Dean Winchester pressed his foot even harder into the gas pedal of his beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala to accelerate long the long stretch of open road as it wove through the countryside of Nowhere, Kansas. The windows were rolled down so the chilled early evening wind whipped his face and through dark blond hair, and the stereo was cranked, screaming AC/DC's "Back in Black" into the tranquility of the plains around him. Dean sang shamelessly along with the chorus, his voice cracking as the lead singer hit notes higher than Dean deep voice ever could, but he didn't care. He'd just gotten his license back after a short stint in prison, and his precious car was out of impound and back in his possession. He was celebrating the freedom he'd grown to require, and at this point, he'd have given the devil himself a ride if it meant continuing to drive like a maniac and go completely insane. No shoulder angels telling him to be good tonight—he'd probably shoot the bastard with a silver bullet if it tried.
As he reached his destination, Dean turned the radio down to a whisper, as it had turned quickly into a dark night and he had no intention of blowing his cover. He pulled up in front of a house and only pressed the brake pedal to stop instead of parking, and he reached across the cab of the car to open the passenger-side door. He had only to wait a few moments before he spotted movement in a side window, through which a tall male was awkwardly climbing. Dean grinned as he watched the silent struggle, but soon the figure had removed itself entirely from the window frame and was sprinting quietly across the lawn, a duffle bag slung over its shoulder. Door prepped for entry, the figure was in the seat and slamming the door an instant after it had reached the car. Eyes found Dean's through long, messy bangs, and Sam Winchester said, "Drive."
Dean smiled wickedly and jammed the gas pedal once more, not enough to make a sound, but they reached Nowhere City Limits in seconds, and soon Dean wasn't the only one singing with the loud rock music on the stereo.
"So no one knows you're gone, right?" Dean asked once the music had stopped and the silence of the night had begun to swallow them. The excitement of their feat still coursed in both their veins, like a train about to derail.
"Nah," Sam answered, staring out the window at the nothingness. "I've been acting normally, so Dad doesn't suspect a damn thing." He looked at Dean, catching his green eyes with his own. "He won't realize I'm missing until we're long gone."
"Good thing, too," Dean growled, "coz he'd be pissed if he could see the parts of you I'll be kissing."
Sam socked him in the arm. "You're a fucking animal."
Without missing a beat, Dean straightened his body, leaned his head out the window, and howled, "Awooo!" into the dark fields of crops they were passing. Sam laughed and copied him, their animalistic noises sure to be waking the livestock they passed, but they didn't care. Let the bastards wake, let them snort their complaints and bother the farmers. They were together again, and nothing could stop them this time.
They returned to their seats at the same time, both laughing and panting, faces stinging and hair wild from the cold wind. They looked at each other, matching eyes locked on each others, and they simultaneously leaned across the cab toward each other for a long, hot kiss. Their lips opened to take in everything of the other, tongues navigating in and around their mouths in a well-practiced and unforgettable dance. The kiss broke, but only because Sam's hand had slid across the leather seat and over Dean's muscular thigh.
Both Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel and he breathed in deeply as his brother's hand worked deftly to unbutton his jeans and slide the zipper all the way down, releasing his warm, hard cock to the cool night air. Dean inhaled sharply through his teeth as Sammy's long but still so masculine fingers quickly encircled him and started stroking, erratically at first but soon in a deep and steady rhythm. Dean punched at the accelerator and they drove even faster through the fields as Sam set his other hand to work on his balls, kneading them tightly and making him harder than he'd been in ages.
Sam brought his face right up close to Dean's ear and whispered, "Let's both be animals tonight," his damp breath hot in Dean's ear.
The car swerved and almost went flying into a ditch after this. Unwilling to hurt either of them (or his beloved Impala) in a car crash, Dean pulled off the road at the nearest exit and parked by some train tracks. It was remote enough—no one would think to look in on some car in the middle of nowhere anyway.
The moment the car was off, Dean pounced on Sam, slamming his hip into the steering wheel and scraping his side against the keys, which fell out of the ignition, and pulled him into another fiery kiss. Sam's hand still worked Dean's cock with passion and precision, only now his other hand was occupied with his own. Dean leaned against the driver's-side door but only relaxed for a moment before throwing his head back and smashing it against the window. Sam's head had disappeared from his view only a second before, but he had wasted no time in engulfing Dean's cock with his mouth. His head bobbed as his lips travelled the length of it again and again, tongue moving expertly up, down, around, all the while pumping his own cock with his hand.
When he felt Dean's balls draw up in preparation to come, Sam removed his mouth completely from his brother's throbbing cock. Dean groaned in anger and confusion, but when he looked up to see what had caused Sam to stop he was met with an overtly pleasant sight—Sam had lay back on the seat, legs open and pants loose enough to be torn off. His face was flushed red and covered with sweat, saliva and pre-come were dripping from his lips, and his cock was hard and eagerly awaiting Dean's attention.
He obliged immediately, licking and sucking Sam's cock only momentarily before yanking his jeans almost all the way off and lifting Sam's hips into the air. Sam hooked his legs and dangling pants around Dean's back and shoulders and soon let loose a cry of pleasure as Dean's mouth opened near his entrance and his tongue slid out to taste him. Unsatisfied with only the outside, Dean soon began invading his brother's asshole, feeling the wrinkled skin stretch and become smooth as he did. Sam could hardly contain himself from thrashing about in the car, bruising his wrists on the dashboard and his head on the window lever and door locks. But somehow, through all their noise and fervor, Sam managed to catch a snippet of sound outside the car. Crunching gravel? Breathing? Panic flooded him and he moved in such a way that Dean could no longer reach him.
"What was that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness.
Though initially annoyed, Dean soon recognized Sam's body language and looked up.
"The wind, I think," Dean assured him, though he wasn't too convinced himself, "coz no one else knows where we are." They remained silent while the noise persisted, definitely the sound of approaching footsteps, and then a shadow crossed the window. The moment they saw it they knew who it was, but while Dean tried to calm down and focus, Sam started screaming:
"It's Dad! That's my dad outside the car!"
"Shut up, Sam!" Dean shouted, disentangling himself from Sam's legs and reaching for the keys to restart the car and hightail it off the road, but they were lost beneath the driver's seat, having fallen while the boys had been shifting positions.
Though he searched frantically, he still hadn't found them when John Winchester reached through the open window to yank his eldest son from the car by the back of his leather jacket's collar and throw him to the ground. He circled the car and treated his youngest no differently, though he merely guided him to the ground instead of shoving him, and Dean smiled shrewdly as he watched John drag Sam far from him before setting him down. Once seating arrangements were decided, John rounded on Dean.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" he demanded, as though talking to someone filthy and unwanted as opposed to his own son. "And just what were you doing out here with my son?"
"What's the matter, Dad?" Dean asked snidely. "It was just a little kiss on the mouth."
"Shut the fuck up," John spat. "You both smell like sweat and ass. You know you're not supposed to be within—"
"A hundred yards, I know," Dean drolled. This was an old conversation. "Oh, and you forgot to mention that your son's breath smells like dick."
Sam stifled a laugh. This was so ridiculous. Their father had been trying to keep them apart for years because he knew what kind of a relationship they had, and had even gone as far as to get a restraining order against Dean. After breaching the terms of the RO within two months of being served, John had locked Dean in the basement until the police arrived, who had sent him to jail for a few months and taken his driver's license. Once released, this had been his first stop—the brothers Winchester were going to leave and live a life on the run. They wanted to be together and were willing to do anything to have it.
"Don't you talk that way about my Sam!" John roared. It had always infuriated him that not only were both his sons gay, but that they were sleeping with each other. He had always felt that Dean, being the older, should have known better, and therefore put all the blame on him. "You may be a queer, but Sam's not! Sam's going to college and making something of himself! Something you never bothered to do!"
The words stung, but Dean was used to it, so he merely fired back. Oh don't worry, I'm making something of myself. I just need to make a man out of my dear, dear brother first."
Sam laughed outright at that, apathy overtaking his usually kindhearted nature. He hated his dad for the way he treated Dean and didn't care what it took to get away.
"Goddamn you, Dean," John growled, voice deep and reminiscent of Dean's. They were more alike than they cared to admit. The same was true for Sam, but John wasn't as ashamed of Sam. In his eyes, Sam would always be the victim, and Dean would always be the pedophilic rapist predator.
He stepped forward to attack Dean somehow, with his fists or maybe with his boots, but the moment he did Dean whipped a handgun out from the back of his jeans and pointed it at John. John's eyes went wide with sock and the smallest amount of fear as Dean began to speak.
"Sorry, Dad. You know what we want, and you won't let us have it. So…" He shot the gun twice, each bullet lodging itself deep in one of his father's car's large tires, deflating them immediately. John was quaking in his boots now, and Dean took advantage of this moment to hustle Sam into the Impala. "See ya, Pops," he said as he got into the driver's side, "but it had to be this way. Get that RO cancelled for us, yeah?"
Sam leaned out the window and called, "Bye, Dad!" They both flipped the finger out the windows, then leaned to each other and made out as they drove away into the rising sun, leaving John Winchester standing alone in the middle of a country road with two flat tires and a very angry expression.