Chapter 5

Dean's on the bed, killing time, scrolling local news, while Sam's at the table, his laptop open in front of him.

Dean has no idea what Sam's doing. Could be looking at porn for all Dean knows.

He actually could be, if the way Sam keeps looking at him is any indication. He doesn't even try to hide it, just keeps glancing up over the top of the screen.

He's not just looking at Dean's face, either. His eyes are everywhere, traveling the length of Dean's body, sometimes Dean can even feel Sam's eyes focused directly at his crotch.

He feels...self-conscious, yeah. How could he not? Objectified? Sure.

Most of all, he feels a kind of power.

It's a power he doesn't deserve. It's something that was handed to him. Dean didn't make Sam want him. He didn't earn it.

Exercising that power would be unethical. Dean isn't ethical. Even where it concerns his brother. No one—not even Sam—would expect Dean to do the right thing here.

That vision of the future keeps coming back. A future without Sam in his life, because he was trying to do 'the right thing'. From that angle, the unethical thing is looking like the better response.

The temptation proves too much for Dean to resist.

The next time he feels Sam's eyes on him he looks up, stares at his brother from beneath his eyelashes, holds Sam's gaze until he watches Sam's breath hitch.

Dean drags his tongue over his lower lip. He shifts his hips.

It's not totally contrived. Dean's hard again, and he pulls at his jeans to give his dick more room.

But it is, all, every action, an invitation. The ball is in Sam's court now, and Dean looks back down at his phone.

The screen has gone dark, and Dean doesn't bother waking it.

Sam moves, and Dean drops his phone.

Sam crawls up from the end of the bed, up and over Dean's body.

"It was either come over here," Sam says as he hovers above Dean. "Or go jerk off in the shower."

Dean imagines Sam's hand moving over his cock, hot water and steam and Sam's head thrown back.

Dean flicks his eyes down. They're teetering, together, on the edge of a cliff. Poised and ready to throw themselves over the line Dean laid down for them.

He could still stop this. He could still do the right thing.

Or he could do the wrong thing. And they could both have what they want.

"Fuck it," he says, suddenly breathless. "Kiss me. Fucking kiss me already, Sam."

Sam huffs out a rough breath. He lifts his hand and cups Dean's cheek and traces Dean's lower lip with his thumb.

A sound punches out of Dean's chest. A fist clamps around his heart, the feeling so sweet, and so broken, and too much to bear. Dean opens his mouth, and Sam's thumb slips between his lips, and Dean closes his eyes and scrapes his teeth over it, touches his tongue to it, then sucks it into his mouth.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam says. "Oh fuck." He pulls his thumb from between Dean's lips, and he grips Dean's face with both hands, and he kisses him, hard.

This isn't fucking chaste. Sam kisses like he wants to climb inside, his tongue filling Dean's mouth, his teeth biting, lips wet and slick and warm.

His hips come down between Dean's thighs, and he thrusts against him, against Dean's cock, both of them hard, Sam like an iron rod in his jeans, Dean aching and throbbing and if they keep at it they're gonna end up a mess. He's not having it, can't bear it, wants to strip away the layers and feel Sam against him, taste Sam's bare skin, taste his cock.

Jesus.

Dean shoves Sam away, and he gropes for Sam's dick, wants to feel it in his hand. "Show me," he says. "I wanna see your cock."

It won't be the first time. They've spent their lives in close quarters. A dropped towel, an unlocked door—

But Dean's mouth waters as Sam pulls at his belt and drops his fly and pulls out his cock, because he's never seen it like this before. Swollen and leaking, and, Jesus, Sam's dick is big. More than anything else, Dean wants Sam to pin him, face down on the mattress, and fuck him with it.

Not yet.

"Back up," Dean says. "Lie back, Sammy."

Sam grunts as he falls back onto his elbows. He stretches out his legs and Dean slots himself between his brothers thighs.

"Fuck," Sam says, as Dean closes his fist around his brothers cock. Dean lifts his eyes to lock with Sam's as he lowers his head to lick the pooling precome away, and Sam makes a choking sound.

"Dean," he moans. "Oh Jesus, Dean, uh—"

Dean slides his mouth down over his brothers cock. The heady flavor of Sam's cock spreads over his tongue, and he moans, grinding down against the mattress to seek just a little relief for his aching dick.

Dean pulls off, and he stares up at his brother. "Fuck, Sammy." He sucks Sam's cock back into his mouth, and he doesn't stop until it hits the back of his throat.

There's no way he's gonna get the entire length of Sam's dick into his mouth, so he covers the remainder with his fist and focuses on kissing his own thumb and forefinger every time he sinks down.

Sam babbles like he's in shock, and Dean grabs for Sam with his free hand, links their fingers together in a way that's meant to ground, to reassure.

Sam squeezes Dean's hand and starts speaking in actual words. Mostly curses, and Dean's name, guttural grunts that coincide with a twitch of his hips and a fresh spurt of salt on the back of Dean's tongue.

Dean's jaw aches and he doesn't fucking care. He gags with how deep he's fucking his mouth onto his brothers cock. He does it again, because Sam whimpers every time Dean's throat contracts around the head of his cock.

"Gonna come," Sam grunts when Dean's really trying to work his whole throat around the head, and Dean grunts as his own cock jerks and leaks.

"Move," Sam growls, and he tries to push Dean off.

Anyone else, Dean would pull away, jerk the guy to completion. Not Sam. Fuck no. Dean wants to swallow it all down.

Sam gives one last anguished cry, and then he floods Dean's mouth, and Dean swallows as burst after burst of his brothers semen fills his mouth.

He pulls off when Sam's done, and he gets up on his knees. He looks down at his brother, debauched and spent and gasping. Dean pulls out his cock. It's not gonna take long.

No more than half a dozen strokes and Dean's coming, painting stripes over Sam's spent cock, stringy ropes on Sam's shirt and his open jeans.

Dean collapses forward onto Sam's chest and into the mess and he gasps for air. "Holy shit," he rasps. His throat is wrecked. "Holy fucking shit."

"Yeah," Sam wheezes.

---

They shower together. It's awkward, but only because fitting two grown men into the tiny cubicle is laughable. Dean takes advantage of the forced proximity to explore every inch of his brothers naked body with his hands, and certain parts of it with his mouth.

He makes Sam come all over again, like it's some kind of challenge.

There's something in Sam's eyes afterward, when they're dressed, when they're eating takeout burgers again, but he barely says a word. Finally, Dean's had enough.

"Out with it," he demands, screwing up the burger wrapper and tossing it into the brown paper bag. "I can see the goddamn cogs in your head turning. You've got something to say. Spill."

"You've done this before," Sam says.

To be honest, Dean's amazed it's taken Sam this long. "Eaten burgers? Sure. Lots of times."

"You've slept with men." Sam's dead serious, but thoughtful, maybe even curious.

Dean shrugs. "Some."

"I had no idea."

Dean sighs and gives Sam a tight smile. "It was all wrapped up in hiding that I was in love with my brother, Sam. Collateral damage. I wasn't ashamed of it. I just— I probably felt like it would give me away if I admitted it."

Sam nods, and a smile spreads over his face. "Just wondering who I have to thank," he says. "You give phenomenal head."