rivers_bend

Title: Hold your Fire
Genre: Wincest slash. Angst and rimming. As you do.
Rating: Adult (sex)
Words: ~5,500
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the Hollywood types. The porn is mine.
Summary: Even finding out your brother wants you as much as you want him doesn’t make any of this seem normal.

Sequel to Shoot First, Questions Later and The Whites of Their Eyes. Not totally necessary to read those first, but helpful.

Thank you to lima_sierra and littledrop for encouragement, beta and very necessary squees in all the right places.


Hold Your Fire

It was the shooting pain that woke you, though the ache that throbbed up into your jaw and down to your elbow was almost worse. Disorientation and the pain made you breathless, left you feeling like Sam looked after one of his nightmares. Hit by a sudden need to make sure your fingers were still working, you counted them off, one, two, three, four, five, light pressure against your thigh. The action woke you up enough to make you realise the pressure against your other thigh was more boner than hipbone. While that killed some of the pain in your arm, it made the pain in your stomach come back sharp and sick.

Sam’s breath was hot on your shoulder, slow and deep. Sleeping-Sam. Dreaming-Sam, if the woodie was anything to go by. You lay as stiff as Sam’s cock, wanting to turn into your brother’s arms, rub against him, feel friction and heat. Your brother, for fuck’s sake. Your little, ok, not so little, brother. You sick fuck.

You had to get out.

The curtains didn’t meet across the window, letting you see a crack of sky lightened by the rising sun. Sam’s leg was across your ankle and he still had a grip on your right biceps. Moving a fraction at a time in order to not wake the slumbering giant, you slid out of bed and stood up. The movement jarred your shoulder, leaving you clenching your jaw against swearing aloud. Sam had put a glass of water and the pain killers on your bedside table at some point. The gesture made you want to kiss him, and at the same time, turn around and punch him. You didn’t think too much about what that meant, just tipped two pills into your palm and swallowed them with half the glass of water.

The carpet was rough under your feet and it felt like you had to walk a hundred yards around the bed to get to the bathroom. ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ you said under your breath. To Sam, to yourself, to the really fucking ugly painting on the wall next to the bathroom door; surely someone somewhere was listening.

Even keeping your left arm as still as possible, brushing your teeth hurt. Hell, taking a piss hurt. You stank of pain-sweat and having forgotten deodorant after your shower the night before. You needed to get clean. You needed to get away from here.

There was decent water pressure, which surprised you, and one of those shower heads which soaked you without blasting you through the floor of the tub. Not as good for sore muscles, but perfect for when you had a shoulder full of holes. You soaped and rinsed, soaped and rinsed, and then stood with your face under the spray until your lungs were on fire with the need for air. The towels were more in keeping with the look of the place – thin and rough – but they got you dry enough.

You forgot to bring clothes with you into the bathroom so wrapped a towel around your hips. Keeping your back to the bed, not wanting to know if Sam was awake, you pulled the first pair of boxers you could find out of your duffel and tugged them on before dropping the towel. You were digging through the bag for the first aid kit when you heard Sam say, ‘Dean?’

‘M’ok,’ you said. ‘Just go back to sleep.’

Sam looked like that was the last thing he was planning on doing. Eyes bright, moving over the sutures and the holes in your shoulder, checking your face, and then, you’re imagining things, Dean, sweeping along the waist of your boxers where they rode low on your hips.

‘Lemme do that for you.’ Sam sat up, but kept the blankets over his lap. You watched him stretch, rub his face, shift his hips.

‘Sammy, go take a leak. I’ll wait for you.’ You didn’t know why your brother was suddenly embarrassed by a morning hard-on. Wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it all before.

‘Yeah, I... um... Just hold on til I get back. I don’t want you taping your fingers to your arm or anything.’

‘You think I’ve never done this myself? What do you think I did while you were at school, college boy?’

‘Didn’t Dad..?’ Sam paused in the bathroom doorway and turned to look at you, concern putting wrinkles between his eyebrows.

‘Yeah, Dad –‘ You gestured with the fingers of your right hand. ‘Just get on with it. And brush your teeth. I can smell your breath from here.’

Sam flipped you off over his shoulder as he shut the bathroom door. The pain killers were starting to kick in, making you feel like everything was going to be okay. You didn’t need to climb into your baby and drive somewhere, anywhere, that Sam wasn’t. Sam, who had taken care of you, done what needed to be done, then curled around you, breathing into your neck, holding onto your arm like he was afraid you were going to try to run away. Who had done what you had been wanting to do to Sam every night since he came back. Not that you wanted to cuddle or anything. Just -

‘Dude.’ You jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice. ‘I forgot to tell you. No more of this Closeup toothpaste. It tastes like shit.’

You ran your tongue over your teeth. Didn’t taste like anything. ‘It was on sale.’

‘Yeah, well, even the generic stuff is better than this.’

‘Whatever. You going to bandage my arm again, or we gonna talk about toiletries all day?’

‘You want more? You didn’t put any deodorant on last night, and I still slept with my nose in your armpit. Is that love, or what?’

‘You are such a girl. You know I was only kidding when I said I wanted a sister, right?’

‘You said you wanted sisters. And you were looking at those twins who were eyeing you up from the bar. They would have eaten you alive. You’re lucky I was there to save you.’

‘Save me? That was cockblocking, pure and simple. Damn, they wer-‘ Sam reaching between your legs stopped you cold.

‘What the fuck?‘ You tried to scramble away, but Sam gripped the seat of the chair in one hand and the ladder-back in the other and dragged you, chair and all, across the room. His grin was in danger of eating his whole face.

‘You could’a just asked me to come over there.’ You willed your pulse to slow down. There was no call to be so damn jumpy. You had a view of the door, your injured side facing the foot of the bed. The door was looking like a pretty good alternative to sitting at Sam’s mercy.

‘Didn’t want to interrupt your bitching about my cockblocking skills.’ Sam settled on the bed, thighs spread so one nudged your ass through the back of the chair and one rubbed up against your knees.

Sam’s naked thighs. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed and was still wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a too-small white t-shirt. You noticed the grease stain on the shirt’s sleeve, acquired last time you’d changed the spark-plugs. ‘You got a problem with your clothes?’

‘What?’ Sam looked up from tearing off strips of tape.

‘I know I was distracted at the time, but I’m pretty sure that shirt you took off to mop up the blood yesterday was mine, and there you are in another one. Just wondering what happened to all your shirts.’

Sam suddenly found the tape really, really interesting. You tilted your head to try to catch his eye, forgetting about your stitches until the movement felt like you were trying to rip them out. Almost worth it though, cos Sam looked up at you when you hissed in pain.

‘You okay?’ The worried wrinkle was back. It was too damn cute. And no, you didn’t want to lick it.

‘I’m fine. But, you know, breakfast sometime this century might be nice.’

‘Do you want to do this yourself?’

‘You’re the one who insisted you do it for me. I was happy to do it myself.’

‘Just shut up and sit still.’ Sam grabbed your arm, but his touch was gentle and made a lie of his tone and the scowl on his face.

‘I’m sitting,’ you said, suddenly all too aware again of Sam’s bare skin pressed against your knees.

Sam just looked at first, gently tilting your arm towards the light and barely brushing a fingertip below the line of stitches, before pressing you back in the chair with a hand on your chest so he could get up close and peer at the holes there. ‘Healing already,’ he said, voice a heated exhalation against your flushed skin. You could feel your heart pounding against Sam’s thumb and hoped Sam wasn’t making anything out of it.

Finally, when you were dizzy from not breathing, Sam sat back. He used some alcohol gel to clean his hands and then got out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

Send a boy to college and suddenly soap and water’s not enough to get his hands clean. ‘You’re fucking kidding, right?’ You could hardly speak your mouth was so dry. The cotton-mouth had nothing to do with the sight of the peroxide and everything to do with how close Sam’s lips had been to your chest, but Sam didn’t need to know that.

‘You know the risk of infection with buckshot. I’d like to stay here a couple days, not a couple weeks. And we almost got caught the last time I tried to steal antibiotics for you.’

‘You WHAT?’ This was the first you heard of it.

‘I guess you didn’t know about that?’ Sam’s expression was a mixture of chagrined, concerned and pleased that he’d gotten away with stealing.

‘When did you...’ You thought back to the last time you’d had antibiotics. You’d been eighteen or nineteen. Hidden a knife wound from Dad, not wanting to bother him. Dad discovered it when he found you passed out in the kitchen with a fever of 104 F. You didn’t remember that, of course, nor any of the next three days, but Sammy had filled you in later. How scared they’d been, how Bobby had come and helped, how they’d rubbed you with alcohol and ice water and kept you dosed on Tylenol and cefalexin. You’d never wondered before where the cef came from. If you had, you’d’ve assumed Bobby got it somewhere. Not that someone sent a fourteen year old Sammy out robbing drugs for his stupid big brother.

While you were distracted, Sam had gotten a grip on your arm, ready to pour peroxide over it. ‘You really want to hear it?’ he said.

‘What were you, fourteen?’ The last word had a squeak at the end as Sam splashed the stinging liquid over your stitches. You cleared your throat and repeated it in your deepest voice, making Sam laugh.

‘Yeah.’ Sam mopped at your arm with a fold of gauze. ‘It was an adventure. We were in that little one horse town. Bobby created a distraction in the drug store and I snuck back into the pharmacy, got the drugs. The assistant came back from lunch while I was still back there. I ended up having to sneak out the back door. Bobby didn’t know I’d gotten out... It was kind of a mess. I had a great time though. Dad never let me do shit like that.’ All the time he’d been talking, Sam had been cleaning and bandaging.

‘Ya know, there’s a reason for that.’

‘What, you can go out and get supplies and I can’t? What’s that about?’

‘You can get supplies, just, not, you know...’ You thought you should probably quit while you were ahead, but you found your mouth running off without you. ‘You want to be a lawyer, man. Lawyers can’t just go breaking in to pharmacies. You need to leave that shit to me.’

‘So it doesn’t matter if you get in trouble, but it matters if I do?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Dean, you’re not disposable, you know.’

‘I didn’t say I was disposable –‘

‘But you’re always pulling that kind of thing. Putting yourself in danger, taking risks like what happens to you doesn’t matter.’ Sam edged around so he was looking you in the face. ‘What happens to you matters.’

‘Are we really doing this?’ You tried to stand up, but Sam put his leg over your lap, trapping you.

‘We’re doing this.’

You tried to push Sam off. Your palms flat on the inside of Sam’s thigh, fingers curled around the muscle tensed to hold you in the chair. You tried, but god, Sam’s skin. Before you could stop yourself, you squeezed the flesh under your hands. Warm, pliant, but with muscles like steel underneath, as Sam curled his leg tighter, pulling you half off the chair and onto his lap.

You glanced up, trying to smile, make this the joke Sam was clearly playing, just two brothers wrestling, and ok, the boxer shorts were new, but... You looked, really looked, at Sam. Lips parted, ragged panting catching in his throat, pupils blown wide, ‘Sam? Are you okay, man?’

Sam hooked one of those huge hands around the back of your neck and kissed you.

You knew you weren’t dreaming, because in your fantasies your shoulder wouldn’t hurt this much. You wouldn’t be tangled up in a chair, hip jammed hard against the edge of the bed, waist nestled against Sam’s groin, back bent at an impossible angle – except maybe you would, because fuck all that, this was the kiss. Sam’s mouth wet and hard and open, tongue pushing past your teeth, not exploring, not asking. Taking. Demanding. You moaned into that mouth, knowing you were lost.

Sam pulled away. ‘Dean, fuck, I’m sorry.’

The look of horror on his face made you want to die. ‘Sam,’ you tried, but all that came out was a dry clicking noise.

‘Your arm,’ Sam continued. He somehow picked you up, got the chair out of the way and had you on the bed, good side tight to his chest, by the time you managed to get another breath into your lungs.

‘I didn’t mean – I just thought – Fuck. Dean, just tell me you’re okay. Please. Say you’re okay.’

Sam’s left hand was under your head, his right was fluttering nervously at your hip. He looked as frightened as you’d ever seen him, but he wasn’t pushing you away, wasn’t running or trying to hide.

You knew you had a chance to stop this. To tell Sam you didn’t want it. To keep him safe from your twisted fantasies. If only Sam would stop rubbing his thumb along your waist, stop kneading his fingers into the edge of your ass, would stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes, you would have a chance.

‘I’m okay. You didn’t – My shoulder’s okay.’

Relief pouring off him, Sam kissed your forehead, your cheek, your chin. ‘Okay. Good. Okay.’ Kissed your lips. A kiss that in a different context could be considered fraternal, but here and now was anything but. ‘And this? Dean, I mean I know it’s not okay, not right, but with you? Is it..? Am I off base? Did I read – wishful thinking – are you..?’

You never could deny Sammy anything he wanted.

‘Me,’ you said, not entirely sure what it meant. ‘You.’ You tried to nod, to tell Sam with your eyes that this was what you wanted too, but you failed. Sam’s expression never changed. Worry, fear, panic.

‘I’m sorry. Dean, I’ll go. I’m sorry.’

The hand on your hip was gone, Sam’s heat was fading from your side, fingers sliding out from under your head. Sam was going. It was better if he did. You couldn’t ask him for this. Couldn’t lay splayed under your brother as he fucked you open, willing, begging. As he took you and owned you, not just your soul, but every inch of your skin, inside and out. No matter if Sam wanted it too, no matter that Sam’s eyes were filling with tears as he pushed himself away from the brother he’d just kissed. Kissed and laid bare and broken open.

You were decided. You couldn’t do this. Sam would stop crying, would get over this. Things could be, would be, back to how they were before. The message didn’t make it to your right hand. Feeling Sam’s loss keenly, it reached out, tangled fingers in Sam’s borrowed shirt, twisted them there, arresting Sam’s departure.

When Sam tried to tug out of your grip, your fingers only tightened. ‘No,’ Sam said, voice choked, ‘You can’t. Not just because I want – Dean, no. I can’t let you do this for me. Not this.’ He was trying to worm a finger into your fist, make you let go.

You almost said, But I’d do anything for you, I’d die for you, a thousand times, but something saved you, wanted this to work, made you realize those words would only confirm Sam’s worst fears. ‘I want this. For me. You, Sammy. For me.’

The words didn’t free you. They brought no flood of relief. They ate at your insides just as much as the thoughts and dreams of begging your brother to fuck you always had.

The words that made you feel sick were just what Sam needed. He closed the space between you, leaned in closer. Carefully covered your right side and as much of the left as wasn’t peppered with buckshot, giving you a look of joy the likes of which you hadn’t seen on Sam’s face since he was a kid, if then. That look did its best to lift some of the crushing dread in your chest, and you did your best to let it.

‘Dean.’ The word a whisper against your lips as Sam kissed you again. This time he was tasting, testing, waiting for you to meet him half way. It was nothing and everything like you had imagined all those times: sleepless at four am, sitting across from him watching him eat, late night, early morning, with Sam’s name on your lips and come swirling down the drain in another stained motel shower.

The dread/fear/terror/trauma/horror of touching Sam like this, of feeling his cock nestling into the groove of your groin, was all consuming, until it wasn’t. Until you packed it away and let heat/pressure/friction/Sam take over.

‘So long... so long –‘ Sam was mumbling between kisses to your face, neck, the line of your collar bone. His teeth and lips closed on a patch of skin where your neck curved down to shoulder, suction a sharp pain and a blessing.

‘Yes,’ you breathed, and then cried in a broken moan when Sam bit harder in response. ‘Mark me – yours.’ You were pulling at Sam’s shirt, trying to get underneath it, to get it off. With a final kiss to the bruise he’d left on your skin, Sam leaned up on one elbow and reached down his back to pull the t-shirt over his head. You allowed yourself to look, drink in Sam’s skin, for the first time in months. Your good arm was trapped under Sam’s ribs.

‘Sam, let me – Can I touch? Lie down, let me touch you.’

Sam rolled onto his back, flinging his shirt off the edge of the bed as he did so. ‘Do you want me to...’ Sam fingered the waist of his boxers.

‘Yes, god yes.’ You sat next to Sam and watched him slide his boxers over his thighs and off. He lay before you, near leg pressed against your knees, far leg cocked to the side, dick hard and heavy against his belly, with no shame or embarrassment.

‘Touch me,’ he said. ‘However you want. Whatever you want. Anything.’

‘Sammy.’ You reached out a finger to brush Sam’s lips. He followed the touch with his tongue, making your own tongue wet your lips. ‘God, you’re –‘ You weren’t sure how to finish. Perfect. Beautiful. Letting me touch you. Everything you wanted to say was cheesy beyond belief, and you just couldn’t do it.

‘Dean, fucking touch me already.’ Voice a filthy growl that went straight to your cock, fingers rough on your wrist as he pulled your hand down from where it was ghosting over his cheekbones and jaw line.

Sam’s nipple fit into the cup of your palm, a hard point with muscle underneath to trace your fingertips over. You pushed to feel the resistance, moved lower, traced the line of ribs, abs, felt where the skin stretched thinner over your brother’s hipbone. Sam thrust up into your touch, moaning deep in his chest.

‘Want to taste you.’ Trying to lie next to Sam, you realised that your shoulder was not going to support your weight. ‘Fucking shotguns! What the hell was he shooting me for anyway?’

‘You were macking on his daughter. You’re just lucky it’s never happened before.’

‘I was not macking on Leeann. I was – ‘ You thought better of telling Sam you were doing everything in your power not to pull off Sam’s jeans and blow him up against the Impala’s quarter panel.

‘You were what?’ Sam had his head propped on one fist, and was looking at you like he knew just what the answer to his question was.

‘Nothing.’ You slapped Sam’s hip with the back of your hand as you moved to climb off the end of the mattress. ‘C’mere. This isn’t going to work with me on the bed.’

The floor was hard and the carpet felt a little sticky and you could not have cared less. Sam’s thighs were opening wide around your shoulders as he sat up on the foot of the bed. The musky smell of him made your mouth fill in anticipation of what he would taste like. As you leaned forward and reached for his shaft, Sam said, ‘You better not be too good at this.’

You really hoped now was not when Sam was planning on having the conversation about how many men you’d gotten on your knees for. Never would be plenty soon enough, as far as you were concerned. ‘Um...’ And how were you supposed to answer that anyway?

‘If you’re too good, I’m liable to forget about your shoulder.’ Sam was smiling. Grinning. Lighting up the room. Whatever.

Next to giving head (to men and women; your mouth really was as talented as it looked) and kissing, banter was your specialty, so why the hell was this so much harder with Sam? It’s not like you weren’t used to shooting the shit with him. Looking down at Sam’s cock made it easier somehow. You took it in your right hand and licked it like an ice cream. ‘Don’t worry. I’m just gonna warm you up. Get you ready to fuck me.’ You looked up to catch Sam’s reaction, closing your lips around the tip of his cock and licking at the drops of moisture there.

Sam’s eyes went wide and he took a ragged breath. ‘What here doesn’t look ready?’ He had a hand on your head, fingers pushing through the short hair at the back.

You didn’t bother answering, just opened your mouth and filled it with Sam.

The noises he was making made you jerk harder and suck him deeper. It felt so good to have Sam in your mouth that you didn’t care if he fucked you or not. You could come just from the taste and the sounds he was making.

Thighs trembling, hips bucking, Sam was close. You didn’t slow until he tugged at your hair, gasping, ‘Stop. Want – fuck, Dean. Have to fuck you... fuck.’ Turned out you did care about the fucking. Especially if he was begging for it.

When you looked up at him, it felt like he was someone you’d never seen before. Face completely open, lust and need clear in his eyes. There was no hint of the nightmares that had haunted him, nothing sulky or bitter or angry. He was almost vibrating with joy and desire as he smiled down the length of his body into your eyes. ‘God, Dean, if you had any idea...’ He reached out to help you stand.

‘Idea?’ The word just came out, you really weren’t sure you wanted to know what Sam was thinking. Just the thought made words like incest and freak and monster push at the edges of your brain. If Sam told you how long he’d been thinking about doing this, he just might want to know how long you’d been thinking about it, and you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t even think about it or you’d be behind the wheel of the Impala putting miles between you and the motel, stitches or no stitches, before Sammy could even get his jeans on.

But Sam was easily distracted, too busy pulling off your boxers to answer. He shoved them down far enough for you to work at kicking them off while he grabbed your hips and pulled you towards his mouth. Almost like a dog, he lapped at your nipple, the line of your ribs, the curve of your hip. It tickled and was wet, but was kind of the sexiest thing anyone had done to you in a really long time. Maybe ever. Which probably had to do with the moaning Sam was doing, or maybe the rhythmic clutching of his fingers on your ass.

‘You okay lying on your back?’

‘Better than standing.’ You were going a little wobbly on your knees with all the moaning going on, not that you were about to say that.

‘Gimme that.’ Sam gestured towards the headboard as you lay down in the center of the bed, slid a hand under the small of your back as you handed him the extra pillow.

‘What’re you – ‘

‘Just lift up.’

He sounded very sure of himself, so you did. Next thing you knew, he was licking your balls. Which made you wonder how many guys he’d been on his knees for. Though maybe Jess had a talented tongue and the boy just learned from example. Then those hands of his were wrapped around your thighs, pushing them apart, and he was settling down on his belly like he meant to stay awhile. ‘I’m gonna lick you, Dean. Taste you. Fuck you with my tongue, til you’re soft and open and begging me to stick my dick in you. Can I do that? Do you want me to?’

You didn’t, in that moment, care what kind of special hell you were going to burn in for saying yes. Those filthy words coming out of your brother’s mouth made your cock jerk and leak on your stomach. Your answer was more a plea than assent.

‘Want this so bad, Dean.’ Sam bit the tendon at the top of your left thigh. ‘Want you.’ Then his mouth was too busy for him to carry on any further conversation.

Sam had you shaking and crying out with the slow wet heat of his tongue, the gentle pinch of his teeth. He’d definitely done this before, and you hoped it was Jess, because if it was anyone else you wanted to hunt them down. Sam was yours.

You had to stop this, stop Sam. There was nothing right about wanting to own your brother like that. And you tried. Really. Tugging at Sam’s hair, saying his name. But as you did, a spit-slick finger breached you and Sam moaned, ‘Love this. So fucking hot,’ against your balls. If there was anyone on earth strong enough to resist that, you’d like to meet him.

Whatever Sam did after that, your brain only registered goodmoreyes. It seemed like hours that you lay quivering on the edge of madness, the pleasure so intense you could hardly breathe. Finally, you remembered what you both were waiting for. ‘Fuck me. Now.’

The words were all he needed, Sam didn’t make you beg. With a crazy grace no one that long should have, especially balanced half on and half off a bed, Sam was up on his knees, replacing the pillow under your hips with his thighs, smearing pre-come over the head of his cock.

A moment of fear; you’d been fucked with nothing but spit for lube before, but that was a hastily licked palm. No contest against the rim-job Sam gave you. He slid in smooth and deep, without so much as a twinge of stretching. You were empty and then the next minute filled with Sam.

‘Ok?’ he asked, eyes searching your face.

‘God, yes. Move. Please, Sammy, move.’

Your shoulder complained as he shifted his weight to get a better angle, but that didn’t matter at all once he started rocking his hips. Friction, heat, and holy fuck the look on Sam’s face. He’s a big bastard. There’s nothing like having a guy looming over you with his cock in your ass to drive that kind of thing home, and your mind played with that for a while, skirting around the thought that the look on Sam’s face was love. Love, and a hope so intense that it made you feel like your skin might burst into flame under his gaze.

He didn’t look like the idea of fucking his brother worried him at all. Like his theory that your life wasn’t normal encompassed even this. No wonder he left. ‘Dean,’ Sam said. ‘Look at me.’ His hips were flush against your ass. ‘Stop thinking.’ Slowly, watching your face, he moved. ‘We’re both grown men, we both want this. It’s a good thing.’

And yeah. It was a good thing. Because when he did that movement there, at that angle? Thinking was not only overrated, it was pretty much impossible.

You started thrusting back to meet him, gripping his arms with both hands, pain totally irrelevant. He fucked harder, you fucked back harder still, until you were pretty sure you were leaving bruises on each other. ‘Touch... Dean, fuck... touch yourself.’ But that was all you needed. His ragged voice, at the edge of completely undone, because of you, was every filthy fantasy you’d had gone wild.

When he saw come splashing up your chest, Sam’s eyes went wide. Broken words that might have been your name mixed with grunts and a keening noise that he pressed into your neck. You held on to him with everything you had, staying with him as he rode out his orgasm, keeping your arm around him as he collapsed down on top of you.

His weight was somehow reassuring. Even when you thought, this is Sammy. This is my brother. After a minute, or ten, Sam shifted. ‘Dean? You okay?’

‘You weigh a fucking ton. And I think we’re glued together here.’ Now you were talking it felt like your hip was dislocated and your shoulder was throbbing.

‘Just a –‘ Sam pulled out and rearranged limbs so you were both more comfortable, but he clearly wasn’t planning on giving you any space. ‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s better.’ He had his head on your good shoulder, the fingers of his left hand twined with your right, holding your arm tight around him. His right arm was wrapped around your waist and his right leg was thrown across both of yours.

‘You still weigh a ton.’

‘Yeah, well, you’re a big boy, you can handle it.’

Maybe the fact that you said the words with your lips pressed into his hair made him think you weren’t really asking him to move. Or it might have been the fact you were gripping his hand just as tightly as he was gripping yours. It was just that he fit so well curled around you like that. Which should have defied all the laws of physics. Or engineering, or something. Sam probably knew, but it didn’t really matter. He fit. And you could feel the weight of his head and his arm because the weight of no/sick/wrong was gone.

Maybe not gone gone. Probably not. But somewhere else for a while. You hoped it would stay there.

‘Think you need another shower.’ Sam was rubbing his thumb over the dried come on your ribs. ‘Think I could do with one too.’ His smile looked like he thought you might be getting it up again sometime before nightfall.

‘Shower maybe. But don’t look at me like that. You definitely need to feed me first. Possibly twice.’

‘Are you sure?’ Sam ran an inquisitive finger up the length of your cock. It was interested, but not leaping to attention. He tried to sulk in your direction but the perma-grin made it less effective than it might have been. ‘Okay. Breakfast.’ He reached up and kissed your neck. ‘Whatever you want. But only if I get to suck you off before lunch.’ He looked very pleased with himself. It was hard to argue.