Dean wanted to celebrate Sam’s twenty-first birthday, wanted to make it special. He even opted out of buying the cheap beer, whether or not they actually had the money to waste. He let Dean sit too close on the couch, their knees and thighs touching, drinking can after can of beer.
Sam wanted to get drunk, if he was being honest with himself; he wanted to forget the fact he was a liar, that he was fucking other people behind Dean’s back, that he was a dirty whore. He closed his eyes, head spinning a little, and Dean slid languidly into his lap, straddling his thighs. Sam opened his eyes, staring up at Dean with unfocused eyes, and closed them again when Dean slid his hands into Sam’s hair.
Dean’s mouth always tasted faintly like coffee; even after eight or ten beers Sam can still taste the dark flavor. He forgot about the coffee when Dean’s tongue speared past his lips, sliding over the roof of his mouth, and Dean ground down against him, hard cock against hard cock. Sam moaned into his mouth, grabbing Dean’s hips and pushing him down harder against his dick.
“Dean…” Sam whispered against his lips, head spinning.
“Come on, Sammy…” he said against his mouth. His hands drifted down to the hem of Sam’s shirts, fingers teasing just underneath, brushing against the soft skin of Sam’s belly, just above his waistband. Dean popped the button on Sam’s jeans, slid the zipper down, sliding his fingers just inside, brushing the top of Sam’s pubic hair, just grazing the hard line of his cock.
Sam thrust up. “Dean, please…” He gripped Dean’s hips harder, ground up against him. Dean bent forward, attached his lips to Sam’s neck, alternately sucking and biting, then soothing the spots with his tongue.
“Want you to fuck me,” Dean said, pulling hard at Sam’s jeans and boxers, bracing himself on his knees. “Lift up,” he said, and Sam complied, letting Dean pull his cock free. It bobbed up, curved and dark against his belly.
Sam breathed hard; he needed to fuck Dean. He needed to be inside his brother as badly as he needed to breathe. “Oh god, Dean…”
“Is that ok?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Yeah, god, it’s good.”
He reached for Dean’s jeans, yanked them open and down; he felt like he was going to die when Dean stepped away, relived when he realized he was just taking off his jeans. “Wait,” Sam breathed. “Lube.”
“I got it,” Dean breathed, digging in his jeans pocket. If Sam hadn’t been half drunk, he would have asked Dean if he made it a habit of carrying lube in his back pocket. But he was half drunk, horny, and he just really needed to fuck Dean, and he watched with half-lidded eyes as Dean slicked up Sam’s cock. Dean looked up, saw Sam watching him, and grinned a little. “Like that, Sammy?”
For a minute, Sam felt like he was going to puke; too many people, nameless faces, saying dirty things to him, but this was Dean. This was his Dean. “Oh god,” Sam whined. “Oh god, Dean, please…”
“Shh,” Dean whispered, straddling Sam’s lap again, pressing his mouth to Sam’s once, twice, and Sam gasped when Dean pushed down on his dick, breath catching a little as he eased down. “Fuck, Sammy…”
Sam closed his eyes when Dean pressed his forehead to Sam’s, and he breathed Dean’s air, feeling Dean’s tight heat all around his cock. He gasped audibly when Dean finally sank down all the way, quicker than Sam expected. Dean didn’t even take a minute to adjust, just started lifting up, and sliding back down, already setting a rhythm.
“Oh fuck, Dean…” Sam whispered, head tipped back, eyes closed. It was the best feeling in the world, Dean screwing down on his cock. Dean’s rhythm was tortuously slow at first, and then it was brutal, and Sam realized he was slamming up while Dean was slamming down. “Oh god, Dean,” Sam half-sobbed, “I can’t… I can’t…” His grip around Dean’s waist tightened so much, his grip so hard, he knew Dean would have bruises in the shapes of his fingers, and he came – he came so hard, feeling like it was never going to end. It felt like dying – it felt like he was alive.
Dean fisted his own cock and Sam twined his fingers with his brothers, jacking him rough and fast, and Dean followed suit, coming over his and Sam’s fingers and on Sam’s shirt. Neither of them bothered to wipe up, Dean just leaned forward against Sam, pressing his face into Sam’s neck.
“Love you,” Sam whispered, “Love you so much.” And it sounded broken.