Word Prompt: Crest

Warnings: Wincest, slight spoilers for "Mystery Spot", schmoop


Crest

Taking a frightened glance at the clock, "It's Wednesday," Sam murmurs to himself, relief and yet, a continuing sense of dread flooding through him.

"Yeah," Dean mumbles, confusion gracing his features. "Which usually follows Tuesday," he continues, snide, yet lightheartedly.

"Turn that thing off," Dean comments, beginning to turn back towards the sink, before he felt the rush of arms encircling his body, pulling him close to his brother's chest, no room separating the two.

As soon as there was a little bit of air back in his lungs, the elder jokes, "Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?" trying to slightly pull away from his overzealous love.

"Enough," Sam growls into Dean's ear, voice dripping with heartbreak as he clutches his brother, drawing him back tighter so he could feel Dean's heart beating against his own. So he could feel the blood rushing steadily through veins. Alive.

"Come on, Sammy, let go," he musters, trying to pull himself once more from his love's embrace, "I want breakfast."

"No breakfast," the younger rumbles, following right after Dean as he tries to move away; the space between them closing once more.

"No breakfast?" he questions.

"Dean, please," Sam begs.

Noticing the urgency, the desperation in Sam, he acquiesces, "O-okay, Sammy, whatever you want," as he felt himself be pushed against the wall, strong arms trapping him there.

"Thank you," murmurs Sam, letting the relief that he felt ghost out and linger in the still air as he simply stands around his brother, soaking up the heat that his live, breathing self was radiating.

Feeling the hot, stinging prickle of tears at his eyes, Sam lets himself lean forward, bringing his lips towards Dean's.

After hundreds of Tuesdays and six months of tortured misery, the need to feel and taste Dean overwhelms him. And finally, the Crest toothpaste knock-off that had him entranced every single damn Tuesday he watched his brother, too afraid to bring about an early demise to follow through, and the taste that was purely Dean overtakes Sam.

As the passion grasps hold over them both, Sam melts into the kiss. His arms slipping back around his brother, a hand holding tight onto the warm pulse of his brother's neck, the other pulling the small of Dean's back as close to his body as it could possibly go, as if their connection are their strings of life.

When the frantic need to feel, to taste his brother's tongue warm against his lips, to touch fiery skin with blood pounding beneath, to see the rising and falling of his chest and the light in his sparkling jade eyes, to hear the puffs and the pants of desire and love graze over his own ears, dies down, Sam lets his lips fall from his brothers, his head dropping to his love's shoulders. With Sam's open mouth against his neck, Dean shifts his head, inviting teeth and gnawed-at lips to suction and bite and bleed him, marking him.

As Sam laps apologetically at the wound, tongue tinted crimson red with Dean's life, Dean questions, "Better?" a blissed-out, and teasing smirk in place.

Breathless, Sam leans his forehead to rest against his brother's.

Panting, he responds, "Yeah," and moment's hesitation, and he whispers, breath tingling against freckled skin, "Let's get out of here."

"Anything you want, Sammy," Dean responds, a slight, hidden, smile lighting up his face as Sam reaches down and grabs his hand tightly, protectively in his own; unwilling to break the connection until they are far far away from the small town of Sam's most terrifying nightmares. And even then, the comfort of interwoven, interlocked fingers remains.