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Dean is quiet in the driver's seat. He hasn't said a word in miles, hasn't so much as hummed along to his music or drummed his fingers on the wheel. It's not a comfortable silence.
He knew this was coming. Sam told him he wouldn't be staying, that this was only temporary under extenuating circumstances. He didn't expect Dean to be happy about it but the tension is almost unbearable: it's in the way Dean's hands clench the wheel, the way his posture isn't as relaxed as it usually is when drives, and the way Sam could choke on it, it's so heavy in the air.
Dean pulls over on the side of the road but doesn't say anything. His hands keep their death grip on the wheel and he stares straight ahead. Just when Sam is about to break the silence, Dean abruptly gets out of the car. His door doesn't quite slam but the sound is too loud, and it makes Sam flinch. He follows Dean, because it feels like that's what he wants.
He rounds the side of the car, standing next to Dean where he is leaning against the car. Without a wheel to hold onto, his hands are clenched at his sides. Dean smokes sometimes just for something to do with his hands. He's never been good at staying still.
"Look, man, I know it's-"
Dean cuts him off by getting up in his space in a flash, hands fisting Sam's jacket collar, and then he kisses him.
Sam kisses back for a too-long moment before coming to his senses and shoving Dean's chest, keeping his arm outstretched to maintain distance between them.
"Dean, don't," he says, sounding wrecked from just one kiss. He wipes his mouth and Dean follows the motion, frown deepening, lips downturned.
"Are you serious?" Dean asks with gruff disbelief.
Sam straightens up and meets his eyes. "Yes."
"You ran away for four fucking years and you won't even kiss me any more?" Dean says, voice raising with every word until he is almost shouting.
"Things have changed. I've changed. I'm with Jess now. I won't do that to her."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Jesus, Sammy, stop being such a girl."
Dean grabs at him again and Sam tries to shove him off but Dean is prepared, has planted his feet firmly and doesn't budge.
"Stop it, Dean!" Sam yells.
"You were mine before you were hers - before you are hers. You're still mine, Sam. You will always be mine."
Sam's expecting the kiss this time and he doesn't respond by habit that should have been long dead anyway. Dean growls in displeasure and forces his thumb into the hinge of Sam's jaw, making him open his mouth so he can force his tongue inside. Dean is a ridiculously good kisser but this isn't a kiss, it's a point being proved, ownership being staked.
It goes on and on and on, Dean invading every part of his mouth with his tongue, nipping hard at his lips until Sam tastes blood. By the time Dean pulls back the barest amount, Sam is panting and dazed.
"Mine, Sammy," Dean says again, softer this time. Almost sweet. Almost reverent. "God, I missed you. Missed kissing you."
"I missed you too," Sam offers placatingly. It's not a lie: he did miss Dean. He missed him like half his heart was missing.
Dean holds his eyes. "Prove it."
"Dean-"
His eyes flick down to Sam's lips. "Show me how much you missed me."
It's just a kiss. It's still a betrayal, but it's just a kiss. If it makes Dean calm down, Sam can choke back his guilt.
He kisses him. Dean lets him control it for all of three seconds before one of his hands crawls into Sam's hair and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It's just as good as he remembers and his mind uselessly compares Dean to Jess. It makes him feel a little sick. His beautiful, smart, loyal girlfriend is waiting for him at home and he's kissing his brother.
It doesn't take long for the kiss to turn into something more. Dean pushes a thigh between Sam's legs and grinds against him, and Sam can't stop the moan that escapes at the feeling of Dean's hard cock rutting into his hip.
“That’s it, little brother,” Dean murmurs, and Sam realises he’s getting hard too, which startles him enough to turn his head to the side. It doesn’t deter Dean, who just latches onto his neck, kissing and sucking like they’re teenagers fumbling under the covers in a dark motel room while their dad snores in the other bed.
“Dean. Dean, wait, c’mon, that’s enough,” Sam protests. Dean’s hand slips between their bodies and squeezes Sam’s cock, and Sam bites back his moan. “Sto. Dean, stop it!”
Dean pulls his mouth away from his neck but doesn’t pull his body away, keeps his hand kneading at Sam’s bulge.
“It’s been four years. I’ve been thinking about this every fucking day since you left. Don’t play hard to get.”
“I’m not playing hard to get, Dean, I’m saying no. I don’t want this. We’re not doing this.”
Dean’s eyes harden and his mouth firms into an angry line. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m saying it and I mean it. It’s not happening. Not any more,” Sam insists, trying to make his voice sound stern and confident.
Dean considers him for a span of seconds that feels like hours, and then a smirk tugs at his lips.
"How 'bout this: you get over this sudden frigid virgin act, or I tell your little girlfriend about how you begged me for my cock when we wer kids. How's that sound?"
Cold anger rushes through Sam and he grabs Dean’s shoulders to push him away. Dean moves but only because he lets himself be moved.
"Fuck you, Dean, you can't do that, you can't just-"
"Oh I can, Sammy. I can and I will."
"She won't believe you."
"Denial is a helluva drug," Dean agrees. "But I've got a stack of Polaroids dating back to 1995 that will change her mind."
No. No. That fucking asshole.
"You said you burned those, you son of a bitch!"
Dean shrugs loosely, not at all perturbed. "I lied.” At Sam’s disbelieving, betrayed look, he huffs a laugh through his teeth. “What, you really thought you could run out on me and I'd get rid of my favourite jerk off material? Yeah, right."
“You’re a fucking asshole. I’m not just gonna bend over and take it because you want me to!”
“If you don’t want Jess seeing you doing just that, you might wanna reconsider.”
Panic speeds up Sam’s heart uselessly. God, he’s fucked. He’s literally fucked. He doesn’t doubt that Dean kept those polaroids and he doesn’t doubt that he’s serious enough about this that he would actually show Jess who her boyfriend really is. Jess would be disgusted, she would be horrified. She would leave him. She would tell everyone that it didn’t work out with the guy she was so serious about because she learned that he used to let his brother fuck him. Other people would know, people Sam knows would know. He would never be able to show his face at Stanford - hell, in California, ever again.
“Tick tock, Sammy. It’s the backseat or it’s show and tell with Jess and the family picture album,” Dean taunts cruelly.
It’s just sex. Just once. He’s had sex with Dean hundreds of times. So he’s betraying Jess, but is that worse than her having to deal with the mindfuck of seeing Sam getting fucked by his own brother? Jesus, Sam is as young as twelve in some of those pictures. Even worse, it was Sam’s idea. There is no ignoring the fact that Sam is so obviously a willing participant in them either; even if there are some where he is tied up or crying, it was always consensual. Unbidden, his memory reminds him of some of the pictures: Sam choking on the full length of Dean’s cock with a proud glimmer in his eyes because deepthroating that thing was no mean feat; Sam riding Dean; Dean eating Sam out; Sam bent double in the same backseat Dean wants him to lie back and take it in. Six years of depravity caught on film. Six years of Sam loving every minute of it.
Not for the first time, he wants to strangle his younger self.
But he can’t just spread his legs for Dean. He doesn’t want to, for one, even if he knows Dean makes it so good for him, even if he has secretly jerked off to memories of Dean fucking him, even if he has missed Dean. He made a commitment to Jess. He made a promise to himself that this was a fresh start and a new life, and that included leaving behind his disgusting, incestuous relationship with his big brother.
They were kids. They grew up wrong. They only had each other.
He’s made a thousand excuses for it, but if he does this now, there is no excuse.
Dean isn’t gonna take no for an answer.
"I'll blow you," Sam blurts out, bargaining.
Dean opens his mouth as if he's about to say not good enough but he closes it again as his eyes flit down to Sam's lips. Hunger darkens his eyes and Sam's tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and he's not sure if it's contrived or not. Doesn't matter, 'cause it works.
"Go ahead," Dean says, nodding down at himself.
Sam's proud of the fact his hands don't shake when he reaches out and unbuckles Dean's belt, muscle memory taking over.
He isn't scared of Dean. He's not. Dean never forced him to do anything he didn't want to. Sure, Sam was nervous at first, or whenever they were playing with fire with Dad a room, a bed away, or in the front seat while they pretended to sleep in the back, hidden only by a blanket. It's not like Dean held him down and forced him. Dean wasn't lying when he said Sam used to beg him for his cock. He was a... precocious child. Needy. Hooked on the only real, reliable pleasure in their spartan life.
God, he used to beg. Dean liked it. He would pretend he was seriously not in the mood because Sam didn't take no for an answer but he'd always be rock hard by the time he 'gave in' because he got off on Sam begging.
Sam sinks down to his knees and pushes away the guilt clawing from inside his ribcage. It’s just a blowjob. He can handle a simple blowjob.
Dean is rock hard when he gets his hand around him and pulls him out. The thick length of him makes his jaw ache just looking at him. He takes a deep, steadying breath and leans in, but a hand in his hair stops him with a jolt of pain.
"Hands off," Dean commands, looking down at him with eyes as dark and ravenous as a wolf in the hungry gap of winter.
Oh. Right. That used to be one of his rules. Sam takes his hand off Dean’s cock and without letting himself overthink it any more, leans in with his mouth open and takes him inside.
It’s foreign yet familiar. It’s been four years since he last did this because the only guy he ever fucked was Dean. He still tastes the same - musky, salty, a little sour from a long day - and he still feels the same in his mouth, heavy on his tongue and stretching his lips wide.
He relearns how to breathe through his nose and relax his jaw, how to work his tongue and keep his teeth tucked away, and throughout it Dean’s moans sound too loud in the night air and he tries not to panic about the fact they’re outside. He can hear the occasional car pass by and is grateful he’s hidden from view behind the Impala.
For a moment, Dean's hands in his hair feel like Jess's, but then he tightens his grip too much and yanks, using the hold to guide him up and down his cock, and the moment passes.
This is how it so often was: Dean ruthlessly fucking his face, less a blowjob Sam was giving and more Dean just using his other hole to get off. Sometimes it would start off slower but it always ended up like this.
Dean always had impressive stamina for his age. It only increased the older he got, but it seems like maybe having Sam again after so long might be doing a number on it. He used to like to draw things out when they could, get Sam to tease him with kitten licks and kisses and suckles of only the tip. He let Sam work up to taking it down his throat (when he could hold himself back) and by the time he did push down it was almost like relief. Then, it was Sam doing his best to be the pliant fuckhole Dean wanted.
He evidently does not have the patience for that any more.
Sam keeps gagging every time Dean's cock pummels the back of his throat. It's been a long time - he isn't used to this any more. It doesn't bother Dean in the least because he always liked the sound of it, liked that it meant Sam was struggling.
Before long, Dean is forcing his cock past the barrier of Sam’s throat and Sam automatically panics at the invasion. His throat bulges and he can’t breathe. He slaps his hands against Dean’s thighs, tries to push him off, but Dean is immovable and merciless.
Sam used to love this. Didn't he? How did he ever do this so enthusiastically? It fucking hurts having something jammed down his throat over and over and over again. Christ, he used to- he begged Dean for this. He moaned like a whore for it. He was so fucking proud of himself for being able to perform like Dean's favourite pornstars, able to open his throat and barely gag and push through when he did, able to not panic at the dizziness of oxygen deprivation, hell, able to get off on it. He used to drool all over himself, make a real sloppy mess, because Dean found it hot. Because he found it hot. He loved doing this. He woke Dean up doing it. He did it while Dean drove. He pulled Dean into the janitor's closet and bathroom stalls at school to do it. He daydreamed about it.
What's changed?
The sounds Dean makes used to turn him on, all those guttural moans and grunts. The things he says used to turn him on, filth like gonna pump my come right into your stomach and yeah fucking choke on it slut and you like my nuts on your chin you nasty whore?
It just makes him feel gross now. Makes him feel used.
Sam’s stomach keeps trying to force its way up his throat and he focuses as much of his willpower on not throwing up as possible. He threw up a number of times when Dean was training him to deepthroat. It was always awful. It was a good motivation to get better though.
Dean may not have had the patience to start off slow but he seems to have plenty of stamina to keep going, and going, and going. Sam knows he is crying, knows he’s a fucking mess, and he knows it’s turning Dean on but he tunes out his endless babble of filth and just focuses on breathing and not throwing up and just get through it.
He’ll be home soon. Jess is waiting for him.
Oh fuck, Jess is waiting for him and he’s going to have to face her again know he’s just done this. He’s gonna have the taste of his brother’s come on his tongue and the phantom stretch of his cock in his throat and he’s gonna have to face his loving, sweet girlfriend.
He doesn’t know how long it takes before Dean is swearing and crushing Sam’s nose into his pubes as he pulses down his throat. He keeps himself lodged in Sam’s throat for too long and Sam struggles weakly, all the fight gone out of him. He pulls back and pulls out, his slimy cock sliding out of Sam’s throat with a disgusting noise. He coughs and wretches, spitting onto the ground. Dean laughs.
“Not half bad,” he says, zipping up his jeans.
“Fuck you,” Sam mutters. “Take me home.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dean's strong arms trap him in their cage as he struggles to run back into the burning house.
"She's gone, Sam! You can't help her now!" he shouts to be heard over Sam's screams.
“Fuck you! Let me go! Jess! Jess!” he wails.
Dean doesn’t let go. He keeps holding Sam even as he sinks to his knees on the lawn, cradling him like something precious, turning his face away and tucking it into his chest. Sam weeps and Dean just murmurs it’s okay, Sammy, I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It has been less than a day since Sam told himself it was the last time. Less than a day, and he's back in the passenger seat. Dean is not tense beside him: he is sprawled loosely, legs spread, one hand drumming the wheel, humming along to Led Zeppelin.
Whoa whoa, when love is pain it can devour you, but you are never alone
I will share your load, I will share your load
Baby, let me, oh, let me