citrusjava

Title: Who Knows What We Might Become
Relationship: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Words: 795
Warnings: very mild mentions of gore, the sex is never official
Notes: Thank you KnottedString for the beta, and for being such a wonderful person too.
Inspired by this lovely prompt - thank you, prompter!
(as always, I'd be glad to dedicate the fic to you if you wanted)
And thank you mods!
Notes 2: I intentionally left the time this takes place unclear, but I enjoy imagining it is current day Sam and Dean <3



Summary:
It's not weird, it's just this thing they do


Sam moves his hand up Dean’s cock, and Dean holds back a groan. He is almost dripping excitement, eagerness, terror. His body is confused. That is why it works. It is just stimulations. Dean is a healthy young man and Sammy’s stupid hair is soft like a girl’s.

Dean stopped believing those some time back, but he still repeats them every time. Still goes back and forth cause it can’t be, cause he can’t like – it. Can’t like it like that.

“Eyeballs scum,” Sam says, and Dean lets out a breath as he reigns his cock back to mostly soft .

Dean doesn’t really care about the eyeballs.

But whoever’s hard is an eye scum perv.

Victorious, Dean holds tighter onto Sam’s wet cock. “Maggot burger,” he offers offhand. Sam’s lips are parted, eyes stuck to Dean’s neck. He's not listening. Dean allows himself just another pull, two, the way he knows Sam likes it. Shit. Doing this thing means Dean knows how Sammy likes his dick touched. The realization sends a sick shiver whirling through Dean’s stomach, making his cheeks flush high and thrilling down between his legs.

Sam swallows, eyes closed, hand still wrapped around Dean’s twitching cock. Sam’s voice is a little weird when he says - “you sick fuck.” Dean’s mouth goes dry, hand frozen on Sam’s cock. The tension sends tingles to Dean’s dick, and he can’t even tell if they’re making him harder or softer

“Dean humps maggot burgers in bed.”

The thrill of relief is almost as good as Sam’s hand, that moment. “Yeah, Sammy.” Dean concedes easily. Would have agreed to anything Sam said about him right that moment. “I do." He smiles, wide and loose, almost can’t control it.
Sam smiles back, looking dazed. Dean wants every bit of that dopy grin, wants to rub himself against it, burrow in. live in it. He moves his hand lower, presses that sweet spot behind Sam’s balls. Breathes “Ghost mucus,” in Sam’s ear. Sam’s breath hitches, and Dean’s entire body tunes to it, nerves alight. He clamps down on the feeling, Sam’s cock completely hard in Dean’s hand. It’s socking, makes him want to pull his hand away on instinct, avoid a burn, but he doesn’t seem to have that sort of drive for self-preservation. His brother’s dick in Dean’s hand, it’s disgusting. It is, it must be. Dean clamps down on these thoughts, along with Sam’s cock. It’s against the rules to help each other out, get each other soft, but Dean is older and his rules are higher. Can’t lose Sammy. Can’t let them crash.

Sam’s eyes widen at the pressure on his cock, almost pained. His hard on fades, thank fuck, but his eyes blaze dark, like he finds satisfaction in it. Like he finds satisfaction in denying himself pleasure. Man, they are fucked up, Dean thinks, almost impressed, but without real drive. His mind is already wandering to more interesting things. It is Sam’s turn.

“Rotting zombie corpses,” he breathes, thumbing the head of Dean’s cock. It jumps.

“Cheat,” Dean says. “You know how I feel about zombies.”

Sam ignores him. Moves lower, face tender, holds Dean’s balls as if they were something precious – and Dean wants to squirm away or jerk off hard and dry or maybe tear up. Sam says Dean’s name and his voice is too soft, other hand on Dean’s dick, measured and persistent just like Sam when he’s making his point. The way Sam likes it, Dean realizes, and how did they come to have the same taste in dick fondling. Dean lets out a torn sound, shivers of nausea and warmth thundering through his body, too- too- “Sam,” he warns, but his voice doesn’t sound like his own.

Sam looks up, defiant, eyes hot and sweet, like he’s found the final, crucial clue to nail a vengeful ghost, like it’s the one Dean said wont pan out. This has to stop, gotta put an end to it now. Never play this thing again.

Sam meets Dean’s gaze. Stumbles. His hand tenses, then slows, and he lowers his eyes, swallows, hand just resting on Dean’s cock. His eyes are shining with something. Not anything good.

“Sammy,” Dean raises a damp palm to Sam’s face, hesitates, fingertips barely brushing it.

Sam chews his lip for a second, harsh. Pushes something down. Dean’s bad. Dean’s fault.
Gives Dean a soft half smile, a little sad but still glowing, because he’s Sam.

Dean cups Sam’s cheek, wants to touch his bruised lip, wants to touch, ruin everything.

“Dad having sex in your car,” Sam says, hand squeezing Dean’s cock, sparkles reaching his eyes again.

“What the fuck?!” Dean beats Sam’s hands away and they are both laughing.

They are both ok.


~