Chapter 8

"You've lost your mind," Sam says.

Dean laughs. "Yeah, I know. But if they go for it, we're done here. With that house coming down, the job's over. We can leave and start repressing."

Sam sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands in his hair. He lifts his head, looks up into Dean's eyes. "Have you got any idea what you're signing up for? You don't know how far it'll go."

"It doesn't matter." Dean has to turn away. He can't face the scrutiny right now, the accusation in Sam's eyes. "It won't be us."

Sam goes very still. "That's it, isn't it? You're not responsible. It's them, not us, so we don't have to feel bad about it. Do you want this, Dean?" He gets up off the bed, grabs Dean by the arm when he tries to back away. "Do you want this to happen?"

"You're missing the point. What I want doesn't matter. They'll be gone, and we can go back to normal."

Sam leans in, fingers tightening on Dean's arm, almost to the point of pain. His breath warms Dean's skin when he speaks. "We do this, and things'll never be normal again."

"Better than having them stuck in our heads for the rest of our lives, making us feel like this."

Sam lets go of Dean's arm, instead putting a hand either side of Dean's face, forcing him to look up. "And what if they're gone, and the way I want you right now doesn't go away?"

Dean groans, and it's a pained, desperate sound. "Jesus, Sammy." Sam leans in closer, and Dean jerks back, just a twitch, not enough to rip his face from Sam's grip.

"Shh," Sam says, pleading with his eyes. Then he softly presses his lips against Dean's. His eyelids slowly close, and they breathe each other's breath, both of them panting, quick and shallow.

Dean sighs into Sam's mouth, moans softly. He opens his mouth, drags his lower lip over Sam's, and Sam lets out an answering whimper. "Dean," Sam whispers against his lips. "Jesus, Dean."

There's no plan to it when Dean wraps his hand around the back of Sam's neck and pulls him closer, but it's Dean. It's all Dean, deepening the kiss, melting into it, surrendering.

That surrender hits Dean like a blow to the chest, and it punches a gasp out of him. He pushes Sam away. "We can't do this." He can barely speak past the lump in his throat. "We've gotta make the deal."

"We don't." Sam drops his head to mouth at the curve of Dean's throat, just above the rope burn. "We don't need them," he whispers. "Dean, you want this? We can do it all on our own."

Dean can barely breathe. "Sam," he rasps.

"Please," Sam sighs, warm breath washing over Dean's skin and making him shudder.

Dean pushes back, wrenches his hand away from Sam's. He shoves him and backs away. "I can't, Sam."

Sam stares at him, looking hurt. "So you'll only do it if you're not responsible?"

"I want them gone, Sam. This isn't real."

"Feels real enough to me."

Dean lifts his eyes to the ceiling and sighs. "I'll prove it to you. We make the deal, the ghosts leave, everything goes back to normal. If it doesn't—"

Sam refuses to meet his gaze. "You'll deny everything." He sounds wrecked. "I know you, Dean. You want this, but you'll always be too scared to admit it to yourself. You'll put it on someone else, and it'll be their fault, not yours."

"We're brothers," Dean whispers.

"But we've never been normal. We can't leave each other alone. Can't even accept death as the end."

"That doesn't mean—"

"You know what? Forget it." Sam turns away. "Make the damn deal. I don't care anymore."

He's lying. Of course he's lying, but Dean doesn't have time to convince him. They've got to do this now.

---

Dean stands in the middle of the room, eyes searching the air as he turns. "Come on, guys. We're giving you a free pass. Do what you like."

There's a buzz in the air, ozone crackling. Dean's trying very hard not to acknowledge the rush of anticipation that makes his pulse race and his breath catch.

The lights flicker and sizzle, and Dean drops his eyes. He finds Sam looking back at him, a stern, worried expression on his face. Then Sam turns his head, fixes his gaze on the front of the room.

There, standing either side of the door, are Hayden, looking almost solid, and Alex, glitching like crazy.

"Dean." There's a desperate note to Sam's voice. "We don't have to do this."

Dean looks him right in the eyes. "Yeah, we do." Their eyes are still locked together when Dean's body jerks as Alex takes control.

"He doesn't want this," Sam says.

Alex stretches, lifting Dean's arms over his head, sighing. "You know he does, Sam." Dean's eyes settle on Hayden, waiting by the door, uncertain.

Alex turns back to Sam. "We'll go. Give us this, and we'll leave. You've got a deal."

Hayden's eyes fall on Sam where he sits at the table. There's a question in his eyes, as if he's waiting for permission.

"Please, Sammy," Dean whispers, or would if he had any control. A second later, however, Alex echoes the words in the same inflection Dean would have used. At Sam's sharp glance, Alex holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm just the messenger," he says. "I've never lied to you. Not once. Dean can't say it, but I can. Sam, he wants this, but he can't do it on his own. I think you know it's the truth."

Sam looks back at Hayden. "Do it," he whispers.

Hayden reaches out, seems to flow right into Sam's body, and Sam sucks in a breath. His eyes move around the room, and they stop on Dean.

Hayden and Alex don't break that gaze. Hayden, in Sam's body, gets up from the table, stalks toward Dean. Hayden puts Sam's hands on Dean's shoulders, walks him back toward the bed, pushes him down, then he starts to loosen Dean's collar.

Sam's lips come down on the rough graze that surrounds Dean's throat. Alex's excitement is almost immediate, desperate and hungry, and Dean lets himself go with it. It's so close to Dean's own that it's almost indistinguishable. The only difference is that when Dean tries to reach out, to hold Sam and to touch him, he can't. Alex lies back on the bed, clings to the sheets with his fingers and makes no attempt to do anything but take.

Selfish little bastard.

Alex arches up off the bed as Sam's hands slide up under Dean's shirt, and Alex laughs. "You wanna touch him, Dean? You want to make him feel good?"

Dean tries to fall back, to stuff himself into a part of his mind where Alex can't hear him, can't reach him, but Sam's fingers move over his skin and keep bringing him back. "Please," he says, a whimper inside his own mind that only Alex can hear.

"Alright," Alex says, and pushes against Sam's chest.

Hayden gives him a look, lifts an eyebrow in a way that makes Sam's face seem like it belongs to someone else, but he pulls back and settles onto his knees. Alex follows him up. "Tell me what you want," he whispers.

Sam's hand slides up Dean's throat, his thumb tips Dean's chin up, and then Sam's lips are on his neck. Dean tries to reach out, to touch Sam somewhere, anywhere, and it's jarring when a split second later his arms actually move, when his fingers come into contact with hard muscle through Sam's shirt. He reaches for the buttons of Sam's shirt, and Alex takes the direction, spreads open Sam's shirt to expose bare skin marred with old scars, fresh cuts and new bruises. Alex sucks a quick breath into Dean's lungs, then lowers his head and brushes his lips over Sam's nipple.

Hayden gasps, cups the back of Dean's head with his hand. Alex pulls back, peels Dean's shirt off over his head and tosses it aside. "He wants it all," Alex whispers, eyes focused on Sam's mouth. "Everything, I can't—" He closes his eyes, shudders and moans. Dean's cock is hard, throbbing in his jeans, on the verge of pain and he just wants to get them off. "Yeah," Alex whimpers, moving quickly, jerking at the button and ripping the zipper open. He squirms out of Dean's jeans and kicks them onto the floor. Alex palms Dean's cock, and it's the familiar feeling of his own hand wrapped around his length. Alex squeezes to ease the pressure, a slow stroke, before his focus shifts back to Sam.

"Get them off," Alex says as he reaches for Sam's fly. He tugs at the button of Sam's jeans until it pops open, until the zipper slides down.

Hayden huffs out a heavy breath, then lifts Sam's hips to help. When Alex slides Dean's hand into Sam's jeans, pulls out his cock, Hayden moans and shivers and leans in to mouth at Dean's jawline.

Sam's dick oozes pre-come, slicks Dean's palm, throbs against Dean's skin, and it might just be Hayden who wants so bad, might just be the brothers making them feel this way, but Dean thinks he might die if he can't get closer.

Alex keeps Dean's eyes locked to Sam's as he slips off the bed and onto his knees. Then he drags his gaze down.

Dean has seen Sam's cock before. There's no way you can live in such close quarters for so long and not see each other naked from time to time. Dean's seen it hard before, too, on rare and awkward occasions.

He's never seen it like this. Never seen it quite this hard, twitching, the head an angry, throbbing red, a slow stream of thick liquid spilling from the tip. "Holy shit," he wants to say, as Alex tugs at the open front of Sam's jeans.

Hayden lifts Sam's hips, and Alex draws Sam's jeans and underwear down, drags them off his feet. Alex spreads Sam's thighs, he moves between them, then drags his thumb up the underside of Sam's long, thick cock. "Beautiful," Alex whispers as he catches a dribble of pre-come, then sticks his thumb into his mouth and sucks it off.

The taste of Sam explodes on Dean's tongue, and he'd moan if he could. Sam's hips twitch in an aborted thrust and Dean's mind implodes.

"Please, please, please." The word repeats over and over in Dean's head, the desire for more, the taste of Sam on his tongue, the weight of his cock, the heat. He wants to consume it, to suck Sam down his throat, to make him fall apart instead of the way he's staring down, aroused, but composed. "Please," he begs, one last time, as Alex brings his lips to the tip of Sam's cock, darting his tongue out to catch the fluid beading at the slit.

Alex takes Sam's cock into his mouth, and it's obvious he knows what he's doing. He must have done it many times while he was alive, and Dean can feel that. Even the moan that Alex lets out doesn't have the abandon, the surrender, of the one echoing in Dean's mind.

If Dean could close his eyes, he would. Close them against the look on Sam's face that isn't Sam at all, because Dean knows Sam's eyes should be desperate, wide and hungry right now instead of fond. Sam's fingers in his hair should be pulling, locked tight in the strands instead of softly stroking. Hayden and Alex, they love each other, they want each other, but it's too easy, too comfortable.

It would never be like that with Sam and Dean. They fight. They push against each other. And this, this first time, it would be desperate passion and searing heat.

So Dean shrinks back. He feels, and he tastes, but it's not quite real. It might be their bodies, but it's not them.

Alex hums as he slides Dean's mouth off of Sam's cock. He looks up. "Dean wants his first time with Sam to be a little different," he says, and tips his head to the side. "He wants to do this himself."

Hayden gazes down, a slow smile spreading over his face. "Okay," he says, then something in his face gives way.

Sam slumps forward, gasping. The hand on Dean's head clenches into a fist before he pulls it back, grinds his knuckles down the clenched muscle of his thigh. Sam's eyes are wide, unblinking, and he sucks air into his lungs. "Dean," he says. "Oh my god."

Alex lets go, and Dean's lungs pull so tight he can't breathe. "Sam?" His eyes flick down to where his hand is wrapped around Sam's still twitching cock, and he jerks it away, digs his fingers into the meat of his own bare thigh instead. "Jesus."

"We can stop this." Sam takes quick, shallow breaths. "Forget the deal. We'll find another way."

Dean's eyes, still on Sam's dick, slowly move up. He was right. There's desperation in Sam's eyes, fear and desire warring against each other. "No," he breathes, not even thinking about the deal, about getting these ghosts out of them for good. He wants Sam's fingers tugging at his hair, Sam's cock spilling salt onto the back of his tongue. "We're doing this." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slow, because catch him any other time, like when his brain is in control instead of his dick, maybe they wouldn't be. His fingers itch to touch, to make Sam pant and moan, and his mouth waters with the desire to taste the salt on Sam's skin. "I want to do this."

Dean closes his eyes, moans as he lets the head of Sam's cock slip between his lips. He pushes forward until it hits the back of his throat and he has to stop, or gag.

"Dean," Sam rasps, pushing his fingers through Dean's hair and tugging until it hurts. "Jesus, Dean."

Dean opens his eyes, flicks them up, straining to keep his eyes on Sam's face, to see the hunger. He pulls back slow, pushes down again, this time he gags around the head until his eyes are watering and he has to pull away. He wraps his hand around his own dick, and he grunts around Sam's cock as his lips slide up and down the shaft. Sam's fingers twist into his hair to guide him, and it's the hottest thing Dean's ever felt.

The salty-sweet taste of Sam's cock changes with the tone of Sam's voice. Soft, breathy moans become guttural, and a hint of bitterness spreads the length of Dean's tongue. "Dean," Sam says, urgent. "Dean, stop."

It's a warning, move or get a mouthful, but Dean can't make himself pull away. His eyes, still on Sam's face, widen. His spine fuses, muscles tightening as he works to stave off his own orgasm.

"Dean," Sam cries, his fingers tightening in Dean's hair as he holds his head. Sam's hips jerk, barely controlled as he fucks into Dean's mouth. A flood of heat, thick, salty, viscous, coats Dean's tongue and the back of his throat.

There's something deep and primal about his brother, his baby brother, coming in his mouth, and it triggers Dean's own orgasm. The sound of them both, the moans, the muffled grunts echo in his ears. The taste of salt and sweat and come, the smell of it, worms it's way into Dean's memories and sticks there. He'll never forget this, not if he dies and goes to Hell for a thousand years.

Dean's head falls onto Sam's hip, Sam's cock slipping from his mouth, trailing saliva and come over his chin. He breathes hard, and he fights the moment reality returns and he regrets what he's just done.

It doesn't happen. Sam's hand on his head, slowly stroking as if even his fingers are exhausted, seems to ground him, keep him there somehow, and the gradually slowing beat of Sam's pulse keeps them connected.

Dean lifts his head, and his eyelids are far heavier than they should be. Sam looks stunned, breathless. Dean summons the energy to climb back up onto the bed.

They lie side by side, naked and staring into each other's eyes. "They're still here," Dean says, because Alex is still inside him, looking out, feeling, apparently content to be a spectator.

Sam nods, leans in, licks into Dean's mouth like he's chasing the taste of himself. He lays his hand on the small of Dean's back, pulls him close as he deepens the kiss.

Dean can feel Alex inside him. There are no words, but there's a kind of push to action, a subdued need that tugs at him. Dean's heart starts to pound, and his lungs tighten. "God, Sammy."

Sam's hand slides down, settles on the top of his ass. His breath is quick and shallow, and his teeth press hard into his lower lip. "If we finish this, if we just leave, Jim's going to get away with it. It doesn't feel right."

There's nothing Dean would like more than to see Jim Graeme pay for his crimes, but it's hard to think about right now. Besides, the house is coming down and there'll be nowhere for the boys to haunt once Sam and Dean are free of them. "Not our problem, Sammy," Dean says, and he puts his hand on the side of Sam's face, drags his thumb over Sam's lower lip, squirms closer so he can kiss his brother. "Forget about it." He moves his hips, and there's a kind of pride when his dick twitches and tries to get hard, because he just jizzed all over the motel carpet, and he's not twenty anymore.

Sam lets out a soft groan. "You're trying to distract me."

Dean rocks his hips, grins when he feels Sam stiffening against him. "Is it working?"

Sam huffs out a breath. "Yeah."

"Shut up then," Dean whispers, and then he licks into Sam's mouth, swallows Sam's moan when he does it.

"Dean."

The voice comes from inside his head, and Dean groans and tries to ignore it.

"Dean, I need to feel my brother inside me, one last time."

This time, when Dean groans, it's because his guts are twisting up inside him, and it might be fear, but it's more likely want, need, desire, because his cock jerks and starts to get hard.

Sam responds in kind, rocks his hips, pushes his cock into the hollow of Dean's hip.

Dean lifts his chin, presses a close-mouthed kiss to Sam's lips. He pushes his hips against Sam, shivers at the feeling of Sam's hot, hard dick against his own. "You feel good, Sam," he says, the words muffled against the skin under Sam's jaw. "Holy god, you feel good."

Sam moans and arches his back, pressing his hips closer. The friction has Dean fully hard in seconds, has him rolling his hips in a slow thrust. His dick slides off Sam's, and he reaches between their bodies, wraps his fingers around both of them just to keep them aligned. "God," he whispers, moving against Sam's dick. "God, Sam."

"Please," Alex begs. "We need them inside us."

Dean sucks in quick, shallow breaths, presses his face into the curve of Sam's throat. "Sammy," he whimpers, faltering as he strokes them both. Sam's hand covers his own, regulates Dean's jerky movements. "Sam, please." Dean gasps for air, breathes the scent of Sam's skin into his lungs. "Oh, god, Sammy. You gotta fuck me."

"Dean?" Sam stops what he's doing and stares, eyes wide, lips parted, breath quick and shallow. "Seriously?"

Dean rolls onto his back, pulling Sam with him. His shoulders hit the mattress and his thighs fall apart, an action that is both purposeful and unconscious at the same time. "Seriously," he whispers, desperate and afraid as he drags Sam's hand down the inside of his thigh. "Please, Sammy."

Sam's eyes follow the path of his hand, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. "You really want me to?"

Dean nods frantically. "Alex. He's talking to me, he said—"

Sam jerks his hand away. "No," he whimpers. "I don't care about the deal. I'm not doing anything you don't want." He starts to pull away.

Dean's hand snaps out, and he grabs Sam by the wrist. "I want it." He stares into Sam's eyes, forces himself to look, to not pull away. "I want you. In me, Sammy."

Sam's brow tenses up, and his eyes search Dean's face. "Dean?"

Dean nods his head. His heart is beating hard enough to burst, there's already sweat breaking out on his temples. He's very exposed, his thighs twitching with the instinctive need to cover himself, but his cock is hard, leaking little puddles and trails across his belly. "Yeah," he whispers, his voice gone rough. "Yeah, Sammy. Please."

Sam's eyes slide down Dean's body, then he reaches for the drawer beside the bed.

Dean lifts an eyebrow when Sam pulls out a bottle of lube, the kind of thing they each keep hidden in the bottom of their gear and pretend doesn't exist. It never goes in the drawers because it's bad manners to jerk off with another dude in the room. "A regular boy scout, aren't you?"

Sam shrugs, an almost smile playing on his lips, but he says nothing. Moments later a fingertip slides over Dean's hole, slick and slippery. There's a question in Sam's eyes when he puts a little pressure behind it, not enough to penetrate, but enough that Dean reflexively tightens up.

Dean takes a deep breath, and lets it out slow. "Yeah," he says. "Easy, Sam."

Sam nods, lips pressed tightly together, eyes glistening. He shifts, leans down over Dean's body, and he kisses him, soft and sweet and slow. Dean moans into Sam's mouth, then gasps when Sam slides one long, thick finger into his body.

The noise Dean makes is embarrassingly high pitched, but Sam swallows it. He deepens the kiss and slowly fucks him with one finger until Dean relaxes, starts to whimper for more. There's a hint of a burn when Sam pushes another finger inside him, and Dean shivers.

"You okay?" Sam murmurs against his lips.

Dean nods, and savors the sharp tingle that spreads, like fire, over his skin. It fades as quickly as it comes. "C'mon, Sammy." He tries to roll his hips up, to force Sam to thrust, but he can't move. "Goddammit, Sam, come on."

"Fuck." Sam, breathing hard, slides his fingers slowly out, and pushes them in deep. Dean writhes and moans, and Sam lets out a sound that's something between a laugh and a whimper. "Jesus, Dean, I can't wait to get inside you."

"Then get on with it." Dean gets a hand on Sam's chest and pushes him up. "Give me another, open me up." His eyes fall on Sam's cock, almost freakishly huge like the rest of him. "Now, Sam. I want your dick in me, so give me another finger so you don't split me in half."

Sam's eyes widen and he slides his fingers out. He fumbles, then pushes three inside. "Fuck, Dean," he rasps, moving his hips, sliding his cock up the back of Dean's thigh. "You're going to feel so good."

Dean clenches and moans, arching as much as he can, using his hands flat on the mattress to lift himself. "Fuck, Sammy. C'mon. Fill me up."

Sam groans, twists his fingers deep into Dean's ass.

Dean reaches down, grabs Sam's arm by the wrist, and pushes away. "Do it, Sam. C'mon, little brother. Fuck me."

Sam sucks in shallow breaths, and he reaches for the lube again. He slicks his dick and strokes it a couple times, then he puts his hand on Dean's knee. "Dean, are you sure?"

Dean wraps a hand around the back of Sam's neck, and he pulls him back down. The head of Sam's dick nudges his hole, and it's hot and hard and twitching. "I want it." Dean tips his head up, finds Sam's lips, breathes him in as anticipation makes his skin burn.

Sam pushes against him.

Dean arches up, one arm wrapped around Sam's neck, the other hand twisting in the sheet as his eyes roll back in his head, and he fights just to stay in the real world. The pressure is insane, almost unbearable, and he can't think. Soft sounds come out of his mouth, a series of strangled, repetitive gasps.

Then his body gives, and the pressure eases. Just a little, just enough that Dean can focus his eyes on Sam's face. He takes short, shallow gasps of air, and he moans at the feeling of Sam's cock inside him. He's already so full, so stretched, he can't possibly take any more.

"You're okay." Sam kisses Dean's forehead, his cheeks, his lips. His hair, damp with sweat, tickles Dean's face. He moves his hips, tiny thrusts that slide him deeper a fraction of an inch at a time. "You're doing so good, Dean."

Dean tries to speak, but all that comes out is a moan as he tosses his head. He's on fire, a buzz of heat spreading over his skin and he doesn't know where it starts or stops. His hand leaves the mattress, comes down on Sam's arm, and he grips tight to the hard muscle. "Sam," he rasps, unable to articulate anything more.

Sam pulls back, pushes in a little more. He continues until his hips meet the flesh of Dean's ass, then pants hard as he catches his breath. His eyes are so focused on Dean that it's hard to bear, and Dean has to shut his own.

He sighs as a wave of relief washes through him, completely at odds with the intense, throbbing ache deep inside his body. Alex is here, humming beneath his skin, and Dean feels Alex's emotions like they're his own.

He's home. As close to his brother as two people can possibly be, he's right where he belongs. Alex is complete. He's finished.

Dean opens his eyes, his own relief blending with Alex's, but his breath catches in his lungs when Sam's face comes into focus. "Sammy," he chokes, tracing Sam's jaw with his fingertips. "Need you, Sam."

This isn't all Alex. This is where Dean belongs, too, and a sob wracks his chest when Sam kisses him. It twists his heart, sets his whole body on fire, and that's not Alex.

"It's okay," Sam says, and his voice is thick, like he's fighting emotion. "I know, Dean. I know."

Dean writhes beneath him, Sam's cock shifting inside. "Sammy," he groans, and his voice is strangled and wrecked. "God, Sammy."

"You feel good, Dean," Sam whispers, strained and shaky. "So good, but I gotta move. I have to—"

"Move," Dean moans, shifting, lifting his hips off the bed. A shiver streaks up his spine and he moans. "Do it."

Sam starts to thrust, slow at first, rocking with the rhythm of his breath, gradually picking up pace. Sweat beads on his skin, and he licks it from his lips. He never breaks eye contact, even when Dean can't keep his eyes open, can't keep them from rolling back. When he focuses on Sam, he's always looking back.

Sam's cock is a deep, heavy ache inside him, with every thrust brushing against something that punches a rough grunt from Dean's throat and brings him closer. Every time Sam slides in it drives Dean higher. His dick leaks against his stomach, pre-come slick between them. The rub of Sam's belly only adds to the stimulation.

There's nothing but Sam. Everything else fades away. Even Alex is buried deep. In this moment, it's just Sam inside him, all around him, the hot, wet slide and the quick beat of their hearts.

There's no time, either. The only urgency that exists is the need to keep Sam close, to keep him inside, and to never, ever stop.

So when Sam pushes himself up off Dean's body, raises himself for more leverage, Dean cries out. He digs his fingers into Sam's flesh, and cranes his neck to find Sam's lips.

"I need—" Sam rasps. "Need to make you come, Dean." He slips a hand between them, around Dean's cock, gives it a stroke. "Got to feel you come."

Dean reaches, too. His hand slides down the inside of his thigh, clumsy as Sam's strokes go deeper, longer. Down to where they're joined, to where his body is stretched wide around Sam's thick cock. "You, too," he breathes, pulling his legs back, spreading them wide. "In me, Sammy."

Sam stiffens, and his head rolls back on his neck, tendons straining, jaw clenched. He grabs Dean's hand, folds it around his dick, then grabs Dean by the hips. Dean jerks his cock as Sam times his thrusts, angles them in just the right way.

Tension builds quickly. Sam's going to come inside him, and Dean will feel this tomorrow, not only the stretch, the burn, but there'll be a part of Sam still there to remind him. He might regret this in the morning, might be horrified, but right now it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Sam is here, and is making him feel good.

"So good," he gasps as his balls tighten and his spine arches up off the bed. "Please, Sammy. Please."

Sam's face twists into something like pain, and he curls up over Dean's body, cock buried deep. Dean starts to come, hot spurts painting his chest as a wave of intense relief floods his body. Sam's dick jerks inside him, pulsing again and again.

There's a sound outside of himself, a long, drawn out cry that matches the heat of Sam's skin. It's the taste of sweat, and the smell of come, and the pain in his heart as it swells too big for his chest.

Then it's just their heavy breaths, perfectly in sync. Sam's face is pushed into the side of Dean's throat and his body is a heavy, sticky weight on Dean's chest.

Sam starts to pull away, but there's nothing more important than keeping him inside. Dean groans as Sam's cock slips out of him, leaves an empty ache and a slick feeling behind. Sam curls into his side, wraps Dean in too-long limbs before he turns his head and breathes against Dean's lips.

"Are you okay?" Sam whispers, his fingers stroking Dean's forehead, wiping sweat into his hair. "Are you—?"

Dean opens his eyes with difficulty, gazes up into Sam's concerned face. "Everything hurts," he rasps, then reaches for his throat. It hurts to talk, like he's been screaming for hours. "But I'm good."