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Dean cooks for Sam.

“Sam! Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!”

“Dean, it’s 5 o’clock. PM.”

“You need to keep up your strength for marathon sex, Sammy.”


Sam rolled his eyes but followed his nose to the kitchen, hair shower-damp. He walked up on a breakfast spread fit for a cereal commercial: toast, juice, coffee, milk. Two bowls of oatmeal too: one topped with blueberries and the other brown sugar and bacon.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope.” Dean loaded plates. “Sit. Eat.”

Sam did. Stuffed himself, in fact. They bickered about their respective diets and where they might put in a ping-pong table. Sam stressed the need to update the Bunker's computer system and Dean lit up like morning every time he said, “my room.” Finally Dean rubbed his belly. Sam scraped plates, handed them off to his brother to load in the dishwasher. Creep factor aside Sam kinda liked the dead guy robe, how it hugged Dean's shoulders and clung to his ass. Dean caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. Licked his lips.

After, Sam washed his hands while Dean crowded him against the sink.

“So.” Rough fingers wormed under Sam’s waistband, circled his hips. “You all gassed up for Round Two?”

“Please don’t say gas,” Sam griped. “I saw how many eggs you just ate.”

Dean snickered. “You are a sexy motherfucker, you know that?”

“You’re ridiculous.” Sam turned, dried his hands on his brother’s lapels.

“Hey!”

Sam shut him up with a tongue in his mouth, palm firm behind his neck. Bitchy noises eased into moans and Dean—still in Sam’s pants, slid around to grope his ass. They stood like that a while, just, making out in the kitchen. Dean fit against Sam, fought him a little, like always. Fingers dipped between his cheeks, skimmed over his hole. Sam’s head fell back and Dean ghosted his neck. Stubble ripped him up with goosebumps.

Dean nipped an earlobe. “Turn around.”

“Dude…” But Sam turned around. Braced his hands on the counter.

Fistfuls of fabric and Dean tugged Sam’s pants down, slow. Waistband stretched and scratched over his ass. Then, hands, spread wide and circling, pulling him open. He squirmed, glared over his shoulder.

Dean’s fingers dug in. “Patience, little brother.” Sam bucked and Dean sank to a crouch. “Ain’t even had my dessert yet.” Sam groaned. Dean’s tongue, fat and wet and his fingers around Sam’s hips. “Taste so good, Sammy.”

He jerked forward but Dean held on. Buried his face in Sam’s ass, sucked and licked at the hole, slid up inside. Spit trailed down and Sam shook, knuckles stark on the counter. Knees gave way and Dean guided him down. Pulled Sam, back-to-chest, half into his lap.

Dean hooked his chin over Sam’s shoulder. “Want you to ride me. You down?”

“Here?”

“Fuckin-a.” Dean teased Sam’s nipples. Callused thumbs stroked back and forth. “We got this huge, nice place all to ourselves. You don’t wanna mess it up a little?” He tucked Sam close, rolled their hips together.

Sam laughed dirty. Dean’s cock seared behind him. “Yeah, yeah all right.”

They got the rest of the way naked and Dean propped his shoulders against a cabinet. Grinning. Hair wrecked and face unshaven, little flakes of spit dried on his chin. Belly rolls. Dick in his hand, he stroked it, lazy.

Sam knelt by his side. Dean’s favorite thing—well, one of—was getting his dick sucked while he slicked Sam open. Never mattered Sam couldn’t concentrate and the angle was awful. Sam curled his tongue around Dean’s head, salt sharp. Closed his lips and eased for the lube-cool fingers pressing at him, in him. Sam pushed back. Stung, still raw from the morning. Put his focus on bobbing his head, keeping his teeth clear.

“Fuck, Sammy, look at you,” Dean breathed. “Both holes.”

Sam groaned and Dean bucked into him. Choked him a little. Eyes watered and knees ached.

“Sorry, man. Sorry.” Dean twisted his fingers, slid them out. Drew little circles around Sam’s rim and plunged in again. Sam upped his suction, jerked Dean’s shaft and stroked his balls. Dean’s cock pulsed in his mouth and Dean’s fingers stilled. “Sam… Sammy…” He wriggled out from under, gasped for breath. “Dude.”

Sam grinned, justifiably smug. “Not my fault you got no stamina.”

“Eat me.”

“I was trying.”

Dean didn’t backtalk fast enough. Sam kissed him filthy. Pushed him down, stretched over and rubbed against him. He stabbed around for the rubber Dean had so thoughtfully laid out and came up to his knees.

“You’re not stretched enough,” Dean bitched.

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “I’ll go slow.”

Dean grumbled something but cut off when Sam got a hand around him, started the condom. Muscles twitched in Dean’s face, in his belly and thighs. Sam straddled him, stroked over his chest and sides. Reached back to line them up, Dean’s hands on his hips, thumbs up and down the creases.

Sam breathed out and Dean pushed up and shocks raced up Sam’s spine. He started to wilt. Burned. Sweat poured off his neck, dripped from his temples, soaked his hair. Rising and falling and taking Dean deeper. Heavy moans wrenched out of them both when Sam’s weight settled across Dean’s hips, hand on his chest. Sam felt his brother moving in him, pulled on his cock.

“Fuck yeah, little brother,” Dean grunted, “get yours. Want you… come all over me.”

Sam almost did.

“Right here, Sammy.” Dean rubbed his middle. “You paint me up while I pound that ass.” Quick buck and Sam’s cock bubbled precome.

“God, Dean.” Strung out, Sam jerked off. Dean tormented him, shoved up in him, sharp and irregular. Sam’s legs trembled and eyes closed. Heat built until all it took was Dean’s hand grazing his dick and he curled up, came hard. Dean blew right behind him, spewed out a river of filth while he jacked and fucked until Sam collapsed.

Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. Slid out, slow. Sam made an embarrassing sound and Dean kissed the top of his head.

“Bed?” Sam asked. His knees were killing him.

“My god, you’re vanilla.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Sam bit a nipple to prove his point.

“Ow! What the hell!?” Dean got him by the chin and dragged him into a tongue fight. “Library,” he panted when they came up for air. “We gotta break in those tables.”

Sam’s dick twitched in a valiant effort. “How about, bed first, then tables?”

Dean yawned. “Huh. Yeah. All right.” Little kid grin, but a little dirty. “We got time.”