It's been three hours since it happened.
They're in the car, leaving Pendleton behind and heading back to the bunker, with no clue how to reverse the curse.
Reverse the curse. Heh.
"Shut up, Dean," Sam grouses after he's said it at least ten times. "It's not funny."
"Oh come on, Sammy, it's a little funny," Dean insists, but Sam just rolls his eyes, huffs out a breath and crosses his arms, hunching down in the seat to glare out the windshield.
Sam's pissed. Dean's never seen him so angry. Well, he's seen him this angry, just not for a while. Dean's not sure exactly what the problem is, actually.
"I mean, come on, Sam. We killed the witch, and the evil Hansel guy, we saved the girl, and got the bonus prize," he holds up his arm, free of the Mark for the first time in almost a year. "How is that not a win?"
"Uh, maybe because we're both stuck being fourteen-year-olds for the foreseeable future?" Sam snarks bitterly. "And just for the record, I hated being fourteen. It totally sucked the royal red big one the first time around, and I am not looking forward to growing up again. At all."
"That's because I was eighteen and already grown up," Dean reminds him cheerfully. "This time around, I'm right there with you, bud. We're gonna grow up together. Like twins."
"Fuck," Sam shudders, closes his eyes, and buries his face in his hands, rubbing the heels against his eyelids like he could somehow rub the sight of his too-young brother out of his mind.
"Come on, Sam, how is this such a bad thing? I mean, even if we never find a way to fix it, think about what it really means to start over. No scars, or broken bones, all internal organs normal and healthy again. My liver loves this, I can tell you. Plus, experience," Dean taps his temple. "Up here. We know stuff, we don't have to make the same mistakes twice. High school."
"High school?" Sam stares at his brother, flabbergasted. "Are you serious? Do you remember high school? Dude, you hated high school."
"No, I didn't," Dean protests. "I hated sitting in classrooms, listening to idiot teachers telling us stuff we didn't need to know. I hated sitting around doing homework. But high school – the football games, the cheerleaders, the basketball games, the cheerleaders –"
"Dean," Sam interrupts irritably. "You do realize everybody is underage at high school. And you – you are extremely underage right now."
"Of course, we'll have to go civilian for a while," Dean acknowledges, frowning a little. "I mean, we're pretty useless on hunts this way." He glances at Sam, taking in the small, slender frame his brother now occupies, shaking his head a little. "You are downright tiny."
"Shut up," Sam huffs.
"I mean, we probably weigh about two-hundred pounds combined," Dean notes thoughtfully. "Not exactly heavy-weights."
"Heavy-weight enough to take down a mean old witch and her big bad minion," Sam reminds him.
"True, but we got lucky," Dean shakes his head. "Can't depend on luck in a hunt, and you know it."
"Luck," Sam mutters under his breath. "So that's what this is."
"Dude, what is your problem?" Dean demands, finally sick of Sam's shit. It really doesn't make sense to Dean that Sam should be so negative. "Usually you're the glass-half-full guy on stuff like this."
"Yeah, well, not this time," Sam grumbles, throwing yet another sorry-assed glance at his brother's diminutive frame, shuddering a little. "You know, the last time you looked like this, I was ten."
"So?" Dean shrugs.
Sam opens his mouth, shuts it again and turns his face away. "Never mind."
"No, Sam," Dean's hands clutch harder on the steering wheel, making his knuckles white. "Say it. What's up your ass about this? Huh?"
"Nothing," Sam mutters, jaw clenched.
"Oh no," Dean shakes his head, slowing the car and pulling over onto the shoulder. "No way. No way you're just avoiding whatever the hell this is." He slams his foot on the brake, making the car lurch to a stop, shuts off the engine and turns on the bench to face his brother, drawing one leg up and sliding his arm across the back of the seat. "Spit it out, Sam. Come on. What the hell is wrong with you? What's so bad about this? Huh?"
Sam sits hunched over with his face turned stubbornly away for another moment, frustrating Dean to no end. The kid can just not do this. Not when things were miraculously working out for them for once, not when they've just solved the whole Mark of Cain problem and now are getting a new lease on life. Literally. It just isn't fair.
So of course Dean does the only thing he can think of to shake Sam out of whatever weird funk he's sunk into. He reaches across the seat to grab Sam's shoulder, misses because his body's so small now and he misjudges the distance, manages to grab hold of Sam's arm instead. And Sam must have miscalculated his own size and weight, because he starts to try to yank his arm away but ends up slapping Dean in the face so that now Dean is just angry as hell.
"You little shit," Dean curses as he scrambles across the seat, barreling into Sam with fists flying. Hair-trigger emotions, especially of the fighting or sexing kind, are part of this body's wild hormone swings. Dean knows this, consciously, but in the heat of the moment all he wants to do is teach Sam a lesson about who's the big brother here, goddamn it!
At first Sam tries to put his arms up to protect himself, but then he realizes their relative sizes and starts fighting back, grabbing Dean's arms so he can pin him, twisting his body so that he can get a knee up. He manages to wrestle Dean down onto the seat beneath him, and no matter how Dean fights, there's no mistaking the fact that they are pretty evenly matched, that if anything Dean is scrawnier than Sam, thinner than he really should be for his physical age.
"Goddamn it, Sammy, get off me," Dean growls when he registers the fact that he's caught, held down on the seat under Sam's slightly heavier body. "How can you be bigger than me? No way can you be bigger."
"How can you be so skinny, Dean?" Sam counters, gasping as he holds Dean's wrists up over his head, pressing his torso tight against Dean's, framing Dean's legs with his own to keep them in place. In this position their faces are mere inches apart, and Dean considers head-butting Sam for the split second it takes Sam to realize what he's thinking. Then Sam draws back, holding onto Dean's wrists but pulling them down in front of him as he sits back, rocking his ass against Dean's dick.
Because of course in the scuffle Dean's managed to get a raging hard-on. He can see the shocked expression on Sam's face as he feels it, lets Dean's wrists go in an obvious attempt to scramble away. But Dean's got the advantage now, reacts without thinking about it and grabs the front of Sam's hoodie and pulls him down, surging up at the same time so their mouths come together hard, teeth clacking, lips bruising.
Dean's eyes close as Sam relaxes against him, breathing in sweat and musk and the spicy, slightly milky scent that is all Sam. The body is smaller, and Sam's cheeks are as smooth as a baby's bottom, which Dean has some experience with since he used to change Sam's diapers. He pushes his tongue into Sam's mouth, finds it warm and wet and there's that slightly milky flavor again. Dean pushes his hand down under the waistband of Sam's jeans, finding the hot, smooth skin of his ass, the sweat from their struggle making Sam's skin slippery and damp.
Dean ruts up against Sam's groin, searching for friction as he plunders Sam's mouth with his tongue, and for another minute Sam's into it, he can tell because Sam is kissing back, grinding down, and it's so good, even if it's a little weird because he's never had Sam this young before, and Sam sure as hell never had Dean when he was this age, so it's gotta be new for him too.
Which is when Sam pulls away, scrambling backwards on the seat, then he's out of the damn car, still shuffling backwards away from Dean with his hands out in front of him, soft baby face all flushed, hair mussed.
"What?" Dean goes after him, raging hard-on making it painful to move, damn it. "Sam, what? It's just me, man. It's just us!"
"No," Sam's breathing hard, shaking his head violently. "No, Dean. You don't get it. It's just the hormones talking. I can't do this with you, not when you're – We never – not when we were this young – "
"Yeah we did, Sammy," Dean insists, more gently now because he's dealing with spooked Sam, who is never a very stable or reliable character. "We fucked around a lot when we were this age. I can remember waking up with you humping my leg, ya little bitch. I had to practically peel you off my hip sometimes."
"I was fourteen, Dean," Sam practically whines. "I couldn't control it, you know that."
"Yeah, so how's this different? Oh, except now we've been fucking around for – how many years is it? So it's not like anybody's a virgin here, Sam."
"That's not the issue, Dean," Sam shakes his head.
"Well then, what is? And if you're gonna tell me we have to be celibate, cuz you're just creeped out about this body because it's four years younger than the one you first humped, well I can tell you, I ain't doing the celibacy thing. It never works for me. So if you can't put out–"
"Don't be an asshole," Sam admonishes, low and miserable, but not that low because his voice hasn't completely changed yet and he still sounds young and more than a little helpless.
"Yeah, well, I'm just sayin'." But Dean backs down because he can't stand it when Sam gets like this. He shuffles his feet, kicks his toe in the gravel – Stupid rubber-toed sneakers! Damn it! He scrubs a hand over his face – Goddamn zits! Then he's right up in front of Sam, and their heights practically match. Well, okay, Dean's a little taller (thank God for small favors!), but he's also scrawnier. Sam's definitely got a little more weight on him.
Dean reaches up, pushes the hair out of Sam's eyes, studies the familiar features, all soft and unformed and young again. Sam's looking down; he keeps glancing up at Dean, then his gaze skitters away, like he just can't handle seeing Dean like this, and Dean gets it. He finally gets it.
"Hey," he murmurs, keeping one hand on Sam's cheek, the other hand sliding through that baby-soft hair. "Shut your eyes, Sam."
Sam frowns, but he does it, stands stock still as Dean slides his thumb down his cheekbone, over the little beauty mark next to his nose, along his lips. Sam trembles a little at the touch, and his lips part, his cheeks flush a pretty shade of dusky pink as Dean leans in, replaces his thumb with his lips, presses a soft kiss against Sam's. When he pulls back, Sam's breathing a little faster. He keeps his eyes closed, lets his tongue dart out to lick the taste of Dean off his lower lip.
"See?" Dean says softly. "Feels the same, don't it? Tastes the same."
Sam nods, swallowing hard.
"It's just me, Sam, see? When you keep your eyes shut, it's all the same."
Dean leans in again, and the kiss is deeper this time, slow and sweet and familiar, and there's that milky flavor again and Dean realizes he hasn't tasted it in years, since Sam was young like this. He can't remember when Sam stopped tasting like milk, like a young child, and it makes him sad for a minute that he doesn't remember even missing it until now, now that he's found it again. It's a little piece of Sam that slipped away sometime in the past, when he grew out of it, and Dean forgot all about it.
Dean wonders if Sam's having the same thought, if he's rediscovering a part of Dean he didn't know he missed.
Of course that's the moment a car passes by, slows down, headlights like spotlights, horn honking, stupid male voice yelling, "Faggots!" out the window as the car peels away from them on down the road.
Sam and Dean break apart, blinking in the after-glare of the headlights. They watch the taillights fade into the distance, waiting a minute to be sure the car isn't going to stop and turn around so the occupants can come back and harass the two young boys caught kissing on the side of the road.
"Let's go," Dean says when they're sure, and Sam nods.
Once they're on the road again, Sam takes a deep breath, and Dean waits.
"We need to call Jodi," Sam says finally as he lets the breath out, long and slow.
"Sam – " Dean cringes a little.
"No, listen," Sam goes on. "We need an adult – I mean a physical adult – who can cover for us. We can't check into motels, most places won't let us use credit cards, we're gonna be in constant danger of some well-meaning cop or teacher or gas-station attendant thinking it's his duty to turn us over to CPS. Jodi needs to know so she can have our backs. Just until we find a cure."
"Right," Dean agrees grudgingly. "I guess it can't hurt to let her know what's happened. Just in case."
"Then we find another witch," Sam goes on, "if we can't find a cure in the bunker."
"Hate the first idea," Dean says. "Let's start with the second."
"We can't work like this," Sam reminds him. "I mean, we can't hunt."
Dean shrugs. "So we take a break. Put the word out we're available for research. Other hunters can call us for tips."
"You hate research," Sam says, and Dean shoots him a warning glare.
"We'll figure it out," he says firmly, putting an end to the conversation because it's getting heavy and grim again and Dean is so sick of Sam's Gloomy Gus thing it's not even funny.
They stop for the night outside Salt Lake City, parking the car in a deserted side-street just off the interstate, where traffic seems pretty much non-existent. Dean grabs the sleeping bag from the trunk, spreads it out on the back seat, just like they did when they were kids. Then he strips down to his boxers and teeshirt and climbs in, leaving room for Sam beside him.
Which is when he notices Sam's been standing there the entire time, watching Dean fix up the makeshift bed, watching as Dean takes off most of his clothes.
"What now, Sam?" Dean raises his eyebrows at his brother, then pats the space next to him. "Come on, man. It's just like old times. Just like we always did in the old days, before we got too big."
"I can't – I can't sleep with you like this," Sam looks scared again, has that spooked look in his eyes that Dean can't stand.
"Damn it, Sammy, it's just me," Dean rolls his eyes. "We already went over this. Just shut your eyes. Now come on, get undressed and get in here so we can get some sleep."
"Not gonna be sleeping if I do that," Sam shakes his head ominously, and Dean grins.
"Yeah, well, so we fuck like horny teenagers first," Dean licks his lips lasciviously. "Then sleep."
"Oh my God," Sam breathes, but he doesn't leave, doesn't back down. Sam's always good for a dare, Dean'll give him that.
"You know we gotta get past this, or everything will just get worse," Dean reminds him, cuz they've been through this before. The denial, the pretending, always leads to lies and secrets, and that's never good. "If this is the way it's gonna be from now on, we need to start getting used to it. Running away never helps anything."
Sam stares, shakes his head a little, then huffs out a breath.
"Since when did you get so wise?" he asks, and Dean shrugs.
"It's just something my brother said once," Dean says. "Besides. I'm the older one." He pats the space beside him again. "Come on. Not a big deal, I promise."
And maybe Sam's just worn down by all the activity, all the worry, all the excitement and changes they've been through today. Whatever it is, he gives a big sigh, toes off his shoes, then pulls his hoodie off over his head, exposing a strip of baby-soft skin just above the waistband of his jeans. Dean has a flash-back to when Sam was really this age, all awkward and shy and red-cheeked with constant blushing, unable to look at Dean because he was obviously so infatuated it hurt.
Sam pushes his jeans down, steps out of them and glances around as if he's afraid somebody might see them before he climbs into the car, pushing his wadded-up clothes into the leg-well and shutting the door behind him.
Dean scoots back against the seat to accommodate his brother, shifting around so that Sam can extend himself along Dean's body, facing him, arms folded in front of him like a shield. Sam tucks his head in, tangles his legs with Dean's as Dean wraps his arms around Sam and pulls him flush against his chest, pressing Sam's face into his neck with a hand on the back of his head.
"That's it, little brother," he murmurs. "That's it." He plants a smacking kiss on the top of Sam's head, breathes in the sweat and dust in his unwashed hair. He strokes circles on Sam's back, is rewarded by Sam uncurling one arm, reaching around so he can slide a hand up Dean's back. It feels good, so of course Dean's hard right away, and when Sam lifts his face enough to press his lips against Dean's throat, he lets out a little gasping sigh because hell yes that feels good too.
Sam's hand wanders down Dean's back, up his side, then pushes between them, feeling up Dean's chest as Sam's mouth suckles at Dean's neck. Dean pushes his dick against Sam's thigh, seeking friction, rutting mindlessly, know this body won't last long. Sam knows it too, uses his hand to push Dean back as he lifts his face, hand tugging on the hem of Dean's tee-shirt as he pulls back to stare down at Dean, eyes blown dark.
Well, at least something's working right.
"Wanna see you," Sam breathes, tugging up the tee-shirt.
Dean whines a little, but complies, putting his arms up so Sam can pull his tee-shirt off. Sam stares at Dean's exposed chest, frowning, hand ghosting over his non-existent pecs, his skinny arms and almost concave belly.
"You're so thin," Sam sighs, voice soft and reverent and full of concern. "Why are you so thin?"
Dean shrugs a little, reaches up and tugs on Sam's shirt. "Now you," he orders, and Sam removes his tee-shirt quickly, almost as an afterthought. His body is slender and tan, lacking the muscular definition it would acquire later in life, but there's definitely the beginnings of the abs and pecs that would be there soon. Sam's body is developing, and it makes Dean proud because he knows how strong and toned his brother will be one day.
"Were you starving yourself?" Sam asks, and Dean has to force himself to focus on what Sam's saying, on the worry and concern creasing Sam's brow. "Did you have some kind of eating disorder?"
"What?" Dean reaches up to touch Sam's face, and Sam grabs his hand, shakes it a little.
"I mean it, Dean," Sam says sternly, and Dean frowns, tries to concentrate. "What were you doing? Why are you so skinny? Wasn't Dad feeding you enough?"
Dean huffs out a breath, humps up against Sam hopefully. If he can just get Sam's mind off this one train of thought, make him think about something a little more pleasant...
"Dean! Focus!" Sam shakes him again, and although it gives his dick a little friction, it's not nearly enough, and Sam's got him pinned again, heavier, slightly bigger body holding him down, forcing him to answer his stupid-ass questions.
"What do you want me to say, Sam?" Dean huffs indignantly. "Sometimes Dad didn't leave us much money, okay? Sometimes he was gone longer than he thought he would be. I had to hustle a little, steal a little, just to make sure we had enough to eat."
"To make sure I had enough to eat, you mean," Sam corrects angrily. "You starved yourself to keep me fed."
"Sometimes, food was a bit of a challenge, yeah," Dean admits reluctantly. "But I made sure you always had enough to eat. Remember? You never went hungry."
"But you did," Sam persists, then shakes his head as he looks down at Dean's chest, lays his hand there, over Dean's heart. "I never noticed."
"You were a kid," Dean says softly.
"To me, you were a superhero," Sam breathes, slipping his hand down over Dean's belly. "You seemed so big and strong. Yet here you are, all small and helpless and emaciated..."
"Not helpless," Dean protests indignantly. "I've got all my skills. Even then, I was tough. I could take on guys twice my size. Dad let me hunt with him the summer after my fourteenth birthday. Remember that? You stayed in the car. I brought down two werewolves all by myself."
Sam nods, brow smoothing out as he smiles a little. "I remember," he says quietly. "You came back all covered in blood and gore, and Dad made you wipe it all off before you got in the car."
Dean nods. "That's right, Sam, that's right. I was a badass mo-fo, even then."
"Yes, you were," Sam agrees, leaning down to press a kiss against Dean's chest, over his heart. He kisses tenderly down Dean's chest, over one of his nipples, making Dean hiss and arch up.
"Oh yeah, Sam, that's it," Dean breathes, rutting up against Sam's slender, sturdy body, still holding his lower half in place. He slides his hand through Sam's hair, encouraging him to go lower, but Sam's fixated on Dean's chest right now. He kisses slow and tender across his non-existent pecs, suckles his nipples. Finally, Sam scoots lower, kissing Dean's belly, making him squirm and hiss as Sam's tongue dips into Dean's belly-button. Dean humps against Sam's belly, against his chest, needing friction like a son-of-a-bitch, goddamn it, but Sam only slips to his knees in the leg well and starts kissing Dean's hip. He pulls down Dean's boxers, exposing his skinny hips, and just goes to town, kissing along the ridge of Dean's hipbone, slipping his hands over Dean's ass under his shorts. Dean knows there's not much meat there, feels vaguely self-conscious as Sam squeezes gently, but then his cock bobs free of his boxers, almost hitting Sam in the face. Dean gets a hand down there, grabs the base of his dick because really, if Sam so much as touches him there he'll go off like a fire-cracker. But Sam's still busy kissing along the inside of his thigh, suckling at the hairless juncture of his groin.
"Jesus, Sam!" Dean hisses, squeezing the base of his dick desperately. "Not gonna last, you keep doin' that!"
Sam lifts his head then, looking up Dean's body with a little smirk that totally belies all the tender chick-flick kissing he's been doing, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut, arches his back and fuckin' comes all over Sam's little-boy face, goddamn it.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" he practically sobs as Sam's warm, wet mouth envelops his spurting dick, sucking up the after-shocks like the pro that no fourteen-year-old should be. Sam holds Dean's softening dick in his mouth for a good minute-and-a-half, sucking weakly like a baby falling asleep at his mother's breast, then lets go before it gets too sensitive, goes back to kissing the insides of Dean's thighs, down behind his knee, bending Dean's leg back so Sam can suckle the skin there too.
Dean lies relaxed and blissed out, just letting Sam do whatever weird Sam-thing he needs to do. He's got his hand in Sam's hair, the fingers of his other hand tangled with Sam's baby-smooth fingers. No callouses. No scars on his knuckles. No broken and badly healed bones in those long, smooth digits. Sam's other hand moves and manipulates his legs so that Sam can kiss all the way down to his ankles, and it feels good, when Sam's tongue slips along the inside edge of his ankle bone. Dean moans contentedly, arousal stirring from deep inside his relaxed state, and Sam lifts his head, stares up at him.
The sight of such a young Sam kneeling between Dean's long, skinny legs, his tan face splattered with white streaks of Dean's come, sends a shock to Dean's dick, to his whole system really, and he knows he'll be harder than ever in record time. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back, biting down on another long moan as Sam puts his mouth back in the same spot, obviously loving the reaction he's getting.
"Damn it, Sam, get up here," Dean croaks out, his voice breaking annoyingly. "Need to return the favor, bitch."
Dean's still got his eyes closed, but he can hear Sam obey, hears him wipe his face off on the sleeping bag as he crawls back up Dean's body, hot, smooth skin stretched along the seat beside him. When he feels Sam's warm breath on his face he opens his eyes. Sam's face is right there, and the expression in his eyes is reverent, almost worshipful, making Dean's heart clench. He remembers that look on this face, remembers the way Sam stared at him when he first realized he was in love with Dean, when Dean first faced the fact that his little brother had fallen for him, hard.
"You starved yourself for me," Sam whispers. "I didn't even realize it at the time. I took it for granted."
Dean rolls his eyes a little, looks down at Sam's mouth, leans in to capture it with his own, to shut him up. He kisses Sam for a full minute, licking into his mouth and tasting himself there, But he can feel it as Sam pulls away because he's still got something to say.
"Here it comes," he mutters to himself, tolerating Sam's gentle hand against his cheek, letting his eyes meet Sam's again. And of course they're all dewy with emotion, like this is that moment when Sam first told him he was in love with him all over again.
"I gotta say it, Dean," Sam insists. "I need you to hear it. You gave up so much for me – "
"Sam," Dean tries for the warning tone that sometimes works, sometimes gets his little brother to shut up.
"No, listen," Sam goes on, scooting closer, pressing his body along the length of Dean's so that – oh yeah, he's definitely ready to go again. Maybe if he starts rutting, maybe he can distract Sam with some more action. Kid's gotta be needing it.
"Dean, I never said thank you," Sam's saying. " I just took you for granted, never appreciated what you were sacrificing – Basic needs, Dean. You were giving up food for me. I mean, I knew it, I sort of realized it even at the time, but to see the evidence – your body – "
"All right, that's enough," Dean slides his hand along Sam's cheek, into his hair, pulls a little to get his attention. "That was a long time ago, Sam. You were a little kid. Once you grew up, we always had enough to eat."
"But you often went hungry, Dean," Sam says. "I never did."
"That was my job, Sam, okay? It was my job to take care of you. It was what I did. You know that. I was doing my job. End of story. Now, do you want this blow-job or don't you?"
And Dean doesn't wait for Sam to answer, just rolls him onto his back so Dean can climb on top, kiss him silly until Sam starts to relax, till he finally – finally! – starts to get with the program again.
When Dean's fairly confident that Sam won't start talking again, he lets his mouth go, starts kissing and nipping at his neck, smoothing his hands down over Sam's chest, rolling Sam's nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making Sam gasp and arch his neck. His eyes are shut, cheeks flushed that lovely shade of dusky pink, soft lips parted, and he looks so young it's positively obscene. Dean never had Sam this young. He waited, much to Sam's disgust, resisting Sam's obvious desire, ignored his lustful, mooning gazes; he drove them both insane with need for two whole years until they got drunk together one night and the inevitable happened. But Sam was sixteen by then, tall and loose-limbed, muscles already giving up the last of the baby fat, starting to harden.
This body is still soft, still little-boy young, hairless, smooth, baby skin tasting like sweat and come and that old familiar milky smell that Dean forgot he loved so much. He kisses along Sam's collarbone, over the familiar moles, standing out in stark relief against his brown skin. Dean dips his tongue into the hollow of Sam's throat, runs his hands down the soft skin along the sides of Sam's torso, resisting the urge to tickle. He kisses down over the swell of one hairless pec, takes a nipple between his teeth, making Sam hiss and arch up against him. Dean worries and suckles at the nipple with his teeth and lips, wringing out the little gasps and moans that are so familiar and yet so different, coming from this younger, softer version of his brother. He licks a long, wet stripe up Sam's sternum with the flat of his tongue, clamps his mouth around Sam's other nipple, sucking hard, flicking his tongue back and forth to get it to peak and harden in his mouth, then worries it with his teeth, making Sam gasp and squirm.
"Like a girl," Dean smirks against Sam's skin. "All smooth and soft."
"Shut up!" Sam thrusts up urgently, reminding Dean that he is, most definitely, a boy. Sam's dick is hard and hot through his boxers, and Dean knows from recent experience that Sam's body won't hold out much longer. He reaches down for the waistband of Sam's boxers, slides to his knees in the leg-well, then pulls the boxers off in one smooth movement, grabbing for Sam's swollen dick as it bobs free. He barely closes his lips around the head before Sam comes hard, letting out a long, harsh moan and grabbing onto Dean's hair as his orgasm courses through him.
"Fuck!" Sam cries as Dean swallows, holding the base of Sam's cock with one hand, his slender hip with the other, sucking down as much as he can as Sam's dick twitches and pumps in his mouth.
"Dean!" Sam gasps, releasing his painful grip on Dean's hair, running his hand down Dean's cheek.
Dean looks up, mouth still full, catches Sam's dark, hooded gaze, his young face all blissed-out in the afterglow. Sam runs the tips of his fingers back and forth over Dean's cheek, and Dean knows he's feeling the smooth skin, studying the familiar-yet-different features of his face. Dean grins around a mouthful of cock, licks the slit as he lets the now-softened dick slide from his mouth, licks his lips as he looks up at Sam.
"Good to the last drop," he quips. "As usual." He winks at Sam, crawls up his body till they're lying flush again, side by side, limbs tangled and arms around each other's bodies, adjusting awkwardly for only a moment or two before they find a position that works, Sam's head tucked under Dean's chin, the way they always lay together when they were kids.
"Yeah, maybe this isn't so bad, Sammy. What d'ya think?" Dean murmurs, sleepy despite his new hard-on. He ruts lazily into Sam's hip joint, eliciting a long moan from his brother.
"Really, Dean?" Sam mutters, voice muffled against Dean's skin, and Dean chuckles.
"Always, Sammy. Always gonna have something for you, little brother," Dean murmurs, his own voice sounding slurred with sleepiness. He knows he won't be able to stay awake much longer, just like he knows they'll work it out, this weird new thing that's happened to them, even if they can't find a way to fix it. They'll work it out.
They always do.