.... Is dean's favorite snack, right? His ultimate comfort. And Sam always knows when it's time, can sense clearly whenever Dean's too wound up or agitated after a hunt.
The older Winchester will get snappy, eyes stormy and body restless as he aggressively paces the motel room floor, itching to either bury his face in Sam's chest or just explode in a fit of rage. And Sam will eventually take mercy on him and just sit down on one of the beds, hands calmly moving to his collar to slowly unbutton his shirt.
It stops Dean dead in his tracks at once. It always does. And his eyes turn darker, needy, and before he knows it he's right there, next to his little brother, waiting and impatient. Before long, Sam's chest is exposed and Dean briefly flicks his eyes up to look at his brother, seeking permission, just waiting for that tiny nod of Sam's head that lets him know that this is okay. And it is. It is okay. They're not hurting anyone, after all, Dean just needs to calm his nerves bit, to sate that need inside him and unwind. And this works, it always works... So, there's really no problem, is there?
Before he can even think about it he's burying his face in Sam's chest, lips automatically parting. A groan punches out of him, a wounded sound, like he's hurt. Sam just makes this soft sort of exhale at the feeling of Dean's lips on him, a shaky sigh. And then Dean will squeeze, lick and suckle away at his brother's breast, small whimpers and shameful moans falling from his lips while he works the tanned skin. He's hard in his jeans. They both are. It's nothing new, nothing they have ever talked about or even really acknowledged. They probably never will.
And as Dean's lips suckle on a hard nipple, his hand finds Sam's right tit, fingertips digging into the flesh and squeezing. This time, Sam moans too and he can't help the way his hips do a weak roll upward, a futile and aborted attempt at a thrust. And Dean's mouth is so hot and wet, just sucking on him and milking him dry drop by drop. By now, the older hunter's eyes have slipped closed and he's just clinging to Sam like a drowning man would to a boat, heavy and grateful and so damn beautiful that Sam wants to cry.
"It's okay, De... Just take what you need," he finds himself whispering, breath coming out fast as he places a hand on his big brother's head, fingers caressing spikes of unruly hair.
"You can- you can take whatever you want," Sam adds under his breath, and he means it with every fiber of his being. He really does. He probably shouldn't. But the moan bursting from Dean's throat lets him know that his big brother heard it, that he believes it just as wholeheartedly as Sam does.... And there is really no going back from here.
