The scent was all it took. Dean's jacket, its warm leather scent, roughened by cigarette smoke it sucked up from the dive bars, with the faint hint of Dean's own scent a permanent part of the hide. And now, permeated with the cologne Dean had put on in the fucking bathroom, the savage bastard, from a tiny tester bottle. Put it on in the bathroom of the bar so Sam wouldn't expect it. So he could see Sam's eyes blown wide as he got the scent for the first time.

Paul Sebastian. For some reason, this stuff was like catnip for Sam. If by catnip, you meant a substance you could spray on a fencepost and Sam would get hard just walking past it. And on Dean? That combination kicked Sam's pleasure and desire centers into overdrive, completely obliterating many of his higher brain functions. It was an actual, honest-to-god aphrodisiac. And that, coupled with a few other little tricks Dean had up his sleeve, was the game plan for the evening. Take full advantage of all the little triggers Sam had. Make Sam lose his mind with desire for Dean.

Sam stared at the layout on the pool table. Dean pulled a tube of lip balm out of his pocket and applied it to his lips.

Sam looked up and was immediately transfixed. He had a thing for Dean's mouth. A thing that Dean exploited every chance he got.

"Dude."

Sam just stared, eyes locked on Dean's mouth.

"Dude. Your shot."

Sam shook his head and refocused on the game.

Dean circled around behind Sam. "Gonna call it sometime this century?" He stood just off Sam's left shoulder.

Sam breathed in through his nose, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he blinked rapidly a few times as if trying to gain control. "Three ball in the corner pocket."

Sam lined up a fairly difficult bank shot, and sank it easily. He moved to the front of the pool table where the cue ball came to rest.

Dean followed him. Slid up behind him close enough to get that scent of leather and cologne in Sam's personal space. "Ever tell you how hot you look bent over a pool table, Sammy?"

Sam bit his lip, and tried to ignore Dean.

Dean put his arm around Sam and leaned in like he was giving him advice on picking the next shot. "Know how bad I'd love to fuck you right now, bent over this table?" Sam visibly twitched. Dean's mouth was warm against the soft skin right below his earlobe. "Yank those jeans down and bend you over, fuck you right here, show everyone how good you take it, how much you love my cock in your ass."

Sam's hands tightened on the pool cue. "Goddamn it."

"This isn't exactly the right crowd." Dean glanced at the people in the bar. Good old boys, cheerleaders a decade out of high school, cowboy hats and boots everywhere. "But you're so fucking hot, I bet they'd make an exception."

"Cut it out." Sam changed position, having decided on his next shot.

Dean walked after him slowly. Got right up in his space again. Looked into Sam's hazel eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal. "Love how you squirm with my dick inside you."

Sam's nostrils flared, either in exasperation or desire. Or both. "Dean." Sam's voice was rough and low, full of implied promise.

Dean smirked, and stepped back. "Call it."

"Seven in the corner pocket." Sam bent over, lining up the cue.

Dean surveyed the table. "Really? I don't know, Sammy. Hard shot. Sure you can make it?"

Sam shot Dean a look. "I can make it." And he could. Dean knew he could. Sam was a fucking genius, and had astonishing spatial ability.

Sam slid the cue forward once, twice, like he always did before the real shot on the third stroke.

"Come on, baby boy."

Sam missed the shot. But he did sink a ball. The black one with the number eight on it. He dropped his head to the felt. Dean almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Dean finally decided to take his little game to the next stage. "Let's get out of here." Sam gave him a grateful glance.

Sam got yet another good whiff of the intoxicating mixture of scents as Dean swung the jacket off the barstool behind his back, passing close to Sam's face, and slipped it on. Sam closed his eyes involuntarily, trying to maintain composure in the bar packed with gentlemen that seemed like they'd not take kindly to "those people" in their midst. When he opened them, Dean was watching him closely. He read the look in Sam's eyes and smirked.

"How you doing there, Sammy?" His cocky smile was maddening—and pure Dean. "We can stick around here a little longer if you want."

Sam gave him Bitch Face #5. The one that meant, "If you don't want to have sex again ever, sure, let's stick around a little longer."

Dean gave Sam one of those looks. The one that meant, "I want to fuck you so bad I can already taste you in my mouth, baby boy, so let's go." He swiped his tongue across his lower lip, knowing full well that this nearly made Sam cream his jeans every time he did it.

"Alright. Home it is."

Home, of course, meant the motel of the week. It did feel a lot like home, wherever they stayed, thanks to Sam who had gotten sick of the endless series of crappy beds with crappy bedding ("It's gross, Dean. Other people do things on that. And they… leak.")

So a few months earlier, Sam disappeared into a Bed Bath and Beyond one afternoon and emerged with a full set of queen-sized bedding. The sheets were made from trees. Beech trees. Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam when he tore the sheets off the motel bed, put on the mattress pad and pulled the light blue sheets on over it, unfolding a thick green blanket on top.

He teased Sam about it all afternoon. That evening, after Sam fucked him boneless and stupid on the bed-for-gear, he picked Dean up like he was a 90-pound girl and tucked him between the beechwood sheets. Dean sighed and stretched and stared at Sammy in amazement. "Dude. It's like sleeping inside an old t-shirt."

Sam slipped in next to him, a soft smile at the corners of his mouth. "Told you."

"Yeah you did."

Dean nestled into the new pillows Sam bought and even allowed Sam to little-spoon him. And now, at every motel they stayed in, Dean helped Sam strip one of the beds and set it up with their own stuff. And now every motel felt a little more like a real home.

So as much as Dean loved teasing Sam in public, getting him so worked up by the little things he did to get his motor running, he could not wait to get Sam back to that motel room and put those soft sheets and new pillows to use.

But the way Sam pressed him up against the driver's side door of the Impala and gripped Dean's leather jacket in both hands, they might not make it that far.

"Fuck, Dean. Are you trying to kill me?"

"What?" Dean's expression was perfectly innocent.

"You're wearing Paul Sebastian."

Dean blinked his eyes once, slowly. "So?"

Sam bumped against Dean's leg and gripping the leather of his jacket tight in his hands, nuzzled Dean's neck, breathing in through his nose. He moaned at the scent, warm mouth against the skin underneath Dean's ear. "I can't even… Dean."

Dean shivered. "Fuck." He had to be careful or he'd be the one creaming his jeans. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Sam continued inhaling the scent on Dean's skin that was driving him crazy, hips circling, sensual and shameless. The top layer of civility had already been shed, the normal inhibitions dissolving. "Dean." Sam's voice thrummed with need.

"Come on, Sammy. Get in the car."

"The hell you two doin'?" An angry voice issued from the front of the bar.

"Quick." Dean's voice was urgent. Sam ran around the car and jumped inside before the source of that voice got close enough to land a punch.

Dean peeled out, kicking up gravel, and pulled out onto the two-lane highway, the rear of the Impala swinging out wide and settling back in line.

"Fucking dive bars." Dean frowned.

Sam leaned back.

"Someday I'm going to take you somewhere I can kiss you in public without getting hate-crimed."

Dean aimed the Impala down the road, going heavy on the gas pedal.

"You're in a hurry."

Sam was reclined against the passenger seat, his hand on the inside of his thigh, legs spread open. He looked like sex and sin and salvation, all in one.

Dean nearly choked.

"Yeah, you better hurry." Sam's hand stroked his leg.

"Sammy?"

"You wore it on purpose." Sam bit his lower lip, watching Dean's eyes in the moonlight shining through the car windows. "You wanted to tease me."

Dean could no more prevent the smirk from spreading across his lips than he could leave his little brother untouched for 24 hours.

"I can tease too, you know." Sam slid his hand up between his thighs, pushing up into the palm of his hand as it slid over his cock.

The car swerved over the solid double yellow line.

"Careful."

Dean swore and steered back into his lane, head whipping around to stare at Sam, and back at the road.

"Jesus, Sam. Just give me like ten minutes. Motel's only a few miles."

Sam leaned over, nestling his face against Dean where the collar of his jacket met his neck, and inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of leather, of Dean, and of that cologne. He shuddered, mouth warm against Dean's neck, and palmed his cock.

"Dean."

Dean licked his lips. "Yeah?"

"Can't wait that long."

Dean stole another glance from the road, where he should have been looking, and made a helpless sound at the sight of Sam pulling his jeans open and sticking his hand down the front.

Sam had gone commando. Figured.

"Fuck, baby boy, gonna get us wrapped around a tree. Let me just find a place to pull over."

"Uh-uh. Not yet." Sam looked up at Dean with wicked intent. And pulled the entire glorious length of his cock out.

The car drifted across the center line again.

Sam sighed, arching his back. "If you can't handle it, Dean, I can just tuck this back in. But you won't see it again tonight if I do."

"No. Shit. No. I'll… just keep going."

"Can you keep the car on the road?" Sam squeezed the head of his cock.

"Yeah. Sure. Just… yeah."

Dean made great effort to keep the car in its lane while staring at Sam every second he thought he could possibly spare. He watched Sam's hand, huge and strong, moving up and down on his cock. Sam's cock. Sam's fucking gorgeous, thick, long, perfectly shaped cock. And that hand, broad and powerful, just working it. It was mesmerizing.

Sam buried his face in Dean's leather jacket, moaning, and brought his other hand into play, running the pads of his fingers in a stroking motion along the underside of the shaft up to where it met the thick head. He dropped his other hand down lower, tugging on his balls.

Dean bit his lip.

"Feels so good, Dee. Feels so fucking good." Sam inhaled again. "And you smell so fucking good."

Dean dropped his hand to Sam's thigh.

"Uh-uh. Hands on the wheel."

Dean groaned. "You're fucking cruel is what you are."

"You're the one that put on Paul Sebastian when we were out in public. Made me just stand there, not able to touch you." Sam nuzzled into Dean again, breathing it in. "You know what that does to me." He stroked his cock slow and sweet, legs splayed open.

"Makes you crazy."

"On you, it does." Sam drew his mouth across Dean's neck, breath warm against his skin. "And you fucking knew it. Wanted to make me want you so bad, but not be able to touch." Sam fisted his cock a little faster now. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

Dean shifted in his seat, his cock painfully erect.

Sam shoved his hand up under his shirt to play with his nipple. Dean blew out an audible breath.

With a smirk, Sam sat up and peeled his shirt off, dropping it on the floor of the car at his feet.

"Sam. Let me pull over."

Sam let his fingers play over his bare chest, ghosting across his nipples, tracing the shape of his tattoo, eyes locked on Dean's.

"Sam. C'mon. Please." Dean gripped the wheel of the car tightly. His voice was soft, vulnerable, openly pleading.

"Wanna get your hands on me, Dean? Can't stand not being able to touch? Welcome to my life. This? This is what you do to me. All the fucking time." Sam's hands moved on his body, fingers wrapped around his cock, dancing over his skin. "You get me worked up, make me want you so fucking bad, and then you tease me, talk dirty to me, get me so hard it hurts." Sam arched his back, fingers pinching his nipple hard. "But tonight, it's gonna be the other way around."

Dean fought to keep his eyes mostly on the road. It showed an iron will that he was successful, with the glorious sight of a nearly naked Sam, pants unbuttoned, shirt gone, fucking his own fist and running his hand all over his bare skin.

"You can pull over. But no touching until I say." Sam's cheeks were flushed.

Dean blew out a shuddering breath of relief and pulled off the asphalt onto a wide dirt road that snaked up into the trees.

Sam undid his boots, lifted his hips, and pulled his jeans off. He was naked now. Dean swore, and reached for Sam on pure primal instinct.

"No touching. Just watch."

Dean rubbed his mouth hard. "Sam."

Sam's voice hardened. "No touching." He opened the glove box and pulled out the small plastic bottle of lube they kept in there for those long drives in the middle of nowhere.

Dean made a sound.

"Did you just whimper?" Sam's voice was silky, shot through with pure enjoyment.

"No." Dean protested futilely. He rubbed his hands down his jeans as Sam slicked up his cock, moaning at the slippery feel. He slid his hands down his cock, one at a time, over and over, fisting the head and squeezing on the slow slide all the way down, the other hand curling over the head as the first one let go of the base of the shaft.

Dean's hand moved to his own cock, but Sam slapped it away. "No touching. That goes for you too."

"Jesus Christ, Sam. Show some pity."

"Maybe." Sam's face was lit up with desire, and something playful and mischievous. "If you're a good boy."

Dean shivered.

"Not just me, huh?" Sam kept working himself, breath coming a little ragged. "I'll remember that."

Dean kept his hands to himself as Sam turned in the seat to face him, spreading his legs, stroking the inside of his long, long thigh, pulling his leg back so Dean got a real good view.

Dean shook his head in wonder.

"What?" A trace of nervousness in Sam's voice, something a hair's breadth away from tipping into shame and self-consciousness.

Dean shut that down hard and fast. The only thing he loved more than Sammy was slutty Sammy. "Hottest thing I've ever seen." His voice was hushed, worshipful.

Sam's face softened. "Yeah?"

"Damn straight."

Sam reached for the bottle of lube again, slicked up the fingers of his right hand.

"Oh god."

Sam smiled. And drew his wet fingers between his legs, moving lower.

"Oh god. Sam. Fuck. Please. You gotta let me—"

"No touching. Not till I say."

Sam leaned back against the passenger door, kicked his left leg over the seat and bracing his right foot on the dash, breached himself with two fingers, barely past the first ring of muscle.

They both uttered "Fuck" at the same time.

Sam's other hand played across his chest, tracing the black lines of the tattoo.

"Christ, Sammy. Yeah. Come on."

Made bolder by the encouragement, Sam pressed harder, gasping as the fingers penetrated the second ring and slid all the way inside.

Dean groaned. "There you go, baby boy."

Sam writhed at the sound of his favorite endearment.

"God, I want to fuck you so bad." Dean's tongue swiped across his lower lip.

"Yeah?" Sam fucked himself slowly with two fingers.

"Come on, sweetheart. I know you want me to touch you."

Sam blinked several times rapidly.

"Sorry I teased you." Dean leaned forward and put his hand on Sam's bare thigh. "Let me make it up to you."

Sam didn't move Dean's hand off his leg. But he didn't say yes, either.

"Want you to ride my cock. I'll make you come so hard, baby boy. Come on my cock. Just like you need it."

Sam was rapidly losing interest in bossing Dean around.

Dean could have played it slick, putting all his charm into his voice. But instead, he pulled out the trump card. "I'll keep the jacket on."

And like an arrow loosed from a bow, Sam was on him, tugging him from behind the wheel to the middle of the long front seat.

They kissed like they'd been separated for months, both gasping at the first contact of their lips. Sam straddled Dean, grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket and kissed him harder, leaning in. At the feel of the leather against his bare chest, Sam cried out into Dean's mouth.

Dean gripped Sam's ass and ground against him, driving his denim-covered cock against Sam's bare hardness. "Bet you could come just from this." Dean arched his back, rubbing the leather of his jacket along Sam's nipples.

"Fuck. Dean." Sam was already right on the edge, writhing in Dean's lap, reveling in the feel of the leather of Dean's jacket against his bare skin.

Dean licked his lips again, watching the force of nature that was slutty Sammy in full force. Sam's eyes dropped to Dean's mouth, transfixed by it.

"Later, I'll let you fuck my mouth, sweetheart. Would you like that?"

Sam exhaled through his nose, nodding furiously, like he'd forgotten all his words.

"Don't think I'm gonna let you come in my mouth though." Dean had a wicked idea. Something he would only ever even consider doing with Sam. "Think I'll spread my jacket over my leg, make you ride it, real slow, feel that leather against your dick, slide that gorgeous fucking cock against it until you're begging me to let you come like that, come all over it. Bet you'd promise to lick off every drop. Bet you'd do a real fucking good job, too."

Sam came. He came so hard, the car shook. He gripped Dean's leather jacket tight, spurting all over Dean's shirt, over the front of the leather jacket, his back curled, muscles standing out—and when Dean shoved a finger inside his ass, the way already made slick, Sam wailed as his orgasm kicked into overdrive, entire body shuddering with the force of it.

Sam was barely done when Dean was ripping his jeans open, pulling his cock free and sinking Sam down onto it. A tremor ran through Sam, a cry of pleasure punched out of him, as Dean held onto Sam's hips and worked him on his cock, fucking up into him, gasping at the tight heat of Sam all over him, taking him in so beautifully.

"Jesus fucking Christ, so hot, Sammy, fuck, so good, you feel so fucking good, yeah, baby brother, come on, fuck yourself on my cock, yeah, like that, nice and hard, come on, sweetheart, make me come…"

Sam, so stubborn in his youth, had no trouble now following certain orders. He rode Dean's cock just the way Dean wanted, just the way Dean needed, thigh muscles aching with the stretch of being splayed so wide, skin gleaming with sweat, watching Dean's pleasure build, watching how Dean looked at him with such love and wonder, love that had moved past worship so very long ago, watching how the pleasure broke across his features, how Dean bit his lip right before he came, how his kiss-swollen lips parted when his own orgasm hit.

"Fuck, oh god, Sammy, Sam, Sam…" Dean came so hard his cries sounded like sobs. Sam could actually feel the pulsing of Dean's cock against his tight rim, shooting jet after jet of come deep inside him.

Just the way Sam loved it.

They kissed for a long moment, saying everything with soft exhalations of breath and the surprising softness of their lips. Back in the relative comfort of a cheap motel bed, they would have stayed joined like that as long as possible. But in the cramped confined of a classic muscle car, that was just too uncomfortable.

Dean was able to reach the glove box with Sam still on top of him and retrieve the gym towel they stored there with the bottle of lube, also handy for those long drives in the middle of nowhere. He handed it to Sam, who lifted himself off, wiped Dean off quickly and cleaned himself before spilling a drop on the upholstery.

Sam put his clothes back on. He went to wipe off Dean's jacket, but Dean stopped him.

"Not like that."

Sam stared, uncomprehending for a moment. When he got it, he actually blushed.

"Oh yeah. Motel's just up the road. Gonna make you clean my jacket up real good, Sammy."

Sam swallowed hard.

Dean smiled, and the smile reached all the way to his green eyes. "And if you do a good job… I'll let you get it dirty again."