goodbye blue sky
Sam/Dean, 1406 words
Dean sighs and mumbles something about chicks with dicks before dropping his head back onto the mattress and staring at the moldy ceiling. “Living without you was never in the equation, Sam.”
One hour to go and Sam’s eyes are burning with lack of sleep and adrenaline. He flips pages with increasing frequency, brain registering only a portion of what’s written on the page. So intent on his mission he never notices the pages are human flesh, the ancient Greek spilling across the page written in long dried blood.
“Dude,” Dean’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, long fingers dangling in the space between. “I want a last meal. Maybe pie?” Sam doesn’t answer and Dean huffs out a breath of air. “Look, I made my choice. There isn’t going to be a last minute reprieve from the gov’ner, son. So can’t you just chill for a minute or something?”
“Lied. That’s what demons do, Sam. They lie. She can’t get me out of the deal any more than you can. Hell, she’s probably part of the welcoming committee.”
The books crash to the floor as Sam sweeps his arm across the table. He shakes his head, long hair falling across his brow as he stands, the chair falling backwards onto the floor.
“Don’t, Dean. Don’t fucking say goodbye now.” Sam pants, his voice harsh.
“Wasn’t planning on it. There’s things I need to say and do, but goodbye isn’t high on the list.”
Sam spreads his arms wide, hovering over Dean. “Then what? I’m just supposed to let you go?”
“Can’t you just be—“
Dean slumps off the bed onto the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him. “Can’t you just let me finish a fucking sentence once in awhile? Come over here and sit next to me. Christ. Just be quiet for a fucking change.”
Sam sits down beside him, leaning back on the mattress and running his hands through his hair. His fingers come away greasy. How long had it been since he showered? Doesn’t matter anymore.
“I made a promise to Dad a long time ago that I’d take care of you,” Dean says, fingers drumming against his leg. He clears his throat and looks towards the ceiling before back at Sam. “And I did. You’re alive. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to bring you back, Sam. Nothing. I don’t regret it. You’re here and you’re breathing and you’re alive and if going to Hell is what I have to do to because of my choice, then so be it.”
Sam smiles under the fall of his hair. “Now’s the part where you tell me you love me, right?”
Dean sighs and mumbles something about chicks with dicks before dropping his head back onto the mattress and staring at the moldy ceiling. “Living without you was never in the equation, Sam. When you were dead…”
“Don’t, Dean,” Sam says and Dean knows by the catch in his throat he’s about to cry. “Do you think it was easy for me when you were dead? When the trickster showed me what my life was going to be without you? Do you have any idea how much--how I’m going—" Sam breaks off, staring at the rapidly dying sunlight leaking through the windows.
“Sam. Sammy,” Dean shifts and puts his hand against his brother’s face, pulling him close, stubble harsh against the palm of his hand. Sam falls into him and without thought Dean brings his mouth down and kisses him, soft. He pulls back, staring down at his kid brother, thinking he just fucked up the one good thing left in his life and he’s gonna be alone when the Hell hounds come and then Sam leans up and kisses him back, mouth opening below him, stale toothpaste on his tongue.
Dean groans and arches his back, pushing Sam supine onto the floor, hips bruising hips as his fingers tangle into Sam’s dirty hair. He pulls Sam’s head opposite of his, wanting this, needing it, craving to conquer the last thing left before he leaves. Sam’s hands seek and find his skin beneath his shirt, slowly ghosting across his back as Dean crawls between Sam’s open legs. Hands rough, he undoes the button of Sam’s jeans, pulling at the zipper until a small triangle of white appears below his fingers.
“Dean,” Sam whispers against his brother’s throat, “don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dean growls as he leans back on his knees and pulls his shirt up and over his head. Sam takes the hint and sits up long enough to shed his too before crushing his mouth back onto Dean’s. They grind away at one another as Dean licks and bites his way down Sam’s chest, his hands finding his brother’s cock and gripping it tightly as Sam groans beneath him. Sam arches his hips up off the floor as Dean roughly pulls his jeans down and off, his mouth finding and enclosing the head of Sam’s cock. Sam gasps, coming up onto his elbows to stare at Dean as he works his brother’s cock deep into his throat, tongue slashing against the slit.
“Oh God, Dean,” Sam says, throwing his head back, fingers crawling, nails scraping at the worn, stained carpet. Dean works down his cock, spreading Sam’s legs as far as they’ll go before kissing his balls. He grabs Sam behind his knees and pushes him even farther back, tongue tasting all of Sam, musk and sweat and taint. Sam finds his cock and he slowly works his hand up and down the shaft, all eight inches hard and pulsing.
Dean lets go of Sam long enough to push his jeans down the rest of the way, hard cock springing against his abdomen as he pauses a moment, watching his brother’s hand go up and down, around and over, jerking himself off slowly.
“I’m gonna fuck you, Sam. Gotta make my trip to Hell honest,” Dean says as he falls over Sam’s naked body, mouth and teeth bruising his brother’s lips. “It’s probably going to hurt—“
“I’ll be okay,” Sam whispers against his mouth. “I want you to.”
Dean doesn’t ask again. He leans back and puts his fingers in his mouth, wetting them before placing them against Sam’s hole. His brother grinds against them, his fingers entering slowly and moving around. “Don’t tease,” Sam gasps as he grasps the base of his cock for a moment before flipping onto his knees, body half resting on the mattress.
Dean scoots closer, feeling the burn against his knees from the carpet, not caring, just wanting to scar Sam’s soul and presses his cock against Sam’s opening. He pulls Sam’s ass cheeks apart with his thumbs, and says, “I’m gonna push in and at the same time, push out, Sam. Got it?”
Sam makes an inarticulate humming noise in his throat, his face buried in the sheets.
Pressing forward, Dean kisses Sam’s back, mumbling, “pushoutpushoutpushout,” and then he’s in, past the tight ring of skin and in his brother’s body. He doesn’t move for a moment, rubbing his hands slowly over Sam’s backside, allowing him to get used to the invasion. “Are you okay?” he asks.
Sam turns his face on the bed and stares back at Dean. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “Just. Just go slow at first, okay?”
Dean nods, cock twitching. He has to go slow because he knows, just knows once he’s fully in he’s going to explode and some sense of decency wants to make this half-way good for Sam.
“Not that fucking slow, ass wipe,” Sam moans and Dean thrusts, his body collapsing against Sam’s back, nuzzling his neck, finding his mouth and kissing him deeply. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” Sam says as he breaks off the kiss, forehead pressed against the bed. “You’re hitting something in me; I’m not going to be able…” Sam’s hand reaches down and grasps his dick, stroking once, twice, maybe four times and then he’s coming hard, bottom clenching around Dean’s cock and Dean can’t take it anymore. He’s coming like a fucking fire hose, cock buried up to the hilt in Sam’s ass.
Sam’s come slids down his leg, dripping to the floor, adding their mark to the collection of stains.
And when Dean pulls out he starts fucking crying, because why did they have to wait until the last possible second to explore this? All this time wasted, looking for something to prove how much they mean to each other and they could have had this the whole time.
“You know, right?” Dean whispers as Sam moves on the bed so he’s sitting on the edge. Sam takes Dean’s face in his big hands, licks the salt from his cheeks before kissing Dean softly on the mouth.
“Of course. You always have.”
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“I know. I'm gonna miss you, too.”
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