Evening the Score
The girl was hot and tight and perfect, and even knowing in the corner of his mind that she wasn't real couldn't detract from the pleasure of losing himself in her willing body. Just then, a car engine turned over outside, and that was enough to tip the scale into wakefulness. Sam drifted into consciousness to find his hand shoved down his boxers and Dean snoring softly next to him. He stilled his hand guiltily.
He'd jerked off in the same room as Dean before, of course, but never in the same bed. Not since he'd been fifteen and so insanely horny that trying to make it to the bathroom for privacy would have meant coming all over the inside of his pajama bottoms. He definitely shouldn't be doing it now, but his hips arched into his palm without his conscious consent, and it felt so damned good and the bathroom was so far away, and, hey, he told himself, it's not like Dean would ever have to know about it. His hand on his dick suddenly felt a hundred times better now that he knew that he was actually going for it, and he settled into a purposeful rhythm that made his balls tingle.
At least until another hand slipped into his boxers, and Dean mumbled, "I gotcha, babe."
Sam froze, three thoughts tumbling through his mind in rapid succession: 1) Dean was still asleep; he recognized that tone of voice, barely hovering on the edge of consciousness; 2) Dean apparently was used to having guys with hard-ons in his bed; and 3) Dean was used to then dealing with said guys.
Dean's hand slid up Sam's cock and back down, and Sam's mind provided him with: 4) Dean's hand felt really, really good.
Dean made a sleepy noise and ran his other hand up Sam's side, and it was like he'd flipped a switch. Sam pulled away, turning his back to his brother. He was shaking and still hard, and he'd been way too close to taking advantage of his sleeping brother for sex and, Jesus, what was wrong with him?
And then Dean pressed up against his back, his right hand reaching unerringly for Sam's dick, his erection hot and hard against Sam's ass.
Sam gritted his teeth and shoved Dean's hand away, and when the hand returned like a heat-seeking missile, he elbowed his brother in the stomach.
"Dude, what the fuck?" Dean demanded, coughing as he sat up.
"A little personal space, okay?" Sam said tightly.
There was a long silence, and then Dean said, "Yeah, okay." Sam waited for Dean to flop down again and start snoring, and then maybe he could get some sleep as well, however unlikely that seemed at that point. Dean got out of bed, though, and Sam could feel his eyes staring down at him. "I'm sorry, Sammy."
Sam blinked into the darkness. The last time Dean had apologized to him had been...Jesus, never? Not voluntarily, at least, though he could dredge up a couple of memories of Dean sullenly saying sorry while Dad hovered in the background like a medieval executioner.
Dean went into the bathroom, and Sam could hear the water running in the sink, the splashing sounds of Dean rinsing his face. Then, silence.
"Dean?" he called finally.
"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean's voice drifted back.
Sam snorted and got out of bed himself. The bathroom was pitch black, and he shielded his eyes as he flipped the lightswitch. The last thing he'd expected was for Dean to be curled up in the bathtub, a fucking towel draped over him for a blanket.
"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.
"In the bathtub?"
"It's comfy," Dean said, his voice low and sarcastic. "Now turn the fucking lights off and let me sleep."
Sam shook his head. "Dean, this is crazy. Just tell me what the hell is going on."
"You want to know what's going on?" Dean asked, sitting up to glare at him.
"Well, yeah." The "duh" was silent but still loud enough for Dean to hear, Sam thought.
"Here it is, then," Dean said like it was a challenge. "I swore I would cut off my hand before I'd ever touch you. I fucked that one up without even knowing I was doing it, but I can sure as hell do whatever it takes so that it doesn't happen again. It's too late to get another hotel room tonight. I'll do that first thing tomorrow, okay?"
"Not okay," Sam snapped. "Dean, you can't sleep in a bathtub all night," and then he replayed Dean's diatribe in his head and said, "Wait, you thought about touching me?"
Dean stood up abruptly. "I'll go sleep in the car."
"You are such a moron," Sam said. He stepped forward and pressed his open palm over the crotch of Dean's boxers, feeling softness and heat beneath his splayed hand.
Dean's eyes widened and he stumbled back, nearly falling in the tub before Sam caught his elbow. "What the fuck?"
"Now we're even," Sam said, and Dean's face got that half-rueful, half-exasperated expression he wore whenever he thought Sam was being obtuse and said:
"Sammy, you can't just--"
And Sam leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth once, twice. Soft kisses, no tongue, just Dean's lips soft and surprised against his own.
He pulled back and cleared his throat. "And now we're not."
"Not what?" Dean said, staring at him as though he'd grown an extra head.
"Even," Sam clarified. He arched an eyebrow at Dean. "You want me to go sleep in the car now?"
Dean shook his head and said frustratedly, "No, you still aren't--"
"You want to punch me?"
Dean made a face at him. "Don't be an idiot."
"You want me to do it again?"
"You...do it again?"
"Okay," Sam said, as though it had been an invitation rather than a plea for understanding, and he kissed his brother. This time, he nudged Dean's mouth open with his lips and slid his tongue inside.
"Okay, you made your point," Dean said, pushing him away finally, and Sam shook his head.
"Not well enough, apparently." He leaned forward for another kiss. Dean gasped a little, and when Sam's tongue stroked his, Dean kissed back for one long, aching minute until he pulled away again.
"Sammy," he said, shaking his head. "What is this?"
"And you say I'm oblivious," Sam snorted. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"To bed," Sam said. He flipped the lightswitch and made his way back to the hotel bed by memory, Dean trailing after him like Mary's lamb.
"Sammy..." Dean began.
Sam sat down on the bed, pulled Dean closer with one hand on his hip.
Dean shoved his hand away. "Seriously, dude, what's gotten into you?"
"Nothing." Sam replaced his hand on Dean's hip and traced the waistband of his boxer briefs with a delicate finger.
Dean sucked in an unsteady breath. "You're not acting like yourself," he said, and placed his hand over Sam's, holding him still. "Tell me you're not possessed, 'cause I am not in the fucking mood for that right now."
"I'm not possessed," Sam said, rolling his eyes even though there was no way Dean could see him in the unlit hotel room.
"Then why the hell are--"
Sam yanked suddenly, and Dean must have been off-balance in more ways than one because he tumbled down onto the bed in an ungainly sprawl. "Don't you get it?" he demanded. "I want this. You. So if you all meant earlier was that you think about me occasionally, out of idle curiosity, then you'd better let me know right now."
"Sam," Dean said, "You know we can't--"
Sam leaned down and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Yeah," he said. "We really can."
Dean's stomach muscles jumped when Sam put his hands to the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged them down and off, but he didn't move otherwise. The dim light filtering around the heavy hotel curtains was more than enough for Sam to see Dean's erection curving gently towards his belly. Sam ducked down to kiss it, and Dean gasped. Sam licked his lips before kissing the wet tip of Dean's cock again.
"You don't have to--" Sam ran his tongue up the underside of Dean's cock, and Dean trailed off mid-sentence. "Um...you...at least come up here, dude, let me suck you, too."
"Some other time," Sam said. "I want to fuck you after I finish this," and Dean moaned breathlessly, his hips arching up towards Sam. When he got his mouth back on his brother's dick, Dean was impossibly harder, and Sam suppressed his smile.
Dean tasted good--better than either of his almost-boyfriends at Stanford; better than the fluid he licked off his own fingers sometimes when masturbating--and the helpless little thrusts he made anytime Sam hit a hotspot made the whole thing even sweeter. He almost lifted his head to tell Dean how freaking delicious he was, but in the first place Dean's ego really didn't need the additional boost, and in the second that would mean stopping.
Way before Sam was ready to wrap things up, Dean tensed beneath him. "Sammy," he said warningly.
Sam hummed in recognition, and shook off the hand that grabbed his shoulder with a sudden urgency.
"Sam," Dean tried again, voice cracking in the middle. "You're...I'm...fuck," and he pounded the mattress with his fists when he came.
Sam kept sucking softly, lapping up the remnants of Dean's come with gentle swipes of his tongue, until Dean shivered and pushed him away.
"You've got stuff, right?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean through the hair that had fallen in his eyes. His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat.
"Front right pocket of my duffel bag," Dean said, pointing. Then, "Lefthand pocket of my coat. Inner pocket of my left boot--"
"I've got it," Sam said dryly, already back with a strip of condoms and a tube of lubricant. "You're like a walking pharmacy, man."
"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being prepared."
Sam just shook his head fondly. "Turn over," he said, and Dean rolled onto his stomach easily.
"Man," Sam breathed, tracing the lines of his brother's body with his eyes.
"Nothing," Sam said. He clambered up onto the bed and knelt over Dean, before lowering himself onto him, shuddering at the feel of his brother beneath him, all heat and soft skin and hard muscle.
"God, Sammy," Dean said thickly, and Sam nodded, clutching Dean's biceps with hard hands. He'd lasted all the way through blowing his brother; he was not going to come until he was good and ready.
"I've got you," he said, and forced his hands to relax, rubbing them up Dean's arms and shoulders and down his strong back. He slid the condom on even before he opened up the lube; his hands were unsteady enough that he didn't trust himself to get the packet open once they'd gotten slippery, as well. And then he squeezed some lube onto his fingers and traced them down the cleft of Dean's ass.
Dean shuddered once and then lay still.
"Feel good?" Sam asked softly, pressing one fingertip into Dean's body.
"Good." Sam nudged his finger deeper, and his cock throbbed when he encountered no resistance, just Dean, hot and tight and smooth, taking Sam into his body like he belonged there.
"Holy fuck," Dean muttered into the pillow.
Sam laughed a little breathlessly. "You have no idea." His second finger slid in alongside the first, and he stroked them along the muscle walls, half in order to spread the lube around and half for the pleasure of feeling Dean shivering at his touch from the inside out.
"I'm gonna..." he said at last, his voice a bit wobbly, and Dean said:
"Yeah, do it."
Sam's knee cracked loudly as he knelt behind Dean, but he barely even noticed the uncomfortable popping sensation before his cock was sliding into Dean and everything narrowed to the hot, strong body under and around him.
Thank God Dean had already come, because there was no way Sam was going to last. He curled one hand around Dean's hip and braced the other one on the bed and just let go, Dean's intermittent groans a soft encouragement overlaying the soundtrack of flesh on flesh.
And then Dean shoved back onto Sam's dick and came again, shuddering through his orgasm, and Sam's own orgasm hit like lightning, hard and fast and unpredictable.
He tied off the condom and tossed it in the general direction of the wastebasket, suppressing an inward cheer when he heard it hit plastic. Tomorrow would be soon enough to check if he'd scored a direct hit or just struck the outside. Sam hauled the covers over himself and Dean, dropped a kiss on Dean's shoulder, and settled down to sleep.
Dean chuckled suddenly, and Sam raised his head to look at him. "What?"
"I don't think I've ever seen you angst so little about something that deserved it so much."
Sam punched him in the shoulder, though he was still too blissed out to put any real force into his blow. "Are you complaining?"
"No," Dean said, and the wealth of meaning and emotion in that one word made Sam's throat ache in a way that could only be soothed by kissing Dean again.