry' out at the top of his lungs before he collapses against the bed, huffing.
"Apology accepted." Sam smiles lazily and reaches up, untying Dean from the bedpost, pulling the belt away from his wrists. He tosses it onto the floor and looks at Dean's skin, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing. They look at each other for a moment and Sam shrugs, waves a hand dismissively, silently telling Dean that it's okay.
When he can breath better, Sam gets off the bed and hobbles to the bathroom, tearing the condom off and tossing it in the trash before grabbing a towel. He wets half of it and comes back, wiping his hands off quickly before tossing the towel at Dean, laughing when he jumps in surprise.
"You've got some blood there." Sam points to Dean's face and lips, motioning to the trail of blood that goes from his mouth to his jaw and smirks. When Dean wipes at his face and hisses, Sam laughs and moves to his own bed, stretching out on the middle of it with his hands behind his head, sighing.
"Jerk," Dean mutters, tossing the bloody towel at Sam.
Sam laughs and throws it back at Dean. "And you're such a fucking bitch."