bloodwrites

Dean's skin is still damp from the shower. He's a little sticky, the weather too hot to really dry off properly, the badly ventilated motel bathroom pumping clouds of steam into the room every time they open the door.

He throws himself into the bed, face down, completely nude. Can't bear the thought of putting clothes onto clammy skin. Lays there, sticking to the scratchy blanket, probably picking up all kinds of dust and lint. Like flypaper.

"Mm," Sam says, when he comes out after his own shower. Clouds of steam follow him, then dissipate. "You okay? Or should I be calling someone?"

"Hot," Dean mutters, and then rolls over. He eyes the skimpy towel wrapped around Sam's waist. "Who the fuck would you be calling, anyway?"

Sam shrugs. "I dunno. Think any doctor could deal with ectoplasm overdose?" He shudders. It looks odd in the sticky summer heat. "I didn't think it would ever come off."

Dean eyes his own skin, still pink from scrubbing. Rolls his eyes and flops back onto his belly.

"So, I was wondering," Sam says, after a moment of awkward stillness. He doesn't finish the thought right away.

But Dean gets it. It's easier if they don't say it out loud. It's all loaded looks and half-finished sentences, but they're on the same page, and that's what counts.

Usually, anyway. "Wow," Dean says. "It's pretty hot."

More stillness. It's weird. Dean's not one to turn down sex, and his dick, trapped between his belly and the scratchy blanket, is trying to chub up. It's always good with Sam. More than good. It's awesome. With a side of dirty-bad-wrong, but awesome.

He lifts his head. "I'm not saying— Just dunno about anything too strenuous, you know?"

The serious expression on Sam's face fades, and he bites his lip to hide his smile. "Yeah?" His eyes track down Dean's body, settle on his ass. "Cos I can—" His eyes flick back to Dean's face, and he licks his lip, grinning wide. "If you want."

What the hell, Dean thinks. If he can just lie here while Sam does all the work— "Sure," he says, and then buries his face in his elbow.

There's a wet slap, the sound of a sodden towel hitting the floor, and the mattress dips as Sam climbs on. "Just spread—" Sam says, more halting words, as he drags damp fingertips down the inside of Dean's thigh. "—little more."

Dean parts his thighs, friction warming him even more. He feels exposed now, more so than usual. There's a bright bare bulb, right over the bed, and maybe he should have told Sam to turn it off.

But the way Sam's touching him, fingertips like feathers as they trail over Dean's thighs, hips, ass. He's starting to get that Sam likes to look.

When Sam's fingers slide into the crack, over his hole, he gets goosebumps.

"Got lube?" His voice wavers when he says it, it's a bit too close to verbal acknowledgement.

Dean feels Sam's breath, warm, clammy, on his ass. "Don't need it."

Dean stiffens. "The hell you don't."

The bed shifts, and that's Sam's breath again. "Not gonna fuck you."

Dean's breath catches. Sam said it out loud, but instead of making Dean uncomfortable, his cock gets harder. "What?"

Sam's thumbs dip into the crack of Dean's ass, spread him open, and he licks a long, wet stripe, from Dean's taint, all the way up to the dimple at the base of his spine.

Dean's body rocks, and he moans, suddenly breathless. "F-fuck. Sam?"

"Mmm," Sam says, and he does it again. A shorter stripe this time, right over Dean's hole, tongue wide and slippery. "You taste good, Dean."

"I-I frickin doubt that, but—" Dean whines as Sam's tongue strokes him again, hips pushing up off the mattress as he seeks out more. Sam flicks his tongue, skirts the edge of Dean's hole, circling before pressing into the center. "Holy— Fuck, Sam."

Sam chuckles as he does it again, pulls back, just for a moment, and Dean can hear him, gathering spit before he licks it onto Dean's hole. He points his tongue, wriggles it against the tight muscle, closes his lips over it and sucks.

Dean's as hard as steel, the friction of the wool blanket against his cock a kind of delicious torture as he pushes back into Sam's mouth. Sam's fingers tighten in the soft flesh of his ass, and the bed moves, dipping beneath Sam's weight.

He can imagine what Sam looks like, knees beneath him, backside in the air, face buried in Dean's ass. What they both look like, as Dean writhes and moans, and Sam holds on and digs deeper.

The rasp of Sam's face against the inside of his cheeks is maddening, rough and slick, as Sam licks him loose and wet. Spit dribbles down over Dean's balls, cooling as Sam breathes on it. And his tongue keeps coming back, to push against him, pointed and wriggling.

The itchy wool beneath him is too much. Wet and warm with sweat, Dean pushes up, gets his knees underneath. The mattress rocks as Sam shifts with him, and big, long-fingered hands smooth over his ass cheeks before holding him open again.

"Yeah," Sam says, rough and rasping, as he dives back in, licking, sucking, getting Dean wet. His movements are quicker, rougher, less controlled. A thumb sneaks in under Sam's tongue, circles, presses in. Then it's gone, Sam's tongue in its place, pointed and firm and wriggling.

And Dean wants it, pushes back, opens up. Groans as Sam breaches him, tongue like nothing else. It's not like being fingered, not like being fucked with Sam's cock, but he's being fucked all the same. As Sam dips deeper and deeper with his long, agile tongue, that's all Dean can think.

Sam's fucking him with his tongue. Long, slow strokes, in, until it's gotta burn, out and gathering more spit and sucking at Dean's loosened hole and right back in again, a little deeper each time.

And Dean rocks back into it, grunting with every breach of Sam's tongue into his body.

Beneath him, his cock is hard and steadily dripping pre-come onto the blanket below. When he looks back, Sam's is the same, except every couple of moments he reaches for it, gives it a squeeze or a stroke.

There's no lube. It's at the bottom of Dean's bag, way over on the other side of the room. But he's so wet, slick like a girl from sweat and Sam's spit, it almost feels like it wouldn't matter at all. Sam could fuck him, and it would be awesome—

Dean groans, has to reach for his cock, just to ease the pressure a little. His hand comes away wet, and he slicks the pre-come down the length of his dick.

Sam moans and buries his tongue deep into Dean's ass, starts tugging on his own cock.

"Fuck me," Dean groans, rough and wrecked.

That's all it takes. Sam moves, up and over, lining up, sinking in in one long, smooth slide, grabbing Dean's face with fingers gone pruney and pulling him around. Dean tastes himself in the kiss, on Sam's tongue, but there's not enough rational thought to even start being remotely grossed out.

He's just full, and there's more friction than he's used to, Sam feels thicker than usual, his fat cock dragging against Dean's insides in ways he's never felt before. But he's almost still, hips twitching just a little as he seems to reach for Dean's tonsils with his tongue.

Dean has to choke a little, splutter, just to breathe. Sam releases him, looks him in the eye, his cheeks and chin still shining with spit.

"Fuck me," Dean repeats, doing it again, breaking that unspoken rule. He sees it in Sam's eyes when he figures it out, when he realizes, as they darken, pupils expanding.

"Yeah," Sam says, and he moves, not enough, not nearly enough. Rocks his hips, just once, settles all his weight on Dean's back until his shoulders are screaming and his neck aches as Sam holds him to force the eye contact. "It's so good," he says, and he's not getting it, too fucking busy having a moment, rocks his hips again but still just a tease. "You always feel so good."

Dean growls and wrenches his face from Sam's grip, hangs his head and shoves back, impaling himself on Sam's cock. Pleasure-pain shoots though him like lightning. "Fuck...me." Punctuates each word with a sharp thrust back. "Just...fucking...do it."

There's sweat dripping off of him, sweat dripping off of Sam, and onto his back. He's gonna bruise where Sam's fingers dig into his hips, a firm grip to meet Dean's shoves, until Dean quits, lets Sam do the work, lets himself be pulled into Sam's dick. Drops to his elbows, ass in the air and bare bulb swinging above their heads, casting weird shadows that make them look like something they'd hunt.

"Yes...yes...yes." Starkly aware that they're not using lube, none of that slip or slide, just Sam's spit, drying up with the friction, the drag almost painful as Sam speeds up, but too good to stop. "Come in me," Dean says, it'll make it all better, give him back that slick slide, that hot, wet feeling that was so good when Sam had his tongue in Dean's ass. "Come inside me, Sam."

There's a sound that comes from Sam, like a strangled, animal groan, and he curls over Dean's back, wraps his arms around Dean's chest and snaps his hips. "Too good," he grunts, and, "love your tight ass, Dean," and then he goes suddenly still. His grip on Dean tightens, briefly, and then he rolls his hips, a long, low moan issuing from his lips, hot breath washing over Dean's neck, before he pushes himself up. "Easy," he breathes, as if to himself, slides his hands over Dean's naked body, slick, sliding through sweat, making it drip from Dean's sides, rolls his hips, long and slow.

"I want you to—" Dean croaks, as he rocks back to take Sam deeper, but is hushed by him, stilled by Sam's hands. Delicious drag of Sam inside him, friction tugging at sensitive flesh. "Please."

"I'm gonna," Sam whispers. "Gonna fill you." He rolls his hips again, as if to maintain a point of arousal, a simmer on the point of tipping into a furious boil. "Then I'm going to pull out. And I'm gonna make you come. And I'm gonna watch you squeeze all that come out of you."

"Fuck. Fuck." Dean's balls draw up tight and his spine fuses. Sam groans as Dean clamps down on his cock, barely hanging on. "Better get on with it. Cos I'm so close."

And it's funny how they've always kept their mouths all but shut when they fuck until now, until this hot, crazy night, and how much different it is. It's like they're drunk, but they've fucked drunk before and never talked like this. Dean decides he wants to try it without fucking one day, wants to talk dirty like this, wants Sam to talk dirty to him, see if it can get him this hard and this wet and this ready to blow.

And as Sam starts pounding into him, spouting filth that's all about pumping Dean full and making Dean drip with his come, it's all Dean can do just to hold on.

Sam finally shudders, stills, and Dean can feel it, Sams cock, twitching and jerking inside him, rhythmic spurts deep within his body. Sam starts to move before he's even done, slowly pulling out, as though he wants to paint every inch of Dean's insides, moaning and grunting the whole time.

And, when just the head is still inside, when Dean can feel it tugging at his rim, Sam rams his cock back in.

And it's that hot, slick, wet slide, and some of it is leaking out of him already. "I'm gonna come," he says. "I'm gonna fucking come, you fucker, you're making me come—"

"No." Sam pulls out, quick enough that Dean's asshole goes into shock, a sudden gaping emptiness that staves off his orgasm just a moment. One last spurt of Sam's come, not much more than a dribble, hits the back of Dean's thigh, and then Sam's moving, pulling his legs up, sliding them between Dean's spread knees, so Dean ends up straddling Sam's chest, still bent forward, his face only inches from Sam's still firm and twitching and leaking dick.

"What the fuck," is all Dean has time to say, before Sam puts his mouth back on Dean's leaking, gaping hole, and it's sick and it's filthy and it should be fucking gross but Dean can only moan with how good it feels, both soothing and wildly arousing, all at the same time.

"Now you can come,"Sam murmurs, right up against Dean's asshole, and then he seals his lips around Dean's hole, and he sucks.

And Dean explodes. There's just no holding on after that. And it feels like he's squeezing every last drop out of his balls, like they're just going to shrivel up into raisins and never be good for anything again, because this is the orgasm that'll beat all orgasms, and he'll never have need for another one ever again.

And he can feel it. His ass, squeezing Sam's come right back out of his body, right into Sam's waiting mouth. And Sam's cock twitches, jerks up off his belly as Dean's orgasm squeezes his come back into his mouth. Like it's hot, like even after coming, Sam's trying to get hard, stay hard, fuck some more because he's sucking his own come out of Dean's body.

"Dirty fucker," Dean spits, bites down on his lip as he empties his balls onto Sam's stomach. Drops his head to Sam's thigh, come smearing across his cheek. "Filthy bastard. God, I— Fuck, Sammy."

Sam holds Dean up as his body gives, exhaustion sets in, stops sucking, starts licking, like he's cleaning up every drop. Dips his tongue inside, goes in easy, because Dean's so loose and used and open.

And Dean starts to wonder, if they've opened some kind of floodgate, if they've broken a seal. "Promise me," he mutters, as Sam slowly licks around the edge of his hole and finally pulls away. "Next time. Just ask if I wanna fuck. Use those words. Even if I don't."

Sam slithers out from beneath him, smears come over Dean's back as he pulls Dean into his arms. "Why?"

"We're done pretending," Dean says.

fin