Hello, it's me again. The horrible person who distracts herself from working on her long Destiel-fic by writing Wincest-smut. Yeah, I know some of you are convinced that Sam is whiny cockslut, but yoU'RE WRONG. Dean is my bby and he is a major sub. Enjoy.

For a week their skin has smelled of dirt and blood and sweat, so it feels like heaven when he steps into the shower. There are strong, warm hands on him, fingers rubbing circles into his back and he rests his head against the wall and sighs. They don't speak, can't speak now, not when they're so close. It'll just ruin everything. Sam breathes down on his neck and Dean curls his toes, and then his brother slides his tongue over the skin just below his earlobe and grips on to his hands. He just stands there, faces the cool tiles, doesn't dare to break the spell because it's their first shower in a week and he's tired and sore and just wants to feel.

The water drips down on them and it's wonderful to feel completely warm again. Sam doesn't let his hands go, just grips them tight and Dean lets him, because he knows his brother gets off on this, holding on to him, not letting him move. Perhaps a little voice at the back of his head whispers something about Dean enjoying it a little too, but he refuses to listen to that voice now, doesn't want to think about all those nasty feelings, not now, not ever. He just tells himself that Sam likes this, and then it's okay.

His brother sighs, comfortable with being pressed up against him so tightly. His mouth touches Dean's neck, and Dean doesn't know what to call it. Openmouthed kisses won't do, because there's too much teeth, and maybe it's not important anyway. He can feel Sam's cock start to swell behind him and then his brother presses his hips just a bit harder against his backside and groans lightly, almost just a breath, and Dean feels hot fire run through him.

Sam guides Dean's arms over his head, presses them against the wall over the spot where he rests his forehead, and then he shifts his grip so that he can hold on to both his wrists with only one hand. The breathing on Dean's neck becomes uneven, hot; the lips touching the shell of his ear turn into sharp teeth. Sam's free hand slides down, and it's weird, unnatural, how all Dean's body heat seems to be focused on the one spot where those fingers are touching his skin. Two fingers find a nipple and squeezes tightly, Dean gasps, and then he gasps again, because Sam doesn't let go, he just stands there, slowly shifting between loose kisses and hard bites on the back of his neck, while he pinches Dean's pink skin for a cruelly long moment. The air is thick with damp from the shower and hot, filthy control from Sam. It builds up until Dean thinks he might burst, and then Sam lets go like nothing happened, just slides his hand down lower, circles his navel with a finger and either bites or smiles against his shoulder; Dean's not entirely sure.

Sam doesn't touch his cock, no, not yet, but he follows the trail of hair down over Dean's stomach, makes Dean's guts curl in on themselves in want and need, lets his nails scrape over the thin layer of skin on his hips until Dean has goosebumps all over. It's times like these that Dean wishes he was brave enough to speak so he could tell Sam to just do something and do it now, but he's not, so he just keeps his silence and clenches his teeth tightly together. And in a way that's kind of nice, kind of dirty and dark, because while he doesn't dare to actually admit to himself that he's scared of what Sam would do if he actually spoke up, circling lightly around the thought in the shady corners of his brain makes his already stiff cock swell just a little bit more.

Sam's hand moves, caresses his ass cheeks in a way that tells Dean that his brother is truly enjoying this. And Dean could get lost in the sensation of his brother's hands, already is, in fact. The way they grab onto him, squeezes hard while Sam lets another groan escape his lips, darker and deeper than the first, it makes Dean's vision blur and his world spin. And then, oh, Sam moves away for a moment and rummages through their toiletries and Dean wants to scream, but he doesn't, doesn't dare. Instead he just keeps his position up against the wall with his untouched cock hanging stiff and throbbing between his legs; he wants to cry, wants to touch and find release, but he keeps his arms against the wall where Sam pinned them. It all works out though, because Sam returns and this time his fingers are wet and slick and it drips down Dean's thighs when his brother reaches between his legs. He doesn't press into him yet, just touches him where he's most sensitive, behind his balls and around his hole and Dean shivers.

When the first finger slides into him, he can't keep his moan in. It slips out and it's breathy and his voice cracks halfway through the sound. His cheeks heat up and he wants to throw Sam down onto the floor and wrestle and show him who the big brother is. Sam doesn't laugh out loud at his embarrassment, but Dean can feel his silent chuckle in the way his chest shifts against his back. Then Sam presses in another finger and he moves them and crooks them and Dean moans yet again, this time without worrying about humiliation of the situation. His eyelids flutter and everything flickers and this just feels very, very good. He wants Sam to keep on doing this forever, keep on moving his fingers and pressing against that and making his body turn inside out and his heart hammer so very loud and hard.

At first Sam fulfills his unspoken wish, even adds another finger to the pleasure, and Dean is pretty sure that he's letting out an endless stream of moans by now, but he's not sure and actually it doesn't really bother him. Then Sam removes his fingers. It's horrible and it's a slow, taunting movement, accompanied by his brother's silent smile against his back as he robs him of this pleasure. For the first time Dean opens his mouth to speak, to swear at Sam and scream at him to please, oh please, do something about this whole mess, please absolve him of his sins and give him release because this is unbearable. But Sam, who knows him so very well, knows what's coming and just presses his hand over Dean's mouth before he even figures out what to say. Dean's eyes roll into the back of his head, because those fingers were inside him just now and he wants to come, come, come.

Finally, and Dean feels like he has run a marathon for this, Sam moves his hand and he can hear the rustling of a condom, and then something hot and big is pushed tightly up against him, and then it's inside him. And it's a horrible, dark and painful stretch until it's not, because above him Sam groans for the third time, and this time it's the wild, dirty animalistic sound that makes Dean die over and over again. The hand that holds onto his wrists disappears, and it's a silent order, I hope you can keep those hands there by yourself, and Dean promises, oh sweet motherfuckingjesuschrist, Dean promises, because he would give anything, just anything to have Sam seize his hips and grind into him and make him see stars again.

Sam does just that.

And it's sweaty and hard and Dean almost fears for his bones. They're not quiet anymore; the shower stall fills up with their noises, Dean's moans and gasps entangled and Sam's growls and murmurs that are not quite words. Never words. Also there's the sharp slaps when their bodies slam against each other and the yelp that escapes Dean when Sam finally reaches around him to close his fist over his cock and wildly jerk him to that orgasm that shatters everything and makes him gasp and burn and bleed and, first and foremost, clench down tightly around his brother.

After that it doesn't take long before the grip on Dean's hip tightens so violently hard that he's not sure if he'll ever lose those five, violet bruises that are left on the skin beneath his brother's fingertips. Sam bites him, again, maybe even drawing blood this time, and he comes, buried inside him. Dean wants to speak, wants to say the things to his brother that burn inside him, but he can't, he knows it, and Sam knows it. Perhaps Sam even has things he wants to say too, perhaps those times in the car when his gaze is suddenly soft and he actually doesn't complain Dean's music, perhaps that means that Sam has burning words in him too. But even if he does it doesn't matter, this is not something to talk about, this is not something to give a voice. So they keep quiet.

Afterwards they hurry to finish their shower, avoid each other's gaze as they clean themselves up. Dean is dressed and on his way out the door to go get a beer before Sam has even wrapped himself up in a towel. When he comes back his brother is sitting at the table. His face is illuminated by the pale light from the screen of his laptop while he reads through old police reports from the town they're currently residing in. They don't really speak much to each other that night.