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Just Give Me a Reason

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Sam knew it would happen. Knew it was just a matter of time before life got in the way. Logically he knows that's all it is. Logically, deep down, he knows that Dean loves him, wants him, and will do everything in his power – and sometimes beyond his power – to keep Sam safe and sane. He knows all this. But when it's been weeks, more like two months, since they've even had a chance to kiss and Lucifer is there every second of every day, laughing at Sam and telling him that he was right all along, Dean doesn't want him, is stuck with him because Sam is just a big baby that can't take care of himself, it's easy to forget the things he knows, or knew, or should know.

Frank's dead now too and they're dealing with so much, freaking Leviathans every time they fucking turn around. Dean's on edge worse than Sam's seen in a really long damn time and Sam literally hasn't slept in a week. He needs his brother, his Dom, but he can't ask, can't add to everything that Dean is already dealing with.

Out of his mind with hallucinations and the screaming voices in his head, Sam leaves his brother passed out in their hotel room and even though he knows it's stupid and useless, he tries to out run his delusions.

He doesn't even feel the car hit him.

Dean comes to the hospital. Of course he does. It isn't his fault – not even remotely – but Sam can see the guilt in his brother's eyes, can see the way Dean can't look directly at him. He sits on the edge of the bed and grabs Sam's hand, green eyes dark and miserable. “I'll fix it, Sammy,” he rasps. “Whatever I have to do, I will. I promise, baby boy.”

Sam smiles sadly and turns his head away from Dean, unable to look at him – and not just because Lucifer is standing right behind Dean, his fist inside his brother's chest. He knows how Dean is going to react to what Sam has to say but he needs to say it, won't be able to if he's looking at Dean. “It's too late, Dean,” Sam mutters, surprising himself with the lack of... anything in his own tone, with how dead he already sounds.

“Bullshit,” Dean snaps, predictably. “As long as I'm here, as long as you're still breathing air, it's not too fucking late for anything.”

“I'm tired, Dean,” Sam sighs, closing his eyes. “I'm just so fuckin' tired.”

Strong, thick fingers grab his chin tight and Dean forcefully turns Sam's head. “Look at me,” Dean commands, that voice, and despite everything, Sam can't ignore it, can't ignore him. His eyes snap open and lock with stormy green. “You just gonna give up, Sam?” Dean growls.

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” Sam sighs, his inner sub cringing and quivering at the way he's talking to his Master.

“You're supposed to fight!” Dean half-yells. He shakes his head, his jaw clenching, fingers tightening painfully where he's still gripping Sam's chin. “You don't get to fuckin' give up,” Dean grinds out after a few long moments. “Goddamn it, Sam,” he huffs, closing those dangerously glinting eyes briefly. “You can't... You can't fuckin' quit on me.”

“I'm sorry, Dean,” Sam whispers, barely able to keep the tears stinging his eyes from falling. “I'm so sorry.” The last thing he wants is to give up, to lose his brother, to leave Dean, but he just can't keep fighting. He doesn't have it in him anymore.

Dean reopens his eyes, those emerald depths dark, intense, full of fire and fight. “I'm not givin' up on you,” Dean grits out, tone low and gruff, silk over gravel. “I said I'd fuckin' fix it and I damn-well mean it.” Dean glances over his shoulder once then turns back, leans down and brushes a soft, chaste kiss to Sam's lips. He barely bites back a whimper. “I'll be back soon. I promise, baby.”

And with that he's gone, leaving Sam alone with Lucifer and the screams and the fear.

Helping the girl send her brother on helps to distract him for a bit. If it wasn't for his shaking hands and the hallucinations, for a moment he could almost feel normal.

He's not as surprised as he thinks he should be when the demons come. They must fucking love this; Sam helpless and delusional, a step away from catatonic. He knows he should fight them harder but he can't bring himself to. He just wants it to fucking stop.

Castiel coming to his rescue is the last damn thing he expects. The look on Dean's face when the angel takes Sam's crazy is enough to break Sam's heart. Mostly because he can't remember the last time Dean looked that devastated over him. Long buried jealousy burns through Sam and he almost doesn't move when Dean grabs his wrist and tugs him toward the exit. He'd always wondered if Dean felt more for Cas than friendship and that lost look in Dean's eyes as they drive away speaks volumes. How could Sam have been so fucking stupid?

Sam sleeps for two full days before Dean drags him out of bed and literally throws him into the shower. They hit the ground running after that. Sam feels like he can barely catch his breath, barely keeps up with the way things are spinning so fast around him, so far out of control.

They don't touch, they don't kiss, they don't share a bed anymore. Dean barely looks at him. As much as Sam thought that Dean felt the same way, maybe he was wrong – and Lucifer was right – all along.

Then his brother disappears right in front of his eyes. Leaves him alone and afraid and with no idea where Dean went or how to even start to try to get him back.

------

Sam has always been a runner. It's what he does best.

He's not a coward, not in the least, but when it comes to feelings, to things he just can't handle, he runs. All the times when he was younger and ran away, when he took off for Stanford, all the times he bailed on Dean when they started hunting together, letting Ruby twist his brain around, even when he was soulless and just simply stayed away, all of it was due to the same thing, the same confusion and frustration and fear pushing him out the door. Every single time it was because of Dean and his feelings for his brother and their decidedly unhealthy, complicated relationship.

So when Dean and Cas disappear into thin air, it's no surprise that Sam just gets into the Impala and drives as far and as fast as he can from Sucrocorp.

Honestly, if he hadn't hit Riot Sam is pretty sure he wouldn't have stopped running even then.

But he does stop. He fixes the Impala and takes Riot in and somehow finds himself falling into a relationship with Amelia. She's just as screwed up and broken as he is and he wants to love her, to need her, the way he always has Dean but he can't. He cares for her, sure, but it's almost a relief when she gets the call letting her know that Don is still alive.

He finally feels like he can breathe when he gets to the cabin in Whitefish and Dean pulls him into a hug.

But the Dean that comes back from Purgatory is different. He's angry and combative in a way Sam has never seen and most of his anger is directed at Sam. He won't listen when Sam tries to explain why he didn't look for Dean, even if Sam really can't find the words anyway. Their relationship ended weeks before Dean disappeared, and Sam doesn't know how to explain to Dean how lost and alone he felt, how he needed not only his brother back but his Dom as well, doesn't know how to explain to Dean that it was never over for him. Can't tell Dean that for weeks afterward Sam was drunk the entire time, how he'd pull out his collar and run his fingers over it, how he longed to feel the soft, buttery leather against his skin but he couldn't put it on with Dean not there.

So Sam does what he does second best, he deflects. He tells Dean about Amelia and how he finally found something he'd never had. He insists that he loved her – still does – and how he's going to go back to a normal life when this is all over, even though he knows it's impossible. Part of him just says it to see what reaction he'll get from his brother. If he expected jealousy or possessiveness, he's sorely let down. Dean just clenches his jaw and makes his accusations and his stupid comments.

Meeting Benny, hearing how he was more of a brother to Dean than he ever was, how Benny was the only one to never let him down is the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. Sam had stupidly held out hope that Dean would eventually forgive him and they'd at least be able to be brothers again. Once again he's sorely mistaken.

He'd always worried it'd be Castiel that would eventually take Dean away. He never thought it'd end up being a fucking vampire.

Despite the arguing and the petty disagreements and the stupid bickering they still end up picking each other when it comes down to it. They're not completely back to normal – Sam doesn't know if they ever will be – but they're at least kind of close to being brothers again.

When they find the Bunker and have their own rooms for the first time ever, Sam is lulled into a false sense of security. He honestly believes that not being around Dean 24/7 will let him be able to keep his secret. He should know better after a lifetime with his brother.

They've been there a little over a week and Sam's in the library, going through random files just to have something to do when he hears his brother's footsteps coming up behind him. He pretends to ignore Dean – he really isn't in the mood – but Dean doesn't say anything, just stands behind him and drops something on the table next to Sam's hand.

Sam glances over out of the corner of his eye, heart slamming against his ribs, throat closing up painfully when he sees his collar lying there.

The third thing Sam does best is irrational anger.

He stands up and faces his brother, whole body trembling – with anger and fear – his hands clenching at his sides. “What the hell're you doin' going' through my stuff?!”

Dean tilts his chin up in that defiant way of his, eyes narrowed and full of fire. “What the fuck are you doing wearing my Goddamn collar with someone else?!” Dean shoots back.

It's so out of left field that Sam's mouth opens without direct consent from his brain, completely glossing over the fact that Dean was going through his stuff. “I never wore it with anyone else, Dean!” he yells. “I haven't worn it since the last time you put it on me!”

Dean inhales deeply, some of the tension bleeding from his frame. “Why did you keep it then? Would've thought you'd want to be rid of the reminder.” Sam frowns in confusion, blinking slowly. “I mean, you threw our relationship away easily enough.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” Sam snaps. “You're the one that threw us away.”

“No I didn't,” Dean scoffs.

“As soon as Cas healed me, we were fucking done, Dean,” Sam grinds out, the pain from more than a year ago still fresh.

“No, Sam,” Dean shakes his head.

“Yes, Dean,” Sam sighs, shoulders slumping. “I wasn't seeing Lucifer anymore so you just... stopped.” He licks his lips and drops his eyes, not wanting to say what he needs to say but too far in to back out now. “I still needed you,” he admits softly. “Still wanted you and you... You fucking left me.” He inhales deeply, hating the tears he can feel stinging his eyes. “You wanna still be pissed about me not looking for you, fine, you're right. But you left me first, Dean, long before Purgatory.”

“Sammy...”

“I was lost and alone and... and fucking terrified,” Sam continues. Now that the dam has broken it's like he can't stop, no matter how much he wants to. “So yeah, I ran, kept running until I hit Riot and couldn't run anymore. I don't... I'm no good on my own.” Just saying the words makes him feel so weak and pathetic.

Sam closes his eyes, doesn't want to see the disgust in Dean's eyes, doesn't want to see his brother walk away.

Needless to say he's surprised when he feels gentle hands against his throat, feels the soft leather of his collar slide around his neck, the slight bite against his Adam's apple when he swallows thickly. Soft, achingly familiar lips brush against the side of his mouth, his brother's hands curling around his hips. He reopens his eyes and looks up at Dean through his lashes.

“Do you still feel that way, Sam?” Dean asks softly.

“What way?” Sam whispers.

“Do you still want me? Need me? Still want this?” He slips two fingers beneath Sam's collar, tugging just enough that Sam feels a slight bite of pain, his breath hitching.

“Yes, Dean,” he answers obediently.

“That's my boy,” Dean purrs. Sam's entire body trembles. Dean slides one hand up into his hair, fingers curling into a loose fist, other hand flexing on Sam's hip. Sam melts into his brother's body, more than a year and a half of stress and pain, embarrassment and fear, all falling away. Sam's eyes close and he drops his head onto Dean's shoulder, his arms wrapping around Dean's waist. Dean hums softly and kisses his temple. “C'mon, baby boy,” Dean murmurs. Sam shivers at the nickname, feels his cock twitch. “Look at me.”

Sam pulls away enough to look up at Dean, arousal burning through his entire body at the heat in Dean's eyes. Without a word, Dean walks him backward, down the hallway, leading him into Dean's room. “Strip,” Dean breathes against his lips, pulling away when Sam tries to kiss him, a dirty smirk curling up his lips. “Now, Sam.”

Sam moans softly and forces himself to move back from the heat of his brother's body, holding his chin high, despite the nerves making him sweat and shake, as he follows Dean's order, stripping down to bare skin. Part of Sam feels like they never stopped, feels like things are exactly as they were before, but the bigger part of him is afraid that so much time has passed, that things are too different now, for them to be able to go back.

Dean drags his heated gaze down Sam's body from head to toe and Sam barely resists the urge to cover himself. He's lost some of the muscle mass that he had before from taking a year off. He's slowly bulking back up but he knows that he looks different than he did before and he's afraid Dean won't be attracted to him anymore, will find him lacking.

His brother's eyes darken even more, the front of his jeans tented obviously and Sam feels some of the nerves fall away, his body relaxing slightly. “Sit,” Dean commands, jerking his chin toward his bed. Sam does as he's told, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, remembers Dean's comment a few days before about the memory foam, a small smile curling up his lips as he watches Dean dig through the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling out a small, plain bag that Sam hasn't seen in over a year and a half.

Sam's eyes widen and he swallows thickly, cock twitching when he once again feels the weight of his collar. Tears sting the corners of his eyes and he hears himself whisper, “You kept it?”

Dean drops the bag on the bed next to Sam's hip then drops to his knees, pushing his way between Sam's legs, both hands coming up to frame his face, thumbs gently brushing beneath his eyes and it's only then that Sam realizes a few tears have broken free.

“'course I did, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. He can so vividly remember when he hated being called Sammy. Or well, when he claimed to hate it. Secretly he's always loved it, but only from Dean. Hearing it now, after everything, after not hearing it for so long, has more tears falling from his eyes, unable to stop the surge of emotion no matter how hard he tries.

Dean looks equal parts panicked and protective, the same look he always gets when Sam's emotions get the best of him. It makes him smile. Dean blinks, obviously confused, and Sam just shakes his head, reaches up and grabs his brother's hands, fingers lacing together against his cheeks.

“I'm glad you did,” Sam eventually says softly, tone thick with emotion.

Dean gently pulls him forward, lips sliding together, slow and sweet and so achingly perfect. He pulls back after a long few minutes, both of them already breathing a little heavier, his forehead resting against Sam's. “You want this tonight?” Dean asks softly, gently tugging on his collar.

Sam panics, hands scrambling to grab his brother, to keep him from moving away, to keep him from taking this back. “Please, Dean,” he begs, eyes wide and wet, pleading.

“Baby, no,” Dean breathes, flashing him a smile, his arms wrapping around Sam's waist. “I just meant...” he trails off, clears his throat, his shoulders squaring. Sam can see the moment big brother becomes Master. It makes him tremble. He's needed this for so long, hadn't even really realized until this moment. “I meant,” Dean continues. “D'you want a scene or do just want some good, old fashioned vanilla sex?” Dean's nose wrinkles and he adds, “Or we could just cuddle.” He sounds so horrified by the idea, even though they cuddled quite a lot when they were together before, that Sam can't help but laugh. Dean quirks an eyebrow, tone low and deep – Master – when he states, “Just know, if you chose a scene? That laugh is gonna get your ass beat.”

Sam's cock jerks hard, fresh pre-come leaking from the tip and a low, nearly strangled moan tears from his throat. “Please, Dean,” he whispers, hips twitching forward of their own accord, searching for friction.

Dean sinks both hands to Sam's hair, tugging hard, pulling another moan from Sam, and slams their lips together, instantly pushing to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding wet and perfect against Sam's. He pushes closer, their chests pressed together, Sam's cock pressing against Dean's firm abs. As soon as his hips rock forward again, Dean pulls back, breaking the kiss. His hands tighten in Sam's hair when Sam tries to follow, delicious pinpricks of pleasured pain making him whimper. “Dean.”

Dean stands up and takes a step back, eyes locked with Sam's as he strips off his t-shirt, tossing it blindly over his shoulder. Sam licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one at the sight of his brother's chest, slightly pale, freckled flesh over rippling muscle. He wants to touch, run his hands over every inch of warm skin, wants to lick and kiss and bite, leave marks that won't fade for weeks.

Dean undoes his belt and his jeans, letting the denim fall down his lean hips, absently palming the hard bulge of his cock over his tight black boxer briefs, heated gaze burning through Sam; he can feel that look down to his very soul.

He steps out of his jeans when they pool at his ankles, licking those sinful, plush lips, hand sliding beneath the waist of his underwear, fisting his stiff length. Sam whimpers and reaches out, pouting up at his brother when Dean takes another step back. “Stand up, Sam,” Dean commands, tone low and gravely, groaning as he twists his wrist, his thumb obviously sliding over the head of his cock, movement clear through the tight soft material. Sam obeys, swaying slightly as he gets to his feet, his own cock bobbing, smearing pre-come across his abs. “Turn around, bend over. Hands flat on the mattress.”

Sam once again obeys, body following his brother's command without thought, his inner sub preening at having his Dom back.

Dean steps up behind him one hand pressing against the small of his back. He gently kicks Sam's legs open wider, pushing him down more, his ass high in the air. He closes his eyes, mewling when Dean's hands slide up his sides then back down over his hips, touch soft and reverent. Sam's knees weaken and dip, his brother's strong hands the only thing keeping him from face-planting on the mattress.

The first smack against his ass takes him by surprise even though Dean warned him. A loud, harsh moan tears from his throat and he instantly pushes his hips back. He'd almost forgot how amazing this feels, hadn't let himself remember.

Dean keeps going, alternating sides and randomly varying the strength and speed of each slap. Sam's moaning continuously, hips tilted back, pushing into each strike of his brother's hand, his ass spanked raw and hot.

He loses track of time, of everything, his mind slipping into that comforting, amazing, shimmery-white space, all they've been through falling away, leaving him just Dean's again.

Warm, strong hands curl around his hips, soft, wet lips brush over one stinging ass cheek and Sam keens softly, overly aware of every small touch, every one of his brother's harsh, panting breaths.

“Fuck, baby,” Dean growls, teeth scraping over the back of his neck, his sweaty chest pressed against Sam's back. His hips rock against Sam's ass, cock sliding along the crease. “Perfect fuckin' ass all hot and red for me.” He kisses the back of Sam's shoulder, lips sliding up to his neck, biting down just below his collar. Sam cries out, fingers curling into fists in the blanket.

“Oh God,” Sam breathes, pushing back against Dean's cock, sweat and pre-come easing the slide, Dean's cock-head catching on his rim. “Dean, please?”

Dean tangles one hand in Sam's hair and pulls his head back, kissing him nearly brutally over Sam's shoulder. “Not yet, Sammy,” Dean murmurs against his lips. “Ain't even close to done with you, little brother.”

Sam groans when Dean drags his tongue down his spine, stopping to suck and bite a bruise on the small of his back. His hands settle on the cheeks of his ass, pulling the globes apart. Sam knows where this is going, has a few seconds to prepare himself, but he still cries out – nearly a scream really – in surprise, his eyes squeezing closed, cock twitching painfully, when Dean drags his tongue over his rim, pushing in as far as he can when the tightly furled muscle starts to loosen. It's been well over a year and a half since Sam has felt anything like this, hadn't even used his own fingers even though he missed the feeling of being full, that slight burn that he enjoys so much.

Dean teases around his hole, tongue flicking and circling then pushing in deep, moaning like it's the best thing he's ever tasted, the sound vibrating up Sam's spine, heated blood surging through his veins. “Oh fuck, Dean,” Sam moans, rocking back against his brother's wickedly talented tongue. When he slides a finger into Sam as well, tugging on his rim, pushing in deep and rubbing along his inner walls, unerringly finding his sweet spot after a few seconds, Sam's whole body jerks, a low, strangled moan tearing from his throat. He's so close already, control and stamina shot to hell under Dean's touch, just knowing that he can have this again almost enough in itself to make him come. “Dean,” he gasps, legs sliding open wider, hips tilting back. Dean presses a second finger into him, the slight burning stretch that he's been missing, that he's needed all this time, makes him tremble, groin tightening as heat pools in his stomach, base of his spine tingling. “Dean,” he repeats. “Too close... Gonna come.”

Dean pulls away completely, hands curling around his hips, gently rubbing up his sides. Sam whimpers, nearly sobbing, balls aching from being denied his release. “Easy, baby boy,” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder. Sam whines and pushes back, trying to get Dean's fingers and tongue back. “Settle down for me.” Sam inhales deeply, exhales shakily, groaning when Dean helps him turn over, his spanked-red ass against the blanket feeling like steel wool, sending shivers up his spine and he's not sure if he wants to grind down against the sensation or pull away.

Dean reaches over and grabs the bag, flashing Sam a wink before he opens it and starts digging through it. When they were together before, Dean was always in charge of their small collection of toys. Sam never looked in the bag, never even touched it. And he honestly hadn't known that Dean had kept it, had truly thought his brother would've gotten rid of everything. He watches as Dean pulls out several things, noticing the red scarves and the blindfold immediately. He bites down on his bottom lip, chewing nervously on the kiss-bruised, tender skin, not happy that it seems Dean plans to use the blindfold. It has always been the one thing that Sam doesn't really care for, that truly tests his boundaries.

He's so lost in his thoughts – thinks about safe-wording for the first time ever with Dean – that he misses the rest of what Dean pulls out, jerking in surprise and cringing at the tight pressure of the cock ring that Dean slips on him, eyes snapping back up to his brother's. Dean hadn't really used it that much before, trusting Sam enough to know that he wouldn't come without permission. It makes Sam feel a bit like a failure.

Dean dips down and nuzzles his balls, sucking first one then the other into his mouth, teases his tongue along the seam, then licks a thick, wet stripe up the underside of his cock, tracing over the thick vein, wiggles the tip of his tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the ridge then licks over the tip, digging into the slit, lapping at the pre-come leaking steadying, moaning softly. Sam's back arches, gasping and mewling when Dean slides his lips over the head, taking him deep right off the bat, swallowing when he hits the back of Dean's throat.

The damn cock ring may make him feel like a failure but he's damn glad he's wearing it. Dean's talented mouth is a sure-fire way to have him coming in minutes like a virgin on prom night.

Dean pulls away after a long few minutes and bites and sucks at Sam's hipbones, leaving behind blood-hot, aching bruises then licks his way up Sam's stomach to his chest, swirling his tongue around Sam's nipple, biting and sucking until it's pulled tight then moves to the other side, repeating the action on the other nipple. Sam arches his chest and neck, head pressing back into the pillow, clawing at Dean's shoulders as he moans and whimpers. Dean sucks bruises onto his collarbones then works his way up Sam's neck, biting the hinge of his jaw, nuzzles against his ear before biting the lobe, teeth scraping as he pulls away. Sam's whole body is trembling, every nerve lit up like he's touching a live-wire, cock twitching uselessly, head an angry-red and shiny-wet with pre-come. He can feel the bruises that Dean's left, the stinging marks from his teeth and Sam is so grateful that Dean remembers exactly what he likes, what he needs – his brother had always been happy to indulge in Sam's biting kink.

Dean settles over him, no part of their bodies touching, stormy-green eyes locked with his. “Arms up, Sammy,” Dean commands, tone low and deep, growly and gravely, making Sam tremble even more. He automatically lifts his arms, fingers brushing against the smooth headboard. His brow furrows and he glances up at the smooth wood before looking back to his brother. Dean smirks and reaches down, grabbing the scarves. He straddles Sam's waist, his cock tenting the front of his boxer briefs obscenely, and leans forward, wrapping one of the soft, silky scarves around his wrists, tying them together. His fingers slide down the underside of Sam's arms, smirk growing when Sam jerks at the light, ticklish sensation. “Can't tie you to the headboard,” Dean states. “So you're going to have to keep your arms up yourself, fight the urge to drop them.” Sam's eyes widen, his lips parting, and Dean shakes his head before Sam can say a word. “Drop your arms unless I tell you to and we're done. I'll finish myself off, come across your chest, maybe your face, and leave you trussed up and hard.” Sam moans, hands curling into fists against Dean's pillow. “Understand, baby boy?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam breathes.

“That's my good boy,” Dean praises, tone soft and loving, making warmth pool in Sam's stomach. “Remember, no matter what position I put you in, unless I tell you otherwise, those arms stay up.”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam repeats.

Dean smiles and leans down, brushing a kiss to his lips, pulling back before Sam can try to deepen it. He reaches back and grabs the blindfold, eyebrow raised. Sam swallows thickly – his collar pressing against his Adam's apple – and lifts his head, closing his eyes. Dean slips the thick, black material on, kissing Sam again when he drops his head back onto the pillow. He keeps his eyes closed even though he knows from experience it doesn't make a difference, can't see through the damn thing anyway. He whines when Dean's weight disappears, jerking in surprise when Dean grabs one ankle and spreads his legs wider, other hand resting on his chest, over his heart.

“Remember, baby,” Dean murmurs. “I won't leave you alone. I'll be right here even if I'm not touchin' you, okay?”

Sam nods, biting down on his bottom lip, forcing himself to relax, once again putting all his trust into his brother. Dean presses down on his chest a little harder and brushes a kiss to the side of his lips. His hand slides down Sam's stomach then over his hip, pressing against the inside of Sam's thigh. Sam opens his legs automatically, knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. He feels cool, smooth plastic teasing around his rim, gasping when Dean pushes forward, sinking the toy into him. There's a bit of a stretch, a slight burn, a hint at the fullness he's craving; the toy – the butt plug he realizes when he feels the base settle against his rim – isn't as thick as Dean.

Dean presses against the base, angling the plug up against his prostate and Sam moans, hips jerking up, thrusting into thin air. His brother chuckles softly, fondly, and rubs his hip, over his stomach, the touch soothing and gentle and in direct contrast to the way he's slowly – so fucking slowly – pulling the plug out then thrusting it back in. Sam's head is spinning, heated blood racing through his veins, his entire body shivering. It's almost too much, Dean pushing his limits more than Sam thought he would the first time doing this again. But he clenches his jaw, hands curling into fists, knows that he can take more, has taken more.

Then Dean takes his cock into the wet heat of his mouth unceremoniously, taking him deep, cock-head brushing his throat. Dean swallows around him, slides down just a little more, deep-throating Sam like a champ – Dean's the only one who was ever able to even come close to taking all of him – pushing the plug in just the slightest bit deeper and Sam's balls draw up, groin tightening, right on the edge of orgasm but being denied, the cock ring successfully keeping him from coming.

Sam cries out, fists clenching, blunt nails digging into his palms almost hard enough to draw blood, back arching almost painfully off the bed, his thighs tightening around Dean's broad shoulders. “Dean,” he nearly sobs, head thrashing back and forth, sweat pouring off of him. “Fuck... I can't... Please,” Sam begs breathlessly. “Need you, Dean,” he adds, barely above a whisper.

Dean bobs his head a few more times, taking him deep, tongue digging into the slit when he pulls back. Sam pulls uselessly at the scarf tying his wrists together, flexing his shoulders, his biceps, to keep from dropping his arms and reaching for his brother – he's pretty sure he'll die if Dean stops, leaves him like this. He chokes on a wet, strangled moan when Dean finally pulls off his cock, cheeks hollowed out all the way up, gently scraping his teeth up the underside.

He leans over Sam, chests brushing together, both hands sinking into his sweat-damp hair, fingers tangling in the messy strands, holding Sam's head still while he slams their lips together, the kiss wet and messy, almost brutal. Sam can taste his own pre-come on his brother's tongue and it makes him moan again, sucking Dean's tongue into his mouth, chasing his own flavor. Dean pulls away after a few long moments, panting breathes tickling his spit-slick lips. “Fuck, Sam,” Dean growls, drops his hips, grinding their cocks together – Sam belatedly realizing Dean must have taken his boxer briefs off after he blindfolded Sam – spit, sweat and pre-come easing the slide. Sam jerks his hips up, thighs tightening around Dean's hips, chasing the sweet bursts of friction.

Dean pulls away again and Sam whines, almost drops his arms to reach out, remembering at the last second not to. His brow furrows when he feels Dean's knee against his side, gasping hoarsely when he feels Dean straddling his chest. He can smell the unique scent of his brother – coffee and leather and gun powder – can smell sweat and his arousal and it makes Sam's mouth water, makes him want to lick every inch of his brother's body.

One hand fists in his hair, lifting his head off the pillow – the tiny pinpricks of pain making Sam mewl – then the sticky-wet, hot tip of Dean's cock is rubbing over his lips, smearing pre-come over the sensitive flesh. “Open,” Dean commands. Sam's lips pop open immediately. “Mm, such a good boy,” Dean nearly purrs, feeding just the head of his cock into Sam's mouth, the praise making Sam shiver. Dean's other hand ends up in his hair as well, holding him still, as he sinks in a little more, angled to rub his cock over the flat of Sam's tongue. He can feel the thick vein on the underside, swirls his tongue around the ridge of his cock-head when he pulls back, moaning thickly when he pushes in again, a little deeper, stretching Sam's mouth wide around his thick girth.

Dean shifts his weight slightly, knees digging into the mattress on either side of Sam's chest, hips tilting down, slowly thrusting forward. Sam moans deep in his throat, relaxing his jaw, hollowing his cheeks when Dean pulls back, hoping to silently encourage his brother for more. Dean must get the message, leaning forward more, fucking deeper, cock hitting the back of his throat, further, sliding just barely down his throat and Sam's cock twitches like he's the one being sucked. He gags and chokes, lightheaded from the limited breaths he manages in between each increasingly hard and fast roll of his brother's hips. He knows that his face has to be a mess – spit, sweat, tears, pre-come smeared around his mouth and cheeks, sliding down his chin and neck, skin flushed red – but he pushes the thought aside, focuses on nothing more than letting his brother fuck his face.

“Jesus fuck,” Dean breathes, pushing in deeper, pushing just barely past the limit that Sam can take – his airway effectively blocked off, his head swimming, spots dancing in front of his closed eyes – and holds, cock twitching against Sam's tongue, in the back of his throat. “Look so fuckin' good chokin' on my cock, baby.” Sam can't hear much aside from the rushing of his own blood in his ears, his brother's words fuzzy and distant but they still make Sam moan weakly, once again choking around Dean's thick, long cock.

Dean pulls back slowly, carefully, pulling all the way out. Sam lifts his head even more – Dean's fingers tightening in his hair, pulling harder, just barely on the right side of painful – chasing after his brother's cock. Dean scoots back, straddling his waist, and leans down, kissing Sam, licking the mess away from Sam's swollen, tingly-numb lips, then chasing Sam's tongue back into his mouth. Sam can still taste his own pre-come, their tastes mingling together in the kiss.

Dean pulls away too soon in Sam's opinion, chuckling softly when Sam whines. Gentle fingers slide over his cheeks, wiping away sweat and tears, tips sliding down over his lips then down his neck, tucking beneath his collar, pulling slightly on the soft, black leather. Sam moans, presses his head back into the pillow, arching his neck. Dean dips down and bites at his thundering pulse – hard – and Sam cries out hoarsely. “Dean,” he rasps, throat raw from Dean's cock. His brother hums softly, mouthing down the curve of Sam's shoulder, rocking his hips down against Sam's, their cocks rubbing together, the plug shifting inside him, pressing right against his sweet spot, still spanked-warm ass rubbing against the blanket, reigniting the sting.

Sam can't take it anymore. He loves this, loves the sweet torture, the pleasured pain, loves letting go and letting Dean take care of him, push him to his limits and beyond, but it's been so long since he's had this, needs it more than he needs his next breath, and it feels like Dean's been teasing him for hours.

“Dean,” Sam repeats. He can hear the desperation in his own voice, knows that Dean has to as well.

“It's okay, baby boy,” Dean murmurs against his lips, kissing him soft and sweet, making Sam's heart skip a beat. “I got'cha. Gonna take care'a you, know I will, Sammy.”

Dean moves, settling between Sam's legs, thick fingers brushing his sensitive rim as he carefully pulls the plug free. Sam hears the snick of the lube bottle, shivers and mewls when he feels Dean press two lube-sticky fingers into him, spreading the slick inside him, around his rim. Then he's pulling his fingers away, the thick head of his cock pressing against his hole, sinking into him, pushing past the slight bit of resistance. Sam moans through the entire long slide, the burning stretch, being split open, his breath hitching. Dean doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt, as deep as he can go, their chests pressed together, Dean's hands back in his hair, his brother's lips sliding against his, the kiss deep and passionate. This. This is what he loves, what he needs, what he's missed so fucking much.

Dean pulls the blindfold off, smiling when Sam blinks owlishly, squinting in the low light. It takes a few moments for his eyes to focus but then his gaze locks on to his brother, so beautiful with his arousal flushed, freckled cheeks, his kiss-bruised, spit-slick lips and his lust-dark, stormy-green eyes so full of love and need and everything they are to each other, that they've always been despite the stupid shit they put each other through and let momentarily come between them.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, swallowing thickly.

Dean brushes another kiss to his lips, smiling soft and fond and loving, and slowly starts to move, drawing almost all the way out – just the tip of his cock holding Sam open – then thrusts back in, angled to hit Sam's sweet spot on every other downstroke. Neither look away, both unusually quiet, tangled together as close as possible, moving in perfect sync.

Dean pulls one hand out of Sam's hair, reaching up to blindly untie his wrists, leaving the scarf lying on the pillow. Sam arches his back and Dean slips his arm beneath Sam's back, grabs his shoulder, other hand flexing a little in his hair. “You can drop your arms,” Dean murmurs.

Sam slowly lowers his arms and wraps them around his brother, fingers digging into the exquisite, flexing muscles of his brother's back. They lean in at the same time, meeting in the middle for another kiss, still slow and deep, Dean's hips rolling to the same rhythm as his tongue. Sam gets lost in the sensations flooding his body, still on the sharp knife edge of orgasm but the urgency has waned and suddenly he wants this to never end, even though he knows that's impossible.

He pulls away from the kiss with a gasp, so focused on everything else that he hadn't realized Dean had reached between them and pulled off the cock ring. Dean rests their sweaty foreheads together, noses brushing. “Feels so good, Sammy,” he whispers. Sam moans softly in agreement, tightening his legs around his brother's lean hips. “You close, baby boy?”

“So close,” Sam whispers back.

Dean pulls his head back, gazing locking again, and picks up the pace slightly, thrusting a little harder and faster but still unlike anything from before. “C'mon and come for me then,” Dean urges.

“Don't want this to end,” Sam admits softly, barely a breath of sound.

“We got all night, baby,” Dean murmurs with a smile. “And tomorrow, the day after... Forever.”

Sam's orgasm hits him hard and sudden, Dean's soft tone, the words, the promise behind them, combined with the pure pleasure coursing through his body pushing him over the edge with no warning. He cries out, clinging to his brother, hips jerking erratically as he comes untouched. Dean works him through his release and the shivery aftershocks, holding Sam close to his chest, kissing his lips, his cheeks, down his jaw and neck, murmuring praise and mostly soothing nonsense, the low rumble of his voice making Sam mewl and tremble.

When Sam finally melts back against the mattress, cock giving one last feeble twitch that makes him shiver, Dean tightens his arms around Sam and rolls them over, somehow managing to stay buried deep inside Sam, leaving Sam's legs spread wide around Dean's hips, straddling him. Dean sits up, wraps one arm around Sam's waist, the other stretched behind him to hold his weight. Sam gasps and sinks down just the slightest bit more, Dean's cock so deep, pressing right against his over-stimulated prostate. “Ride me, baby,” Dean rasps, staring up at Sam with dark, needy eyes.

Sam wraps his lead-heavy arms around Dean's shoulders and leans against his brother's chest, rolling his hips, grinding down, clenching around Dean's cock, wanting to push his brother over the edge, wanting to feel Dean's warm release filling him up.

Dean's hand slides down over the curve of his ass, short, blunt nails clawing at his still stinging ass, making Sam's cock jerk weakly against Dean's stomach. There's no way in hell Sam can get hard again this soon and after coming so hard but it still feels good. He tightens his arms around Dean and picks up the pace slightly, dropping his head, mouthing at Dean's pulse, scraping his teeth over the sweat-salty flesh. Dean groans, arm squeezing around his waist, hips flexing up as best as he can, cock jerking and pulsing inside Sam as he comes.

They collapse on the mattress in a heap of sweaty, tangled limbs. There's drying come on Sam's stomach and leaking down the inside of his thighs and he really should take a shower but he highly doubts that his legs would hold him long enough to even stand up, let alone walk to the shower room. His brother pulls him tight against his side, one hand sliding up into Sam's hair, lips brushing over his temple, his cheekbone, and Sam can feel him smiling. He smiles tiredly in response and snuggles closer, already well on his way to sleep.

“Rest up, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, nuzzling the side of his face, through his hair. “Meant what I said, we got all night and I'm not done with you yet.”

Sam nuzzles beneath Dean's jaw, smile widening, his cock already trying to twitch back to life, obviously ready for round two even if the rest of his body isn't quite there yet.