rivers_bend

Title: Razor Sharp
Words: ~2600
Rating: Adult? Older Teen?
Genre: wincest UST
Characters: Sam, Dean, a Glawackus
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: These fabulous boys were created by cleverer people than I. they get the money, I get the porn.
A/N: thanks to lima_sierra for telling me my little shower fantasy about Sam and Dean and a pink razor wasn't crazy, and for providing needed beta duties.
Summary: 'Ok. That's clean. I'm gonna take off your wet shirt and get you out of those wet boxers and then I'm gonna stitch that up for you out on the bed.'

Sam understood why so many of the things they hunted had claws. Talons. Whatever. They were good weapons. You always had them with you, if they got broken they were self-replicating. So, yeah. Claws. They made sense. What Sam couldn't understand was why Dean seemed so hell-bent on getting in the way of them.

Sam was on the ground, keeping low, perfect bead on the sucker's head, and Dean dove at it, blocking Sam's shot and getting clawed right across the front of his thigh in the process. And ok, he got in two head-shots before he hit the dirt, but Sam still had to use his second favorite hoodie to staunch the flow of blood, Dean's jeans were ruined, and re-stocking the first aid kit had just moved from better do that this week priority to Jesus fuck, it's two in the morning, we're in the middle of nowhere and we've gotta do it right now priority.

From his position on his back, where Sam had put him under protest, hurt leg up on the passenger seat, Dean said, 'Did you see that? Two shots. Right between the eyes.'

Sam glared into the rear view mirror and saw Dean was trying to sit up. 'Lie down! Damnit, Dean, you're soaking through that sweatshirt already.' Dean lay back, much to Sam's surprise. Turning his attention back to the road, Sam said, 'I saw. But if you'd just let me take that shot, it would still have been dead and you wouldn't be bleeding all over the back seat.'

'It was coming right at you.' Dean sounded like he was sulking.

’And I had a gun. Aimed, cocked and ready. I know I was away for a while, but I'm still a good shot, if you'll recall.'

'Whatever.'

There was no point in arguing anymore. When Dean started pulling the protective older brother shit, he would never listen to reason. Besides, Sam was trying to remember where he'd seen the gas station with the 24 hour mini-mart.

Sam had to threaten to kill Dean if he didn't stay put and keep pressure on his wound, and then back up the threat with the pistol, before he felt safe leaving Dean in the car long enough to get supplies. Bobby'd hooked them up with three boxes of surgical sutures when they'd last swung by the junk yard, but they were almost out of tape, Dean had spilled the last of the alcohol all over the carpet last time he'd tangled with a poltergeist, and they always needed more gauze.

Fortunately, as was sometimes the case in places where there wasn't much else around, the mini-mart was pretty well stocked. Sam grabbed the stuff on his mental list and then remembered that he'd tossed away their last over-worked razor in disgust that morning. There'd clearly been a rush on shaving gear since the last order came in; Sam's only options were fifteen buck's worth of refillable razor, or a four-pack of hot pink disposables. If it was just a matter of shaving his face, Sam would have waited and bought razors somewhere else to save himself Dean's bitching. But if he was gonna stitch that leg, he was gonna have to shave it first. He wasn't shelling out nearly $20 on a razor they'd lose inside a week, so Dean was gonna hafta put up with pink. Sam added them to the basket.

'Any gas?' The kid behind the counter looked about thirteen, and Sam wondered what the hell he was doing working alone at this time of night.

'No gas,' Sam said. 'But can I get a bottle of tequila?'

'Sure. See some ID?' Sam wanted to laugh as he handed it over. No way this kid was old enough to sell booze, but he was checking IDs like a good boy. Sam added a couple bags of M&Ms to the pile while the kid got him the liquor.

When he got back to the car, Dean was asleep, his leg bleeding freely onto the floor-mats. 'Fuck's sake, Dean! What part of keep pressure on that wound were you unclear on?'

'I… Huh?' Dean looked like he wasn't sure what was going on.

Sam didn't want to fuck around with a pseudo-tourniquet, but it looked like he was gonna have to. He pulled off his t-shirt and folded it into a pad before he remembered his bag full of gauze squares. He'd bought three jumbo boxes. Ripping Dean's jeans further, he exposed the wounds, covered the gashes with gauze, pressed the shirt over the top, and then wrapped the blood-soaked sweatshirt around Dean's leg. Using his belt, he strapped the whole mess tightly. They weren't far from the motel, and the sweatshirt was thick enough to protect Dean's circulation for the five minutes or so it would take to get there. Sam hadn't much liked all the training they had to do as kids, but at least he'd listened to all Dad's lectures on field medicine.

'How the hell you made it to a quarter century, I will never know,' Sam said, touching Dean's face to make sure he wasn’t clammy with blood loss.

'M twenty-six,' Dean said.

Sam shook his head. 'Yeah, Dean, I know.' Gently shutting the back door, making sure Dean's good leg wouldn't get shut in it, Sam marveled that Dean had survived Dad's wrath with this kind of shit, never mind that he hadn't been killed by anything yet. Though when he was with Dad, he wasn't trying to protect his brother, so maybe he was more careful. Whatever it was, Sam was going to have to figure out a way to make Dean stop taking insane risks.

The motel was fortunately one of those where you parked right in front of your room, because Sam had to carry Dean in when they got there, ignoring Dean's attempts to say that he was walking just fine. Since he couldn't even hold his head upright, Sam doubted his ability to stand on his own two feet. After dumping Dean on the bed, he got the Tuff-Kuts out of the first aid kit and cut off Dean's jeans.

'B'strd,' Dean said. 'Liked those jeans.'

'Well, you shouldn't have gotten in my way and let that Glawackus get its claws into you. It ruined the jeans. Not me.'

Dean subsided and just let Sam work. When he pulled off the sweatshirt and makeshift bandages, Sam was pleased to see that the bleeding had slowed right down. The wound edges were already puffy though. Cleaning it was going to be a bastard. Sam decided to move Dean to the bath tub. He was washing the cuts with the shower and worrying that Dean still seemed to be semi-conscious when Dean said, 'Toxins on their claws. Make you sleepy. Keep washing.'

Sam was overwhelmingly relieved that Dean's behavior wasn't down to blood loss.

After two or three minutes under the spray, Dean started bitching and moaning. 'Are you trying to fucking drown me? Let me up!' His cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes had lost the somewhat dull look.

'Ok. That's clean. I'm gonna take off your wet shirt and get you out of those wet boxers and then I'm gonna stitch that up for you out on the bed.' Sam figured from Dean's glare that the patronizing tone wasn’t going over well, so he just covered the gashes with clean gauze and helped Dean stand and climb out of the bath. Dean managed his own clothes, though he did let Sam help him dry off.

'We got any of that Beef Jerky left?' Dean asked once Sam had him settled on the bed, and then muttered, 'Clean out the poison and then eat something.'

'That in the book, or is eating just your solution to everything?'

'Fuck you. Hunting's hungry work. And are those M&Ms I see poking out of that bag?'

'Lie still. I'll get you your food. You're bleeding again.'

'What d'you expect, all the water you were spraying in it?'

Sam really didn't know why he put up with such an ornery brother.

While Dean munched on the teriyaki jerky Sam found in his backpack, he got out all the stuff he'd need to fix Dean's leg. He tried to hide the razor behind a box of bandages, but Dean saw it. 'If you think you're coming near me with that pink thing, you have another think coming.'

'It's a razor. What possible difference could the color make?'

'That's for girls to shave their legs before prom night. I don't need my legs shaved to get lucky.'

'I'd go so far as to say you'd do better if we didn’t shave your legs. But I'm not stitching those with all that hair there, and do you really want me to put tape on that?'

'It's not like I'm a faun or something.' Dean was holding his hands over his thigh as though he could protect it from Sam's intended predation.

'Never said you were. I'm still shaving it.' Sam picked up the razor. 'You gonna move your hands, or do I have to tie you up?'

Dean just scoffed at that.

Sam handed him the tequila and a bag of M&Ms. 'Keep yourself busy. You'll thank me for this, trust me.'

Glaring, as though to make sure Sam knew he was doing this under duress, Dean took the bribes. His leg obviously didn’t get the willingness message though. He was wiggling and jerking around so Sam couldn't get anywhere near him.

'You're a fucking useless patient, Dean. I should just leave you to bleed to death.' Sam climbed up on the bed and sat on Dean's shin, clamping his knees either side of Dean's leg, ignoring the fact that Dean was pointedly ignoring him.

He really wasn't sure how to go about doing this. No matter what he did it was going to hurt like a fucker, but he didn’t want to irritate the wounds any further or anything either. Pretending this was just a piece of meat and not his brother helped, so Sam did that. Working quickly, he wiped the cuts with alcohol and then wiped down the razor. Using his thumb to pull the wounds taut made Dean swear at him, but he ignored that and swiped the blade across the top gash.

'God damned son of a mother fucking bitch!' Dean took a long pull on the tequila.

'Don't talk about my mother like that,' Sam said, and shaved across the second cut.

They were about four inches long and were much easier to see now. The top one went deeper than the other, and Sam was worried he was going to have to stitch it in two layers. He hated that. 'Hey,' he said when he noticed that Dean had gone pale again. 'You ok?'

'Yeah, just get off me and get on with it.'

But Sam wasn't done. He wanted to shave enough so that the tape would stick. Pushing the towel that was covering Dean's modesty further up, he started shaving the patch of skin above the cuts.

'Dude! What the fuck? You doing my bikini line here?' All Dean's struggling was bucking his leg against Sam's nuts which was kind of distracting.

'Settle down, will you? Seriously, I tape your bikini line, you're gonna be even less happy with me.' Dean wriggled again. And Sam was so not getting hard.

He clamped his left hand to Dean's hip and made another pass with the razor. It was strangely fascinating to watch the golden curls give way, leaving naked vulnerable-looking skin in the razor's wake. He made two passes to the outer edge of Dean's thigh. And ok, maybe he was getting a little hard, but he hadn't gotten laid in nine fricken months, and Dean was doing that nudging thing with his knee against Sam's crotch, and was it any wonder? Biology, pure and simple. It would happen to anyone.

Sam had his forearm across Dean's stomach, holding him still, not thinking at all about the fact that Dean's dick was practically resting against his wrist, when Dean said, 'Sammy, you sporting wood there?'

Sam jumped, nearly taking a slice out of Dean's inner thigh. 'Eww, Dean, no!'

'You just shoved the sawed-off down your pants when I wasn’t looking.'

Dean was comparing him to the sawed-off? That was at least a foot long. Sam caught himself before he smiled. He was not talking about his dick with his brother, and he didn’t care at all what Dean thought of it. Not that Dean was thinking of it, he was just making fun, like he always did.

'Shut up. You're poking my nuts. What do you expect?'

'You should'a cleaned the pipes, Sammy.' Dean's grin was gonna get him killed some day. For serious.

'Just because you're happy to jerk off while I'm sleeping in the next bed doesn't mean I don't have a sense of personal space.' Sam threw the razor aside and started wiping Dean down with the wet washcloth, determined not to let Dean get to him.

'Personal space like this one?' Dean thrust up with his leg, rubbing against Sam's cock and balls provocatively.

'You're an asshole.' Sam knew he was sulking and that would only drive Dean to greater heights of big-brother teasing, but he couldn’t help it. Shoving Dean roughly, he stood up.

'Aww, Sammy, don't cry.' Dean really was a jerk.

'Drink up, the needle's next.' Sam found the box of dissolving sutures in the kit and pulled out two packs.

'I really fucking hate stitches,' Dean said between gulps of tequila.

'You should stop getting clawed and shot and stabbed then.' Sam sat on the edge of the bed. 'Ready?'

'As I'll ever be. You not gonna hold my leg down with your tight little ass again?'

'I swear to god, Dean. Fuck off.'

Dean held out a green M&M between his fingers. 'Want one? I hear the green ones make you horny.'

Sam wasn't particularly gentle with the needle, and Dean shut up.

When he'd stuck down the last piece of tape over the bandage, Sam lifted his arms over his head, easing the tense muscles in his back. Something cool and hard poking his groin startled him out of the stretch. 'What the—Dean!'

'Is ok, you know.' He poked a little harder with the bottle. The mostly empty bottle. Maybe Sam should have been paying a little more attention to how much Dean was drinking. 'The thing. With the thing.'

'With the thing. Of course. Did you have enough to drink?' Sam tried to get out from under the bottle without being too obvious about it, but Dean was remarkably persistent.

'I mean, I got a little har' when you were lying on me in that cave that time.' Dean nodded gravely. 'I's perflectly normal.'

'Thanks, Dean. I'm not twelve, you know.' Not that Sam had needed this speech the first time Dean gave it when he was twelve.

Dean finally released Sam so he could gesture with the bottle. 'I like it. It's cute. So you don have to worry 'bout it, kay?'

Muttering about drunken fools, Sam took the bottle out of his brother's hand, tugged him down the bed so he was lying on the pillows, and covered him with the blankets. 'Just go to sleep.'

After brushing his teeth and cleaning up the first aid stuff, Sam tried to do the same. But the idea that Dean liked his hard-on wouldn't leave him alone. What the hell was he supposed to do with that information?

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