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This is how Dean loves Sam best, sloppy drunk and needy. His hands cling onto every part of Dean that hangs near long enough while his unfocused eyes slide over his face. He’s smiling all lazy up at his brother as Dean drops him into the bed after manhandling him across the room. Sam wiggles his hips, temptation without realizing it.
Dean’s drunk, too, sort of. There’s the excuse.
He must be. His heart is pounding. His vision’s swimming except for Sam dead in the center, clear as day. His hands are fumbling as he pulls off Sam’s jeans before Sam can figure out what’s happening. There’s a furrow in his little brother’s brow, parted pink lips, and a slurred, “Dean, what’re you-“ But Dean can’t hear him say that. He puts his hand over Sam’s mouth, and Sam blinks up at him in confusion, unable to process. Dean’s other hand works into his boxers until he finds Sam’s half-hard cock. Just a stroke and Sam’s eyes are rolling back.
Dean lifts his hand, sure the coast is clear, but what tumbles from Sam’s lips is, “Dean, no, stop, I don’t want… Oh, god, I don’t…” Through moans, Sam tries to protest. Dean’s chest clenches, but he’s drunk, too, he’s drunk, too, he’s drunk and he’s saying,
“Yeah, you do, Sam, you were begging for it,” nearly into Sam’s panting mouth from how close he’s bent over him. Sam blinks again like his eyelids are made of lead, dragging them open to peer up at Dean with so much trust.
“Begging?” he echoes. Dean can’t stop himself. He gets a taste of those lips, and all the drinks he pushed onto Sam, live a little, Sammy, have some fun, stop being such a bitch and have a drink, until Sam wasn’t able to keep upright in his seat.
But it was okay. Dean was drinking, too. Surely Sam can taste it as he licks the inside of Dean’s mouth. His cock’s slick with more sweat than precome, but Dean works it until Sam is gasping, really begging, “Dean, oh, fuck, you gotta-“
“I know,” Dean says. He’s slurring his words, isn’t he? He’s as out of it as Sam. This isn’t his fault, and they both want it.
“I’m not-”
“Let me make you feel good, Sammy,” Dean insists. Sam needs another drink until he forgets how to talk back. If Dean had brought the bottle with him, he could feed it into Sam’s mouth, push it down his throat until all Sam knew how to do was lie there and love what Dean gave him.
It wasn’t like Dean had roofied him. Sam is asking for it. With every little gasp and wriggle and twitch of his cock, he’s telling Dean to keep going. He wouldn’t be hard if he wasn’t into it. Dean knows it’s what Sam wants because it’s what he wants more than anything, and they’re just two parts of one fucked-up whole.
“Shut your eyes, baby boy, let me take care of you,” Dean murmurs. It’s more like an order, one Sam can’t disobey. Sam’s chest rises and falls rapidly, but his eyes are closing.
He makes a garbled sound when he comes, messing up his boxers. Dean pulls his hand out and holds it to Sam’s face until he feels Sam’s hot tongue cleaning his skin off. Sam moans as the bitter taste of his own come coats the inside of his mouth.
Dean waits, and waits, and Sam’s eyes shut. His movements get weaker and weaker as he finally passes out. Dean waits longer, a minute, two, before he pries one of Sam’s eyes open to make sure he’s gone. His pinprick pupils don’t see anything.
He was asking for it when he was awake. Why should Dean stop just because he’s out cold?
Dean treats him sweet, stretching him open with his spit and fingers. Sam’s muscles are all lax, easily accepting any intrusion, like he wants Dean inside him. Dean hates rolling a condom onto his dick. He wants to have Sam bare, marking him all the way inside where Sam won’t even be able to feel it right, but he can’t. He won’t leave Sam leaking out his release.
That’s evidence.
No. No. Evidence means there’s a crime. Leaving Sam dirty would be a dick move, that’s all. That’s all. Dean sinks into him. That’s all there is to it. God, he’s hot inside. Dean’s perfect baby brother, made to fit him like a glove.
Dean tries to be gentle, but Sam’s gone. He doesn’t react when Dean thrusts a little too hard. He doesn’t wince when Dean slams their hips together. He doesn’t moan, either, but Dean does that enough for both of them. “So good, Sammy, need you, need you so much, take it,” he growls, “you fucking slut, you love it, you love it.” Sam can’t hear him, but he hears himself and without any argument from his little brother, it sounds like the truth. Sam’s soft cock flops as Dean fucks him, dribbling as Dean nails his prostate dead-on. If Sam were awake, he’d be screaming for him to go harder, faster, and he does.
Dean groans into his brother’s shoulder as he comes, Sam’s legs loosely wrapped around him by his own hands. He shoots his load into the condom, half-hoping it’s faulty and breaks inside Sam. No such luck. He pulls out. Sam’s hole gapes, hungry as ever.
Dean’ll fill him up again. Maybe he won’t have to do this next time. Maybe Sam will figure out how much he wants it without needing Dean to get him wasted.
Sam snores, no sense of what’s happening around him as Dean cleans up.
He gives his little brother a kiss on the forehead as he tucks him in. Tomorrow, Sam won’t remember a thing. He’ll be puking up the whole experience in the toilet, and Dean will be there to rub his back and make fun of him for being a lightweight. After all, Dean’s only ever there to look after him. To give him what he really wants.