Dean awoke to something tickling his mouth. "Hmm?" he muttered, eyes flashing open. Sam was straddling his chest, leaning over him, delicately drawing the tip of his erect cock over Dean's soft lips. His face was alight with a heady combination of wicked intent and innocent uncertainty. A flicker of worry. "S this ok? You said."
Dean blinked, consciousness returning to him. You can have anything you want. You wake up in the middle of the night and want me to suck your dick, you can just sit on my chest and feed it to me. Don't even have to wake me up first.
Suddenly, Dean was wide fucking awake. "Do it." He parted his mouth, groaning as Sam slid his cock inside.
Sam shivered as Dean relaxed his throat and gripped Sam's hips, pulling him in hard. He moved Sam, urging him to go faster and deeper. But Sam held back, unsure, not wanting to be too rough. "Dean. Your face." He stroked the line of Dean's cut, stitches freshly removed.
"It's ok, Sam. Do it." Dean was so hard it hurt. "Fuck my mouth."
Sam slapped his palm against the wall, body jerking as a spasm of pleasure ran through him.
"Fucking do it," Dean mumbled with his mouth full of cock. "That's an order."
Sam groaned, fucking Dean's mouth with long strokes, balls slapping against his chin.
"Mmm." Dean moaned his assent, hands gripping Sam's ass, mouth sealed over his cock, soft and flat along the underside, keeping his mouth nice and wet for Sam.
Sam gasped, little shivers running through him, thigh muscles standing out strong. He brought his hands down to cradle the back of Dean's head. Dean pulled off long enough to gasp, "Fucking do it, Sammy. Feed it to me. Use my mouth. Come down my throat."
Sam swore, gripped Dean's hair in his fingers and pulled, using it to hold Dean's head exactly where he wanted it. Dean's eyes watered as Sam slammed into him, moaned with the pleasure of taking him into his throat, saliva dripping out of the corners of his mouth, sucking at Sam's cock as best he could while Sam fucked his mouth, controlling everything, hips snapping forward, Dean's palms pressed to the indentations on either side of Sam's ass, dizzy from the sounds Sam was making, the cries and moans and words, yes the words spilling out of Sam's mouth Dean feels so good Dean oh god Dean gonna come, gonna come in your mouth gonna make you swallow it all oh fuck Dean…
And with that, Sam was shaking, thighs quivering, spurting into Dean's mouth, the first jet going down Dean's throat, Dean pulling back so the second spurt came right on his tongue, so he could taste it, Sam feeling how Dean needed to taste him, shaking harder at that, whimpering as he came, pulse after pulse, the last one right on Dean's spit-slick, pretty pink mouth.
He panted, trembling with the aftershocks, looking down at Dean with something more than adoration. He smeared the pad of his thumb through the white droplets on Dean's mouth, and slipped into Dean's mouth. Dean sucked on it, making a soft sound of pleasure at the taste of Sam, cleaning it all off.
"Now you." Sam slid off Dean and lay back on the bed.
Dean's mouth twitched. "Wanna try something new?"
Sam nodded rapidly. Dean maneuvered Sam so his head was tipped backward off the edge of the bed, and stood over him, cock heavy and engorged, poised above his mouth.
"Oh god." Sam bit his lower lip. "You're going to… like in that movie."
"We're gonna try, ok? Only as much as you can."
Sam nodded, hair dangling down. Dean slid his cock inside Sam's mouth, just the tip. Sam drew his lips together and sucked gently, nursing on him. "Guh," Dean muttered, and lingered there for longer than he had planned to, as Sam sucked gently on the head, licking and mouthing it. "You're… just…"
Sam pulled his mouth away. "What?"
"Awesome." Dean put his cock back in Sam's mouth and pushed a little. "Ready, sweetheart?"
Sam mumbled something.
Dean snorted. ""Did you just say what I thought you said."
Sam took Dean's dick out his mouth. "I was born ready."
Dean had to take a moment to compose himself and stop laughing. Sam grinned at him upside down, reaching for him and dragging him forward by the hips. A few seconds of Sam's soft, warm mouth on his cock and Dean had stopped laughing. Sam let his head fall back so his throat was open, and pulled, urging Dean to go deeper. "Easy, baby boy," Dean cautioned him. "Take it slow." He slid in and pulled back out. "Nice and slow." He placed his hands on Sam's throat, caressing it with his thumbs. "A little deeper now. Ok?" His eyes searched Sam for signs of discomfort. Sam gave him two thumbs up.
Dean kept his thrusts shallow, letting the head just brush the opening to Sam's throat. Sam kept his mouth nice and wet, and his cock slid smoothly over his tongue. Dean's cock was poised right at the opening of Sam's throat, and met some resistance. "Open your mouth more. Yeah. Like that. Stick your tongue out a little." Dean pushed gently, pulled back, and Sam gripped his hips and pulled, pushing Dean past the point of resistance, and Dean's cock slipped inside his throat.
Dean shivered, the feel of Sam's throat on his cock an altogether new sensation, gripping his cock below the head—and then Sam was pulling his head away, coughing. "You ok?" Dean was instantly concerned.
Sam grinned. "Yeah. Just… yeah. More."
Dean tipped his head to the side. "Sam." His voice had a hint of warning. "You don't have to do it all the first time. Or ever. We're just—"
"Dean. I can do it."
How many times had Dean heard Sam say that? I can do it. So stubborn and intent on proving he could handle himself. Tie his own shoelaces. Ride a bicycle without training wheels. Field strip a pistol in under ten seconds. Dean shivered at what Sam was insisting he could do now. Take his big brother's cock all the way down his throat.
Sam took to it like a pro, his bone-deep need to please Dean, to make him proud, making him take on more than he should have for his first time. He attacked the issue like there was absolutely zero chance of failure. Tears ran down the corners of his eyes from the physiological effects of having a huge piece of flesh jammed into his esophagus, but he gripped Dean's hips and urged him on, pulling off to cough a few times, swallowing him down again only to take him deeper, pushing back when Dean went a little too deep too soon.
Dean sensed the rhythm Sam needed. Moved with him like they were dancing. Fucked his mouth shallow for a while, luxuriating in the feel of Sam's tongue and lips stroking and pulling at him, until Sam took a deep breath through his nose and tugged him closer, opened his mouth wide, stuck his tongue out took him deeper. Dean slipped into Sam's throat again, deeper this time, sinking in until his balls were pressed to Sam's lips. "Oh god, Sammy. You're doing it. You're actually—holy hell." Dean pulled out and sank back in, Sammy taking him to the hilt, staring at in wonder at Sam's throat expanding as his cock slid down. "Sam." His voice was hushed, awestruck. "So good for me. So good." Sam purred, a low vibrating sound of pleasure and pride. Dean stroked Sam's throat, petting him, feeling the bulge of his cock inside, Jesus inside his Sammy's throat, a strong orgasm uncoiling from the base of his spine.
Sam somehow grinned with his mouth full of cock, so proud of himself for taking it all, of the awe he'd put in Dean's voice, the reverence with which he stroked Sam's throat. He hummed a low note of pleasure. The extra sensation tipped Dean over the edge. His hips snapped forward once, twice, three times, trembled as he came, came down Sam's throat, helpless and trembling, unable to do anything but come, spurting down Sam's throat, coming as Sam arched beneath him, body seizing up, shaking.
Dean had barely finished coming when Sam was squirming, shoving at Dean, pushing at him hard, scrambling up onto his hands and knees facing toward Dean, coughing violently and wheezing.
"Sammy?" Dean reached for him. Sam stuck his arm forward, palm out, warning Dean to stay back, dark hair hanging in his face. His body was tense, muscles taut beneath his skin. He coughed, sucked air in, coughed again immediately and struggled to breathe. He dropped his head down and made a low sound of fear."Not again," he wheezed.
"Sam." Dean fell to his knees in front of the bed.
Sam kept his palm out, warning Dean to stay back. He sputtered, sucked in a wet breath, and erupted in a coughing fit, face bright red, hands balled into fists, gasping for breath between wet hacking coughs.
"Let me help. Sam." Dean reached for Sam's hand, twined his fingers around Sam's.
Sam, fighting back the panic, squeezed Dean's hand. The action seemed to give him strength. "Not again," he said louder. He coughed wetly, spat something onto the floor, and forced a deep breath into his lungs. "No more." He gripped Dean's hand harder, squeezing his fingers painfully. Dean didn't make a single sound of protest. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Sam's, and brought his other hand up to cradle the back of Sam's head.
Dean took a deep breath. Sam, as if linked to him, took a deep breath too. He erupted in a coughing fit, but Dean held him, tops of their foreheads pressed together. He whispered, "We beat the Devil's right hand man. We can beat this."
Sam's head snapped up, wet eyes locked onto Dean's. Something confused and frightened dropped away, as he focused intently. "Dean?"
Sam locked eyes with Dean, nothing else in this world or anything above or below existing for him save Dean. He breathed in and blew out a breath, shaking off the last tendrils of panic that tried to wrap itself around him and drag him down. It wasn't a deep breath, but it was a good one, and he didn't cough. Dean climbed up on the bed next to Sam, brooking no refusal, and lay next to him pulling him close and resting Sam's head on his chest. "I got you. You can breathe. It's ok. Just breathe."
Sam coughed a few more times, adrenaline still flooding him, trying hard to match his breathing to Dean's. "Easy for you to say. You don't have a lung full of come."
"Oh god. Sam. I'm so sorry." Dean's chest heaved. He bit back on the inappropriate laughter. But before he could stop himself, he snorted.
Sam emitted a tiny giggle.
And then they were clutching each other, roaring with laughter, tears streaming down both their faces. Dean snorted again, sending Sam off into a gale of laughter that made him cough again. Dean thumped his back, then held him close. "Oh god, Sammy," he laughed. "I'm really sorry."
"My own fault. Always biting off more than I can chew." And they were seized with laughter again. When it finally subsided, Dean passed Sam the glass of water from the bedside table and gave him a drink, then sat against the wall and pulled Sam against him, back pressed to his chest, feeding him sips of water and holding his palm against Sam's chest, making him breathe in time with him.
"Before you say anything, we are too doing that again." Sam leaned his head back against Dean's shoulder. "But with me controlling it. Ok?"
Dean smoothed Sam's hair away from his forehead and kissed his cheek. "Anything you want, sweetheart."
They stayed like that until Sam had drunk the entire glass of water and his breathing was completely normal. Then Dean pulled him into bed and drew the blankets up around him gently. "If I didn't have you, Sam…"
Sam smiled against his chest. "Me too." And as Sam dissolved into blissful sleep, the last thing he heard was Dean mumbling, "Gonna marry you…"
In a room within the Sanctuary, a brown-haired man with brown eyes was being lifted carefully into a hospital bed. Reggie and Danny had brought Nathanial back from the hospital, rolled him down the long, sigil-lined hallway on a gurney. In unison, they picked him up with the delicacy and care only a hunter was capable of, knowing better than anyone the difference a bit of care could make, how much pain could be spared by taking the time to lift and lower a wounded hunter slowly.
Nathaniel settled back onto the pillow with a groan. "Thank you," he murmured.
"You ready for some more morphine?"
Nathaniel shook his head. "Do you—" he coughed, grabbed his stomach and winced. "Do you have anything I could watch?"
Danny grinned. "Sure. You get cable, and we have a ton of movies. Sports stuff, too. Motorcycle races. Boxing. Wrestling. What are you in the mood for?"
Nathaniel's face was serious, lines standing out around his mouth and eyes. "Anything. I don't care. Anything to block out…" he gestured towards his eyes. "All of this in my head."
"What do you mean?"
Nathaniel looked up into Reggie's pale blue eyes. "Everything he did. I saw it. I see it."
Reggie pulled up a chair and sat down next to him."Wait. You remember everything?"
Nathaniel nodded wearily. "I thought it would start to fade, once I was free. But…no." He closed his eyes, then snapped them open again like what he saw was simply unbearable. "You wouldn't believe what he did. What he was going to do."
Danny's head whipped around at that. "What he was going to do?"
"To take the world. And give it to the devil." Nathanial rubbed his hand over his chapped lips. "He had plans."
"Can you tell us? What he was going to do?" Reggie leaned forward, long white hair spilling into his face.
"Names. Dates. Addresses," Nathaniel recited. "Timeline. Plan B. Plan C. Plan D. The whole thing. The Incursus Infernalis."
Reggie's breath caught in his throat. The hairs on the back of Danny's arms prickled.
Nathanial licked his dry lips. "A glass of water? Then I'll tell you."
Reggie rose to get Nathaniel a glass of water.
"You might want to get a tape recorder," Nathaniel said softly. "There's so much." He stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocusing. "So much."
(Part 3 coming soon!)