One night. Just one night together, that was all Dean wanted. If he could have this, just once, then he'd take it and savor it for the rest of his life.
He'd pay the consequences when the time came, because for this, the perfection stretched out before him… there was always a price to pay.
"Dean," Sam's voice keened, body thrumming with pure adolescent need. "Oh God, Dean."
"Sammy," Dean whispered back, body taut and trembling with want and need and everything badwrongdirty.
"Dad'll kill us," Sam moaned, arching his body into his brother's touch. "If he finds us like this… He'll never understand…"
"Then we don't let him find out," Dean murmured, fist working Sam's cock harder and faster.
Sam tried really hard to answer Dean, but then he felt his brother's mouth closing around his dick. Fuck, this was so wrong. So fucking wrong that Sam didn't know where to start listing all the things that were wrong with this whole situation. He was going to go to Hell for this, for loving his own brother this way.
But as Dean sucked and licked on his cock, Sam didn't care much about where he went just so long as his brother continued to make him see stars. And made him come. God, he needed to come.
Sam's hand curled into Dean's short hair, pulling, tugging and twisting as his orgasm pulled his balls up tight, exploding into Dean's mouth with a shout of zealous ecstasy.
Dean lapped at every spurt, swallowing around the shaft that stretched his mouth, tongue working against the throbbing vein, teasing, soothing.
Sam dropped back onto the bed, body drenched in sweat, glistening invitingly, beckoning Dean to finish what he had started.
Moving up Sam's body, easing himself into the hollow of Sam's spread legs, Dean could do nothing more at that moment than whisper Sam's name, invoking every wish and dream he'd harbored since Sam had reached the age of thirteen.
If anyone was going to Hell for this, it would be Dean. Not Sammy. No, not Sammy. Dean would take everything – the blame, the cause, the punishment, anything – for his brother, and would still consider what happened tonight to be worth it. Worth forty years in Hell.
Sam's fingers curled into Dean's shoulders, short nails biting into the flesh as Dean skillfully worked his lubed-up fingers into Sam's ass.
"Sammy… Sammy…" Dean whispered, lips brushing Sam's. "Gotta… Fuck… Need… Gonna…"
Nothing made sense anymore… to either of them. All they could feel… was this… each other… the give and take of skin, of bodies joining…
Even the snap of latex and the sting of Dean pushing into his virgin body couldn't make Sam want to be anywhere other than right there, beneath Dean's thrusting, panting, straining body.
Legs wrapped around him, Sam held on, let his brother get what he needed. Take what he needed. `Cause God knows, Sam needed it too, knew what it felt like to have to wait… to want so much… and not be able to touch.
Pure pain filtered out into wisps of pleasure, Sam felt himself start to harden again, dick trapped between two layers of sweat-wet skin, sliding over his overly-sensitive cock-head, forcing it to life once more. Tendrils of yesagainmoreneednowwantDean…Dean…Dean started working their way through Sam's limbs, culminating in the juncture of his groin where it seemed fused with Dean's.
Wrong. The whisper in the back of his mind taunted him, tormented him. Dirtybadwrong…goingtohell…dirtycocklovingboy…brotherfuckingmadness…
Sam wanted to cry, to crawl away… but pleasure kept him anchored where he was, wrapped around Dean as if he was holding on for his life… to his life.
"Sammy…" Dean's voice whispering in Sam's ear. All pleading, and needing. "Sammy…"
Unbelievingly, they came together. Dean filling the rubber buried deep inside Sam, and Sam dry-spurting between their bodies, unable to produce more than a heedful dribble of clear come to slick Dean's stilling movements.
"Fuck… Sammy…" Dean whispered, aching tenderness and something else – love? - stretched between those two tiny words. Two words that had the ability to bring their whole life to an abrupt ending.
Tears wetted Sam's face and to this day Sam couldn't recall if they were his or Dean's.
Sam felt Dean roll off of him. Heard him walk to the bathroom. The sound of water running and the toilet flushing. Then Dean was back by the side of the bed, tenderly running the rough washcloth over Sam, cleaning him up, whispering soothing words and echoes of promises made what felt like hundred's of years ago.
Sam felt himself tremble when Dean left him again, the sound of Dean's bare feet against the old worn linoleum.
Then the world felt safe again as his brother crawled into bed beside him, cradled him in his arms and promised him one thousand alibis.
Dean would have taken that one night, wrapped it in flesh and blood, and kept it close to his heart. But Sam needed him… over and over… to keep the demons out… to keep the demon in.
Instead, he got four years. Four years of saving Sammy… of saving himself… before one night, Dad came home early and caught his two sons saving each other.