Chapter Eight Breaking the Rules
I don't know own the characters.
This is Wincest
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So Sam lays staring at Dean in the pallid light of dawn and knows that whatever happens now, he has gotten more from Dean than he had ever hoped to. He feels like he could stay in this one moment forever, because in this moment, he can run the pad of his own thumb across Dean's lips, cradle Dean's face with his fingers, and breathe in Dean's scent like a drowning man gasping for air.
He doesn't know what will happen when Dean wakes, and the realization of their actions takes hold in Dean's brain.
For Sam it is so simple. He is in love, and the object of his love is finally returning his pent up feelings. His happiness in the moment is only marred by his fear that in the light of day, Dean will turn from him in disgust and Sam will fracture into a million pieces of different colored heartbreak.
Dean stirs at Sam's shoulder, his hot breath trailing a line down Sam's neck and Sam stirs a bit himself, unable to stop from squirming slightly just at the feel of Dean's breath on his skin.
He feels Dean's eyes open before he even sees them and their gazes crash together for one brief, pregnant moment, and Sam is aware that he is holding his breath, waiting for Dean to freak out, hit him, or move away. Sam is ready for those things, his heart is perched on the ledge, waiting for its chance to fall into the abyss of misery that is waiting for it.
Incredibly, none of those things happen. Instead, Dean's fingers lift to Sam's face, tracing the lines of his jaw and Sam feels his skin warming to his brother's touch. He adjusts his position so his dick is pressed against Dean's side, already rising with just the smallest of touches from Dean. Dean's mouth quirks into a small smile and he pulls Sam to him, going for a small passionate kiss, but it erupts instantly into greed and desire, and in a moment they are upon each other once again.
Dean's rough hands are the only prayer Sam can ever remember as they move over his body with a possessive quality and he arches himself into Dean, begging with his body for what his mouth cannot seem to articulate.
Deans hands are everywhere and Sam feels so hot, so hard that he might actually die and go happy, because Dean is kissing him and Dean is touching him, and it is so much better, so much sexier, so much more than Sam's imagination had ever created.
Sam can't even understand himself what he wants, but Dean, fucking Dean knows him so well, that he instinctively rolls on top of Sam, pushing him face first into the pillows of the bed. Sam's heart stops because he can't process what is about to happen. He wants it so badly he can't even name it.
Then Dean is up and kneeling behind him and his hand is around Sam's cock, getting slippery with the precum from Sam's massive hard on, while he strokes his own dick absently. When enough moisture has accumulated on his fingers, Dean takes a finger, and places it in Sam and Sam bucks wildly, held unsteadily in place by the feel of Dean's teeth at the back of his neck, whispering Sam's name in feverish tones, working that finger in and out of Sam.
Another finger slips inside Sam and he sobs, Dean's name carried off his lips in an expression of need so acute, and so visceral that Sam isn't going to make it through, he is sure of it. There is not enough room inside of him to handle the amount of desire and need he is feeling.
He feels the head of Dean's cock at his entrance and he moans, backing himself into it unthinkingly, knowing what he wants, what he needs, and although Dean is trying to be slow, trying to be careful, Sam just can't fucking wait another second and he so he forces Deans cock into his ass with his own hips.
A moment of bright pain sears him for a moment, and he freezes, and it is suddenly replaced by a trembling feeling that takes hold and he moves his hips slowly, experimenting with the weight of Dean's cock inside him.
Something breaks in Dean, whatever control he had somehow managed to keep for this amount of time disappears in an instant and he is pushing into Sam like a madman, one hand holding Sam's hips at the right angle, the other snaking around to grab Sam's cock, jerking it in his hand to the rhythm his hips are pounding out.
Sam and Dean are both screaming in pleasure, panting each others names into the morning light and Sam feels himself reaching the edge of climax and pushes back on Dean, forcing him to join Sam as they both jump off the edge together.
Always together, Sam thinks numbly as Dean collapses on Sam's back, his lips kissing across Sam's scapula, his hand still around Sam's slowly softening penis.
He feels Dean's heart slowing and it's the most peaceful Sam has ever felt. He closes his eyes feeling happier than he knows he has ever had a right to.
He isn't prepared for what Dean says next. It is whispered into his ear, like a lover's promise, but the words carry dread into Sam's very being.
"We need to talk, Sammy."