Empty spaces
by Jen

 
“Lightweight.” 

The mockery in Dean’s voice stings, but Sam knows it’s supposed to, and he’s more interested in packing up his laptop and getting the hell out of this place than playing Dean’s games. Because otherwise he’ll spend the rest of the evening stuck here where the music is too loud and the tables are sticky with old beer, which isn’t doing the laptop any good at all, and how can they have a half-decent conversation about where they go and what they do next with drunken locals listening to them? Not to mention the fact that every time anyone who looks vaguely attractive walks past them Dean’s head swivels far enough round to make Sam wonder if an exorcism might be advisable.

“At least have another beer.” Dean’s still trying. “You know, you might actually enjoy yourself, Sammy – or is that what you’re worried about?”

Yeah, right – Sam is trying so hard not to enjoy himself breathing other people’s second-hand cigarette smoke and beer and being half-deafened by the good old southern boogie being blasted from the juke box. And he knows he’s maybe being just a little bit snippy, but goddamnit, he’s sick of this. They had Dad, and then they lost him – correction, Dean told him to go - and they’re no fucking nearer finding the demon. No nearer ending all this and Sam getting his life back.

“We should get an early start tomorrow,” he says, instead of all the other things that he’s been biting back for weeks now, picks up his laptop and walks out of the bar. And even though Dean’s complaining and bitching behind him about how early it is, the point is that Dean’s following behind him, unwilling, as ever, to let Sam out of his sight.

They’re scarcely through the door of the motel room, just enough time for Sam to put the laptop down on the bedside table, before Dean’s pressing Sam up against the wall and Sam’s tasting beer and desperation in Dean’s hot wet mouth on his. It’s too much, and Sam wants to pull away but his hands won’t obey him. Instead they hold Dean close as his mouth opens for Dean’s tongue, even while he’s making little sounds of protest deep in his throat because he really doesn’t want this right now. Dean’s mouth reminds him of the shtriga, the way it latched on to Sam, drawing on his essence, and all to fill the emotional black hole that is Dean Winchester. Sam want this to stop, means to push Dean away, but it seems his cock didn’t get the memo because he’s already getting hard and when Dean’s hand finds him through the denim of his jeans, Sam’s head falls back against the flowered wallpaper with a thud that’s as hopeless and empty as this life he’s living but his hips hitch forward with a greed that he just can’t deny.

It seems Dean knows just what he wants because he’s stroking the hard line of Sam’s cock through the denim, muttering something in a low voice in between the little flicks of his tongue against Sam’s neck. By the time Dean’s undoing his jeans, the rasp of the zipper seeming at least as loud as Sam’s ragged breaths, he knows it’s too late to stop this, and all he can do is swallow, his mouth and throat suddenly dry as Dean drops to his knees and pulls Sam’s jeans and underwear down. He’s still for an instant, just looking at Sam’s cock, before he curves his right hand around its base, the ring he wears cool against Sam’s hot flesh, and slides his mouth slowly down onto Sam’s cock.

Sam can’t tear his eyes away from where Dean’s full lips slide around him, his cheeks hollowed because he’s got Sam’s cock as deep in his mouth as it can go. He can’t help but touch Dean’s lips, run his fingers around them, run them over his cock where it disappears into Dean’s mouth, and then push two fingers into Dean’s mouth, stroking himself in Dean’s mouth, feeling his cock hard and full and oh God so good against Dean’s wet tongue. Dean makes a noise then, deep in his throat, and reaches his left hand to unzip his own jeans, and Sam can only assume he’s jerking himself off because he can’t take his eyes off where his cock, slick with spit, is sliding between Dean’s lips, his fingers spreading the spit further, spreading it over Dean’s lips until they’re glistening in the cheap light of the motel room.

Dean’s upping the stakes further, his right hand tracing patterns over Sam’s balls, lightly, teasingly, just the way that drives Sam mad, before his hand’s moving further back, fingers stroking before brushing over Sam’s hole. At that Sam shivers all over and pulls his hand away from Dean’s mouth so he can grab onto Dean’s head – not his hair, it’s too short for that, but his hands can curve around Dean’s skull and hold him as he fucks his mouth deep and hard. Dean takes it all, his eyes wet but steady on Sam’s as he takes his cock in his mouth like it’s the meaning of life for him, the alpha and the fucking omega, and shit, isn’t Sam glad he learned Classical Greek as well as Latin? 

He’s gasping now, making little sounds that he just can’t stop as he fucks Dean’s mouth, and then he pulls out just in time  to come on Dean’s face, trails of his spunk striping his brother’s face and swollen lips.

Sam’s knees nearly give out under him, but Dean’s hands are on his thighs, steadying him. And even while he’s still shaking from coming so hard, Sam knows that this isn’t going to keep happening. He’s not going to live like this forever. He’s not going to keep taking everything that Dean keeps offering him. But he lets Dean hold him steady until he can stand unaided again. 

End