a single man tear runs down his leg

Like avoiding the question, saying they don’t have time for it right now, or saying that it was really hard on them and they don’t want to talk about it. And maybe at first he stops asking because he feels bad but after a while he gets so fed up with it.

Supernatural

and for a little while it is. dean feels like he’s really got it all, finally. except… sam doesn’t roll his eyes at dean while he represses a smile, he doesn’t laugh at the dumb shit dean says just to get a rise out of him, he sits shotgun in his car but he doesn’t sprawl out with his long long legs spread and his head leaned back against the seat—he just sits stiff and upright and looks out the window like he'd rather be somewhere else. he sucks dean's dick, and they rut against each other in some secluded corner, and sam grabs deans by the jaw or shoulder or his crotch and he takes what he wants like it'll kill him if he doesn't get it. all breathy and pushy and desperate. finally, finally. dean feels like he’s waited ages for them to get here. it’s everything he’s ever thought he wanted.

but hell, sammy doesn’t even seem to like dean all that much. he doesn’t have his back in a fight (or out of one for that matter) and he certainly doesn’t look at dean like that. big wet puppy dog eyes, that look at dean all needy and loving and wanting. and he doesn’t do any of the things dean always thought they would… he doesn’t lay his head on his chest, naked and sweaty. he doesn’t sleep curled up behind him, or in front deans not picky. sam doesn’t kiss him slow and deep afterwards, just hops outta bed (or table or chair or side yard or once the mudroom at their moms house while their girlfriends made stilted conversation down the hall). he doesn’t kiss him at all, actually. when dean leans forward, without thought, to catch those pretty pink parted lips in a kiss sam just steps back, pulls his jeans up and turns to leave. not rudely or even guiltily just well… casual. nods once at dean, still laying naked and spent in a motel double, “see you at christmas” and he's out the door. doesn’t even look back once.

weecest thoughts…… sooooooo fjdndmsnfhej. also was listening to made in japan by buck owens and ex factor by lauryn hill while drawing this… so wincest pilled.

So, he starts acting differently- starts cooing whenever Dean stretches or flops down onto a motel bed. He starts carrying a bag of candy- rewards him when he does something Sam likes. It’s a quick slope, as Sam grows more and more overt- with Dean seemingly none the wiser.

Eventually, it makes its way into their sex life, and by then, if Dean didn’t realise what he was doing already, he did now.

Sam had him on his back, on the bed, wrists either side of his head with his hands balled into two makeshift paws. Sam had wedged a squeaky toy between his teeth and told him that if it makes a sound, he’ll stop.

Sam’s riding him, hard but inconsistent, focusing only on his own pleasure. Dean looks up at him with big, wet eyes, panting hot around the thin plastic and twitching from head to toe.

“Such a good boy, Dean.” Sam moans, grinding his hips in a figure of eight. Dean’s eyes roll back and Sam can see only the whites as he fights the instinct to clamp down his jaw. “My doggie- always does what he’s told, so perfect.” He hums.

A couple tears slip from the corners of Dean’s eyes and down onto the pillow from all the effort. He’s whimpering from the base of his throat and whining all nasal and high. Begging.

“Is doggie gunna cum?” Sam coos, slamming himself down, hard, over and over and over.

Dean begins to frantically nod, his short hair slicked to his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed and red. He’s so hard, so close, it’s unbearable.

The toy makes a slight whistle.

Sam’s begging, all wide eyes and clasped hands- “please, Dean, please-“ he’s asking, “I promise it’s okay- we’re okay-“ Dean can’t say no to him, no matter how much he wants to- Sam’s been through too much, he’s been hurt, broken and scarred more than anyone they know…

But he does it. Because Sam asked him to.

Dean’s fucking him, hard, from behind, Sam’s neck crushed into the crook of his elbow. Ass up in a headlock. They did a lot less prep than usual, Sam’s too tight, and Dean hates how good it feels. Sam’s moaning, groaning, whining- he’s so damn loud, so into this. He’s never like this normally. Dean’s slapped him around tonight, bruises are starting to plume across his stomach, his face, his wrists, but Sam’s still meeting every blow with a lazy grin pressed into the pillows.

Everything’s so wet, so slick, too warm. Dean’s sweaty, panting and tiring-out when he slams in an especially cruel thrust, coupling it with a fast, gruelling punch to Sam’s gut. Sam curls around it, choking himself on Dean’s arm. And that’s when it happens. Lost in pleasure, Sam screams for him,