031. Swear

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"Ow!" Dean cringes visibly when the edge of Sam's newly sharpened pocket-knife slices diagonally across a vein. "Fuck, Sammy…"

"Knock it off, you're fine."

He glowers up at him, lips thinning as Sam patiently holds the ceremonial bowl underneath Dean's forearm, catching what he requires. The living blood from Archangel Michael's vessel.

"This spell better goddamn work…"

"It will," Sam reassures him. "We get rid of the all-powerful monster, save everybody in town, and then you can go back to scoping out Tinder."

Dean scoffs, wrinkling his nose. "I don't need a Tinder, man," he protests, flashing one of Dean's usual shit-eating grins. "I got me a oversized lumberjack with puppy dog eyes and 8-pack and a real 6-pack in the freezer. I'm all set for tonight."

Heat races up Sam's neck and his face. God, why does Dean have to be like this at the worst time?

Not that the idea of fucking his brother until he's reached that aching fullness, sloppily pulling back to the tip when Sam's ready and coming all over Dean's raw-red, stretched rim, isn't appealing.

It's too good.

"Shit," he curses, placing down the bowl and crowding Dean on the sofa, accepting the eager, filthy-hot kiss and thrusting down on Dean's hips.

They'll kill the fucking monster, and do fucking.

Maybe not in that order.

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Supernatural isn't mine. MANNNNNNN,,, HOW COULD I NOT ADD WINCEST IN THIS? I HAD TO. MY PROBLEMATIC DORKS. PROBLEMATIC SOULMATES. Okay I'll stop. I've loved them since like 2012 I think (both Wincest and Destiel and Sastiel and Wincestiel I don't have a problem) and anyway thanks for reading! Thoughts/comments welcome!