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These Morning Hours

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“I didn’t know you had a birthmark here,” Sam pressed his pointer finger into Dean’s inner thigh. The muscle there was firm but his finger still indented it and Sam smiled at the accuracy of it all; Dean seemingly rough but so pliant for his little brother.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and squeezed at Sam’s hips with his big protective hands. Sam could feel the gun calluses on his palms, something that no twenty year old should have. They were rough against the baby-soft plush of his bare skin.

It was an early morning, five to be exact, and the motel heater was humming. The dark windows were flecked with condensation, reflecting the streetlights that were just about to turn off. The brother’s were entirely naked, Sam straddling Dean’s torso, sharing warmth but still having goosebumped skin. John wouldn’t be back until seven, so they were determined to make the most of the alone time they were granted; they seldom had the opportunity to be slow with their gazes and touches.

Fingertips traced shapes on Sam’s thigh; any excuse for Dean to be touching his brother. Then it became ‘love you’ over and over and he only stopped when Sam gave him that knowing look that he’d been caught.

“Love you too,” Sam whispered, earning him a ‘shut up’ and a poke to the stomach in response.

His touch wandered to the purple-yellow bruises on Sam’s forearm, courtesy of their latest hunt, “Still hurt?” He took Sam’s bony hand and pressed wet kisses to each of his knuckles.

“S’fine, De,” Sam leaned down to kiss sloppily over Dean’s mouth, “Promise.”

Mouth slightly agape, Sam sucked at Dean’s lips leaving a mess of spit and when he was done, he flashed a toothy grin at his brother. Dean’s thumbs brushed Sam’s blushing cheekbones, held his head with spanning fingertips in lengthy, brown hair and Sam gave a lazy rub of his crotch into Dean’s stomach, just because.

“I like your hair long,” Dean circled his arms around Sam’s neck, letting his locks fall over his skin, tickle his forearms. He kisses Sam for a long time, savoring, and eventually slowing to a stop with mouths frozen but still connected.

“And I like when you let your stubble grow,” Sam ran his tongue across an unshaved jaw, salty with a light sheen of sweat.

There was a sleepy haze in the air. Dean pulled his brother down lightly by the wrists, forcing him to heavy his limbs and lay atop Dean like a blanket.

“Wanna go back to sleep for a little bit, Sammy? I’ll wake you up when we gotta get dressed.”

Sam hummed in reply and tucked his face in the crook of his neck, absentmindedly kissing the skin there and yawning himself back to sleep.

This morning was for touching, for wrapping up in that Dean-Sam scent that permeated the sheets. For supple dewey skin under plump lips and tasting sleep sour mouths.

This morning was for a rare moment of calm that they would keep close to their hearts, pocketing it to remember when the whirlwind of their lives became too much to bear.