Dean doesn’t budge as she wiggles out from between them, breath still deep and even, his head buried in the scratchy motel pillow. Sam shows her to the door, ever the gentleman, can’t remember her name but he gives her a smile as she waves from her car before pulling out. Sam didn’t start the conversation back in the bar; Dean did. She said she had a thing for brothers and pulled Sam along for the ride.

Sam closes the door and throws the bolt for good measure. He rests his head against the door, just for a moment, wondering if he’ll ever be able to forget this night, throw it out with everything else he can’t afford to think about: the steady thrust of Dean’s hips against his, Dean pressing her into him, Dean’s warm hand bruising his thigh. He should have said no, back there in the bar where it all started, small hand with shiny red nails gripping his and the hard bite of tequila on his tongue. Should have said no, but it’s too close to what he’s always wanted. He’s tired and he’s trying, he’ll never stop trying, but he still doesn’t know how much time Dean has left: seven months or a lifetime.

“She gone?” It’s still muffled into the pillow and Sam thinks he should have known better, Dean doesn’t sleep when other people are in the room, never lets down his guard.

He turns around, back against the door and he’s still naked but Dean hasn’t lifted his head from the pillow and who is Sam to be modest now? “Yeah,” he says, and shuffles over to the other bed. He’s about to collapse on it when Dean’s leg reaches out, catches him around the knees. He tumbles back onto Dean’s bed and Dean stretches out over him, holding him down.

“You know you make this sound,” Dean’s saying, lips pressed against the soft skin under Sam’s ear, his voice a deep rumble Sam can feel against his whole body. “She licked you right.... here....” Moist tongue right at that spot and Sam’s mouth opens on a soft noise.

“What are you...” he starts.

“I didn’t know,” Dean whispers, soft voice cutting Sam off, Dean’s breath raising goose bumps on his skin. Dean slips his fingers along Sam’s waist. “If I press my thumb right here,” he says, hitting the bundle of nerves in question, “something else.”

Sure enough, and Sam clenches his fingers in the warm, mussed sheets. He doesn’t know this game; he doesn’t know the rules. He wants to close his eyes, store up this sensation forever but he doesn’t want to lose the sight of Dean splayed over him, limbs spread like a starfish and just as firmly fixed.

“What if I...” Dean says. He moves over Sam, mouth brushing along Sam’s shoulders. His teeth nip the sharp edge of Sam’s collar bone and Sam bites back a harsh groan. “Don’t hold it in, Sammy,” Dean says, mouthing the red skin, the pointy little indents where his teeth had been. He bites again, harder, and Sam lets the groan out, harsh sound over the soft rustle of bed sheets and Dean.

“Dean,” he says, just as Dean’s mouth, his damn teeth find the hard nub of Sam’s nipple; a sharp bite and Sam doesn’t remember the question, doesn’t remember why he’d opened his mouth, and he gasps, breath catching as Dean’s tongue soothes the ache.

“So many sounds,” Dean says.

Dean’s mouth finds the bruises his fingers left earlier and he licks along each one, like he would erase them if he could, and his cheek brushes Sam’s cock and he jumps, another short gasp. “Hey,” he says, and he catches Dean’s head in his hands and he can’t resist swiping his thumb along Dean’s lower lip, full and wet and warm from pressing against Sam’s skin. “What is this?” he says.

He didn’t catch Dean’s hands and they dig into Sam’s skin, making new bruises in his ass and thighs. “Don’t stop me, I can’t...” Dean says, and he rests his head against Sam’s hands, drops his cheek into Sam’s palm. “I wanted to for so long.”

Sam’s fingers tighten on Dean’s face, his thumb slips past Dean’s lips and catches on teeth and Dean’s tongue licks out, sucking on it. “Me too,” Sam says, like it’s all that easy.

Except it is now, and Dean opens his mouth over Sam’s cock and swallows it down and his thumb brushes along the side because he never pulled it away and it’s pretty much the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, ever.

He doesn’t know where the lube came from but Dean’s fingers are slick and smooth when they brush against his ass and he jerks his hips into them, back up into Dean’s mouth. He can’t figure out which he wants more.

Dean pulls back, “easy, Sammy,” he says, and he presses his tongue against the head of Sam’s cock. “You can have both.”

Dean’s fingers circle his ass again and he shouts, just a little, just enough to enough to annoy the neighbors as Dean slips a finger inside. It’s uncomfortable, full at first, but Dean crooks his finger and brushes against the right spots and it’s so fucking perfect. He slips another finger in, scissoring them, stretching Sam wide open and his mouth never stops working Sam’s cock.

Dean’s mouth leaves his cock and Sam opens his eyes, didn’t realize they were closed till then. Dean looks up at him. Their eyes meet over Sam’s full red cock and it’s the weirdest experience of his life and it’s also the best one. “Can I?” Dean asks, his fingers still working in Sam’s ass.

Sam’s hands clench on Dean’s shoulders, “God. Yes,” he says, pulling Dean up. He doesn’t know what for until Dean keeps coming, until his wet slick mouth presses against Sam’s; their first kiss and it’s Molly Ringwald and pink dresses and perfection. Dean licks into his mouth and Sam can taste himself on Dean’s tongue, himself and the darker, richer flavor that’s just Dean.

The fingers pull out of Sam’s ass and he whimpers. Dean doesn’t stop kissing him and the whimper gets lost in Dean’s mouth, in the soft, eager sounds Dean’s making. Short, frantic fumbling and then Dean’s there, his cock right up against Sam’s ass and it’s a hell of a lot bigger than Dean’s fingers.

“Relax,” Dean says into his mouth, against his lips. “Just relax.”

Easy to say, harder to do but he opens his eyes and Dean’s there, right there, and he knows Dean would never hurt him, never, and then it’s easier and Dean’s slipping into him, inch by inch and they’re still looking at each other, completely unclothed, but it isn’t until then that Sam actually feels naked. His hands run along Dean’s sides, his shoulders, brush along his cheeks and he doesn’t know where to put them, where to let them rest. Dean catches Sam’s hands in his, laces their fingers together over Sam’s head. He’s finally all the way in, balls against Sam’s ass and Sam’s back arches and Dean slips his tongue back into Sam’s mouth and it’s all perfection. His cock is caught between their bellies, pressing up against Dean’s soft skin. Dean hits that spot every time. Every single time he pulls out to thrust back in and it doesn’t take long, it’s been building up his whole life and his whole life he’s been waiting for this, for just this, even if he never knew it before.

He’s close, he’s closer and Dean pulls back a bit, eyes meeting his as Dean says, “Together, Sammy, together,” and his hips thrust faster and faster, more than Sam can take and he’s still looking up at Dean as he comes, aching cry forced from somewhere deep inside and he feels Dean inside him, spilling and coming before he collapses onto Sam’s chest, face against Sam’s neck, back where it all started. “That’s it, that’s the noise I wanted,” Dean says, sleepy and languid and boneless, weighing Sam down into the sheets but he doesn’t mind, he can carry this weight.

Sam hears a car horn outside, loud and jarring and he slips his arms around Dean, tries to hold onto this moment and wonders if it’ll have to last him forever. Mine, he thinks, hands tight enough to bruise Dean’s skin. And maybe if he holds on tight enough, no one will ever take him. And maybe if he holds tight enough, what comes will drag them both down in the fire. Mine