#lex writes stuff

One day when they're older and sleeping together, Sam wakes up with a raging boner pressed to Dean's thigh. He shifts away but his hips stutter at the slightest friction. Then he feels Dean's hand at his waist, holding him steady, and his brother's eyes are looking down at him with lust.

All it takes is a little gentle encouragement, "Go on, Sammy," to get him to roll his hips forward again. His clothed cock ruts against the muscle of Dean's thigh and he groans, dropping his head to his brother's shoulder as he humps his leg. Dean's fingers tangle in his hair and rub soft reassurances while his other hand rests on Sam's ass and pulls him closer with every forward thrust. And soon Sam's leaking through plaid cotton, breath hot against Dean's clavicle with each little muffled moan, and it makes Dean's cock ache but he ignores it. He knows Sam will take care of him after, happy and eager in a post-orgasmic state that somehow makes his mouth feel even better when wrapped around Dean's cock. And it won't take very long. Sam's hand slots between them and he adjusts himself to get his cock positioned perfectly between their bodies. The constriction of the boxers holds him in place as he ruts, hand moving to hold Dean's chest, hips bucking faster and faster with quick little thrusts.

It kind of reminds Dean of an actual dog, or the kind of primal chase for release you'd see on the discovery channel. Sam pumps away like a rutting animal and Dean lays there and takes it, encourages it, ruffling Sam's hair a little. "Attaboy," he even whispers, and his cock throbs at Sam’s drawling whine in response. The keening soon devolves to panting as Sam fucks at his leg and Dean pulls him closer, goading him to orgasm. "C'mon Sammy. Little bit more. That's my good boy..."

And Sam shakes on top of him as he comes hard and hot in his boxers, thrusting erratically and letting out a series of noises that border between whines and moans. Dean feels the sticky mess leaking between them and presses his thigh into it, helping push Sam through the last waves of his release since his brother isn't doing much more than bucking into the sharp spasms of the orgasm wracking his entire frame. Sam's breath is hot and his tongue laps softly at Dean's neck with another quiet whine as the sensations slowly abate. Dean smiles to himself and tousles Sam's hair again.

the poet vs the poem

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Writes 2 sentences

This continues until Christmas Eve when he finds Dean in the garage and realizes they're once again under one of the mistletoe spots. Except this time Dean only glances at it and purses his lips in a slight pout before answering whatever question Sam had and continuing with his work.

They're not used to that kind of affection or intimacy. They hug when one of them is dying. They fuck in a needy frenzy. They don't kiss and cuddle and call each other sweetheart. Dean wordlessly starts to pull away but Sam follows, curling himself against Dean's side and slotting his head just under Dean's chin, the perpetual little brother despite his size. And Dean can't let him go, so he lets out the tense breath and closes his eyes and enjoys the feel of Sam's warm body next to his.

They both pretend to sleep for another hour, laying there and hearing muffled sounds from outside, but they focus on the sound of each other's breath and enjoy having their arms wrapped around each other.

Until the morning he’s not. Sam stretches and is met with cold sheets on the other side of the bed. It doesn’t register at first. He expects to feel a soft kiss to the back of his neck, but there’s nothing. Sam’s alone. He pushes himself from the mattress, but it’s hard to move, as if a core part of him is missing. He forces himself through the motions of the day, until night, until it’s time to sleep. And when he wakes again the next morning, he reaches, searching for his brother.

Eventually, the habit dies too, though Sam’s unsure if it takes months or years to adjust. As he ages and the years take their toll, occasionally he finds himself stretching through memories and time, reaching for Dean, until the confusion passes.

And then one day Sam closes his eyes for the last time. When he opens them, Dean’s there. Waiting. Sam doesn’t move. So many years spent grasping for a ghost has taught him not to. But Dean pulls him in. His arms wrap around him with the warmth that Sam’s craved for nearly a lifetime. Sam hugs him back, holding him tight, like he’s attempted countless times in Dean’s absence. This time they don’t have to let go. Ever.

The smell of sex and sour morning breath hangs heavy in the air, and they both make little groans at the touch. Their are bodies raw from the previous night, but they crave each other through the ache. Dean takes both their cocks in one hand and they grunt in a mix of pleasure and pain at the increased friction. He spits into his palm, mouth dry and barely helping, but it's enough to get them going. The saliva soon mixes with their precum and they softly pant as their need is stoked and the arousal settles warm in their groins. Sam pushes Dean's face away, exposing his neck so he can suck at one of the bruises from the previous night. It's the kind of mark they'll pass off as a hunting injury if anyone asks. Maybe Sam's thinking of that as he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh. Or maybe he wants to remind Dean of the night before. Whatever the intent, it pulls a long moan from his brother so he keeps at it, his mouth a mix of pleasure and pain as they rub together, spent and needy, too much and never enough, a hurt and an ecstasy that defines every aspect of their relationship. It's a constant give and take that blurs the lines of mutual agony and bliss. They climax locked together, clinging to each other like they'll break if they ever let go.

Sam's eyes are drawn from the car's ceiling to Dean when his brother opens the rear door. Dean's eyes drop to his crotch, and he doesn't have to say anything, just tugs on Sam's ankles as he sinks to his knees. Sam lets himself be pulled and scoots to the edge of the seat, feet on the ground and legs splayed so Dean can settle between them.

There's no pretense or teasing or even much tenderness as Dean unzips him and pulls his cock from his jeans. There's just the alternating sensations of cold December air and the warmth of Dean's mouth bobbing over his cock. It immediately starts to send shivers throughout Sam's body. His head falls back to the leather seat and he hears the sound of Dean's fly unzipping along with the wet noises from his expert mouth. He's pretty sure Dean is jerking himself off in time, but all he can see is the rise and fall of dirty blonde hair and his brother's eyes squeezed shut as his sucks.

It's not erotic as it is efficient, like Dean is crossing off a item on his to do list but with careful diligence for the task. Wake up, brush your teeth, change your shirt, take care of your little brother's morning wood, drive to Bismarck, hunt a shifter -- it's another thing on his list to be completed without fuss. And Sam's not complaining. No, his hips are pumping up to meet Dean's mouth and enjoying the way his tongue glides across the underside of his cock until he's almost drooling with Sam's precum. He doesn't even announce when he's about to finish, just moans and presses forward as he unloads down Dean's throat. His brother groans and tenses, his own release painting the dirt.

Afterwards, Dean wipes his mouth and sits back as he tucks himself away before standing. Sam does the same, feeling happy and sated but a little hungry.

"Think we drove past a diner in town last night. Wanna grab food before we hit the road?" Dean asks, still one step ahead of Sam's needs.

Sam nods, pretty sure that Dean could suggest dumpster diving for breakfast and he'd agree to it after having his balls drained like that.