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Sam is hit on a lot, he knows why. It’s not like he’s full of himself or anything, he just knows he has a good body, he’s fairly attractive, tall, built, tan, pretty. He knows. He also knows Dean is a jealous bastard and anytime he is hit on Dean is pissy for the rest of day. Sam, though, wouldn’t consider himself jealous… or possessive… or any of those things.
It feels controlling to be any of those things.
He trusts Dean, he knows Dean wouldn’t cheat on him, it doesn’t matter that people hit on Dean it just means Sam is the one with an incredibly hot boyfriend.
Sam isn’t possessive.
No matter how many times Dean argues with him that he is possessive and to just admit it,
Sam is not possessive.
But…
When Dean grins at a lady who is so obviously flirting with him, Sam feels his teeth grind together. Dean soaks up the attention like a damn sponge. Maybe it’s his fault for making Dean think he doesn’t care when people flirt with him. Sam isn’t possessive. It would just be nice for Dean to react that same way when Sam flirts with him.
Sam is not possessive, or at least that’s what he’s told himself a hundred times since they arrived at the bar.
Sam is used to getting the occasional wandering gaze, a pretty lady asking for his number, a guy offering to buy him a drink. It seems like this time though, everyone is attracted to Dean.
God, this bar is full of whores.
Sam instantly chastises himself for that thought.
Sam is at the bar counter beside Dean, idly swirling the beer he’s holding. His teeth grit together, his neck feels hot and sweaty, each flirtatious giggle from that girl grates on his nerves sending pain through his body.
He sighs loudly, and all he gets is Dean glancing at him with a questioning look before Dean’s attention is right back on that girl
Sam is not controlling. He will not be one of those guys who can’t handle their significant other interacting with others. He is not one of those ‘alpha males’ who controls their partner.
He sees the girl touch Dean’s bicep, and he just can’t handle it anymore.
His beer clatters onto the counter as he pushes past Dean, “I’ll be right back,” he bites out in a snippy voice, dodging people as he makes his way to the bathroom. If Dean reacted to, or noticed his grumpy demeanor, Sam didn’t catch it. He shoves his way into the bathroom, beelining to a stall and slamming it shut.
He stands there for a second.
He is not controlling.
He is not possessive.
Dean is a grown ass man, and if that grown ass man wants to piss off his boyfriend and brother then Dean can piss off his boyfriend and brother.
But, god, is Sam pissed off.
He presses his palms into his eyes, his face is warm beneath his hands. His gut twists and he isn’t sure if he’s pissed off or hurt. His hand smack the stall door, which has a stranger making a startled noise out near the sinks of the bathroom.
He stands there mulling in his misery for maybe a little too long, but eventually he collects himself and steps out of the stall. He walks over to the mirror and just stares for a beat.
He’s visibly pissed off, jaw clenched, lips downturned, eyes narrowed. He attempts to shake it out, he’s sure it didn’t work all that well, but he doesn’t look back before he turns and promptly walks out the bathroom.
He maneuvers his way through the crowded bar back to where he left Dean, his chest loosens when he sees Dean is now alone, he shakes his hands out as he makes his way back to standing beside Dean.
Dean raises an eyebrow, a concerned look on that handsome face of his, “you okay?” Sam can hear how careful Dean’s voice is, like Sam is some emotional timebomb, and that anger is right back.
“Fine,” Sam says in a snippy voice before waving the bartender over, before Dean can keep pushing he orders a round of shots from the bartender.
“Sam…” Dean begins, but Sam has already taken both shots.
“Go back to flirting with that lady Dean, where’d she go anyways? Got tired of flirting with the clearly gay and taken dude?” Sam feels himself prickle as he spits those words out, ordering another round of shots.
It infuriates him the smile that forms on Dean’s face, that smirk, just a slight upturn of one side of Dean’s lips, a type of smirk that makes Sam want to kiss Dean senseless. He takes another shot, feeling the warmth fill his limbs. He’s never been more grateful for how little he eats than now when he’s feeling the effects of the alcohol so quickly, drinking on a budget.
“That’s what this is about?” Dean muses as he takes a swig from his beer, there’s another beer in Dean’s hands, Sam is about to be a total hypocrite and scold Dean for drinking two beers at once, when he realizes that the bottle in Dean’s left hand is his beer.
The anger that fills his stomach makes him feel so irrational. Dean, even when flirting with a chick, grabbed Sam’s beer to keep it safe while Sam went to the bathroom.
Maybe Sam isn’t angry.
“There’s no this,” Sam says angrily with a wave of his hands, his face feels warm and he isn’t sure if it's from the alcohol or Dean. His head is swimming and there's way too many people around him.
Dean hums, a lazy grin as he stares at Sam, ogling. “Okay,” Dean caves, “no this… just Sammy being angry but there’s nothing happening, okay yeah.” Dean’s voice is dry and it grates on Sam’s nerves.
He wants to order another shot, no he doesn’t he wants- he doesn’t know what he wants.
It feels like everyone's eyes are on Dean, He can’t handle it. Everyone is looking at Dean, ogling Dean, and Dean is ogling him.
His skin feels warm, the back of his neck heats up, his hair feels prickly, his clothes don't fit right.
He doesn’t think about it before grabbing Dean’s arm and tugging, “I wanna go home,” he attempts to say in a biting voice, but he’s sure it faltered.
Dean stares at him, staring at him like that girl across from the bar is staring at Dean, like that sleazy guy is staring at Dean’s ass, like that definitely not twenty-one year old teenaged boy is checking Dean out from the corner. “Yeah, just let me pay our tab,” Dean finally says as he pulls his arm from Sam’s grasp.
Dean doesn’t need to, and yet Dean’s arm wraps around his waist, Dean’s hand slotted in his back pocket over the round of his ass.
Sam stares at the counter as he listens through muffled ears as Dean pays the bartender, leaves a tip and then begins guiding Sam out the building. It feels on purpose, the hold. Dean is walking past more people than necessary with his arm around Sam’s waist.
Sam lets his car door be opened for him. It’s almost humiliating.
He zones out for most of the car ride, feeling the rumble of Baby’s engine beneath him, each bump in the road, Dean’s hand tapping against the seat while it waits for if Sam will hold it or not, Dean’s forearm as he grips the steering wheel, Dean’s breathing that Sam can hear over the low hum of music.
“Stop the car,” Sam finds himself saying, “pull over.”
He can feel how hoarse his voice has gone.
“What?” Dean says as he looks away from the road to glance at Sam.
“Pull over, Dean.”
The silence is deafening, but it only lasts a few beats before Dean pulls off into the dirt on the side of the road.
“Sam, are you actually pissed at me? Cause if you are- just tell me, man I-”
Sam doesn’t wait for Dean to finish his words before he’s climbing out of the car, slamming Baby’s door behind him, he kicks the dirt.
He can feel Dean’s gaze on him through the window. He shakes his fists out.
After what feels like too long, Dean climbs out of the driver's seat and walks around the Impala to him.
“Sammy,” Dean starts carefully.
Sam feels himself react instinctively, his arms grab Dean’s waist and he clashes their mouths together. Tongues and teeth smashing together, he bites Dean’s bottom lip, sucking when he tastes Dean’s blood. He shoves Dean back against the car.
“I’m so-” he says between biting kisses, “fucking tired,” a bite to Dean’s jaw, “of all these people,” his head dips down to Dean’s neck, “thinking they can flirt,” he bites Dean’s Adam’s Apple, relishing in the vibrations he feels when Dean groans, “with you,” licking where he bit, “when I,” a bite, “am,” a lick, “right,” his hands unbutton Dean’s jeans, undoing his fly and tugging them down, “there,” he drops to his knees.
“Jesus,” Dean grits out, his hand threads through Sam’s hair, his fingers begin to tighten, but Sam bites Dean’s inner thigh sharply.
“Don’t,” Sam snaps and the fingers loosen right away. He can feel dirt and rocks digging into his knees through his jeans, but he barely pays them mind. His lips trail over Dean’s inner thigh, his fingers ghost over the underside of Dean’s cock, feeling it harden under his touch.
“You- you just soak it up,” he mutters against Dean’s leg, “you fucking love it, you love everyone looking at you, flirting with you, throwing themselves at you.” His breathing turns ragged as he ducks his head down and drags his tongue over Dean’s balls, relishing in the sharp inhale he’s rewarded.
It’s like Dean knows Sam will get pissed if he talks, for the first time in a while Dean doesn’t say a word while Sam is on his knees like this.
Sam doesn’t even dignify his brother with looking up at him, his gaze is solely focused on what he’s doing.
Fingers remain gentle in his hair even as they twist the strands, his breath ghosts down Dean’s hardened erection until his lips are hovering over the head. “I’m so tired of it,” he rasps against Dean’s slit, his tongue drags over it.
His fingers curl around the base of it as he drags his tongue over each vein and ridge. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, all he can hear is each uneven sharp gasp Dean makes, each moan. He finally takes Dean fully into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the swollen head, he’s almost painfully hard in the confines of his jeans as he hears those obscene noises Dean is making.
He hollows his cheeks sucking lightly, and Dean’s hips jerk forwards, causing him to gag lightly around Dean, he relaxes his throat, but simultaneously grabs Dean’s hips, harshly pinning Dean against Baby. He works his mouth over Dean, tongue swirling, bobbing his head.
His fingers dig into Dean’s hips, he takes Dean to the hilt, nose pressed against Dean’s groin. The noises feel his ears, fingers turn a little tight in his hair but never guiding. He can hear the punched out noises Dean begins to make, his hips twitch.
“Sammy, Sam, Jesus, so- so good,” Dean finally chokes out, before a spur of cum hits the back of Sam’s throat. Sam works Dean through it, mouth keeps moving, head bobbing, until the noises turn high pitched and less pleasant.
He finally pulls off Dean, taking ragged breaths, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sitting back on his haunches. He finally looks up at Dean, god Dean with his flushed face and glassy eyes. Dean takes in a sharp breath at the sight of Sam’s face. His hands begin to gently pet Sam’s hair as he breathes raggedly.
Sam moves back from Dean moving to sit against the Impala on the ground. He takes sharp heavy breaths, head tilted to look up at Dean, eyes flutter as Dean’s hand runs through his hair so gently.
“Told ya,” Dean gets out, “possessive and jealous as hell, baby.” His voice is hoarse and faintly amused.
“I’ll kill you,” Sam spits out, adjusting himself in his pants, his head tilts back against the car door. All Dean gives as a reply is a low amused hum, raising his trembling hands in mocking surrender.