What else was he supposed to do when Sam had him pinned against the floor, all long limbs and lithe body pressing him down?
Dean’s shoulder blades were screaming, so was his ass, but the pain was dulled by the heat of Sam’s thick thighs pressing on either side of his hips. He wasn’t sure if it was a show of dominance, or if Sam was just as uncomfortable with his knees pressing into the floor as Dean’s shoulders, but every few seconds Sam’s muscles would flex, squeezing around Dean tighter.
His legs were flush against Dean’s thighs, Dean’s shorts having ridden up during their struggle and now it was heated skin against heated skin. It gave Sam the balance to stretch out over Dean’s body, his hands tight around Dean’s wrists and keeping them locked far above Dean’s head.
They had been sparring since they were children, this actual position nothing new except it was always Dean pinning Sam down and critiquing where he went wrong. They’d spent years of their lives refining and honing in on skills to fight and kill and survive. He knew their upbringing wasn’t conventional, knew spending hours mapping out his younger brother’s body for areas to kill and maim another being wasn’t ‘normal’. But it was because of that Dean knew Sam’s body better than his own. He knew how Sam moved, what his weaknesses were. He’s seen how Sam had grown and Dean was anything but blind.
Dean Winchester was the epitome of fucked up.
Now, his heart was racing. His pulse thrumming away, fast and strong against the inside of Sam’s palms locked against his wrists. Sam’s arms were longer, the stretch arching Dean’s back slightly off the ground, and they were pressed chest to chest. Everyone one of Dean’s inhales matched Sam’s exhales, and they moved together in a way that Dean never should’ve noticed.
But he did notice.
God help him, he did. It had increasingly been a struggle to stop noticing everything and anything that involved Sam since he’d returned from Hell and Sam's soul was restored. Where Dean had spent their… ‘time apart’ ripping through the confines of his humanity, Sam had spent the time working on himself; his body was stronger, his mind was sharper, his soul was renewed.
So Dean noticed the way Sam’s eyes were wide, clear hazel shining in the fluorescent gym lights as he locked their gazes together. He noticed how Sam’s mouth was wide open, his breathing hard and fast from exertion and how it blew hot across Dean’s cheek. Sweat beaded across Sam’s brow and upper lip, the hair near his ears was damp and forming into perfect curls. His legs and chest were muscular and warm, making Dean’s overheated body shiver.
Dean blew out a slow breath. He knew his own hair was sweat-slicked, his breathing just as fast and ragged as his brother’s, his muscles sore and shaking from the past hour of sparring around the gym. But none of that was why Dean was frozen under his brother’s weight on the thin blue mat.
That had everything to do with the heavy weight of Sam’s dick where it lay against Dean’s lower stomach, hotter than any other part of his body.
He tried to focus. But years of polishing Sam’s skills, moving fluidly together, had made Dean aware of Sam in more ways than he should’ve been. He’d seen Sam grow into the strong, confident man he was today, but Dean had never lost control before. He’d never let the dark, lurking thoughts in the back of his mind creep to the forefront of his mind.
He’d also never lost a match to Sam without throwing it on purpose.
Today, Sam was quick. Jabs and kicks quickly and seemingly effortlessly executed. Even through their warm up, Dean had to step up his game, his calves screaming as he bounced away from each of Sam’s blows. The room got hotter, or perhaps that was just Dean, and then Sam hooked a leg around the back of Dean’s and took him down.
The air was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, a grumble and congratulations ready on his tongue for Sam getting one up on him, until Sam came with him. He slid himself over Dean’s body, pinning every inch of him.
For a moment, Dean was embarrassed. Then the blood that had rushed to his face pivoted and rushed south.
There was no way Sam didn’t feel the throb of Dean’s dick against the inside of his thigh, no way he didn’t catch the spike in Dean’s breath or the fear on his face. And so, Dean stared. Like a deer in the headlights, he stared. Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
He should’ve bucked Sam off, mumbled some bullshit excuse and fled the room before any more damage could be done. But it took all he had not to let out a gasp as Sam’s heat pressed down on him and seemingly set his body on fire. And for his part, Sam wasn’t moving. Sam was staring and staying and pressing down harder and just... it wasn’t Dean’s fault that he couldn’t think straight when all he could focus on was Sam.
He’d never been a strong man, other than physically, and Sam had been his weakness from day one. It had been something Dad had scoffed at, called him out on, tried to get him to break. But it had always been about Sam, keeping Sam safe, strong and healthy; loving Sam.
Dean focused on trying to will himself calm. He didn’t know why Sam wasn’t moving, didn’t know why they were still pressed against the floor even though the fight had been over for the past five minutes or so. But Sam wasn’t moving. He was staring back.
Sam’s eyes widened, pupils expanding, just as Dean felt the twitch of Sam’s dick. He held his breath, then felt the twitch again.
The realization came crashing down and Dean was suddenly overwhelmed with a million different thoughts of wrong and heat and need. He opened his mouth, breathed out, “Sam,” and it was as if the spell was broken. None of the thoughts racing through Dean’s head mattered anymore as Sam came crashing down completely, his mouth locking against Dean’s.
Sam rocked his hips forward and licked his way into Dean’s mouth. Dean groaned and Sam swallowed the sound, twisting his tongue with Dean’s just as he slid his hands off his wrists and into his hands, twisting their fingers together, too. It was too much, too intimate, but Dean craved it, he needed more.
Like everything else, Sam seemed to sense the turmoil in Dean’s mind, and he broke the kiss, letting his teeth drag over Dean’s bottom lip, tugging it gently before he met Dean’s eyes.
Dean didn’t know what he expected, didn’t know what type of speech or excuse Sam would give to stop them from crossing this line or to give them permission to take it forward. Grinding down against your brother and kissing him stupid went right up under the ‘not normal’ category and Dean honestly didn’t know what response he wanted Sam to have. Either way, he would go with it, even if it killed him.
What came out of Sam’s mouth wasn’t a speech or excuse. “Shut. Up,” he demanded, fingers tightening to the point they were almost painful, and then he kissed Dean breathless again, his hips rolling in tandem with the flicks of his tongue.
It was all the permission Dean needed.
He bent a knee up, Sam making a surprised noise as the movement put pressure on Sam’s cock. Dean twisted his hands free and reached between Sam’s outstretched arms to grab his hips. He pushed with his foot and flipped them over, finding Sam’s mouth as soon as Sam was on his back. When Sam relaxed, over the shock of their change in position, Dean sat back on his heels and just looked.
It was everything Dean never dared to admit he dreamed. Sam’s legs fell slack on either side of him, his arms left lying just above his head. His lips were darker and kiss-swollen, his cheeks flushed. He smiled up at Dean, calm, relaxed, and so fucking comfortable, as if this was natural for them. It made something swell in the center of Dean’s chest and he tore his eyes away, unable to look at Sam for a moment longer, less he see exactly what Dean was thinking then.
He focused on the bottom of Sam’s Stanford t-shirt, the edge curled over on itself and revealing a strip of tanned skin. Dean hesitated once then reached for it, his fingers trailing against Sam’s stomach and disappearing under the shirt. Sam gasped and shivered, his hands clenching into fists.
“Dean,” he gasped, and if that wasn’t the best thing Dean had ever heard.
Dean took his time pushing Sam’s shirt back, his fingers tracing the muscles of his stomach, ghosting over his ribs. Each press into Sam’s skin had his younger brother shivering, leaning up into the touch, and Dean couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It was like a fever dream, something cooked up by a Djinn, and Dean would be damned if he didn’t fulfill his fantasy before the reverie ended.
The heat in Sam’s body lit the fire in Dean’s, and suddenly there was too much between them. Sam gasped as Dean twisted his fists into Sam’s shirt, pulling him up before he pulled the shirt off Sam’s body completely. Sam reacted quickly, immediately reaching for Dean’s Aerosmith tee and making quick work of getting it free. Dean’s left hand found its way to twist into Sam’s hair, his right arm breaking their fall as they collapsed back to the ground in a bruising kiss.
“Dean, come on,” Sam groaned into his mouth, fingers digging into Dean’s back and pulling him closer. Sam rolled his hips up from the ground, and Dean gasped at the sudden delicious pressure. He pulled tighter on Sam’s hair, licking deeper into his mouth, before suddenly releasing him and moving down his body instead.
Above him, Sam was gasping for air, breathing as hard as he had been when they’d first stopped sparring, and Dean smirked as he dragged his teeth against the column of Sam’s throat and started kissing his way down Sam’s chest. He made his way down Sam’s chest and stomach, pressing his teeth, tongue, and lips against every inch of skin he came across.
When he settled between Sam’s legs, lying across his thighs, he hesitated once. Egged on by the sharp intake of breath above him, before he slid the basketball shorts off Sam’s hips. His brother lifted his hips slightly, letting Dean get the fabric over the swell of his ass, and his cock sprang free, twitching in the cool air. Dean heard himself groan as he leaned forward, the hot flesh of Sam’s dick silky against his cheek.
Sam’s cock twitched again and Dean let his tongue dart out, flattening against the base of it before dragging a long, slow, trail to the tip. There was a hiss and a scratching sound as Sam tried to grip onto something, the blue foam mats not giving him any purchase. Dean smiled and reached up to grip Sam and hold him in place as he circled his tongue around Sam’s engorged cockhead.
Sam groaned, the breathless sound sending shocks straight to Dean’s own cock. He fought the urge to press down against the mat beneath him and focused on sucking and kissing his way down Sam’s shaft, then back up again. He took his time sucking Sam down, pressing his tongue against the underside as he slid down.
“Dean,” Sam breathed out above him, his hands coming to grip into Dean’s hair. His thighs were trembling beneath Dean’s chest, fighting the urge to buck up into the heat of Dean’s mouth, and Dean smirked as he took Sam in deeper, swallowing around Sam’s cock and earning a louder gasp.
He shifted, giving himself the room to slide his hands up Sam’s thighs, fingers pressing into the muscles and spreading Sam’s legs as he went. Dean reveled in the taste of Sam against his tongue, all salt, and heat and Sam.
Sam groaned again as Dean flexed his throat and took Sam as deep as he could before pulling back and slowly bobbing his head. Sam was coming apart. His breathing was ragged, his fingernails scraping almost painfully against Dean’s scalp. Dean moaned around Sam’s cock, the vibrations making Sam shake beneath him.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Sam chanted above him, his hips failing at rolling up into Dean’s mouth. Dean relaxed his jaw, moved to give Sam more room, and moaned against as Sam took the hint and started fucking into his mouth, shallow slow movements that made Dean crave the feeling of Sam shoved against the back of his throat.
Every few thrusts he swallowed hard, another breathless gasp of his name falling from Sam’s lips. When Sam started to falter, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated, Dean took back over, hands coming around Sam’s body and fingers digging into his ass to hold him up.
Fingers tugged at his hair, Sam’s body going taut, was the only warning Dean had before Sam cried out, his cock throbbing its release on Dean’s tongue. Dean groaned and swallowed Sam down, milking him for every last drop before pulling back slowly with a drag of his tongue.
When he released Sam from his mouth he sat back on his knees, looking down at Sam splayed against the mat, his chest as flushed as his face and looking more beautiful than Dean had ever seen him.
“Come here,” Sam whispered and Dean complied, climbing his way up Sam’s body, careful of the sensitive flesh between them and his own erection pressing against Sam’s hip as they lay flush together. Without prompting, Dean found Sam’s mouth and they kissed lazily for a few minutes before Sam gently pushed his shoulders back.
Dean watched as Sam pushed himself from the ground and stood, looking down at Dean with a smile.
“What?” Dean asked, rolling back so he was lying on his back giving him a full view of Sam’s body.
“Shower,” Sam answered, his face suddenly bright red, embarrassed with whatever he was going to say as like Dean hadn’t just sucked him down and he wasn’t standing in the center of the gym butt ass naked. Dean arched an eyebrow, ready to ask, when Sam continued. “I want that,” he nodded his head, eyes trailing down Dean’s body and the tented front of his shorts, “inside of me.”
Then he turned, not needing Dean’s response, and headed towards the locker room at the back. Dean stared, eyes wide for a moment as he appreciated the movement of the muscles in Sam’s back, his ass and his thighs, before he reached down and grabbed their scattered clothing and ran after his brother.