「☣︎⋅Lee⋅☣︎」

It was definitely a surprise, after the brief time he’d spent away, but Dean’s never been one to take Sam’s affections for granted. Mere minutes after getting back, the younger man had him pinned, up against a wall in the hallway. Dean’s waistcoat still hangs off one shoulder and half his dress shirt lays untucked, as his brother forces their noses together, their cheeks, pressing in like a cat and scraping his beard all over Dean’s face.

Anyone could find them here- the gaggle of strangers in their home, Jack, their mother- but Sam just can’t seem to get enough. He’s gasping, whining, mouthing wetly at Dean’s cheekbone as if, if he pulls back, Dean’ll disappear again.

It’s definitely unpleasant for Dean, thick hairs scratching at his skin. It reminds him that Sam’s a man now, and not just his bratty, little-kid brother. He does look good, and Dean resents it for that, too. Sam’s his- no one else gets to see him like this. Though, following that gospel, he should probably attempt to wrangle Sam into either of their rooms, lest someone gets an eyeful.

Sam’s sucking on his Adam’s apple, his chin, under and behind his jaw, in his ear- the beard repeatedly grinding and scratching at his skin. There’s a deep rumble where Sam’s purring, happily, against his throat, and the combination drives Dean’s brain to static. “Missed you, De, missed you so much...” Sam grumbles, deep and smooth and masculine. This big, powerful man.

Imagine the twist if Mary's side of the family was not hunters but witches instead??? And Sam is the one who inherited the gift. The deal with Azazel still took place and still makes sense.

Tbh to me it would have been a far more interesting plot twist. And in my opinion - way more on brand with the early seasons themes 🤔

He can hear a wet, squelching noise, like there’s way too much lube, can feel the damp heat of someone’s heavy breath at his nape, and the weight of someone, pressing down on his back.

A voice that sounds a lot like Dean is cursing in his ear, slurring his words, calling him tight and good. It feels nice- Sam can’t really tell what’s going on, but there’s a warmth in his groin and a pressure in his stomach that has him humping the sheets.

His lips are numb and dragging against the pillow as Dean tongues at his sideburns, sucking sloppy, wet and messy. The alcohol clouds his mind, he can’t remember how they got here, why Dean’s doing this. Sam pushes his hips back, moans, and Dean’s hips stutter against his ass.

It sounds like he’s begging now, up against Sam’s ear, but he can’t fully make out the words. He’s drunk and begging for forgiveness, for more, for Sam, for everything to go back to how it was.

Sam comes, wet and sticky against the bed. He feels the pleasure of it, but doesn’t quite process the finality of the act, rather remaining loose and humping back for Dean to fuck him to completion.

It’s pretty easy, double-digit whiskeys and he’s out, led limp on the bed. He cycles between bouncing and grinding down onto Dean’s nonsensical hard-on, moans soft and stuttered in the quiet. Dean’s looking up at him with a confused pout, a furrowed brow, but Sam needs this- he’s fixated on it- needing to know exactly how it feels to have his big brother’s thick cock splitting him open before he leaves him for good.

And it’s so worth it- worth the wait- it burns and aches and every bounce makes his dick jerk. Sam wraps a hand around his own throat, the other over Dean’s heart. He squeezes, and his vision greys, slamming his hips down over and over- he’s about to cum. He wants Dean to come inside him, begs for it, gasping, comes imagining Dean leaving a hot, wet claim inside. He orgasms, with the knowledge that he’ll feel this moment, this stretch, every second of the days to come.

dean fucking sam missionary style, but while he’s doing so he’s holding a polished silver barrel of a gun, with the cold circle of the muzzle pressing hard against sam’s closed mouth.

the pale light of the weapon highlighted the stark contrast between the natural pink flush of sam’s lips and the dark, oily metal finish of the barrel.

he’s pinned flat against the motel’s mattress with dean’s weight above him while his dick steadily ruts inside of his baby brother. sam’s scent is not only being taken over by the ripe aroma of sex in the drab room but he can smell the heavy scent of sulfur and gun oil remaining thick between them, the cold iron barrel wedged tightly behind his teeth as he bit down on the metal.

at the same time, his moans vibrate against the firearm. through sam’s glassy eyes of overflowing pleasure, he stares up at dean’s gaze that is held with a cruel amusement.

“f-fuck, are ya’ scared sammy?”

he asks with an edge of smugness, biting back a groan at the feeling of sam’s tight hole enveloping his dick. and sam reminds himself that there is absolutely no reason for him to be. if anything the gun is most likely not even loaded, making it completely impossible for the weapon to fire a shot in his mouth, leaving behind a bloody mess.

so sam shakes his no, stifling a whimper as dean’s erection drives itself home right where he likes it. and all his big brother does is laugh breathlessly because it’s almost cute how the stubborn way sam has currently locking his jaw and staring straight up, desperately putting on a brave face to prove he wasn’t afraid.