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Sam reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “Want a beer?” 

Dean, sitting on the couch of their motel room, replied, “No, thanks.” 

Sighing, Sam reached in and pulled out a second beer, then closed the refrigerator. After popping both caps off, he crossed the small room and handed Dean the open bottle. 

“I said I didn’t want one.” 

“You want one.” 

“I think I should know what I want or don’t want, Sam.” He took the offered beer anyway. 

“I know you do.” 

“Then why’d you bring me a beer I don’t want?” Dean snapped, and then took a long swallow. 

He was grouchy and he knew it. It wasn’t Sam’s fault they hadn’t had any luck tracking down a lead today. They’d tried everything, but after coming up empty, they had nothing to do now but wait till tomorrow for some responses from all the inquiries they’d made. Yet two girls were dead, brutally slain by something they hadn’t been able to identify. He felt the crushing weight of responsibility for it, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t seem to get a handle on what was doing the killing. 

But it wasn’t just frustration from the hunt. That morning, Sam had walked around the motel room wearing nothing but a towel for a good half hour before he finally got dressed. Dean had been fighting a semi-erection ever since. He’d had no time alone to take care of his arousal, and that, too, was adding to his crabby mood. 

Sam knew his brother was angry. Dean had been acting completely normal all evening, but Sam knew better. He knew those emotions Dean tried so hard to keep on lock-down were roiling in his brother’s blood, eating at him from the inside out. The same way he knew the beer would help calm Dean’s nerves. He didn’t bother responding to Dean’s retort; instead, he took his own long drink and settled on the sofa next to him. 

It was a small sofa, really more of a loveseat. The name made Sam’s lips switch upward. How appropriate. He’d been battling his illicit longings for his big brother for years, yet they never seemed to surrender. He beat them back, pounded at them as hard as he could, but they surged forward, always stronger than ever. 

Sam had always figured there’d never be any possibility of Dean reciprocating these feelings. After all, they’re brothers. He knew there was something desperately wrong with him for wanting Dean the way he did. Just because it was wrong, though, didn’t make it any easier for Sam to stop wanting it. For years he’d been trying to focus on changing it. He’d tried dating a few girls during high school, and then Jess at Stanford. Before Jess, he’d actually gone out with another man to see if perhaps he was actually gay. He figured since Dean was always around and was male, maybe it was just latent homosexuality that he hadn’t recognized yet. 

But no. Nothing worked. No girl or guy ever gave Sam the reactions that Dean did. Every time Dean walked into the room, Sam’s heart danced a mambo against his ribs. Every time Dean looked him straight in the eye, Sam’s pulse skipped a little faster. His body temperature seemed to jump ten degrees anytime Dean was in close proximity. 

Like now. Dean lifted the remote and changed the channel. Earlier, when Sam had been walking around the motel room in nothing but a towel after his shower, he thought he’d seen something in Dean’s eyes. He’d never noticed that particular look before, and part of him wondered if he’d imagined it. Maybe he’d wanted to see that expression for so long that his mind had played a terrible trick on him. It couldn’t have been what he thought. Could it? 

Sam flicked a sideways glance at his brother. Dean’s profile, shadowed against the dim lighting in the room, was as breathtaking as ever. He fought the urge to place his hand on the muscled thigh so close to his. Instead, he took another swig of cold beer, then tipped his head to rest it on the back of the couch. 

Dean turned to watch Sam. Since Sam’s eyes were closed, Dean took the opportunity to stare. Sam’s thick, sable hair formed a delicious contrast against the cream-colored material of the sofa. The ends curled ever so slightly against the cushions, just begging to be touched. His hand had very nearly moved of its own volition to do exactly that before he managed to stop himself and regain his self-control. 

His eyes continued their exploration of the length of Sam’s neck, stopping at the little hollow at the base of his throat. What would it feel like to lick the warm skin there? His lips parted very slightly as he imagined it. Then his eyes moved slowly downward to Sam’s broad shoulders. Suddenly he wished his little brother were still in the towel so he could drink in the expanse of muscle across that strong chest. Instead, Dean’s eyes roamed further down along the blue and black plaid flannel shirt until they reached denim jeans. There his hungry gaze paused for a long time, studying the zipper, wondering what was beneath it. Wondering what it would feel like against his fingers. He licked his lips without even realizing it. 

Sam kept his eyes mostly closed, but he was peering through the tiniest crack of his eyelids, watching his big brother look him over. He’d never seen such an expression of desperation on Dean’s face. It jolted his cock as if someone had just taken a cattle prod to it, and before he knew it, his jeans were too tight in the crotch. 

And just like that, Dean’s expression blanked. He looked back at the TV, changed the channel again, and took another sip of his beer. Sam opened his eyes fully again and sat back up. 

“Maybe you should hit the sack,” Dean suggested. 

“No, I’m not tired.” Again Sam had to wonder if his years of desperate desire had made him see things. But this time, he was more certain he hadn’t imagined it. Okay, great. But now what? 

Sam turned to face his brother, tucking one long leg up under the other. “Hey, Dean,” he began hesitantly, knowing it was dangerous to try and talk to him about anything resembling an emotion. Dean tensed beside him in response, so he knew he was right. “Look, man, I’m sorry things didn’t pan out today. I’m sure we’ll have more luck tomorrow.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know. I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine. You’ve been kicking yourself all night because you’re pissed we didn’t find any leads today.” “I have not! I’ve just been sitting here, same as you.”

Sam shot him a look that clearly called “Bullshit” on that answer. 

“Sam, enough with the ‘I know you better than you know yourself’ crap, okay? I’m fine.” 

“I do know you. I know you better than anyone.” 

“Well not better than me.” 

“I know exactly what you’re thinking.” 

Dean scoffed. “No you don’t.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. I do.” 

“Okay, then, smart ass. What am I thinking?” 

Sam put his elbow against the back of the couch and propped his head against his hand. When he spoke, it was in the tone he reserved for cajoling reluctant witnesses or soothing injured victims. “You’re remembering in vivid, bloody detail the two girls who died horrific deaths. Probably remembering people in the past we didn’t get a chance to save, and thinking that if you’d just done something sooner, found a clue faster, or been here earlier, you could’ve saved them. And it burns you up inside that we don’t know yet what we’re hunting, and you’re worrying that the son-of-a-bitch is gonna kill some other poor girl before we figure it the fuck out. You’re wracked with guilt and kicking yourself.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but shut it again. Why bother? Sam had hit the nail on the head. Instead he just let out a long sigh and took another swallow of beer, then set the bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

Why was he even remotely surprised that Sam seemed to be able to read his mind? Suddenly he remembered another exchange when Sam had known exactly what he was thinking: 

“It’d be nice if life was movie-simple. Although if I was turning life into a movie, I wouldn’t do this Abbott and Costello meet the monster crap.”

“Yeah. No, I know what you’d pick.”

“No you don’t.” “Yeah I do.”

“No. You don’t. You don’t.”

Porky’s II.”

“What?” “You heard me.”

“Lucky guess.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Sam put his beer next to Dean’s on the coffee table.

“I know.” 

“Then stop thinking it.” 

Dean let out a soft laugh, scratching his hand through his short hair. Sam was right. There wasn’t much they could’ve done before the second girl died, having only just caught the case right before it happened. Still…their lack of progress today gnawed at him. 

Now he was the one who leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes. “So what am I thinking now?” 

Sam shifted a bit. “Look at me,” he said softly. 

Dean rolled his head to the left and opened his eyes. Even in the dim room, Sam could see their jade sparkle, and his insides quivered. 

Licking his lips to allow himself an extra second to find his voice again, Sam said in a near-whisper, “Concentrate hard on what you’re thinking.” 

Dean was. He wished desperately that Sam were closer, pressing his hard heat against him. He wondered what those full lips tasted like. Wanted to plunge his tongue into the warmth of Sam’s mouth and drown in it. 

Sam blinked. There it was again, that same expression from before. He edged closer to his brother, staring directly into his eyes. Completely still, he waited. He thought maybe Dean would turn away, make some joke, stop the game because it was getting too heavy. But he didn’t. He stared back at Sam and didn’t say a word. Just looked at him. Through him. 

Then it happened. Dean’s gaze flickered down, rested on Sam’s mouth, and stayed there for a beat before he caught himself and moved his eyes back up to his brother’s again. Sam leaned even closer. Even in this light he could see Dean’s pupils, see how wide they were. He was almost positive it wasn’t just from the dimness of the room. He was sure that Dean wanted his little brother to kiss him. 

Sam was equally sure that Dean would die—willingly choose death—before admitting it or acting on it. If he ever had a chance to realize his dream, this was it. And it would be up to him, because there was no way Dean would risk making the first move.

Armed with that certainty, Sam slowly reached out and rested his fingers against Dean’s stretched neck. When Dean didn’t pull away or stop him, he wrapped his hand more firmly around it and inched closer. They hadn’t broken their mutual stares yet. Sam felt the pulse fluttering wildly in Dean’s throat and smiled. 

“What?” whispered Dean, so softly it was nearly inaudible.

“You’re thinking exactly what I’m thinking,” Sam whispered back. He moved very slowly, leaning in to close the distance between them. He waited to see if Dean would jump up and nervously change the subject, pretend this hadn’t happened. But he didn’t. Sam was just inches away now, and Dean still hadn’t moved. If it weren’t for the pulse thundering against his fingers, Sam might’ve thought this was just an everyday occurrence instead of a monumental first step. But then, that was Dean. Stoic, solid, never showing fear. At least not on the outside.

Dean watched as Sam moved closer. He should stop this. He should tell Sam no, they shouldn’t do it. They can’t do it. There were so many reasons he should stop him, but he couldn’t think straight with those hazel eyes boring so deeply into him. Sam could see everything. He’d always seen everything. In fact, Dean couldn’t believe he’d managed to hide his lustful fantasies about his brother for this long. Part of him wondered if he really had, or if Sam had somehow always known. Maybe he had. He knew he should tell Sam that his mind reading ability sucks, that he’s wrong, this isn’t want Dean wants at all. But he couldn’t. He’d never wanted anything so badly in his life as this very moment, and he would go straight back to Hell again before he’d stop it. 

Sam’s lips brushed against Dean’s in a kiss so soft it was almost as if it hadn’t happened. The next contact was firmer, more confident, Sam pressing himself closer to his big brother as his mouth worked against Dean’s full lips. Lightly stroking his thumb up and down the front of his brother’s neck, Sam pulled back only enough to break the kiss. 

“Am I right?” he whispered, his thumb still moving along Dean’s heated skin. He needed to hear Dean say it. His warm breath fanned across Dean’s mouth as he spoke. 

Dean trembled at the sensation, then swallowed. He was having trouble concentrating with Sam’s fingers on his neck. Drowning in warmth and the spicy scent of Sam, he tried to focus. “Yes.” 

“Show me.” Sam kissed him again. “Show me I’m right.” 

That was it. Dean leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling him as close as their positions on the couch would allow. His lips found Sam’s and he kissed him hard, possessive and demanding. Finally, Sammy was his. How many nights had he stayed up dreaming of this? How many times had he stroked himself to orgasm thinking of Sam’s mouth? 

Dean groaned, pressing his tongue between Sam’s lips. He tasted the beer they’d been drinking, and something else, something almost like honeyed spice, something that was pure Sam. His Sam. He buried his hands in Sam’s soft hair, wrapping the strands around his fingers, pulling and releasing with each thrust of his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Years of desperate desire crushed him, overflowed, and he didn’t know what to touch or taste first. He wanted it all, everything, now, right now. 

Sam let out a sound that was a combination of a mewling whimper and a moan, his entire body igniting at the feel of Dean’s fingers pulling his hair as his brother’s tongue mined his mouth. His own tongue pushed back against Dean’s, wanting more of it, wanting to taste every bit. His fingers shook as they hurried to unfasten the buttons on Dean’s shirt. Finally he gave up and ripped it, pushing the material aside so he could feel Dean’s skin against his hands. Warm, smooth, and golden brown from days working shirtless on the Impala or training in the summer sun. 

Dean growled low in his throat at the feel of Sam’s hands on his chest. He moved his mouth to Sam’s jawline, nibbling and kissing his way to his brother’s chin, then down his corded neck. He paused to bite and suck, pulling the tender skin at the side of Sam’s neck between his teeth, marking him. As his mouth sucked against Sam’s neck, Dean moved his hand between Sam’s legs, rubbing and gently squeezing the steely hardness there. Moaning at the feel of his brother’s hard cock under his fingers, Dean pulled against Sam’s neck harder with his teeth. He was a wolf marking his territory, claiming his life-long mate. He left a large crimson spot on Sam’s neck that would probably turn purple the next day. It would be clearly visible, even above a collared shirt. Dean wanted it that way. Wanted it to be a neon sign that read: MINE. TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. 

Another loud whimper escaped Sam when Dean’s teeth sank into his tender neck, tugging and nipping possessively. His cock gave a twitch and pumped another squirt of precome against his underwear and jeans at the pleasure-pain of it. He wanted Dean’s mark all over him, head to toe bite marks that he could feel every time he moved to remind him that Dean wanted him, needed him, had claimed him.

He thrust against Dean’s hand, wanting more friction, wanting to feel his brother’s touch between his legs. He worked the button open at Dean’s waist, then slid the zipper down. He paused to rub his palm against Dean’s cock through the denim, just as Dean was doing to him. He pressed firmly, tracing the outline of his brother’s thickness with his fingers. Dean groaned and Sam playfully pinched the tip. He could feel the dampness of Dean’s precome on the denim and lightly scraped his fingernail across the jeans where the tip of Dean’s cock was evident.

“Oh, God,” breathed Dean, bucking up against Sam’s hand. 

“Want more?” whispered Sam, scraping and pinching the tip of Dean’s cock again. At the same time, Sam pushed against his brother, shifting Dean and urging both of Dean’s hands back into his hair again. His mouth covered a nipple and swirled his tongue around it, pulling it between his teeth then releasing it again. 

“Jesus, Sammy.” Dean thrust upward again, trying to gain more friction between his legs. He wriggled his fingers deeper into his brother’s hair, twining the strands around them. “Yeah…” 

Sam mouthed the soft skin of Dean’s abdomen, licking and tasting, gently nipping the ridges of muscle. “Tell me. What do you want? I’ll do anything you want.” 

Something in Sam’s voice almost made Dean come right then and there. The knowledge that his brother was his for the taking, his to command, willing to do anything Dean wanted no matter what...it was intoxicating. And again, Dean was so overwhelmed he didn’t know where to start. 

But his cock did. It blurted out more precome, saturating his jeans. Dean, with his fingers still locked in Sam’s silky hair, urged Sam’s head downward. “Need to feel your mouth on me, Sammy.” 

Sam moved between Dean’s legs and tugged the blue jeans and boxer-briefs off. Tossing them aside, he re-focused on his brother. His mouth went dry at the sight of Dean’s cock, resting thick, hot, and heavy against his stomach. 

“God, Dean,” he whispered. His brother was more beautiful than he could stand. He’d waited so long, never daring to hope for this moment, and here it was. Dean, naked and spread out in front of him. He was a starving man given the gift of a Vegas buffet, and he was overcome with emotion. To his surprise and embarrassment, tears stung his eyes. He took a deep breath to steady himself. 

Reverently, he bent forward and kissed the heat of Dean’s shaft--small little kisses, bottom to top. He reached the tip and pressed his lips there, rubbing them back and forth in the slick fluid, coating his mouth in his brother’s precome. He licked his lips to get his first taste. Sweet, salty, something else uniquely Dean. He moaned and went back for more, this time flattening his tongue and sliding it across the head, scooping up any liquid there. He swallowed, running his tongue along his lips again in ecstasy. 

Dean let out a loud groan as he watched Sam lick his lips. Sam looked at him like he was starved, like Dean was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. Dean flushed hotly under that gaze. He felt completely inadequate and undeserving of such an adoring expression from his baby brother. But then Sam’s mouth slid down his cock, all the way to the base, and Dean lost coherent thought. 

Sam had never sucked a cock in his life, but he’d watched his share of porn. And God knows he’d dreamed about this moment so many times that it was as if he’d been doing this with Dean his entire life. He grasped Dean’s shaft in his large hand and wrapped his fingers around it. Moving his mouth upward again, he brought his hand up with his mouth, then plunged it back down at the same time his mouth moved down again. Greedy, hungry for more, Sam sucked and pulled against the steel rod in his hand. It was thick and long, as perfectly shaped as the rest of his brother. Perfect size, perfect taste. He couldn’t get enough.

Dean threw his hand back against the cushions again, closing his eyes as Sam’s hand and hot, wet mouth worked like a piston along his shaft. His climax was close; he wouldn’t last long. Jesus, it was like he was sixteen all over again, losing his load like some green teenager. But this was Sam. He was green with Sam. This was the most exotic, forbidden ecstasy he could imagine. 

Dean’s balls tightened. He panted, “Sammy, I can’t…I’m gonna come.” 

Sam hummed a response, and the vibrations against his cock yanked a surprised yelp from Dean. His fingers dug harder into Sam’s hair, and his hips pumped upward. “Jesus…God, Sammy, oh, God…”

His orgasm struck with the force of a tsunami. Dean bowed backward, thrusting his cock even deeper into Sam’s throat. His come pulsed into his little brother’s mouth, and he could feel Sam swallowing against his cock. It sent aftershocks of pleasure spiraling through him and more come spurted into the wet heat of Sam’s mouth. 

Sam pulled Dean’s cock as deep as it would go, wanting every inch, not caring if he choked on it. His brother’s release filled his mouth and he swallowed every drop eagerly, not wanting to waste any of it. 

Afterward, Sam didn’t immediately remove his mouth. He kept Dean’s softening cock on his tongue, gently bathing it, careful not to overstimulate him. He ran his hands up and down Dean’s firm stomach, and lightly teased the pebble-hard nipples at his chest.

After they had both caught their breaths again, Sam reluctantly let Dean slip from his mouth. He stood on shaky legs. Immediately Dean reached up and unfastened Sam’s jeans, hurriedly shoving them and the boxer-briefs down his brother’s long, muscular legs. Sam stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Dean slid his hands beneath Sam’s flannel shirt while Sam unbuttoned it. His fingers played along the muscles at Sam’s hips as his little brother tossed the shirt aside.

Sam was completely naked. It had been a long time since Dean had seen him like this. They walked around in boxer-briefs or towels, but fully naked—no, not since they were fairly young. Nothing could’ve prepared Dean for the sight before him. Sam’s erect cock jutted forward, its mushroom tip shiny with precome.   Dean lightly ran his fingers along the outsides of Sam’s thighs, then brought them down the front. 

Sam closed his eyes at the feel of Dean’s hands on him but suddenly realized something. He missed Dean’s hands in his hair. He wanted that more than anything. Even more than feeling Dean’s lips around his cock. There was time for that later. Right now, he wanted the feel of Dean’s fingers wound around his hair, pulling it, owning it.

Gently he pushed against Dean’s shoulders, settling his brother against the back of the couch. Sam climbed into his lap, straddling his waist and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Kiss me again,” he said in a raspy voice thick with lust. 

Dean’s cock twitched in response. He kissed Sam, pouring all of his rarely-spoken emotions into it. He pulled his baby brother against him, his tongue burying deep inside Sam’s honeyed mouth. Tasting himself on his brother’s tongue, Dean pushed deeper, swirled his tongue against Sam’s so he could fuse them together. 

Sam whimpered, pressing his hard, drooling cock against Dean’s stomach. Instantly Dean knew what Sam needed. Dean always knew. He pushed the fingers of his left hand into Sam’s hair, kneading his scalp, lightly scratching it with his fingernails.

Sam let loose a long, low moan. His cock dribbled more precome in response to his brother’s fingers against his head. He shamelessly rutted against Dean’s stomach, silently begging for more. 

Dean felt the hot wetness slick his stomach and reached down with his right hand to wrap his fingers around Sam’s thickness. Their lips slid messily against each other, both of them trying to take more, give more. Dean’s fingers gripped firmly, and Sam moaned again into his mouth. Dean’s own cock jerked and started to fill again as his hand worked against his baby brother’s shaft. 

Dean grasped Sam’s hair tighter and pulled. He broke their kiss, stretching Sam’s head back so his neck was laid bare. Dean pinched the head of Sam’s cock and twisted his little brother’s hair in his fingers at the same time, then squeezed the shaft hard.

Shouting, Sam came. Hot, white jets of come shot from his cock, spraying Dean’s chest. Dean’s fingers loosened, and Sam drooped forward against his brother, not caring that he was getting his own come all over his chest. He rested his head on Dean’s shoulder and waited until his heart slowed and his breathing returned to normal. 

Dean’s hand cradled Sam’s head, gently stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Sammy?” 

“Hm?” 

“I take it back. You’re a fucking awesome mind-reader.” 

Sam chuckled and wrapped his arms tighter around his brother.