bloodwrites

It's still new, this thing between them.

This thing. This thing. Dean still can't even say it out loud in his own fucking head, that's how new it is. Admit it to himself, sure. But give it a name?

No.

The only name Dean knows for what he and Sam have been doing is ugly, so until he can think of something better, it's this thing they do.

The word for it is ugly, but it doesn't feel ugly. It feels great, if Dean's completely honest with himself. Right now it feels fucking awesome, even though there's another creaky motel bed beneath his naked body, and the pillow his cheek is pressed into smells of bleach and dust. Above him, though, with Sam's bare skin against his and Sam's lips and tongue tracking the length of his spine?

Fucking awesome. Sam is good at this. Really really—

"Whoa whoa, Sammy, what the fuck?"

Sam laughs as Dean twists beneath him. Sam leans forward, looking for a kiss.

Dean turns his head away. "Ew, gross. Your tongue was just in my ass crack. No."

"Don't be weird," Sam says. "You're clean. I made sure."

"So that's what that was about." They shared a shower, less than an hour ago. Sam's soapy hand slid into the crack of Dean's ass but he didn't complain because Sam's other hand was on Dean's dick at the time and it was just a good time all round.

"Yeah, that, and I was gauging your response." Sam smirks. "Seemed positive."

"My response?" He should stop talking. "To what? Butt stuff?" Goddammit.

It's still that new, this thing between them. It hasn't come up before. Sure, Dean thinks about it, but he's never said anything out loud and neither has Sam, but Dean just yanked the bandaid off and there's no putting it back on again.

"Yeah, Dean." Sam leans down again, and this time, Dean doesn't turn away. "Butt stuff."

Whenever Sam kisses him, Dean's mind shuts down. Every single time his heart and his cock take over, and it's no different now.

Kissing is weird. Dean loves kissing, but the more he thinks about it, the less sense it makes. Especially when it's like this, because the way Sam kisses is primal, and desperate.

Sam kisses like he wants to crawl inside of Dean.

And it's weird. And it's sex, boiled down to it's simplest form, because it's so damn obvious that Sam wants to sink inside of Dean, and Dean wants to let him, take him down deep and keep him.

Sometimes it's all he thinks about, and it was good because it was private, nebulous, they never ever put it into words, but now that's all gonna come out into the open, whether he's ready for it or not.

Sam breaks the kiss first, and when he pushes Dean back down onto his stomach, Dean goes with it, heart pounding in his ears like it's going to explode.

His reaction is the same, when Sam's lips drag down over his tailbone and his tongue dips into the valley between Dean's cheeks. He twitches, tenses up, barely resisting the urge to stop everything, stop it all.

Sam's going where no man (or woman) has gone before, after all. Dean's a blushing virgin, untouched and untried—

"Oh holy fuck."

Sam's face is wedged between Dean's cheeks, rough stubble like sandpaper on tender skin, and his tongue—his tongue—wet and warm, slides over Dean's asshole and Dean's brain short-circuits.

"Gnnngh," he says, as Sam does it again. God, its dirty. It's fucking filthy. It's naughty. Naughtier even than sharing handjobs with your brother, than coming in your brother's mouth, than— "Fuck, Sammy."

Sam comes up for air. "You good?"

Dean shoves himself up onto his knees. "Don't stop. God, Sammy. Please don't stop." At some point Dean got hard. Really really hard, and his cock drips onto the blanket beneath him. He spreads his knees wider, presenting like a wanton whore or a bitch in heat. Jesus christ. "Please."

Sam chuckles as he dives back in. He's got a butt cheek in each hand and his thumbs are holding Dean open so he can really get his tongue in there. It's so intimate and Dean really can't imagine letting anyone except for his baby brother do this, so maybe what they're doing isn't so wrong and dirty after all.

"Sammy, fuck. Sam." Dean pushes back, writhing and fucking thin air. His dick is throbbing, leaking a steady stream of precome onto the bed. His shoulders are on the mattress, his cheek pressed into the pillow that smells like bleach. "Gotta come, Sammy." He reaches for his dick.

"Wait," Sam instructs, muffled against Dean's asshole as he continues to lap and slurp and press against the edges of Dean's hole with his thumbs. It's hard to know what he's really doing back there but it feels like his thumbs are sneaking in, fighting with Sam's tongue over the right to drag and press against Dean's ass.

Dean's brain is rapidly turning to mush.

"Please," he begs. Sam's probably loving this. "Sammy please. Do it. Just do it."

Maybe he was waiting for permission, or maybe he just wanted to hear Dean beg, because Sam immediately slides his thumb right on into Dean's body.

Someone groans, long and loud, and Dean suspects it's both of them. It's remarkable how easily Dean literally rolled over for the 'butt stuff', but apparently all he really needed was a liberal application of his brothers tongue.

Sam's thumb slides out again, his tongue winning the fight as it stabs in to fill the space. The dirtybadwrong of it all is making Dean's dick hurt but he wants more.

He wants to be filled.

"Fuck me."

There. He said it. They haven't talked about it. No negotiation, no condoms or bareback discussion, no who's on top (Sam, apparently), nothing. Maybe they should have, but it didn't feel urgent, they were having plenty of fun without it.

But this feels urgent. "Fuck me." The words come out in a growl. Dean needs it. He doesn't care that he's not ready for Sam's giant dick (the kid is hung like a horse, it's ridiculous), he doesn't care that the lube is damn near gone and he's got no idea if either of them even have condoms, he just doesn't care.

"God, I want to," Sam says, and then pushes one long finger into Dean's ass. The only slick is Sam's spit, and it's not enough, and there's too much drag and he does it again, and again. "I wanna fuck you, Dean."

Words are impossible. All Dean can do is moan, deep and primal. Sam shoves another finger into Dean's ass and hits a place inside Dean's body that Dean knows exists but hadn't really given much thought to before this moment.

Dean fucks back onto Sam's hand. He finds that place again, and again, and Sam puts his free hand on Dean's back and rolls with it, the gentlest of guides as Dean rides his brothers hand like his life depends on it.

"I've got you," Sam says. "Come for me, Dee. I've got you."

It feels like dying. He might actually fucking die. The first spurt from his cock paints him all the way up to his neck, and he keeps grinding on that place inside because he can't stop, even when his balls are empty and he's got nothing left to give, he weakly fucks himself on Sam's fingers until its all too much and he slithers off them and collapses into his own mess.

Tears leak from behind his closed eyelids and he doesn't know why.

"Dean?" Sam covers him with his body. He's still rock hard, but Dean can't do anything about that right now. "You okay?"

Dean can't speak. He can barely breathe. When Sam rolls him over he reaches out and pulls him down and into a kiss. "I dunno," he says, and then, because he's covered in come anyway, "Come on me, Sammy."

Dean's only seen Sam move faster in the middle of a hunt, when it's life or death. He watches, too fucked out to move, just stares up into his baby brothers eyes as Sam strips his cock, hand almost blurring.

"We've got work to do," Dean whispers. "Gather supplies and shit, right?"

Sam stares, mouth open and gasping.

"Because next time," Dean says. "Next time, Sammy. I need you to fuck me."

"Dean, fuck."

Then Sam's coming, painting stripes up Dean's chest, falling forward, catching himself on one hand as he pulls the last drops from his dick.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, Dean."

It might be new, what they're doing, but Winchesters move fast. It still might not be pretty, but at least Dean's got a word for it now.

Hell, yeah. They're fucking. Dean's not exactly gonna shout it from the rooftops, but he's feeling pretty good about using it in his head, and, when necessary, out loud.

Sam seems to like hearing him say it, after all.

fin