Dean pulled the makeshift icepack away to get a good look at Sam's head, fingers drumming out a staccato rhythm on his brother's smooth hip.
"Do you feel like you're gonna to blow chunks?"
"Only when I look at you."
"Stop sweet-talking me, I think you might have a concussion."
"O shit, I thought you just put the room on the spin setting."
"And it's lucky that you do…otherwise, I'd punch you in the face. Try that shit again, and I'll drop you before the evil mofo gets a chance."
"We needed a distraction, Dean. It was the only in you were gonna get to take 'em out."
Dean grumbled, but gingerly held the icepack back against Sam's head. His eyes fluttered closed, content to let Dean doctor him and slip into unconsciousness, stretched out completely naked on his stomach in the motel bed with his brother's reassuring warmth pressed against his side. Freshly washed clean of blood, dirt, and intestines – under Dean's watchful eye, to make sure he didn't pass out – that sounded like the best plan of all.
"Hey! Don't fall asleep, princess."
"Dammit, Dean. Don't shout in my ear, dickhead." Sam attempted to burrow his heavy head into the little hideaway created by his crossed arms pillowing him. Dean lifted the icepack away quickly so that it didn't drag against the swelling patch on Sam's skull.
"Well, stop being a pussy, and I'll stop being a dick."
"Wow, you've probably been thinking up that one all night, huh?"
"Shuddup. C'mon, you need to stay awake. You want to read or something? I can see if there's a dictionary somewhere. You haven't finished that one yet, have you? Or are you already on the sequel?"
"Man, too bad that thing wasn't deadlier, done me the favor of putting me out of my misery." Joke. Bad one. But Dean never found those references humorous. Sam cracked an eye to peer up at his brother's blank face. Sam's lips quirked softly at him in apology. Dean blew out a breath in exasperation. Forgiven. Dean's foot started knocking against Sam's in counterbalance.
"I don't know. Do you wanna play 20 questions or something?"
"Do I ever," Sam deadpanned.
"I spy?"
"Pass."
"Wanna play Bullshit?"
"Nope."
"Want me to braid your hair?"
"Want me to choke you out?"
"Oh, Sammy. Quit teasin'." Dean blew out another breath, his foot bouncing faster. Sam noticed.
"Dean, what's up?"
"Huh?"
"You're twitching all over the place, man. What's going on?"
"I don't know. I'm still kinda wired, I guess. From the hunt." Sam looked up at his brother. Took in the flared nostrils, dilated pupils. Gorgeous mouth.
"I think there was a bar about a mile or two south. You could still get there in time to find someone halfway decent. Or at least female and willing…I'm not really sure where your standards are, man." Dean looked at him like he'd gone stupid. "What are you stupid?"
"Dean, I'm fine, man. I won't go to sleep. You don't have to-" Dean shook his head, cutting him off.
"I'm not leaving you here alone." He lifted the icepack again, inspecting, reverently brushing errant strands of hair away from the purpling skin. "Besides…too much work."
Sam snorted. "You really are getting fat and old. Can't even put in the effort for a fuck."
And because Dean couldn't thump his brother on the back of the head, should probably be mindful of that head injury and all, he gave a quick smack to his bare ass cheek. It was mostly noise, but Dean could just make out a faint red hand print before it faded. And Sam hadn't been expecting it, so he couldn't stop the startled (breathy) gasp and twitch of his hips. Huh, well that was interesting.
Dean softly traced the tips of his fingers where the hand print had faded, skimming in and running them down the crack of Sam's ass. He dragged his eyes up the miles of Sam's long, hard, muscled body before meeting his eyes. Sam raised an eyebrow.
"Do you mind?" Dean asked sheepishly.
Sam sighed, trying to go for that deep, soulful sound. Not quite achieving it, but whatever. "Just…careful, ok? Kinda sore."
"Not gonna break you, Sammy. You're too pretty."
Dean rolled over onto his back, shimmied out of his jeans and boxers (shirt and shoes having been tossed when they'd stumbled into the room, covered in blood and grime), and reached down to grab the lube out of his duffel. He squirted some into his hand before tossing it somewhere on the bed and lubed up his hard cock. Of course, he'd been hard since he'd stretched out against his brother to play doctor. His warm, naked brother.
Sam spread his legs and raised his ass slightly, presenting himself to Dean. The position made his already sore muscles burn, but he knew Dean needed relief and he would be quick. And Sam supposed he owed him some small thank you.
Dean crawled over, lifted one leg over Sam's, and straddled the back of his brother's thighs before lowering his hips and slipping his hard cock in between Sam's cheeks.
This wouldn't take long at all. He was still riding the adrenaline high from ripping his baby brother away from death's door and just needed that little push over the edge to finish him off and send him into peaceful oblivion.
He grunted softly and shifted his hips slightly, lube letting him slip-slide in his little brother's gorgeous ass. Fuck. No, not long at all. "Sam?" Dean grunted, wanting to make sure he wasn't putting Sam in any more pain than he was already in. His brother was pretty much reaching for sainthood, letting Dean use his ass for a quick orgasm while he was laid out on the bed with a possible concussion. Dean was going to have to canonize him later.
Or blow him. Either worked for Dean.
Sam looked over his shoulder and gave Dean a small nod. Good enough. Dean settled his weight lower, grinding his hips down into his brother's, and started a hard, quick pace. His hips rocked down, forcing Sam's pelvis to grind into the mattress, letting his own hard cock find some much-needed friction. Sam groaned and stretched his arms up to grip at the end of the bed and push his ass back harder against his brother. He could feel globs of precum spattering against the small of his back, Dean's breathing harsh in his ear, and he began to feel dizzy, although he couldn't really say if it was from arousal or the effects of his head injury.
Dean reached up, mindful of the painful lump forming at Sam's hairline, and gripped Sam's jaw to tilt his head to the side. He licked a wet stripe where Sam's neck and shoulder met, before biting down hard, letting his teeth skin into the skin there. Sam cried out and his hips jerked, caught between Dean and the bed. Dean's pace began to stutter, hips snapping wildly, seeking out his release. "Hold still." Dean pushed himself up, holding Sam's hip with one hand while steadying himself with the other between Sam's shoulders. He thrust forward desperately. "Fuck." Slip. "Sam." Slide. "Fuck. Fuck. FUCK." Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. "Fuck." And then Dean was spilling hot and thick all over his brother's back, shuddering and panting as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.
Dean's head dropped between his shoulders, breathing hard, trying to reestablish his higher brain functions. He lifted his weight off his brother and sat back on his heels. "You ok?" Dean leaned forward and began working his still-warm come into the tense muscles of Sam's neck, shoulders, and back.
"Yeah," Sam sighed and brought his arms back down to pillow underneath his head again. Dean knew Sam was probably aching for his own release by now, but was hesitant.
"If I get you off, you're not gonna pass out on me, are ya?"
"Well, you have done that to me before," Sam sniggered.
"Sam."
"Nah, I think I'll live to fight another day." Sam shifted his head on his crossed arms and quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "Be an awesome obit though, right? 'Man killed by brother's hand...job.'" Oh yeah, Sam's real fucking funny when he's suffering from a head injury. But Dean smirks anyway.
"You're concussed."
"And you're gonna make me come." Sam licked his lips and stared at his brother, pupils completely blown out.
"Yeah," Dean breathed. He stroked Sam's ass, brushing his knuckles back and forth across the soft skin, never breaking eye contact, lulling Sam into a trance before finally reaching back across the bed for the bottle of lube.
"Lift up for me." Dean slicked up his fingers on one hand and scooted up behind his brother while Sam brought his knees under him, ass high in the air, crack still glistening with lube. Dean gripped his cheeks, spreading them wide, and ghosted the pads of both thumbs around the rim of Sam's hole.
Sam's breath stuttered in his chest and he wiggled his ass, looking for more. But Dean just held Sam's ass wide apart and stared for a while at Sam's entrance, pink and puckered, breathing warm gusts of air slowly and steadily onto the sensitive flesh, watching it flutter and clench at the sensation.
"Fuck you," Sam whined.
"Not with a head injury, you don't."
Then he circled one lubed finger around Sam's hole, pushing gently against the entrance. Not enough to enter, but just enough to focus all of Sam's attention on the pressure of it. Then, slowly, Dean pushed in and then kept pushing in, slowly all the while, allowing Sam's muscles to relax against the lethargic intrusion. He could feel Sam's soft inner walls clamping and clenching on his finger, trying to suck him in, and his cock twitched. He pulled his finger out, added a second, and slowly trekked back into that smooth, hot channel. Pulled out, added a third, and then back on that maddeningly sweet, slow journey.
Sam was keening low in his throat and hitching his hips, trying to fuck himself on his brother's thick fingers.
"C'mon, you fuck, I have a head injury!" Sam kicked out at Dean petulantly, and then used the motion to spread his legs wider, giving him more control to thrust back harder onto Dean's fingers. Always the agile hunter. But Dean pulled his hand back and used his other to settle his brother at the small of his back.
"Sammy, stop," he soothed. "I'm gonna take care of you, make you feel good. Just calm down. Take what I give you. I'll make that big cock come nice and hard for me, don't worry." He watched Sam's cock, which hung hard and heavy between his legs, twitch at his words. Dripping precum on the bedspread. Sam whined in frustration, but stilled under his brother's hand.
Dean – always the artist with Sam's body – took up his work again. Circling and petting Sam's hole. Trailing fingers down behind his heavy balls, massaging his prostate from the outside. Then back up and slipping in, one, two, three. Sam was panting into the mattress, toes curled, gripping the end of the bed again. But he remained still, his brother's hand an anchor at his back.
Saint Sammy, Dean smirked, as his brother practically prostrated himself for Dean.
Then, surely by divine instruction, Dean plunged all three fingers deep into his brother's ass, hitting his prostate. Sam shoved himself up on his arms and threw his head back, as if to witness the second coming. Dean fucked his fingers into his brother's ass quick and hard, like he did everything, keeping his assault on Sam's prostate constant, not giving him a second to think. "Ahhh god. Fuck. Dean." Dean leaned forward, still pumping his fingers in and out of Sam's hole, and lickflicked his tongue along the stretched rim. Sam moaned like a whore for it, whining and begging for more. So Dean gave him more, teasing his tongue along the gaping hole. And then the final revelation, as Dean removed the hand from the small of Sam's back, reached under, and took hold of his heavy, leaking cock. He gripped him tight and jacked him hard, tugging sideways, pulling down, stripping him furiously, joyously. And Sam sobbed.
"Please…wannacome…please please please Dean…please…gonnacome….please…fuck." And like a biblical flood, Sam came and came and came. Sobbing and crying, he came. It overwhelmed him, filled him with absolution, and took him to that holy place. Dean stilled his fingers in Sam's ass, but gently worked his cock through the orgasm, helping his brother reach divinity. When he could feel Sam's muscles spasming, no longer able to hold his weight, he helped lower him back down onto the bed.
Sam started rolling his head, trying to come back down to the mortal plane, so Dean reached out and carded his fingers through Sam's damp hair, soothing him, stilling his motions, mindful of the large ugly bruise near his temple.
"I think I might have heard a hallelujah from the choir."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
Amen.