"Dean?" Dean rolled over and hugged his pillow, ignoring the faint sound of Sam's voice trying to break through his consciousness. "Dean!" "Whzzt?" Dean mumbled, pushing himself up on one elbow and peering at his brother, standing in the door of the bathroom. "Um. Can you give me a hand?" Sam asked plaintively, holding out his razor, and Dean sighed. "Can't you just let it grow till you can do it yourself?" he said, pushing the covers back and getting out of bed anyway. "It's itchy," Sam grumbled, moving aside to let Dean into the tiny bathroom. Dean sighed and grunted and took the cheap, plastic razor from Sam's hand, pushing his brother around so he was standing next to the sink underneath the crappy lightbulb. The sink was already full of hot water, and Dean rummaged in the washbag for the shaving cream and washcloth. "Here," Dean said bluntly, tossing the washcloth at Sam, "can you at least do this bit yourself?" He immediately felt guilty when Sam's face fell, a pout forming on his lips and his forehead creasing up. "Never mind," Dean said quickly, and grabbed the washcloth back, dipping it in the water and lifting it to Sam's face. "You might wanna take your shirt off," Dean murmured, as water droplets ran down Sam's cheeks and dampened his shirt. Sam nodded briefly and fumbled with the buttons for a moment before Dean took pity and did it for him. "What would you do without me?" he asked quietly, and Sam laughed briefly. "Starve and be dirty," he replied, shrugging out of the shirt and wincing a little when Dean pulled the cuff over his cast. It had only been three days since the doctors had fixed his hand, and Sam was still doped up on painkillers most of the time. The shirt fell to the floor with a soft thump, and Dean dropped the washcloth in the water and picked up the shaving cream. "You okay there, Sammy?" Dean asked, shaking the can and pouring some into his hand. He shot a glance at his brother and grinned, seeing him leaning bonelessly against the wall, his eyes closed and water dripping down onto his chest. Dean stepped in close and started smoothing the shaving cream over Sam's face, careful not to bump Sam's broken hand between their bodies. Sam sighed and exhaled loudly, calmly, and Dean wiped a stripe of cream down over his nose. "Dude," Sam mumbled sleepily. Dean grinned and picked up the razor. "Hold still," he said, taking Sam's jaw in his hand and starting to shave him. Sam grumbled and shifted, putting one hand on Dean's hip and pushing him away a little. "You want me to cut you?" Dean growled, pressing his hand against Sam's chest and forcing him to stay still. "Sorry," Sam said, setting his shoulders and stilling his movements. Dean waited for a moment and continued, scraping the razor over Sam's cheeks and rinsing it in the sink after every couple of strokes. Sam relaxed further, his hand still on Dean's hip, clenching and unclenching his fingers every so often like a cat. He had a look of bliss on his face, and Dean couldn't help laughing a little. "Something funny?" Sam mumbled, sliding down the wall a little so his legs were spread around Dean's. "You're like a cat," Dean said, amusement filling his voice as he moved Sam's head around so he could get underneath his jaw. Time was, Sam couldn't even grow proper chin pubes; now he could almost get a full beard if he left it for a couple of weeks. Dean bit his lip a little and navigated over Sam's adam's apple, carefully trying not to nick his brother. Sam hummed happily and brought his injured hand up to rest on the small of Dean's back. He was boneless, loose, relaxed, and Dean couldn't help notice something else when he happened to glance down. "Dude, what the hell are you thinking about?" Dean asked, not stopping in his work. Sam frowned a little. "Uh, nothing. Why?" Dean moved closer, pressing his hips against Sam's groin, and Sam's eyes flew open. "Fuck, I'm hard," he blurted out, and Dean burst out laughing. "Kinky," he said, amused. Sam grunted and tried to move away, but Dean stopped him. "I'm not done," he said, moving in a little closer and starting on Sam's other cheek. He could feel Sam's dick pressing against his thigh; not much between them except Sam's thin pajama pants, and Dean felt a swooping sensation in his stomach when Sam shifted a little and his dick got harder. Dean could feel a little dampness forming at the head where it rested against him, and couldn't stop his own dick from perking up in interest. Sam sighed softly and tightened his grip on Dean's hips. "Almost there," Dean whispered, scraping the last of the shaving cream off of Sam's face and putting the razor down. He picked up the wet washcloth and wiped off the last remnants of soap before stroking his fingers over Sam's freshly-smooth face. His fingers tingled a little, the sensation strong and surprising, and Sam opened his eyes slowly. They both knew where it was headed; it was practically inevitable with both of them mostly naked and standing this close. Sam settled himself fully with his legs spread around Dean, pulling him closer and lifting his hips a little to rub against him. Dean let out a soft whimper and let his fingers trail down Sam's collarbone and over his chest, wiping up the droplets of water remaining and relishing the warm, soft skin so tempting before him. "Dean?" Sam whispered, a whine in his voice. "Yeah," Dean replied breathlessly, pressing his groin up against Sam's and feeling a jolt of pure need deep inside him when he felt Sam's cock sliding up against his own. He reached down and pulled Sam's pajama pants down a little, freeing his cock, before pushing down the boxer-briefs he had been sleeping in. Sam's eyes were wide, surprised and shining when Dean wrapped a hand around both their cocks, the heat from Sam scorching a line up his dick. Sam's hands were kneading at Dean's hips and ass, pulling his underwear down further to get to skin. Dean let his head fall forward onto Sam's neck, breathing in the scent of soap and sweat and Sam, and tongued his brother's neck gently as he started jerking them both off together. It was slow, languid, heated, like warm toffee, and the buzzing of the light above them barely penetrated Dean's consciousness as he slid his mouth over Sam's neck and jaw, tasting the remnants of the shaving cream; crisp and sharp and clean. The hot scent of arousal rose between them; musk and need and heat. Sam's dick was sliding freely against Dean's, its way eased with clear precome Dean rubbed over their erections. Sam moaned softly, hot breath in Dean's ear, and his hips bucked. "Dean, I..." "I gotcha," Dean murmured into Sam's neck, the skin now marred with faint red marks that would bruise later. He moved his hand faster, letting Sam fuck his fist and trying not to cry out with the lust that pooled in his balls and spread throughout his whole body. He could feel Sam's hands on his ass, one just resting there in its cast, the other roaming all over and down between his cheeks. Sam's chest heaved; he gasped and cried out and Dean felt slick wetness cover his hand and arm as Sam came in his grip. He groaned, then, let it out, let his want and need surface as he wrapped his fist around his own cock and yanked harshly. He was close, so fucking close, and Sam reached up and gently pulled Dean's head around so their mouths could meet in a desperate kiss. Dean took what Sam was offering, took it and then some, his tongue sliding into Sam's mouth, this familiar territory. He frantically stripped his cock while he licked and bit at Sam, his entire body shaking and heated, and finally he could feel it coming, the come bursting at his slit, mere seconds away from exploding all over Sam, and then he felt Sam's broken hand touching his balls tentatively and that was it. "Sammy," he moaned, broken and winded as his cock jerked and emptied all over his brother's stomach and chest. It seemed to go on forever, and Dean screwed up his face and almost bit through his lip as he wrung his cock out till he was empty. "Mmm," Sam murmured drowsily, and Dean closed his eyes for a moment. They stood together, forehead to forehead, breathing in each other's scents, until Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mess on his stomach. "Dude," he grumbled, "I just had a shower last night!" Dean laughed, grabbed the washcloth again and swiped it over Sam's chest; Sam grunted in annoyance when the now-cold washcloth touched him, but didn't budge till Dean had finished. "You wanna take another one?" Dean asked, looking down at himself and wondering if he should take one. He looked around for the plastic bag he had been tying over Sam's cast for the past few days, but didn't see it. Sam grumbled a little and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him close again and damn well snuggling. "No shower," Sam mumbled. "Go back to bed?" Dean glanced at his watch; they didn't have anywhere in particular to be that day, so he figured another couple of hours in bed wouldn't hurt. He pushed Sam towards the bed and helped him get his pajama pants all the way off before pouring him a glass of water and handing him his painkillers. Sam swallowed them easily and handed the glass back to Dean before crawling under the covers. Dean bit his lip thoughtfully for a moment, and joined his brother, trying to ignore the happy flare of warmth that filled his belly when Sam pushed him onto his side facing away and aggressively spooned him. Dean could totally deal with this. |
