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Never Gets Old

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Sam yawned, stretching his toes out. They’d tussled with a lot of major league monsters recently, and his bodily aches were a laundry list of different battles: the pang in the base of his spine from being thrown into yet another bookshelf, the burning, hastily stitched scars from the glanced bullet off his hip, the throb in a knee that he’d fucked being body slammed in a parking lot two years ago. There were others, but these were the ones that were reminding him with each second that he wasn’t so young, wasn’t so invincible.


He hadn’t really been paying much attention to the movie. Dean was way more into it anyway. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan of horror flicks--didn’t they see enough of that in their daily life? And it was all so unrealistic. Dean loved it, though, thought it was all fuckin’ hilarious. He’d mock the girls who investigated the weird noise down the hall or got drunk in the strange bar that several patrons had gone missing from.


On the surface, it irritated Sam, but honestly? When Dean got all geeked out like this, speaking over the movie just to nit-pick some minor detail, Sam was happy. Bar nothing. Just god damn satisfied with life for once. It was the epitome of normalcy for them, and Sam was eager to savor it, to swim in the moment for as long as time would allow.


Dean nudged him. Sam looked over in silent question. “I bet you don’t even know who just died,” Dean grouched. “Mr. Daydream.”


Sam stretched again, dancing his fingers across his lap. “Nope,” he said, giving Dean a years-curated shit eating smile.


Dean rolled his eyes, turning back to the movie and taking a sip from his beer. “Philistine,” he grumbled.


Sam pulled the pillow out that was supporting the base of his tender spine and put it on the coffee table, using it to elevate his throbbing knee instead. His various aches and pains were going to have to take shifts.


With his legs up, Sam sank back into the couch cushions, the position drawing a satisfied sigh out of him. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and resting it against the cushions. He let the movie magic sounds of stabs and screams wash over him.


A moment later, and Dean was slapping him on the shoulder. Sam huffed in surprise, smacking his lips. He wiped drool onto the shoulder of his shirt. “Hmm?” he asked.


Dean was giving him a cheesy, eyebrow-waggling look that only meant one thing. “Heh,” Dean said, pointing to the T.V. “Bring back any memories?”


Sam blinked, sitting back up and focusing on the screen. Two conventionally attractive teenagers were going at it reverse cowgirl style. The girl’s tits were bouncing in a way that was kind of comical.


Sam wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t she get murdered a second ago?” he asked. His inner skeptic never slept.


Dean gave him an inappropriately disappointed look, shaking his head. “He was killed at the beginning, and she died like thirty minutes ago, dude. They’re in purgatory now trying to find Beezlebub. Duh.”


“Must’ve drifted off,” Sam mumbled, internally impressed with Dean’s ability to follow the movie’s tenuous logic.


“Did you hear me?” Dean asked. He waggled his eyebrows. “Bring back… any… memories?”


Sam watched the dude finish inside of the girl. Ah. Dean was getting nostalgic about getting it on when they were younger. He shook his head, rubbing at his eye, willing his body to wake back up. “Several.”


Dean snickered. “We put rabbits to shame,” he said. “You could make a killing as an endurance runner, if our activities say anything.”


As much as Sam hated the joke, he laughed, blushing. “Well, thanks to you.”


“Mmm.” Dean made a satisfied noise and set down his now-empty beer. “Wanna go put rabbits to shame?”


“Right now…?” Sam checked his watch. It was pretty late. It wasn’t like they had much to do tomorrow, though.


“You’re tellin’ me you’re too tired to do the reverse cowgirl?” Dean said.


Sam shrugged as his cock twitched halfheartedly. Dean was correct in recalling that it was Sam’s favorite position. Something about the angle was just… Okay. His cock was a little more interested now, but wouldn’t be disappointed if nothing happened.


“I’m not twenty-two anymore,” Sam said.


“Oh my god,” Dean said. “You’re not the one who’s almost forty.”


Dean sat up straighter, shuffling into Sam’s space. He leaned closer, tucking Sam’s hair behind his hair. Sam shivered. Damn him. Damn him for knowing all the ways to wind Sam up. “Come on,” Dean whispered, dropping his voice and smirking at Sam. “I bet you fifty bucks you can still do it.”


Sam looked up at Dean, eyes flicking between Dean’s pupil-blown, heavy-lidded ones. His cock was hard now, and he was not going to fall asleep any time soon. “Why would I enter a bet I’d lose?”


Dean smiled wider, leaning back and standing up. He held his hand out. Sam took it. Dean hauled him upright. Sam tested his bum knee--not so bad. It barely twinged as he and Dean walked down the hall to their bedroom.


The moment they were inside and the door was closed, Dean was stripping. Seeing that familiar body had Sam following suit just a tad slower to not pull his stitches out.


Dean’s cock bobbed free of his boxers and Sam swallowed reflexively, eyes glued to it as he tossed his shirt off. God, he was thick. It had been a while since they’d last fucked, and Sam knew he’d be tight. Good.


Sam pushed his jeans and boxer briefs off of his hips and wiggled out of them. He stepped out of them and walked forward into Dean’s embrace. Dean’s arms wrapped around his body, his hands exploring, brushing across his back until they inevitably reached his ass, squeezing him.


Sam kissed Dean, starved for it, wondering how they’d gone so long without a moment like this, wondering how he hadn’t been craving Dean’s tongue twenty four-seven.


He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, drawing them flush against each other, cocks brushing. Dean kissed him ever deeper, sucking on Sam’s tongue, and let go of one of Sam’s cheeks to shove a hand between their burning bodies and take both of their shafts in his hands.


Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth at the friction Dean’s hand provided. Dean broke off their kiss to bring his hand up to Sam’s mouth. Sam sucked on his fingers one at a time, thoroughly lathing them until they were slick with spit. Dean gripped them again, stroking them both, rubbing their heads against one another.


Sam was breaking out in a sweat, practically panting into Dean’s mouth more than actually kissing him. He wasn’t that much of a sexual person, didn’t “need” it like others did, but Dean knew exactly how to drive him fucking crazy, how to tease him, how to turn him into a slut that would beg for it.


Sam shivered. Dean broke off the kiss but bumped their noses together, nuzzling Sam’s face. “Yeah?” Dean whispered, eyes narrowed and locked with Sam’s. “You close?”


Sam swallowed. He was a little dizzy. “Yeah,” he whispered back.


“Hmm.” Dean feigned disappointment. He squeezed Sam at the base to stave off the inevitable. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart.”


Sam’s cock twitched at the nickname. He nodded, stepping back from Dean, chest heaving. “Get on the bed,” he said.


“I love it when you’re bossy,” Dean said, grinning. He flopped back onto the mattress, stretching and putting his arms behind his head.


God, that was a picture. If Sam had less discipline, if this was the first time, he’d strip his cock right here and now, eyes glued on miles of freckled skin.


But Sam knew that patience had its perks. He walked around the bed in a practiced strut, knowing without looking that Dean’s eyes were tracking his ass and the way it moved. Dean was the only person that Sam wanted looking at him like that, devouring him with his eyes.


He opened the nightstand drawer and got out the lube. He stood over Dean, clicking and unclicking the lid. “How do you want to do it?” he asked.


Dean licked his lips. “On my lap,” he said. “Ass first.”


Sam’s breath hitched. Any hesitation was thrown out the window at the want in Dean’s eyes, at the way he eyed Sam’s body, made him feel sexy. Sam tossed Dean the lube before crawling onto the bed and onto Dean’s lap. He shifted around until Dean’s cock was in his face.


He felt hands running across his ass and squeezing him, and hushed swears. The lid on the lube snicked open, and then Dean’s fingers were rubbing over his hole, not even pressing in, just petting him, over and over again.


His cock was dripping precome on Dean’s chest. His toes curled at the press of Dean’s blunt fingers. He got to work, licking a broad stripe from the base of Dean’s cock up to the head.


Dean was grunting now, muttering hushed filthy sentences that Sam only caught some of, like “fucking wet for me,” “gonna break you.”


Sam licked Dean some more, getting him wet and slick, before taking Dean’s cock in his mouth and sinking slowly down. His eyes burned, but he persisted. Dean’s mushroom head pushed at the back of his throat. He sucked Dean’s cock, running his tongue across the shaft as he bobbed up and down.


The wet noises coming from both of them were obscene. Dean had been working one finger progressively deeper into Sam’s ass, adding an inordinate amount of lube each time he pushed further in. Now, Dean was fucking Sam easily with one finger, crooking it up every once in awhile, causing a zing of almost too much pleasure to shoot through Sam’s body. His cock was twitching almost endlessly now, dripping, desperate to be touched, but he denied himself.


Sam bobbed his head faster, sucking Dean sloppily. He was drooling all over Dean’s cock, but he knew it would come in handy later. He lapped precome from the head, laving the sensitive skin with his tongue. He swallowed Dean down to the base, mouth flooding with saliva, before coming up for air.


Dean was pushing a third finger in now, and working Sam open. He was still tight, and even just the three fingers were making his body shake, pressure building inside him that was begging to be released. Dean’s fingertips were just barely grazing his prostate, and it wasn’t enough stimulation, but it was almost there, god, fuck, just a little more.


Sam whimpered, pushing himself onto Dean’s fingers. He fucked himself on Dean’s hand as he blew Dean, moans muffled by the cock stuffed into his mouth.


Dean pulled his fingers out of Sam’s puffy hole, and Sam’s hips fucked backward, seeking pressure, seeking friction. After a beat, something warm and broad pressed against his hole, and before he could process the change, Dean’s tongue was lapping at him, and Dean was fucking him with his mouth.


Sam closed his eyes tightly, controlling his breaths. God. The want coursing through him was almost unbearable. They rarely did this, but when they did, Sam didn’t even have to touch himself. Something about Dean’s tongue unraveled him, turned him into an overstimulated mess.


He lost himself to the sensations. He’d lifted off of Dean’s cock for a moment, but he got back to work. He enjoyed the weight and salty taste of a cock in his mouth, and the deep grunts and cut-off swears when Sam sucked him in just the right way were just the cream on the cake.


Sam had no idea how long they went on like that--Dean’s talented tongue kept him right at the edge, and every time Dean tensed his tummy too much, Sam pulled away, squeezing at the base of his shaft, keeping Dean away from an orgasm.


Sam pulled off of Dean’s cock with a wet pop. He was impatient now. Just the concept of Dean coming inside him had him ansty, had his hole contracting, seeking stimulation. “Dean,” he whined, and Dean’s tongue left his hole.


Dean slapped his ass. “Right then,” he husked. “Get to it, Sammy.”


Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He sat up over Dean, positioning himself over Dean’s cock. He reached back and felt for the lube. Dean gave it to him. Sam poured out a considerable amount and stroked Dean with it, jacking him off roughly and slicking him up. Dean was biting off curses, and Sam wasted no time in reaching below himself, propping Dean’s cock upright, and sinking down onto it.


He gasped. Even just Dean’s mushroom head breaching his hole burned a little, stretched him wide, filled him up. He paused there, holding just Dean’s head inside him, adjusting to the intrusion, savoring the pressure.


His thighs trembled. He needed to get moving. He carefully inched himself lower on Dean’s cock, feeling himself stretching wide to accommodate Dean’s girth.


“Sammy…” Dean’s voice was tight, strained. “Move.”


Sam obeyed, lifting his hips until Dean was almost free of him, then sinking back down. He sighed, body abuzz. Fuck. That was good. He fucked himself down on Dean’s cock, leaning backward until he was practically laying over Dean, hard cock resting against his tummy, leaking against his belly button.


Dean nibbled at his ear. “Now this takes me back,” he said.


Sam was too busy to shake his head in exasperation. He shifted his feet and hands, trying for the best leverage, for the best angle, hips gyrating in tight little circles all the way.


Dean tapped his hip over and over again. Sam’s head was right over Dean’s, so he couldn’t turn to look at him. “What?” he breathed instead, still moving, still searching for the perfect feeling.


Dean moaned. “Dresser… mirror,” he got out, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his hips hard enough to sting, carefully avoiding the stitches there.


Sam turned and looked, and--oh, fuck. The mirror over the new dresser Dean had built (and never stopped bragging about) reflected the mess they’d gotten into.


Sam blinked, mouth dropping open. Dean was holding onto his hips, biting his lip, and fucking into Sam. Sam was sprawled on top of Dean, tummy up and heaving, cock long and pink.


The way he was stretched out over Dean, body spread out and twitching… Sam fucked back against Dean’s thrusts, watching it in the mirror, and they built a rhythm, the room filling with grunts, pants, and wet slapping noises.


Dean shifted just slightly, bracing his foot on the bed, drawing his knee up, and Sam cried out despite himself. There. That was it. With each piston of his hips, Dean was nailing Sam’s prostate dead on.


One of Dean’s hands left his hip and instead curled around his cock. Dean’s hands were still slick with lube, so he had no trouble jerking Sam slow and rough, bunching up the skin under the head and squeezing before dragging his hands back down to the base.


Sam’s eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back in his head. He was only aware of his breathing, of his rapid heartbeat, and of the feelings in his cock and hole. It was too much all at once. It was enough pleasure to make his breaths each come out as a moan. He couldn’t control the ragged, slutty noises coming from his throat, or the erratic, helpless twitching of his body as he came, riding through the orgasm on a wave of pure bliss.


Dean was swearing underneath him, one hand working Sam through his orgasm, the other skating and pinching across Sam’s flesh. Dean’s hips stuttered and he pumped deeply into Sam once, twice, three times more, hard enough to bruise Sam’s tailbone, pushing as deep as anatomy would allow.


Dean came with a guttural moan, and dimly Sam was aware that he could feel the pulse of Dean’s cock, the extra-wet noise that came from the come mixing with the lube inside of him.


Dean fucked Sam through his orgasm, and Sam twitched, overstimulated, oversensitive. Dean flopped back onto the bed, boneless. Sam couldn’t hold himself up any longer. Using his last bit of strength, he lifted off of Dean’s cock and rolled onto his back beside Dean.


He stared up at the ceiling in a daze. His entire body ached and throbbed in time with his heart, but it was a pleasant feeling, especially the burn around his hole.


Dean started chuckling out of nowhere. Sam rolled his head like a ragdoll toward Dean in question. Dean was smiling up at the ceiling like a fat cat. “I knew you had it in you,” he said. “Now you have me in you, too.”


“Ugh.” Sam closed his eyes, trying not to smile. “Way to make the moment unsexy.”


“My puns are so sexy.”


“I literally couldn’t be softer.”


“Only ‘cause I fucked the life out of you,” Dean slapped Sam on the hip. “Jesus, you’re half dead.”


“Nguh,” Sam said. He wanted to come up with some witty retort or rebuke but his brain was so not up to it. He was all jello, all mush.


Dean laughed again. “I fucked the brains out of Sam Winchester. Now that’s an accomplishment.”


When Sam didn’t respond, they lapsed into a satisfied, exhausted silence. Sam feared he might never be able to move his body again. His limbs were like lead weights weighed down with other lead weights.


Eventually, though, nature called, and he was feeling kind of sticky. Sam rolled off the bed, and it was by miracle alone he was able to stand on two feet instead of collapse onto the ground.


On shaky, weak, colt legs, Sam stumbled over to the bathroom. With each step, he could feel another drop of come dribble out of his hole and down his thigh.


He braced his hands against the sink and dropped his head. His back didn’t feel that much worse, and neither did his hip. His knee, though, his knee was going to bother him when he woke up. Dean had bruised him in certain places, too.


With effort, Sam lifted his head and met his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a bird’s nest. There were tear tracks going down both cheeks from reddened eyes. His lips were swollen. There were matching hickeys on either side of his neck. He was drenched in sweat, collarbone and hairline shiny with it. Last but not least was the smattering of dying come on his chest, all the way up to his nipples.


Sam gave his reflection a proud, exhausted, somewhat bashful smile, like a virgin after the first time but if the first time had been a kink-filled sex marathon. Jesus fuck.


Dean came up behind him and slapped his ass. “Good work, champ,” he said. “You really killed it out there.”


Sam gave Dean a look. “We’re gonna need to install a railing in the shower so I don’t collapse.”


Dean frowned at him in the mirror, pressing his body against Sam’s backside and kissing his jaw. “So no round two?” he asked.


Sam dropped his head again, looking down at his half full, interested cock. Seriously?


Sam met Dean’s gaze in the mirror. “Why do you think we’re installing a railing?” he asked with a wry smile.


Dean’s eyes went dark. He slapped Sam’s ass again. “There’s my Sammy. C’mon, I’ll wash your hair.”


Dean stepped into the shower and turned it on. He stepped under the spray and smiled at Sam. What an invitation.


Sam shook his head at both of their antics. His body might protest when he stays in one position to long, his joints might ache, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t so old that he couldn’t drop to his knees and let Dean face fuck him.


Sam met his pink-cheeked reflection in the mirror one more time before walking over to the shower. To think back when it all started he’d been so shy, so inexperienced and nervous, and yet Dean had been right there with him, fumbling through this new thing.


Now, they knew each other’s kinks and bodies, knew turn ons and turn offs. Now, confidence replaced his nervousness, and every day Dean made him feel better about his body.


Dean cradled him under the shower spray, drawing him into a sweet kiss. Sam lost himself in it, smiling against Dean’s lips. Nothing, no matter how fearsome, could have drawn him away from his brother in that moment.


The world could wait just another night.