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exsequarSo this... this is my porn debut. Um. Yeah.
Title: Sorry To Burn So Unexpectedly
Author: Anne (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starsouls1013)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: Adult, for porn!
Spoilers: For the FINALE. Some direct, some speculation on my part as to what could happen next.
Word count: 2,345
Summary: An oil line in the Impala bursts on the boys. They end up sharing the shower to get cleaned up.
A/N: So some of you may have read that plot bunny I posted in my journal a few days ago. Well, this is that bunny, only it's ALL GROWN UP. I blame it all onquietdiscerning, who helped the bunny be born, and poisontaster and mona1347 for shamelessly prodding me to get this written. My thanks to nebulein and PT for lovely beta work. Dedicated to PT and Mona, because they're both utterly brilliant, and I hope to one day even be within shouting distance of their level of amazingness.
Dean and Sam lie on their backs, side by side beneath the mauled Impala. Their legs are encased in ripped, grease-smudged jeans. Dean’s beloved mullet rock grinds scratchily out of an ancient stereo in the corner of Bobby’s garage. They don’t speak except to ask for this tool or that rag.
Suddenly: “Shit!”
“Oh fuck!” A splashing sound can be heard, and various expletives, followed by clattering as someone fumbles for a tool. “SAM! I swear…” The splashing sound stops, and the wrench clanks to the floor.
“Dean, I’m sorry, I didn’t… oh, gross.”
“Yeah, good one, genius.” There is a sound of disgust, and Dean slides out on his back. His whole left side, from face down to the upper half of his white tank top, is coated in oil, black and glistening. It drips down his arm and spreads inexorably through the white fabric; his face is a thunderhead. “Godammit, Sammy. I told you to be careful!”
Sam slides out after him, distractedly apologizing. “I know, I was, I just… I don’t get this thing like you do, Dean.” He’s in worse shape than Dean, the oil slicking half of his hair into clumps, coating the side of his face, sliding down his bare chest and soaking into the top of his jeans. He spits onto the floor, trying in vain to get the disgusting stuff off his lips.
“Yeah, well, next time make sure I’m not next to you when you decide to bust an oil line!”
“Oh, sure, I’ll use my psychic powers to see when I’m going to screw up next, just so I can warn you!”
“Good idea!” Dean scrubs irritably at his arm. “I’m gonna go take a shower, get this crap off me.”
“Hey, I need a shower first, this is gonna dry in my hair and never come out.”
Dean snorts. “Maybe you’ll finally get a haircut then. Besides, you did this, you get to suffer longer.”
“Dean!” The name comes out on a near whine, and Dean’s stomach clenches unexpectedly. Sam hasn’t been like this, like his little brother, since…. Dean stops that train of thought and simply fixes a glare on Sam.
Sam holds his ground, pulling himself to his full height. “Dean. I need to get this shit out of my hair. Do you want me to go bald?”
Dean mutters something that may or may not include “princess” and turns to walk out of the garage without responding. His limp is slight but noticeable, and Sam shifts his eyes away, anywhere else, some of the belligerence softening from his face. He sighs and follows Dean, shoulders set with determination.
“Dean, we can share. Please? I really don’t know what this is going to do to my– ”
“Your hair, I heard you the first eighty times. You’re such a girl, Sam.”
“Am not!”
“Are too.”
Sam fights the urge to stick his tongue out, tries to keep his voice calm and reasonable. “So, can we? Share, I mean. It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”
Dean shoots him another glare. Sam just smirks. “Fine. Jesus. Just to shut you up.”
Sam grins. “Thanks. You won’t regret it – you know you’d miss the hair. Admit it.” Sam dodges as Dean takes a swipe, laughing a little and ducking into the bathroom ahead of his brother.
Dean follows, already pulling his sopping tank top off and dropping it in the sink. He closes the door behind him. Their jeans end up in a heap on the floor, and Sam leans to turn on the water. Dean’s eyes skitter across the myriad scars patterning Sam’s skin, which is paler than it should be. The recovery has been long and difficult on both of them, and it shows. Dean knows that he’s skinnier, more insubstantial now. But they’re both up and walking around, no permanent harm, unless you see Sam’s obsession with his hair as some kind of brain damage. Dad… he wasn’t so lucky.
Sam turns around, the shower’s brisk sound filling the air. His eyes meet Dean’s, unguarded for a split second. Dean’s looks down and away, clears his throat and scratches at his cheek, where the congealing oil is starting to itch.
Sam’s voice is quiet. “You okay?”
Dean flashes a half smile. “What? Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just get your precious hair clean.”
Sam smiles back slightly, but his eyes are worried. He turns and pushes the curtain aside, stepping into the hot spray, and lets out a hissing breath at the temperature. “C’mon, Dean.” He shifts over to make room, and Dean nearly laughs out loud. Sam’s not small, and the tub’s not large. He shakes his head ruefully and considers just letting Sam clean his goddamn hair and taking the second shower, but something compels him forward, and then he’s in the tub next to Sam, the hot water striking his shins.
“Um, Sam, I think I’m gonna need a bit more water than this.”
Sam laughs, just an exhale of air. “Yeah, probably. Hold on.” He snaps open the top of a shampoo bottle, squeezing a generous amount into his large palm. He ducks his head under the water and starts to scrub vigorously. Dean shakes his head and picks up a bar of soap. He nudges Sam to the side with his hand so that he can duck his shoulder under the water. Then he steps back and starts to scrub at the oil slicking his arm and chest.
There’s silence for a few moments, Sam intent on his hair, Dean lost in his thoughts.
Then, “Nice one, genius.”
Sam huffs in exasperation. “I’m sorry Dean, okay? Not like I did it on purpose.”
Dean chuckles softly. Sam’s buttons are so easy to push. He steps forward to rinse his side, and Sam’s ass brushes against his cock. Dean jerks backwards, grabbing at the curtain rod to keep him upright. Sam looks at him in surprise, and Dean clears his throat. “Um. Lost my balance.”
Sam raises his eyebrow. “Nice one, genius,” he mocks.
Dean doesn’t respond, too confused by his own reaction. He runs a hand through his still-dry hair, then steps into the water again to rinse off the black suds. He moves slowly, careful to avoid any contact with Sam.
Sam makes a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “Ugh, this stuff is so nasty. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it all out.”
Dean shakes his head. “What a drama queen.”
Sam swats him on the shoulder indignantly. Dean bites his lip, focusing on scrubbing off the last of the oil from his arm and side. He is far too conscious of Sam’s warm skin, mere inches away. Sam is, of course, blissfully unaware, scrubbing vigorously at his precious hair. Dean begins to wash off the side of his face, thankful that the oil missed his eye and mouth. He has to dig a bit to get the crud out of his ear, making a face as he does so.
Sam sighs dramatically. “Finally! I don’t need to shave my head after all. Hey, Dean, would you mind getting my back? I can feel some of it dripping down.”
Dean’s eyes go wide, and he has to fight the reflex to step away. There isn’t really anywhere to step away to. “Uh… sure.” He picks up the bar of soap again and lathers up his hands, then hands it to Sam so he can do his chest and face. He hesitates for a second, then begins rubbing at Sam’s broad back, reaching up to get the top of his shoulders. His fingers knead into the firm flesh, dislodging the stubborn gunk. He tries really, really hard to ignore the completely involuntary physical response he’s having to being in the shower with his brother, cursing his damn Y chromosome, which is making him hope desperately that Sam doesn’t turn around before he can beat a fast retreat. He scrubs faster, cursing the damn oil, the damn car, the damn tiny shower, and Sam’s damn stubbornness.
“Hey, Dean, what are you –” Sam turns around, dislodging Dean’s hands, and his eyes flick downwards. They both freeze, and Sam’s eyes travel back up to Dean’s, wide with surprise and… something else. Dean’s heart suddenly feels like it’s about to beat its way out of his chest, and they stand like that, the water thrumming against them endlessly.
“Oh, fuck,” Dean swears and then he’s yanking Sam’s head down, crushing their lips together, and he tastes oil and sweat and Sam. Sam just freezes for a few interminable seconds, and Dean starts to panic, starts to pull away, but Sam’s huge hands fasten on Dean’s biceps and then they’re kissing and it’s messy and slippery and searing. Teeth collide, tongues slide across each other, and Dean would swear in front of a judge and jury that those weren’t whimpers. There’s no finesse to it, none whatsoever, and soon another taste is added to the others, coppery and far too familiar. They groan in unison and then Dean is pressing his whole body against Sam’s, clutching him close as though he would float away if Dean doesn’t hold on tight enough. They break for air, chests heaving, and Sam leans his head down to rest his forehead against Dean’s.
“Sam. We can’t–”
“Dean. Shut up.” Sam leans down and captures Dean’s lips again, biting down gently on the bottom one. Dean has no idea when Sam took control of the situation, but he’s perfectly willing to let that happen, because right now he feels like he can barely stand, much less make active decisions. He just loses himself in the kiss, fisting his hands in Sam’s now-clean hair. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in his chest as he thinks how useful that hair is now, and he delves his tongue deep into Sam’s mouth, determined to enjoy this before they throw him in an insane asylum, or perhaps jail.
Sam breaks the kiss again, and Dean surges forward, already feeling bereft. Sam laughs, a happy, open sound, and Dean stops and just stares, a smile blossoming on his face. “You… you haven’t laughed like that…”
Sam smiles, brushing his thumb across Dean’s cheekbone. “You haven’t kissed me like that.”
Dean is lost for words, and Sam just shakes his head affectionately before dropping a tender kiss on Dean’s lips. Without losing contact, he turns them around so that Dean’s back is against the wall. The kiss is slow, languorous, and Dean hums softly in the back of his throat.
Then Sam wraps his massive hand around Dean’s by now fully hard erection. Dean’s eyes shoot open and his head thunks back against the tile. Dean inhales sharply through his nose. Sam smiles wickedly and begins to stroke his hand up and down, slowly, torturously. Dean does that thing that isn’t a whimper again, his eyes fluttering closed. “Sam… please…”
“Please what, Dean?” Sam keeps his pace agonizingly slow. Dean’s eyes stay closed, but his lips part sinfully, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid. Dean can feel the water settling in beads on his cheeks, which are rapidly becoming flushed. Sam leans forward to lick them off, slow and sensual. Dean lets out a shuddering sigh as Sam’s tongue touches his skin.
“Faster, Sam… please… please.” Dean’s voice nearly vanishes under the sound of the water beating down, and he hopes that Sam can’t hear the desperation that threatens to burst forth. Sam presses his lips to Dean’s once again, swallowing the pleas, and begins to move his hand faster, up and down, up and down. Dean’s hips buck forward involuntarily, and his hands come up to clutch at Sam’s biceps. Sam moans softly, and he squeezes tighter in response, running his thumb roughly across the head of Dean’s cock on each stroke. “Oh God, Sammy…” The name seems torn from Dean’s throat, and he digs his nails into Sam’s arms. He opens his eyes and stares at Sammy, his little brother. Sam meets his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth in a smug grin.
Suddenly, Dean lets go with his right hand, moving it to wrap around Sam’s length, jerking rapidly. Sam’s mouth flies open in shock and he has to steady himself against the wall, pausing in his ministrations for a split second before resuming with renewed vigor. He leans into Dean, pressing Dean’s back firmly against the cold tiles, and they settle into a rough, heavy synchronicity. The water cascades over their hands and cocks, a twisted baptism, and their mouths find each other again, biting and sucking needily.
The rhythm they’ve found begins to deteriorate, both of them teetering precariously on the edge, rough breathing filling the humid air between them. Dean scrapes his nails up Sam’s length once, and that’s it – Sam throws his head back with a guttural moan, his orgasm thrumming through his entire body ruthlessly. His come splashes on Dean’s stomach, thinned by the water and running down Dean’s body. The sound and sight of Sam coming is too much for Dean and he follows suit immediately, erupting with a groaned “Sam,” his nails digging into Sam’s arm hard enough to leave angry red semicircles.
They slowly come down from the high, Dean’s eyes sliding shut, their breath gradually returning to normal. Sam lets out a breathy laugh, rinsing his hands in the water. “Well, at least it’s an easy clean up.”
Dean cracks a small smile, opening his eyes and looking at Sam quietly. Sam lifts his eyes. They just stand like that, looking, for a moment, dozens of unsaid words hovering like vultures. Then Sam leans forward, kissing Dean gently, Dean responding willingly, and the tension dissolves, rinsed away like the black oil circling the drain.
“We’ll figure this out, Dean,” Sam says, gentle and sure.
Dean lets out the breath he’s been holding, a great whooshing release. “I know, Sam.” He brushes a rebellious strand of hair away from Sam’s eyes. “I know.”
Title: Sorry To Burn So Unexpectedly
Author: Anne (
starsouls1013)Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: Adult, for porn!
Spoilers: For the FINALE. Some direct, some speculation on my part as to what could happen next.
Word count: 2,345
Summary: An oil line in the Impala bursts on the boys. They end up sharing the shower to get cleaned up.
A/N: So some of you may have read that plot bunny I posted in my journal a few days ago. Well, this is that bunny, only it's ALL GROWN UP. I blame it all on
quietdiscerning, who helped the bunny be born, and poisontaster and mona1347 for shamelessly prodding me to get this written. My thanks to nebulein and PT for lovely beta work. Dedicated to PT and Mona, because they're both utterly brilliant, and I hope to one day even be within shouting distance of their level of amazingness.Dean and Sam lie on their backs, side by side beneath the mauled Impala. Their legs are encased in ripped, grease-smudged jeans. Dean’s beloved mullet rock grinds scratchily out of an ancient stereo in the corner of Bobby’s garage. They don’t speak except to ask for this tool or that rag.
Suddenly: “Shit!”
“Oh fuck!” A splashing sound can be heard, and various expletives, followed by clattering as someone fumbles for a tool. “SAM! I swear…” The splashing sound stops, and the wrench clanks to the floor.
“Dean, I’m sorry, I didn’t… oh, gross.”
“Yeah, good one, genius.” There is a sound of disgust, and Dean slides out on his back. His whole left side, from face down to the upper half of his white tank top, is coated in oil, black and glistening. It drips down his arm and spreads inexorably through the white fabric; his face is a thunderhead. “Godammit, Sammy. I told you to be careful!”
Sam slides out after him, distractedly apologizing. “I know, I was, I just… I don’t get this thing like you do, Dean.” He’s in worse shape than Dean, the oil slicking half of his hair into clumps, coating the side of his face, sliding down his bare chest and soaking into the top of his jeans. He spits onto the floor, trying in vain to get the disgusting stuff off his lips.
“Yeah, well, next time make sure I’m not next to you when you decide to bust an oil line!”
“Oh, sure, I’ll use my psychic powers to see when I’m going to screw up next, just so I can warn you!”
“Good idea!” Dean scrubs irritably at his arm. “I’m gonna go take a shower, get this crap off me.”
“Hey, I need a shower first, this is gonna dry in my hair and never come out.”
Dean snorts. “Maybe you’ll finally get a haircut then. Besides, you did this, you get to suffer longer.”
“Dean!” The name comes out on a near whine, and Dean’s stomach clenches unexpectedly. Sam hasn’t been like this, like his little brother, since…. Dean stops that train of thought and simply fixes a glare on Sam.
Sam holds his ground, pulling himself to his full height. “Dean. I need to get this shit out of my hair. Do you want me to go bald?”
Dean mutters something that may or may not include “princess” and turns to walk out of the garage without responding. His limp is slight but noticeable, and Sam shifts his eyes away, anywhere else, some of the belligerence softening from his face. He sighs and follows Dean, shoulders set with determination.
“Dean, we can share. Please? I really don’t know what this is going to do to my– ”
“Your hair, I heard you the first eighty times. You’re such a girl, Sam.”
“Am not!”
“Are too.”
Sam fights the urge to stick his tongue out, tries to keep his voice calm and reasonable. “So, can we? Share, I mean. It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”
Dean shoots him another glare. Sam just smirks. “Fine. Jesus. Just to shut you up.”
Sam grins. “Thanks. You won’t regret it – you know you’d miss the hair. Admit it.” Sam dodges as Dean takes a swipe, laughing a little and ducking into the bathroom ahead of his brother.
Dean follows, already pulling his sopping tank top off and dropping it in the sink. He closes the door behind him. Their jeans end up in a heap on the floor, and Sam leans to turn on the water. Dean’s eyes skitter across the myriad scars patterning Sam’s skin, which is paler than it should be. The recovery has been long and difficult on both of them, and it shows. Dean knows that he’s skinnier, more insubstantial now. But they’re both up and walking around, no permanent harm, unless you see Sam’s obsession with his hair as some kind of brain damage. Dad… he wasn’t so lucky.
Sam turns around, the shower’s brisk sound filling the air. His eyes meet Dean’s, unguarded for a split second. Dean’s looks down and away, clears his throat and scratches at his cheek, where the congealing oil is starting to itch.
Sam’s voice is quiet. “You okay?”
Dean flashes a half smile. “What? Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just get your precious hair clean.”
Sam smiles back slightly, but his eyes are worried. He turns and pushes the curtain aside, stepping into the hot spray, and lets out a hissing breath at the temperature. “C’mon, Dean.” He shifts over to make room, and Dean nearly laughs out loud. Sam’s not small, and the tub’s not large. He shakes his head ruefully and considers just letting Sam clean his goddamn hair and taking the second shower, but something compels him forward, and then he’s in the tub next to Sam, the hot water striking his shins.
“Um, Sam, I think I’m gonna need a bit more water than this.”
Sam laughs, just an exhale of air. “Yeah, probably. Hold on.” He snaps open the top of a shampoo bottle, squeezing a generous amount into his large palm. He ducks his head under the water and starts to scrub vigorously. Dean shakes his head and picks up a bar of soap. He nudges Sam to the side with his hand so that he can duck his shoulder under the water. Then he steps back and starts to scrub at the oil slicking his arm and chest.
There’s silence for a few moments, Sam intent on his hair, Dean lost in his thoughts.
Then, “Nice one, genius.”
Sam huffs in exasperation. “I’m sorry Dean, okay? Not like I did it on purpose.”
Dean chuckles softly. Sam’s buttons are so easy to push. He steps forward to rinse his side, and Sam’s ass brushes against his cock. Dean jerks backwards, grabbing at the curtain rod to keep him upright. Sam looks at him in surprise, and Dean clears his throat. “Um. Lost my balance.”
Sam raises his eyebrow. “Nice one, genius,” he mocks.
Dean doesn’t respond, too confused by his own reaction. He runs a hand through his still-dry hair, then steps into the water again to rinse off the black suds. He moves slowly, careful to avoid any contact with Sam.
Sam makes a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “Ugh, this stuff is so nasty. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it all out.”
Dean shakes his head. “What a drama queen.”
Sam swats him on the shoulder indignantly. Dean bites his lip, focusing on scrubbing off the last of the oil from his arm and side. He is far too conscious of Sam’s warm skin, mere inches away. Sam is, of course, blissfully unaware, scrubbing vigorously at his precious hair. Dean begins to wash off the side of his face, thankful that the oil missed his eye and mouth. He has to dig a bit to get the crud out of his ear, making a face as he does so.
Sam sighs dramatically. “Finally! I don’t need to shave my head after all. Hey, Dean, would you mind getting my back? I can feel some of it dripping down.”
Dean’s eyes go wide, and he has to fight the reflex to step away. There isn’t really anywhere to step away to. “Uh… sure.” He picks up the bar of soap again and lathers up his hands, then hands it to Sam so he can do his chest and face. He hesitates for a second, then begins rubbing at Sam’s broad back, reaching up to get the top of his shoulders. His fingers knead into the firm flesh, dislodging the stubborn gunk. He tries really, really hard to ignore the completely involuntary physical response he’s having to being in the shower with his brother, cursing his damn Y chromosome, which is making him hope desperately that Sam doesn’t turn around before he can beat a fast retreat. He scrubs faster, cursing the damn oil, the damn car, the damn tiny shower, and Sam’s damn stubbornness.
“Hey, Dean, what are you –” Sam turns around, dislodging Dean’s hands, and his eyes flick downwards. They both freeze, and Sam’s eyes travel back up to Dean’s, wide with surprise and… something else. Dean’s heart suddenly feels like it’s about to beat its way out of his chest, and they stand like that, the water thrumming against them endlessly.
“Oh, fuck,” Dean swears and then he’s yanking Sam’s head down, crushing their lips together, and he tastes oil and sweat and Sam. Sam just freezes for a few interminable seconds, and Dean starts to panic, starts to pull away, but Sam’s huge hands fasten on Dean’s biceps and then they’re kissing and it’s messy and slippery and searing. Teeth collide, tongues slide across each other, and Dean would swear in front of a judge and jury that those weren’t whimpers. There’s no finesse to it, none whatsoever, and soon another taste is added to the others, coppery and far too familiar. They groan in unison and then Dean is pressing his whole body against Sam’s, clutching him close as though he would float away if Dean doesn’t hold on tight enough. They break for air, chests heaving, and Sam leans his head down to rest his forehead against Dean’s.
“Sam. We can’t–”
“Dean. Shut up.” Sam leans down and captures Dean’s lips again, biting down gently on the bottom one. Dean has no idea when Sam took control of the situation, but he’s perfectly willing to let that happen, because right now he feels like he can barely stand, much less make active decisions. He just loses himself in the kiss, fisting his hands in Sam’s now-clean hair. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in his chest as he thinks how useful that hair is now, and he delves his tongue deep into Sam’s mouth, determined to enjoy this before they throw him in an insane asylum, or perhaps jail.
Sam breaks the kiss again, and Dean surges forward, already feeling bereft. Sam laughs, a happy, open sound, and Dean stops and just stares, a smile blossoming on his face. “You… you haven’t laughed like that…”
Sam smiles, brushing his thumb across Dean’s cheekbone. “You haven’t kissed me like that.”
Dean is lost for words, and Sam just shakes his head affectionately before dropping a tender kiss on Dean’s lips. Without losing contact, he turns them around so that Dean’s back is against the wall. The kiss is slow, languorous, and Dean hums softly in the back of his throat.
Then Sam wraps his massive hand around Dean’s by now fully hard erection. Dean’s eyes shoot open and his head thunks back against the tile. Dean inhales sharply through his nose. Sam smiles wickedly and begins to stroke his hand up and down, slowly, torturously. Dean does that thing that isn’t a whimper again, his eyes fluttering closed. “Sam… please…”
“Please what, Dean?” Sam keeps his pace agonizingly slow. Dean’s eyes stay closed, but his lips part sinfully, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid. Dean can feel the water settling in beads on his cheeks, which are rapidly becoming flushed. Sam leans forward to lick them off, slow and sensual. Dean lets out a shuddering sigh as Sam’s tongue touches his skin.
“Faster, Sam… please… please.” Dean’s voice nearly vanishes under the sound of the water beating down, and he hopes that Sam can’t hear the desperation that threatens to burst forth. Sam presses his lips to Dean’s once again, swallowing the pleas, and begins to move his hand faster, up and down, up and down. Dean’s hips buck forward involuntarily, and his hands come up to clutch at Sam’s biceps. Sam moans softly, and he squeezes tighter in response, running his thumb roughly across the head of Dean’s cock on each stroke. “Oh God, Sammy…” The name seems torn from Dean’s throat, and he digs his nails into Sam’s arms. He opens his eyes and stares at Sammy, his little brother. Sam meets his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth in a smug grin.
Suddenly, Dean lets go with his right hand, moving it to wrap around Sam’s length, jerking rapidly. Sam’s mouth flies open in shock and he has to steady himself against the wall, pausing in his ministrations for a split second before resuming with renewed vigor. He leans into Dean, pressing Dean’s back firmly against the cold tiles, and they settle into a rough, heavy synchronicity. The water cascades over their hands and cocks, a twisted baptism, and their mouths find each other again, biting and sucking needily.
The rhythm they’ve found begins to deteriorate, both of them teetering precariously on the edge, rough breathing filling the humid air between them. Dean scrapes his nails up Sam’s length once, and that’s it – Sam throws his head back with a guttural moan, his orgasm thrumming through his entire body ruthlessly. His come splashes on Dean’s stomach, thinned by the water and running down Dean’s body. The sound and sight of Sam coming is too much for Dean and he follows suit immediately, erupting with a groaned “Sam,” his nails digging into Sam’s arm hard enough to leave angry red semicircles.
They slowly come down from the high, Dean’s eyes sliding shut, their breath gradually returning to normal. Sam lets out a breathy laugh, rinsing his hands in the water. “Well, at least it’s an easy clean up.”
Dean cracks a small smile, opening his eyes and looking at Sam quietly. Sam lifts his eyes. They just stand like that, looking, for a moment, dozens of unsaid words hovering like vultures. Then Sam leans forward, kissing Dean gently, Dean responding willingly, and the tension dissolves, rinsed away like the black oil circling the drain.
“We’ll figure this out, Dean,” Sam says, gentle and sure.
Dean lets out the breath he’s been holding, a great whooshing release. “I know, Sam.” He brushes a rebellious strand of hair away from Sam’s eyes. “I know.”
