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Dean isn't back from getting supplies by the time Sam's out of the shower. He wanders into the cool motel room - thank God for whoever invented air conditioning - scrubbing away the remaining water with a towel. A twinge of pain hits him as he rubs over his groin and he pauses to push back the dark curls around his base and reinspect for the thousandth time the red mark there.
Even days later it's still tender to the touch as Sam rubs the pad of a finger across it. Blood floods his cock so fast he'd swear the damn mark was a fucking 'on' switch. Ok, so yeah, maybe Dean in a suit isn't his only kink. Still, that whole weapons fetish is totally all Dean. Totally.
Which, now that he thinks about it, isn't it about time he paid his brother back for that little stunt? Sam flops down on the pillow that Dean has already claimed as his own, a plan formulating.
***
Sam's still hard from all the contemplating he's been doing when Dean walks through the motel door. And stops dead for a half a second. It's never not going to be fun that he can fry Dean's brain just by laying around naked and hard.
Dean has to clear his throat and blink a couple of times before asking,
"Hey Sammy. What's with the free show?"
Of course, Dean's hands are already scrabbling at his belt so it's not like that's really a complaint. And Dean says SAM'S the easy one.
"Just thinking about you," he muses, left hand snaking down to give a couple of slow strokes over his cock. Which short-circuits Dean's brain again. It's a good thing too, because the last thing Sam needs right now is his brother wondering why his right hand is still tucked under the pillow.
"Oh, yeah?" It looks like Dean's having a hard time not drooling, but at least he's managed to get his pants off without falling over and now he's kneeling up on the bed next to Sam. "Whatcha thinkin'?"
Sam catches his bottom lip between his teeth and smirks and - seriously, how is Dean not getting this? It's not like Sam's usually the slutty one in their relationship. Most days. Sorta.
Whatever it is though, he's got Dean leaning over just exactly how he wants him and it's almost too easy to pull his right arm around and throw his brother's weight until Sam's got him pinned to the mattress.
Dean stares up, stunned, from under the forearm Sam has braced across his throat. No, that was not a giggle Sam just made at his brother's expense, it was a very manly testosterone-fueled chuckle. God this is fun.
"I was thinkin'" Sam can't help but love the way Dean's body clenches up when he runs the point of the knife - Dean's favorite, under the pillow knife - lightly over his brother's shirt, "that maybe it's time we explored some of YOUR kinks."
"And you're thinkin' that getting stabbed is one of them?" Dean smirks but Sam can hear the quaver of fear in his voice as he tries to crane and see where the blade is pressed at his own collar bone. Sam laughs darkly.
"Well, I hadn't thought about it that way, but I'm willing to give it a shot if you want." He lets the tip dig in the tiniest bit until a single drop of red is exposed just above the collar of Dean's shirt. Dean gasps and goes rigidly still. "I sort of figured that since you're awfully attached to your weapons, that might be one of them, but more than anything, I was thinkin' control."
The thin metal rasps against Dean's stubble as Sam drags it over his jaw line. Dean carefully turns his head away to keep the pressure light. They both know exactly how sharp the blade is because Dean takes care of it with the kind of obsessive precision he uses on everything he really cares about, like the Impala and his guns and Sam. Especially Sam.
"Now hold real still," Sam leans in to whisper against Dean's cheek, "And I probably won't even cut you. Much." His tongue darts out for one quick taste of his brother's skin and then he's sliding the blade slowly down until it hits the perimeter of Dean's shirt.
He slides the flat of it underneath to press cool metal to already flushed skin and Dean shivers. A quick turn and pull and the cloth gives way like warm butter and Sam just keeps it going down agonizingly slow. The sound of fabric coming apart is the only thing he can hear over the barely-controlled tempo of Dean's breathing and the throb of blood in his own ears.
Sam has to move his forearm from where it's holding down Dean's chest and switch to wrapping his hand around his brother's neck - almost no pressure at all, just a gentle reminder to stay put - in order to finish slitting the shirt all the way. The soft cloth falls open, exposing acres of mouth-watering golden skin and rippling muscle. Obviously God was not opposed to incest or else he wouldn't have given Sam such a goddamn, come-in-your-pants, fuck-me-now hot brother. No one could possibly resist this kind of temptation.
Increasing the pressure on Dean's throat just a little to make sure he didn't try anything - and because the way the tendons flexed under his fingers with each breath was kind of intoxicating - Sam bent forward to run his tongue up the center of hard, perfect abs. Dean shuddered again and Sam could actually feel the moan vibrating through his palm. He spared one hard nip at the edge of Dean's pec - flesh tensing as if his brother was fighting the urge to arch into it - before he picked back up with the knife.
Dean's gulp worked at the meat of Sam's hand, sending an echoing jump through his now dripping cock, as he gently flicked the blade over every dip and cranny of muscle. That was nothing compared to the honest-to-God whimper he earned when he rested the flat of the cool blade over a nipple.
"Sam," Dean protests breathlessly.
"Shhh," Sam raises the knife to his lips to make the shushing motion and Dean's eyes flicker wildly between fear and lust. Yeah, this wasn't doing a damn thing for him.
To illustrate the point, Sam backs himself up a little until the weight of Dean's rock hard erection is pressing against his bare ass. Just for fun, he wiggles his hips, grinding into the hardness and watches Dean's eyes roll back in his head.
Sam's caught on the precarious edge of control and need - the blood thundering in his veins, pounding in his aching cock, was begging him to just forget the whole damn thing and fuck so deep into Dean that his brother would taste it when he came, while his brain was insisting that he could drag this out for hours, learn every move that made the older man twitch and beg. There wasn't a bad choice in the lot.
Opting for choice B - at least for the next minute and a half before he fucking exploded - Sam presses the handle of the knife hard against the base of his dick, fending off the building pressure with the harsh thrill of pain when the wood meets burned skin.
And since he walked away from the last little encounter with a mark, it only seems fair...
The tip of the blade catches on silk-smooth skin as Sam flicks it over his brother's nipple and a thin line of blood appears on the sensitive flesh. Dean hisses, thrashing his head to the side and Sam clenches his fingers just a bit tighter. If Dean wanted up, he already would be.
He takes the time to lay over, bringing his bare chest into slow contact with the searing heat of his brother's, and licks away the stain of red, reveling in the metallic tang of Dean. The blade is moving cautiously between them now, sandwiched between their stomachs, ticking at the line of hair below Dean's navel. Then Sam feels the metal disappear beneath the fabric of Dean's boxers and his brother is gasping, frantic and panicky.
He presses a 'hush' into Dean's collar bone, licking and soothing at the skin until the older Winchester begins to gain control of himself again.
Then Sam lifts away, making room for another turn-pull that gets the boxers coming apart for him too. It takes a minute to work the blade down Dean's thighs, and by the time his brother is fully exposed, Sam is kneeling between his legs.
Scared or not, Dean's cock doesn't seem to have a problem with the kiss of chill metal and Sam has to be careful when it jumps enthusiastically at the contact. He shoots Dean a grin and thinks that this, right here, may be Dean's very best look; hard and naked and needy - it's a very good view.
A flash of pink as Dean's tongue lashes out to wet his dry, plump lips and Sam rolls his hips, the head of his dick rubbing across Dean's balls, to fight the urge to lean up and suck them slick.
The razor-sharp edge dances over Dean's sac and the flesh tightens up further, exposing the hidden flush of his brother's entrance. A gentle caress of metal there and Sam can fucking feel Dean's toes curl, the half-crushed squeak sliding out from under his palm. He knows he has to do something soon or Dean is just going to shake himself to pieces. Still...
He brings the knife up, hovering for a moment to make sure Dean's eyes are on him, then presses the flat of the blade over Dean's swollen cockhead. And he swears his brother almost just came then and if he had Sam would have been right there with him because even the thought of Dean getting off that hard on this has Sam teetering on the precipice.
He lifts the blade away again and slowly moves it to his mouth. Without taking his eyes off of Dean’s blown pupils he carefully begins licking away the swath of precome his brother left there. The bitter-sweet musk of Dean combining with the tang of metal and yeah, Sam's done, just fucking done. He needs his dick inside Dean fucking yesterday.
His grip tightens hard around Dean's throat and there's probably going to be a collar of bruises tomorrow but fuck it. The knife makes a hollow sound as it sinks into the wood of the headboard and Sam's dick feels just as stiff as that metal as it rubs against his brother’s hardness and there! There!
Dean's finally falling over the edge, choked noise gurgling around the pressure of Sam's hand and the hot pulse of come over the head of Sam's dick is all it takes. He's following his brother down, painting them both with ropey white streams of heat and Jesusohfuckmesidewaysyes!
Somewhere in the middle of his brain shooting out of his dick, Sam's body remembered that Dean still needed to breathe and now he was coughing underneath Sam's unyielding weight. He was going to roll over and check on his brother in just a second, really. Right after Dean's body stopped being so warm and soft and inviting to sleep on. Anyway, he wasn't coughing now, so he was probably fine.
"Dean?" Sam musters hazily, beginning to remember little details like his own name.
"Yeah," the older man chokes out, his voice sounding like he'd just chugged a refreshing glass of sand.
"You ok?" Sam manages to lift his head enough to take in Dean's lazy, disbelieving grin.
"Oh yeah," he purrs at the ceiling.
Sam couldn't work up the energy for the actual laugh that deserved, so he just chuckled and slid part way off of Dean's body. No point in keeping up the breathplay until they could at least get it up again.
"Kinky little bitch," Sam echoed Dean's words to him from the other day. Dean rasps a laugh.
"You know it."