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Dean had forgotten what this was like.

Four years Sammy was away at Stanford, and yeah, Dean had missed him, whatever. Dean had missed Sam every time he'd followed behind Dad's Batmobile truck in the Impala, no Sam to distract Dean by fidgeting or changing the goddamn radio station or snoring or laughing at whatever snobby book he was reading. Dean had missed Sam every time he picked up a chick at a truck stop or a diner and there was no Sam to roll his eyes or attempt an inept cockblock. Dean had missed having someone to go easy on while he was sparring, missed cooking for someone who'd smile at him over a rickety table, missed hunting shoulder-to-shoulder with someone rather than a step behind. Sometimes (and this was a secret), Dean had even missed having someone around who would argue with Dad, because goddamn that man was stubborn and every once in a while -- not often, but sometimes -- the shit Sam used to yell had made Dad think before he did something reckless.

(Sam had been, still was, a bitch sometimes; but man, the kid was brave.)

And yeah, Dean had missed the ease of sex with someone who knew him, who wasn't even the tiniest bit afraid of him, who wouldn't lie to impress him or play games to get him into bed. Sex with Sam was fun the way it wasn't with girls or other men. Dean could be as rough or as gentle as he wanted and Sam never acted like he wished Dean were any different. Things had changed a little now -- Sam had finally grown into his goddamn arms and legs, what the hell -- but just as good. Better, maybe.

But somehow Dean had forgotten this part, the part after sex. They were sprawled on the lumpy mattress of the ugly brass four-poster in Bobby's guest room. Dean was on his back, sheets tangled around his feet, and Sam was half on top of him, because Sam was needy like that. Sam tucked his forehead into Dean's shoulder and spread his hand wide on Dean's chest.

"Sammy," Dean said, and then stopped, because there was no way to explain this, how good it felt to lie, naked and sweaty, with his little brother. No way to talk about the ease of an empty house, the fan turning slowly above them, the stretch of an afternoon with nothing in it but more of this, the eerie musicality of steady rain on the scrap metal in the yard.

"Hm?" Sam said, and pressed his mouth to Dean's collarbone.

Dean twisted his fingers in the damp hair at the nape of Sam's neck and tugged there until Sam sighed. "Nothing."

"Mm!" Sam said. He squirmed closer until Dean chuckled and dug his fingers in, scritching at Sam's skull for a bit before slowing down to comb through Sam's hair. Dean could feel Sam's smile against his sternum before Sam opened his mouth and sucked at his skin, slow and steady.

"Feels good," Dean said. Sam hummed, pulled back to lick a little, kiss a little, before settling in to suck again. "Gonna leave a mark."

"Nobody'll know it's here but me," Sam said indistinctly. He sounded pleased.

Dean laughed and turned onto his side, into Sam, so he could put his other arm around his brother. He petted down the long slick expanse of Sam's back, trailed his fingers down to the cleft of Sam's ass. Sam wriggled a little and set his teeth against the mark he'd put on Dean before slowly, thoughtfully biting down.

"Ah!" Dean said, and hissed when Sam let go. "Little fucker." The words somehow came out affectionate instead of angry.

"Just..." Sam slung a leg over Dean's hip. "Go on, I know you want to."

"Yeah, well." Like Sam wasn't just as antsy for it. Dean slid two fingers between Sam's cheeks, petted gently at the swollen rim of his hole. Sam shivered, a delicious ripple Dean felt all up and down his body, before he scooted up the bed to cup Dean's jaw in one giant hand, to lick at Dean's mouth. "Easy, Sammy," Dean murmured. He pressed the tips of his fingers in and Sam whined. "Easy," Dean said again. "I gotcha. Take it easy."

"Dean." Sam let out a little breathy whimpering noise from the back of his throat that made Dean really, really wish he had a faster recovery time. "Dean, c'mon."

"Ssh." Sam was wet down there with lube and come. Dean kind of wanted to spread Sam out on his stomach, get down at the foot of the bed, spread Sam open and look and lick til Sam was clean, but to do that he'd have to stop kissing Sam, would have to let go of him. "Get closer, Sammy, c'mere," Dean said. He hitched Sam's leg up higher, tightened his grip in Sam's hair. They were pressed chest-to-chest now, sticky and hot. "Want you, Sam."

Sam took a long messy kiss like he was thirsty and Dean was water. "I'm here," he said. "Dean." And then a dazed "Oh..." as Dean stroked his hole, wiggled two fingers in to the first knuckle, got them slippery. Took them out then dipped them in again.

"There we go," Dean said. Sam pressed his forehead against Dean's, shared the breaths Dean was panting. Dean looked at Sam's face: the clear tan skin, the broad friendly mouth, the eyes shut tight. He thought how strange it was to feel even a little like he was missing Sam still, when Sam was right here in his hands. "There we go, baby boy, let me in." Dean got the tips of his index and ring fingers into Sam, spread them wide, listened to the noises Sam was making, stroked all over the inside of Sam's rim with his middle finger.

"Feel you just lettin' me in," Dean said. "Just opening up for me. Not even hard again yet but you want more."

"Dean," Sam managed to say. He was trying to bear down, now, trying to get Dean's fingers all the way in.

"I fucked you pretty hard before, huh, Sammy. Got you so open. Can you push a little harder for me, Sammy? Give me some of my come, get my fingers wetter?"

"Fuck, Dean," Sam whined, but Dean felt him try to do as he was told, felt his ass flex.

Dean felt the slow ooze of wet after a breathless moment. "Good boy, Sammy," he said, and Sam sighed and bore down again. "Good. There it is, my come inside you. You made me come so hard before, made me slick you up deep inside. You feel it?"

"I can feel it."

"Feel good?"

"Yeah." Sam kissed him, mouthed at him sloppily, tried to press closer. "Dean. Dean, your fingers, please."

"Ssh, I'll take care of you," Dean said, and gave Sam what he needed.