Title: Devil's in the Details, But You're My Big Picture
Summary: Episode tag for Devil in the Details. Sam and Dean's trip to Hell has left them both a little unsettled.
Sam settles into the car with a groan as Dean drops into the driver’s seat with an answering sigh. They’re both a little stiff, more than a little sore, but they’ll live. They’ll live and neither of them is an angel condom and Sam can feel the leftover rage and adrenaline still pulsing through him, shot through with dark satisfaction. They won. They beat the devil again, on his own turf, and as sore as he is Sam can’t help leaning across the seat, reaching for his brother.
Dean meets him halfway, eyes glittering, hand tangling in Sam’s hair as he kisses him hard and deep and dirty. Dean’s lip is split, and Sam tastes the faint, sour tang of sulfur that’s never quite gone away. He sucks hard, wanting more, and Dean swears as he pulls back.
“Fucking vampire,” he mutters, but the only heat to his words is the kind Sam wants to hear. Dean licks his lips, no doubt tasting the traces of Sam’s blood left behind. “There’s a motel about three miles from here,” he says, eyebrows raised, and Sam slouches in his seat, legs spread wide and wanton so that Dean can see how much he likes that idea.
“What about Crowley?” Sam asks. “Think he’ll come after us?”
“Fuck Crowley,” Dean all but snarls. “If he comes sniffing around--”
Sam mock scowls as Dean puts the Impala in gear, engine roaring. “Fuck Crowley? Thought you were done with that, Dean.”
“Aww you jealous, Sammy?” Dean smirks at Sam, still somehow managing to neatly avoid the car in front of them. “You know I never touched a hair on that slimy bastard’s head.” Dean’s eyes go hot and dark, his voice a caress. “Spent the whole time thinking about you, Sammy. What I’d do to you if you ever found me, what we’d do together.”
Sam shudders, dick jumping almost painfully in his jeans. They’d talked about this in the bunker, about how close Sam had come to giving in to his addiction, how close Dean had come to finding Sam and forcing him to take the crown they’d denied Azazel and Lucifer all those years ago. He still dreams about it, sometimes--drinking power straight from Dean’s veins, ruling Heaven and Hell and everything in-between after they’d cleaned up everyone’s messes for the final time.
But that ship has sailed, and Sam can’t say he’s really sorry. Especially not when they’re pulling into the motel parking lot and Dean is kissing him hard and fast before slamming the door and striding across the parking lot to the motel office. Sam watches him for a moment, grace and power and beauty that Dean doesn’t even know he has flowing off him, watches him through the plate glass window as he charms the motel clerk by instinct. He tears his gaze away as Dean leaves with the key in hand, hauling himself out of the car and back around to the trunk to unload their supplies.
“Leave it,” Dean says, not even slowing down as he grabs Sam’s arm and drags him towards the room. Sam shivers again, hands on Dean’s hips, lips on Dean’s neck as his brother struggles to work the lock open. The second they’re through the door Sam finds himself slammed against it, breath knocked out of him as Dean attacks his mouth. Sam kisses back just as hard, nipping Dean’s lip again and Dean groans into it, grinding against Sam roughly, hot sparks of pleasure/pain already pooling in Sam’s belly as he pushes Dean back just far enough to yank his brother’s t-shirt over his head and toss it on the floor.
Dean’s torso is a map of red and blue standing out angrily from his pale skin, ugly reminder of brutal beating he’d taken from Lucifer. Sam’s hands gentle suddenly, tracing the marks carefully.
“I’ll kill him if he hurts you again,” Sam breathes against Dean’s mouth. “Don’t know how, but we’ll do it.”
“I’m fine,” Dean grumbles, flushing. He’s tugging at Sam’s belt with one hand, the other in Sam’s hair. They kiss again, softer this time with the reminders of how close they came to losing each other again so visible and clear. Dean pulls Sam’s shirts up and off, hissing angrily when he sees the bruises. He presses gently on Sam’s ribs under a particularly nasty mark, watching Sam’s expression closely. “Don't think they're broken. Guess he didn’t want to damage his packaging too badly,” he says with a note of grim satisfaction at denying Lucifer his prize. “C’mon, let’s get you on the bed so I can take a closer look.”
Sam smiles coyly as Dean leads him over. “You know...if you just want to get my pants off....”
Dean rolls his eyes, smirking. “Like that’s hard.” He strips off his own shoes and jeans and Sam can’t help pausing to watch the show. Dean’s muscles ripple under his skin, flexing as he moves, his thick cock swinging hard and ready between his thighs. Sam swallows hard, taken aback as always by how beautiful his brother is, mouth watering as he falls to his knees.
“Sam,” Dean groans, eyes hot and dark. Sam doesn’t answer, just licks a long wet stripe up the center of Dean’s dick.
“Just want a taste,” Sam mutters, sucking the head into his mouth. He digs his tongue into the slit, lapping up sweat and salt. Dean makes an almost hurt sound above him, hips thrusting almost mindlessly as his hands find Sam’s hair and urge him closer.
“Fuck, Sammy,” he pants, already sounding wrecked. “Not gonna last long you keep doing that.” He pushes in, one long smooth glide that bumps against the back of Sam’s throat and Sam lets him, covers his teeth and takes him in as deep as Dean wants to go. Dean holds him there, lower lip caught between his teeth as he stares down at Sam with lust blown eyes for a long moment before he slowly pulls out.
Sam protests wordlessly as Dean drags him to his feet, but Dean just kisses the sound from his mouth as he tugs Sam’s belt off and shoves his loose jeans and boxers down. “Fucking <i>love</i> your mouth, Sammy,” he says between kisses, “but I got other plans.” Sam falls back onto the bed willingly when Dean pushes, sprawling naked across the scratchy comforter and smirking up at Dean from underneath his messy hair. Dean crawls up the bed to lay beside him, one hand sinking into Sam’s hair, tilting Sam’s face up for a quick kiss before pulling back.
“Did he…?” Dean can’t bring himself to say the word, but Sam knows what he’s asking.
“Not...not my body,” Sam says quietly. “Not this time. He just made me relive it.” Sam shivers, even though the room is warm. “But you aren’t him.” He kisses Dean, long and slow. “You got me out, just like I knew you would. And now I want you to make me forget all about him.”
Dean takes him at his word.
He works his way down Sam's body, tracing the edges of each darkening bruise, kissing the tender, aching flesh gently, not ready to leave his own marks yet. Not when so much devastation has already been left behind. And he doesn't make Sam beg. He knows the agony of being left on the edge for days-months-years and he can't do that to Sam. Not right now.
He works Sam open with exquisite tenderness, licking and sucking his rim, fucking him with his tongue until Sam is a shivering, dripping mess above him. He slides in two fingers then three, stretching Sam wide, finding that spot inside him as he licks up the salty-bitter precome leaking from Sam's cock, then leaning up to kiss him, sharing the taste of <i>them </i>.
“You ready, Sammy?” It's soft, gentle, so unlike how they usually are with each other. Sam's not complaining--Dean is sometimes oblivious, and sometimes his mother henning drives Sam insane, but this isn't either of those. The adrenaline rush is fading, and his long buried memories of Hell and Lucifer been stirred up again, leaving him badly shaken. And Sam knows the trip to Hell wasn’t any easier for Dean, whose memories are even more twisted and complicated than Sam’s.
“Past ready,” Sam breathes against Dean’s lips. “Want you in me, Dean.” He knows he’s right about how off kilter Dean’s feeling when Dean rolls away from him with a smirk, putting his hands behind his head.
“Well, here’s your chance,” he says, making no move to touch Sam again. “I’ve been doing all the work here, now it’s your turn.”
Sam laughs, propping himself on one elbow and looking at down at his brother, willing to give Dean what he needs. “Oh? You worn out already, old man? Gonna make me do all the work?” He trails careful fingers over the bruises on Dean’s chest and abdomen, dragging a shiver out of him, then sits up and slings one leg over Dean’s waist. “I guess I can take over for you….”
Sam can feel the tension leave Dean’s body as he reaches behind himself to hold Dean steady, feels Dean jump in his hand as they both groan. He sinks down, opening around Dean with hardly any resistance, head falling back as Dean fills him completely. “God, Dean. You feel so good. Love having you inside me…” He leans down to steal a kiss, sliding his hands up Dean’s arms to clasp their hands together, pinning Dean’s arms above his head. Dean inhales sharply, hips jerking up to meet Sam, drive himself deeper. Sam moans as Dean hits that spot inside him, pleasure already simmering at the base of his spine, spreading like wildfire along every nerve.
“Gonna come on your cock, Dean,” Sam whispers breathlessly, thighs straining as he fucks himself harder, faster. The gritty drag and grind along his sensitive inner walls feels amazing, hot sparks of pleasure crackling through him with every thrust. “Gonna come just like this, ‘m already so close--”
“Fuck, Sam, fuck--” Dean arches underneath him, not quite struggling against Sam’s hold. He matches Sam’s rhythm as best he can, rocking up to meet him, gasping out Sam’s name as his entire body tightens and strains. Sam can feel Dean swell inside him, impossibly hot and hard as the first splash of Dean’s release floods him. It punches his own orgasm out of him, pulse after pulse of ecstasy rippling through him with almost bruising force. He collapses over Dean, lifting himself on shaking arms almost immediately when Dean grimaces underneath him.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sam murmurs dazedly, but Dean pulls him back down, ignoring the sting of his bruises. They kiss for a long, lazy moment before Dean lets him pull away, both of them wincing a bit as Dean’s softening cock slips free. Sam throws his arm over Dean’s chest carefully, avoiding the worst of his injuries, pushing his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. For a wonder, Dean lets him, no bitching or complaints about cuddling. It probably won’t last long, but Sam’s willing to take what he can get.
“Thank you,” Sam whispers, face hidden. It’s easier to talk like this, for both of them, but he still feels Dean go stiff and tense against him.
“Don’t say that, Sam,” There’s not heat in his voice but Dean’s unhappiness is still clear. “You don’t ever need to say that to me.”
“Yeah, I do. Why shouldn’t you hear it once in awhile? You deserve it, too.” Sam can’t help arguing even though he knows it’s pointless. Dean doesn’t respond right away, and Sam sighs, moving closer.
“Tell you what,” Dean says at last. Sam feels his brother relax a little, and he can almost hear the smirk in Dean’s voice. “My birthday’s coming up. If you want to thank me, listen to your voicemail.”