It wasn’t the first tattoo Adam would choose, but this was more than a piece of art or a signifier of identity and heritage. They said it would protect him.
Ever since Adam’s brothers broke him from the cage, they observed his safety with an overbearing obsession.
Adam wonders if it was the excuse they’d waited for to lock their doors and bolt their windows, to let themselves forget (at least for a little while) the hordes of trouble banking up on their step.
“Stay still,” Sam murmurs above the buzz of the needle, eyes focused on his work.
Adam takes a slow breath, willing himself not to twitch away from the sting as Sam sets the ink beneath his skin.
To not thrust up as Dean’s hand moves between his legs, milking him with a tight fist and slick fingers that almost leave him trembling.
“I’ve got this, Sammy,” Dean says.
Adam jerks at the hot puff of breath behind his ear and Sam stops to give them a sharp look, Really? You got this? Because you’re not helping, Dean. If Sam was really concerned, he would have stopped their older brother before Dean slid his other hand down low between Adam’s cheeks.
Adam pushes back into Dean’s chest, breaths quickening as the fingers in his ass slide deeper and brush circles over that tight spot of heat where Adam needs him. He bites his tongue, muscles clenching, and Dean grunts a low, breathless noise that makes Adam want to close his eyes, roll his head back on Dean’s shoulder and ride him home.
Instead, Adam counts the seconds to exhale and watches Sam’s eyes narrow at the tattoo, lips parted in concentration. God, Adam wants that mouth. He feels the sweat trickle from his hair as his body pulses with heat that numbs the needle’s sting on his chest and makes his tongue feel thick and heavy.
He finds himself tilting into Sam before he thinks about Sam steadying him with a firm hand and an exasperated look, but then Dean’s mouth is on his neck, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his temple, and he squeezes Adam’s cock, thrusts hard with his fingers, and Sam looks up into Adam’s face in surprise when he cries out.
“I said ‘stay still’.” Sam’s hand on his shoulder squeezes meaningfully.
You’re kidding, right? He wants to ask, and Sam must see the incredulity in his face, but he doesn’t react for the same reason Adam doesn’t ask. Of course Sam knows what Dean is doing to him and exactly how it feels: how Dean scissors and curls and pushes the air out of him, keening and hurt because there’s a dull ache in his bones from the burn of want, but he won’t move because Sam told him not to, though his blood is singing for moremoreGodpleasemore.
Sam knows. He’s just being a bitch.
“… Sam, please hurry up,” Adam begs.
“Almost there… almost there.” Dean’s words are murmured into his hair, but Adam doesn’t know if Dean’s talking about the tattoo, the tension coiling low in Adam’s gut, or Dean himself that Adam can feel as a long, hard line through the denim against his ass.
Adam looks down at the sun forming with the star at its heart on his chest, flames fanning outwards. Sam is filling in the bold shapes of black, his touch careful and precise as he dabs with a white cloth that comes away with Adam’s blood.
Adam looks further down to where Dean’s fingers squeeze another bead of pre-come from him and – shit, no, he can’t look or he won’t last, and if Sam makes a mistake, it will be permanent.
Minutes drag like the stretch of years before Sam tapes the bandage over his new tattoo, and the gauze feels like a cool kiss of relief.
“Good boy.” Sam’s mouth presses gently to the bandage, fingers fanning heat across Adam’s chest, and then he gives Adam that smile that would make his knees weak if he were still standing. Lips smooth and still shining with moisture from where he thoughtfully sucked his upper lip between his teeth, his grin beams, and Adam feels so damn proud as Sam curls fingers in his short hair, but the kiss is frustratingly chaste. “You did so well.”
Sam looks over his shoulder to their older brother and his smile quirks in mischief.
“Thanks for getting him ready for me.”
“Wha—?” Adam is confused and glazed because Dean’s hands have stopped moving.
“Sam.” Dean’s voice is tight and annoyed. “Don’t you freaking dare – Sammy!”
And somehow Adam ends up on his back on the motel’s creaky wooden table, legs splayed over Sam’s arms as his brother thrusts in sharp, punching the air out of his chest in a shout, and just when did Sam get his own pants open?
Sam is laughing, hand on Adam’s hip as his other hand fondly traces the curve of Adam’s mouth, and they both look over Sam’s shoulder when Dean hovers like a dark cloud.
“Such a prissy bitch, Sammy….”
Adam feels it when Dean knocks Sam’s thighs apart and shoves his jeans down. Sam smirks at the scowl Dean mouths, then bites behind his ear, and when Dean pushes in, Adam doesn’t know if he’s used his fingers or his cock because Sam slams into him, eyes shut tight with a gritted moan that pushes Adam higher up the table, and for a moment he can’t see through the white blur in his vision.
Oh God, Dean. Sometimes Adam really appreciated Dean.
Dean pushes Sam down with a hand on the back of his neck. Adam’s legs fall open as Sam nearly crumbles against his chest, catching himself on his elbows.
“Sorry,” Sam says, but he sounds shaken and hungry and not like he’s sorry at all.
Adam pushes the floppy brown hair back from Sam’s darkened eyes and kisses the mouth he’s been staring at all night. He nips and sucks at Sam’s lower lip, opening his mouth when he feels the brush of Sam’s tongue, and then he groans as Sam slides in against him, strong and confident and so damn hot that Adam almost doesn’t hear Dean grumbling under his breath. Dean, who strokes a heavy hand over the lines of Sam’s back, who takes Adam’s knee and tests his flexibility when he presses it flush to the table with a sudden, fresh burn that makes Adam jerk in shock; Sam’s hips stutter as he groans into Adam’s mouth, Dean stiffens, and Adam can feel the tension in Sam’s thighs as he rocks back against Dean, squeezing tight.
And then Dean leans over, bearing his full weight against them, and Adam gasps from Sam’s kiss as his head falls back against the table, shuddering.
“Oh fuck. Fuck.”
Dean grips the table’s edge for leverage as he grinds forward, slow and heavy and punishing, and he’s still leaning on Adam’s knee, holding him open. Sam growls low in his throat and reaches back for Dean’s hip to take him in deeper. Dean mouths Sam’s shoulder to his neck and their combined weight pushes harder between Adam’s thighs, making him keen and buck, but they hold him fast and he catches a thread of what Dean is murmuring against the shell of Sam’s ear.
“… So good, Sammy, I’m gonna fuck you both right through this table then make you take him again on the floor, and tomorrow I’ll laugh when you guys have carpet burn.”
Dean’s hips roll in a circle to punctuate his promise, his smile dark and relishing, and Sam actually whines, pounding a fist on the table before he rises to glare at Dean. When they kiss it’s a familiar clash of desire and rivalry and easily one of the hottest things Adam’s ever seen. Dean’s hand leaves its death grip on the table to explore the place where Sam’s breaching Adam and his hips jerk in surprise. He hears Sam’s gasp as Dean’s rough fingertips slide through sweat and lube around Adam’s stretched rim and he whimpers because he won’t last if Dean doesn’t stop touching –
“No.” Sam catches the hand Adam reaches down and slams it against the table, pinned flat.
“Sam—“ Adam’s voice breaks, but Sam only pins his other hand by his head for emphasis.
“No, Adam.” Sam’s voice is smooth and firm, belying his strength as he laces his fingers with Adam’s. There’s a bead of sweat on Sam’s jaw and Adam stares, transfixed, even as Sam watches him to make sure he understands.
Dean meets his eyes over Sam’s shoulder (cocky, unapologetic jerk) and thrusts forward, Sam rocks into Adam with weight on his hands, and Adam has no idea what he’s saying as the table sways on its legs and he tries to arch back into them. They hold him down and take and give and then take some more, and Adam finally comes with a long, low groan, burning beneath them as he spills hot over Dean’s hand and his own stomach.
Sam’s hand is pushing through the mess on his skin when he can make sense of the world again.
“Fuck, Adam, that was so hot. See how good it can be when you do what we say?” Dean asks.
Adam just groans in response, tiredly meeting the kisses they brush to his mouth and face. It’s only when he slumps back against the cool wood that Dean begins to fuck Sam in earnest, the bastard, and Sam pins Adam’s hips, still sheathed inside where Adam is twitching and oversensitive, the stupid bitch. The pace is fast and deliciously brutal and, no, no his cock can’t possibly still be interested after they dragged that last one out for so long.
But apparently his refractory period is non-existent, Sam shouts as he finds his release and Adam tumbles right after him, head spinning. Dean’s hand snakes around Adam’s hips for purchase and he shoves in hard once, twice more before he groans into Sam’s shoulder. Sam moans as Dean’s aftershocks shudder through them, and when it’s finally over, when Sam and Dean finally pull out and Adam feels the slickness dripping between his thighs, he doesn’t even have the strength to sit up.
Sometimes he hated his brothers so much. Hated and… well….
“So,” he pants, chest hitching as he watches Dean ruffle a hand through Sam’s hair, pressing an affectionate kiss to his temple as he squeezes Adam’s thigh, “Are there any other tattoos you need to paint on me?”