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"What do I do?" Kyle's nervous. He doesn't know why he's nervous, other than he hasn't ever done anything like this. That should be a good enough reason, right?
"There." The one on the edge of the bed, the taller one—Sam—points at the armchair across the room. "You can sit there. And watch." The other one, Dean, finishes taking off his clothes, leaving only his jewelry—the heavy ring on his finger, the pendant on a dark cord, and the thin strap of black leather on his wrist. "We only want you to watch."
Kyle nods, but at the moment, his eyes are only for and on Dean. Dean stands in the weak light of the one lamp, pale, muscled and coiled dangerously tight. He's beautiful. There's no other word for it and Kyle's conscious of wanting to draw Dean as much as he wants to touch him. He's been hard since they left the bar together. No, a lie. He's been hard since Sam walked up behind Dean, curved his giant hand around the back of Dean's neck, nodded at Kyle and said, "What, him?"
Dean's looking at his bracelet, one finger smoothing over the plain band. There's no expression on his face, only the glistening flicker of his eyes. Then, decisively, he hooks his finger through the bottom of the band and tears the snaps loose. When it slips free of his wrist into the waiting palm of his other hand, a shiver runs through him from the feathery tips of his hair down to his strong, wide legs. Or…less a shiver than as if he shakes something off of him, his whole body language changing as whatever it is falls away. Tension turns to waiting as Dean puts the bracelet on the same nightstand as the lamp and goes to Sam's side. Sam touches him, only a light brush of his palm across the back of Dean's thigh and Dean goes to his knees without a word being exchanged between them.
Kyle makes a noise without meaning to and it draws Sam's eyes to him, makes him smile. In the bar, it was Dean that drew him right away with his bright and flashy danger. But it's Sam who actually scares him with this delicious, churning fear that dragged him here to this strange motel room with these two strange men.
"He's gorgeous, right?" Sam buries his fingers in the back of Dean's hair, making Dean close his eyes and sigh quietly, the subtle tilt of his head backwards only noticeable by the way the light slants across his neck. Kyle counts colors. Ochre. Gold. A touch of olive for the shadows under his chin and his stubble. "It's okay. We know you noticed. It's why you're here, right?" Sam's gaze shifts down to Dean both sharpening and softening as his eyes rove Dean's naked body. "It embarrasses him to hear me say it, but sometimes I just need to." He looks at Kyle again with that same sharp-edged smile. There's a dimple in one of his cheeks, filled in with shadow now, like a beauty mark. Kyle wants to drag his finger through it, across Sam's wide mouth. "You know?"
"Huh?" Kyle drags his mind back. "Oh. Oh, yeah. He's beautiful." There's nothing but sincerity in his tone and as he looks at Dean, he watches Dean's eyes slit just enough for the pupil to glitter through, watches Dean's cock twitch, a tiny bead of wet gathered in the slit. "You're really lucky."
Sam's smile warms. His fingers slink down, from Dean's hair to his shoulder and then around to his throat. "I am. It's why I don't like to share. Because he's a great—an amazing—fuck too." Sam forces Dean's head back further and bends to kiss him. Dean moans when Sam's lips grind his apart. It's a hungry sound, needy, wanting. The complete abandon of it makes Kyle shift uncomfortably in the chair, his cock too hard under his pants. Sam cups Dean's face in both his hands and the tilt of Dean's head and neck…Kyle wants to draw these too, or—better—commit them to paint, where he can capture the sepia-gold of the light and the darker gilding across their skin. At the same time, he wonders what it feels like, to have someone surrender to you so completely or to be the one surrendering, held in shape only by the hands on your skin.
It goes on for a very long time, the quiet, wet noises of their mouths punctuated by the drawn out noises of their pleasure. Kyle presses down against his cock, hardly breathing. They have no awareness of him; Kyle's watched enough porn and campus make-out sessions to know the difference when someone's putting on a show. This feels dirtier, more like being a Peeping Tom, and never mind he was invited. They kiss like this because they want to, because they like it and Kyle guesses he likes it just fine too.
Sam's the first to remember Kyle's there. He lifts his head, smiling sheepishly. Dean doesn't even glance Kyle's way, arching up after Sam and making pleading noises in his throat. "Sorry," Sam apologizes. "I wanted to draw this out more, make it last longer, but I don't think that's going to happen."
Kyle shakes his head numbly. "No…" His voice squeaks a little on exit; Kyle harrumphs a little and tries again. "No, it's fine."
"We've never done this before," Sam confesses, soothing Dean with quick, petting caresses. "Let someone see us, watch. It's…unexpectedly hot."
Kyle grins. "Glad to be of service, I guess."
"Dean's always been kind of a slut. Semi-public sex's pretty tame, for him. I've always been the one with all the hang-ups."
Interesting. Sam is so blasé, so in control of both Dean and—if he has to admit it—Kyle. 'Hung up' is not a word that it would ever occur to Kyle to use. "How long have you known each other?"
Sam looks down at Dean, still straining upwards without really moving. "Since we were kids." Sam's voice is softer; Kyle has to lean forward a little to hear him. "Be still," Sam says to Dean. His tone is mild, but like that, Dean quiets, becomes pliant again, face still tipped up to Sam like a plant angling toward the sun.
Sam glances back to Kyle then and Kyle understands Dean's attitude, feeling Sam's eyes on him like a touch. Kyle's belly feels like he just took a shot, easy and loose and too warm. His balls ache and it's an effort, now, to stay in the chair. "This is all pretty new to us, though. You can touch yourself if you want." It takes Kyle a minute to understand Sam's words from his conversational tone. Kyle's still rubbing himself almost unconsciously through his pants. It's like instinct to obey, unbutton and unzip and ease himself out of his shorts. He groans quietly, grateful and relieved. "Would you like to watch Dean suck me?"
Kyle's spine stiffens, arching him up and back. His cock twitches and hardens in his loose grip, making him tighten. "Um. Yes? I mean… Whatever. Whatever you want to do. Whatever you'll show me."
"Dean's good with his mouth." Sam touches Dean's shoulder and Dean rises to the points of his knees, shifts around between Sam's legs. "I mean, it's more than just skill." Sam's thumb slurs over Dean's bottom lip. Dean's mouth opens and Sam pushes deeper. "He loves it. Really, truly loves it. And I love to watch him." Sam's voice lowers again at the end and, though almost nothing he's said has been specifically directed to Dean, Kyle realizes it's for Dean's benefit.
Even if Sam hadn't told him, Kyle could read Dean's eagerness in the swift economy with which he opens and disposes of Sam's pants and shorts. Sam shrugs his tee shirt over his head and Kyle can only stare again as he drinks in the details that Sam's broad shoulders had only hinted at. It's weird, because Kyle's only known hard core athletes and body-freaks to be as ripped as these two and yet they have none of the self-involved vanity he associates with it. It's like they don't even care how good looking they are.
Kyle stifles a groan and forces himself to control the urge to speed his stroke. He doesn't want this to be over too fast. He almost misses Sam guiding his cock between Dean's lips, staring at Sam's pecs, the solid rippled mass of his abs. Dean moans, though, when the head touches his mouth and Kyle snaps back as if electrified, a similar noise escaping his own lips.
Sam looks over to him again, moves his nearer hand from Dean's face to lie flat against his thigh so Kyle can see, unobstructed, Dean working down the thick length of Sam's cock. "The first thing Dean ever asked me to do was fuck his face." Dean squirms and makes breathless humming sounds around Sam. Kyle's palms itch with the lust to wrap his fingers around Dean's cock, upright and so-far neglected, but he can only content himself with his own.
Sam curls his far hand around the nape of Dean's neck. He's not pressing Dean down, but the threat of it is explicit. And, as Sam had observed minutes before, unexpectedly hot. "It scared me," Sam admits, curling his fingers in a caress. Dean shivers, still sucking busily, avidly, his mouth wet and vividly reddened with blood. "I didn't understand, then. How much he likes it. How much he wants it and how much he trusts me, to give it to him." Sam's watching Dean; if it wasn't for the way he keeps talking, Kyle would probably think Sam had forgotten him. But he can't blame Sam for being fascinated with the sight of Dean on his knees, sucking.
Dean had been so different in the bar, louder, somehow busier. A perpetual motion machine, all surface shininess, and unable to focus on any one thing for too long. Restless. Skittish. This Dean is all focus, Zen-like and blissful.
"I give Dean what he needs," Sam says, ruffling through Dean's hair again, "and in return, Dean gives me himself." There's a warning in the glance he shoots at Kyle; Kyle's smart enough and still coherent enough to see it, even if he can't quite interpret it. "I'm glad you came, though. We've never… I've never been able to have this. For someone to see—know—Dean is mine."
Dean does something then, making a loud, wet noise. Sam cries out sharply and lurches forward, thrusting into Dean's mouth. If it'd been Kyle, he'd have choked, but Dean only changes the angle of his head and neck, only the flutter of his eyelashes giving away that it's any effort to take Sam so deeply. Sam tugs on Dean's hair, easing him off. "Stop, baby," Sam murmurs and Dean does, eyes opening to gaze up at Sam with rapt concentration. Sam breathes out loudly, his eyes closing for a long moment, clearly gathering himself. Then: "You still want to be fucked, Dean?"
Dean's been without expression all this time; it's startling to watch his smile burst into being, brilliant and happy, star-bright. Kyle barely hears Dean's quiet "Yes, Sam," over the rushing thrum of his own blood in his ears as he fucks up into his own hand again and again, spurred by that transforming grin.
Sam kisses him again, thoroughly, greedily, eyes closed. Like this, they look a little alike, a similarity of concentration, of complete absorption. When he tugs them apart, Sam is flushed and his face has changed, almost drunken. He tips his head towards Kyle. "Dean. Why don't you give Kyle a kiss for being such a good audience?" Immediately, Dean starts to rise, a hint of that same smile lingering on his face.
The crack of Sam's hand against Dean's ass startles them both; Dean and Kyle gasp in almost-tandem and Kyle has to grip his cock hard and quickly. "Only a kiss," Sam warns.
"Yes, Sam," Dean says and Kyle marvels at how complicated those two words can sound, coming from Dean's mouth. Dean's swollen, reddened, talented mouth. He's hardly breathing when Dean kneels in front of him, sweeter and better than any of his fevered high-school fantasies. Things like this don't happen to him. Which is not to say he doesn't get laid; there are enough people that buy into the shy, gawky artist type that he knows what goes where and how to make it good. But nothing like this. Nothing like a living invitation to sin on its knees in front of him.
"Please," he whispers and he doesn't know if he means please don't or please do, finally understanding how completely out of his depth he is, here.
"Shhhh. It's okay. Let go." Dean's eyes are so open Kyle thinks he could fall into them. They crinkle as Dean smiles at him and then Dean is reaching up and pulling Kyle down. He falls into the kiss instead, clumsy at first until he follows Dean's instructions and lets go.
Dean's lips are rougher than Kyle expects but soft beneath the bitten skin and wonderfully firm. Watching Dean with Sam, Kyle expected the kiss to be quieter, more passive, but Dean claims and owns Kyle's mouth with easy assurance. Kyle's super-aware of Dean's hands on his thighs and the barely-there slide of his cock against Dean's chest. The inside of Dean's mouth is faintly bitter with the taste of Sam and Kyle feels completely justified in the whimper that comes out of him.
"Dean."
Dean is gone between one breath and the next. By the time Kyle has enough control to open his eyes, Dean is already with Sam, both of them standing. Dean's back is against Sam's chest and Sam's hands roam over Dean's body, short, possessive strokes mixed with softer caresses. Dean's momentary cockiness is gone; he shivers in Sam's arms, one arm slung up and back, around Sam's neck and his face turned into Sam's skin.
"See, the thing is, Dean was always mine," Sam says, watching Kyle over Dean's shoulder as his one hand makes circles on Dean's flat belly and the other toys with Dean's sac, only his thumb rubbing lightly—teasingly, Kyle imagines—at the base of Dean's cock. "Even before…all of this. All the people he's fucked—and it's plenty—and only I get this. Because he's always been mine."
Dean hisses something that might be "Yes," from between his teeth, half-leaning into Sam.
"He likes you watching." Sam finally strokes Dean's cock and Kyle watches Dean arch and rise up onto his toes, questing for more friction. Sam dabbles his fingertips through the slickness at the tip and then brings them up to Dean's mouth. Dean licks without hesitation and then sucks them in. Sam's eyes close and his face presses against Dean's hair as he moans quietly. "I wasn't sure he would, but he's enjoying you seeing him like this. Obedient. Open. Good."
His fingers leave Dean's mouth with a wet noise almost like a kiss and trail downward again, leaving streaks of wetness across Dean's skin.
"Sammy…" Dean's voice is only the bare scrape of breath.
Sam's head tilts and his hair is in the way, so Kyle can't see what he does to Dean's neck—kiss or bite—but it makes Dean cry out and buck, the hand Sam has splayed over Dean's stomach pulling him back.
"Please…" The sound of his voice seems to startle all of them as Sam and Dean open their eyes and turn their heads to look at him. Kyle fights the impulse to shrink away from their undivided attention. "Please," he says again, clearer, "I'm not going to last and I want…I want to see."
Sam's smile is just as bright as Dean's. "Don't want to come before I fuck him?" Kyle nods and Sam laughs quietly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Dean?"
"Been ready since the bar." Dean's eyes are closed again and his expression is drifting, blissful, but his voice sounds normal, if a little breathless. Kyle makes a small, pitiful noise and rings his cock harder with his fingers. He's not going to come. Not yet. Not…before.
There's a bottle of lube on the bed that Kyle doesn't remember being there before. Not that he was really paying attention; God knows he's been distracted more than once. Sam sits, picks it up and slicks his dick. No condom, Jesus. He's unhurried about it, even though both Kyle and Dean are waiting for it, for him.
Kyle thinks maybe he has it worse than either of them; it feels like ants are crawling beneath his skin. If he believed in such things, he'd think some kind of spell's been cast on him, but that's a frivolous explanation for something so much simpler: he feels honored—special—to be able to see these two with each other, even with the now-chafing restriction of only being able to watch. He believes Sam completely when he says no one else has ever seen them like this. He, Kyle is the first. And at least, for this moment, the only.
He watches Dean watch Sam, hungry eyes contradicting the quiet patience of his body, and he watches Sam look at Dean as if nothing else in the world exists.
I want, Kyle thinks, though he's not quite sure what that means. Only that he feels it, in every sizzling nerve ending and every straining, aching bone.
"How do you want it, baby?" Sam asks, pitched mostly for Dean's ears. He strokes the back of Dean's thigh with his other hand before he leans over a little and kisses Dean's hip. "You want me to finger you?"
Dean shakes his head. "No." He reaches and his fingers bury deeply in Sam's hair for a moment. "Just you." Dean glances at Kyle then, cocksure grin surfacing in a flash of teeth. "Can we put on a show?"
"You mean we haven't already?" Sam sounds wry, but as he guides Dean toward him, he leaves Dean faced out, backing him carefully to straddle Sam's knees. "Yeah, Dean. We can do whatever you want."
Kyle feels a little lightheaded as Sam eases Dean down, watching the interplay of tendon and muscle in Dean's thighs under the faint golden haze of hair.
"C'mon," Sam coaxes, his voice even deeper than before. "You know I love you, right?"
"Sam…" Dean sounds exasperated, Dean sounds helpless.
Kyle can tell the moment Sam's cock penetrates; Dean arches and his moan is long and drawn out. The movement throws Dean's body into further outline, light sliding across sweat-damp skin like liquid itself. Kyle's throat is so dry it feels like there's nothing left in his mouth to swallow with.
"…so good," Sam murmurs, almost too soft to make out, "…feel so good, Dean, love you like this, stretched out and gorgeous and mine…"
"Yours," Dean echoes, working himself down—deeper—in short, emphatic thrusts. "Always, Sam. Always."
Sam cries out when Dean seats himself all the way, fingertips turning white on Dean's hips. "Fuck. Dean."
Dean smiles, lazy, happy. His cock is still rock-hard and slick with pre-come as he rolls back against Sam and then forward. "You said 'whatever', Sam. I want it to hurt. Wanna feel it tomorrow."
"You're going to feel it for a week," Sam growls in reply. Kyle likes Sam growling. A lot.
"Okay."
"Fuck," Sam swears again. He grunts as Dean swivels his hips again, sliding on the length of Sam's cock. "Okay. Ride it. You want it so bad? You fuck yourself on it."
If anything, Dean's smile only gets wider, dreamier. And then he's doing it, making soft, hurting moans as he rides Sam's cock sinuously, like a dancer.
"It's not just the sex," Sam says suddenly, startling Kyle. His voice is flattened and breathless as he talks through gritted teeth. "No one's ever seen us before. Like this." His hand smoothes up Dean's torso, again racking Dean with gentle shudders, before it ventures down to touch and enclose Dean's cock. "Dean and me. We've always had to keep it secret."
"Why?" It's all Kyle can manage.
Dean only moans and moves faster, eyes open and fixed on Kyle's face.
"Tell him," Sam commands urgently. "Tell him why. Why it's a secret. Why nobody knows." His next thrust up is particularly hard; Dean's cry is jagged, forced out of him. "Tell him why I shouldn't fuck you, like this or at all."
Dean bows backwards, hand arching up and back to cup the back of Sam's head. "Brother," he stammers, hardly able to get the words out. "He's my…oh, God…he's my brother, my brother…"
God. Oh, God.
Brothers…
Dean arches again, this time in orgasm, trailing off into meaningless noises and moans as he spills and shoots, over Sam's fingers, across the carpet. Kyle makes an undignified squeak of his own and then his body is wringing out through his cock, shattering, unreal. A minute—or maybe longer—after, Sam cries out Dean's name sharply and then repeats it, over and over until his voice fades to mumbles.
When Kyle can lift his heavy lashes enough to look at them, Dean is bent forward and Sam curves over him, face hidden against Dean's shoulder. Sam's arms are tight around Dean's waist and Dean's arms cross over them, also tight.
Brothers, Kyle thinks again and shivers. It's not unpleasant and he's not as wigged out as he thinks he should be.
Maybe it'll be creepier later.
"Kyle." Still bent and slightly muffled because of it, Sam's voice is still crisp, enough to make Kyle struggle upright in the chair.
"Yes?"
"Come here." A pause, a beat, before Sam's hair lifts a little, enough so Kyle can see the glisten of his eyes through his hair. "Please."
Kyle was already halfway up. He crosses the room to them and kneels without thinking, without being asked. Sam and Dean straighten some and Sam holds out his hand, the fingers sticky with Dean's semen. Sam tilts his head. "Do you want to taste him?"
Brothers, Kyle thinks and leans to take Sam's fingers in his mouth. Dean's taste, the taste of them, coats his tongue, bitter tang, still warm. Kyle closes his eyes and suckles, careful to lick the webs of Sam's fingers, the knurls of his knuckles, careful to get it all.
"Thank you." When Kyle opens his eyes, Sam is nuzzling against Dean's back and Dean holds himself very still, only the blurt of his breath showing he isn't asleep. "Thank you for sharing this with us."
Kyle recognizes it for the brush off it is. "Will I see you again?" He knows the answer, but he can't help but ask anyway. If there's even a speck of hope…
Sam shakes his head. "Probably not. We're leaving later tonight. It's why…" He gestures with the hand Kyle cleaned before he sighs. "It's why."
"Is he really your brother? Or…were you guys just fucking with me?"
Dean's eyes open and his head turns. With their faces next to each other like that, with the knowledge in his mind, he can see it, the resemblance.
"He's my younger brother," Dean answers and smiles.