It felt good to be lightheaded.
Sam had been hungry for hours and left the salad Dean brought for him in the mini-fridge, proud that he’d gone five hours without touching it, without so much as going over to the fridge to look at it. In the morning he’d eat a few bites and toss it before they went out. Now, late evening, Sam was really feeling his stomach start to growl and all he wanted was Dean’s attention.
He’d gone out to check on the car and bring in their bags, leaving Sam with nothing but pent up energy that was only growing stronger the longer he spent alone in the room. The radiator rattled underneath the window, pumping out hot air that made the curtains flutter. The sink dripped incessantly. His stomach growled and heat pooled between his legs. He could hear Dean outside, slamming the car door shut and padding back across wet asphalt, and he licked his dry lips.
Sam avoided going back to the bathroom again—he wasn’t going to look any different, all he would see was his pale, miserable face staring back at him. He paced the floor between their two beds slowly, trying to kill the morbidly curious part of his brain telling him to look, look, look . What if he was different this time?
He leaned against the foot of what was ostensibly Dean’s bed—though they had used each other’s beds interchangeably the past four nights. His bones were melting away the longer he stood and he allowed himself to flop onto the bed, the mattress squealing as his weight was thrown onto it. Sam grimaced and spread his hands out behind him to brace himself.
Part of him was certain he’d see a fat pig in the mirror. Another part of him wasn’t certain he’d see anything at all.
Dean came in just as Sam was sitting up, a revenant dragging his body to the mirror just to see what contradictory thought was correct. He glanced up at Dean, both bags hoisted over his shoulders, something Sam couldn’t do without overexerting himself anymore, and got a lopsided smile in return.
“Normally you’re pouncing on me by now. You aren’t excited about clean clothes anymore?”
The scent of cheap laundry soap hit him in the face, taking its time to wander over to Sam. It scared off his stomach’s growling for a moment and it almost felt like a moment of clarity. If it wasn’t so short-lived, he might have considered walking out, as far away from Dean as he possibly could. But it was gone in an instant, dissipating like the sterile clean scent that came from his and Dean’s bags, and the hunger returned.
“I can think of a couple other reasons why I’d pounce on you right now,” he said softly.
Time passed in the blink of an eye: Sam was kneeling over Dean, cupping his face and staring down at him with a hungry gaze. Dean stroked Sam’s bare hip, wrapped his hand around to grab a handful of his ass cheek. Sam turned his head down and closed his eyes, felt his heart and thoughts race. Nausea rose up into the back of his throat and he wished Dean would let go; he didn’t want to be reminded of his fat, disgusting ass.
Sam buried his face into Dean’s shoulder, opening his mouth and biting down on the crook of his neck. He exhaled roughly, dug his nails deep into Sam’s flesh like he was going to rip him apart.
“What got into you?” He asked as he pulled Sam’s hips closer, moved him until their bodies fit flush together—Sam perched on Dean’s thigh, his own slotted against Dean’s mound. Sam stared down at him, hazy eyes meeting hazy eyes, and he leaned in to kiss him roughly.
Dean rolled his hips up into Sam’s thigh and gripped him tighter. Sam could taste Dean’s dinner on his lips: the salt and oil of the fries, the ketchup and mustard lingering from his burger, and his stomach groaned loudly. He kept his mouth on Dean’s, refusing to give him an opportunity to ask the question he dreaded most. Sam rolled his hips down onto Dean’s thigh, grinding into him and milking a low sigh out of his older brother.
When he pulled back, he grinned and said in a soft voice: “I wanna eat you.”
Dean’s eyes widened. He moved his hand up to cup the small of Sam’s back and rolled his cunt against his thigh. Sam swallowed a moan at the feeling of Dean’s reciprocal grind against his clit.
“Hot, Sammy. I wouldn’t mind getting a taste of you, too,” Dean laughed, glancing down at him and flicking the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip.
Sam leaned in and kissed him hard, wrenching Dean’s mouth open with his own and sliding his tongue in. He rolled his hips down, felt the cooling wet trail on Dean’s thigh where Sam had already ridden him. His hands grabbed tight onto Dean’s shoulders, his nails dug into his freckled skin so deep they’d leave small red bruises. Dean hissed as they broke the kiss, panting roughly as he slammed his cunt against Sam’s thigh.
“Fuck,” he exhaled.
He rocked against Sam’s cunt like he was in a frenzy and made him moan shakily, his eyes fluttering shut as they rolled into the back of his head. Arousal pooled hot between his thighs, and the slick trail on Dean’s skin was growing by the second. His hand shot up to cup Dean’s cheek, his thumb pressing against his lip as they ground into each other. Dean stroked Sam’s bruised thigh with one hand and sucked on two of his bitten fingers as Sam ground his thigh up into Dean’s wet cunt. Sam’s stomach growled once again, and Dean laughed around Sam’s fingers as the sound reverberated through the room.
His face flushed, embarrassed.
“You really are starving, aren’t you, Sammy?” He grinned up at his blushing baby brother before kissing him again. “Give me a second, then you can go to town.”
Dean propped himself up on one palm and ground hard into Sam’s thigh. The wetness smeared across his thigh felt good, especially as Dean pressed his cunt against fresh, aching bruises. Sam felt his toes curl when each residual jerk and roll of Dean’s body sent his thigh up, crushing his clit and sending a white-hot wave up and down the length of his body. He squeezed Dean’s leg between his own trembling ones, pulling him close and holding him still.
Sam moaned and tipped his head back, breathing his way through an orgasm. It made him feel strong, not knowing if it was climax or hunger that was making him shake. He reached out and pulled Dean’s thigh closer, moaning loudly at the feeling of his leg rubbing directly against his clit.
“Almost there,” he laughed softly.
Dean jack-hammered himself into Sam before stopping still, their bodies fitted against each other and his breath punching Sam’s shoulder. He went slack against Sam, attempting to grant himself a moment of reprieve that Sam cut short.
He threw Dean down against the bed and slid between his thighs, not wasting any time dipping his tongue into Dean’s over-slicked slit. Sam felt satisfaction wash over him as he tasted salt, warmth, oil on his tongue like he’d had a burger of his own. Sam’s teeth grazed Dean’s vulva as he moved up to run his tongue across his clit, the close-cropped pubic hair brushed Sam’s lips like needles against the sensitive skin. Like a deterrent to keep him from swallowing Dean whole.
Sometimes Sam dreamed that he was an ancient demigod and Dean was the sacrificial virgin gifted to him to ensure a good harvest. If he was a self-respecting demigod he would send Dean right back, broken as a clear sign that they’d done him wrong, and curse the village he protected, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to let that meat go to waste.
Sam bit the inside of his thigh, only hard enough to make Dean grunt and laugh, and he felt himself grow wet at the feeling of his flesh collapsing underneath his teeth. He bit the spot again, moved up to the junction between his thigh and crotch and his teeth found purchase on a tendon. Dean wasn’t protesting, Dean seemed to be in ecstasy as he reached down and stroked Sam’s hair lovingly. He gripped it when Sam bit down on his labia—plush, swollen, drooling all for him. It would have been more than enough of a meal for Sam, and his growling, begging stomach agreed, but if he started here there was no way he could stop until he’d consumed all that Dean ever was.
He licked his drooling slit again, lapped at it hungrily to try and swallow every last drop of arousal seeping out of Dean.
“Fuck yeah,” he said breathily, his nails scraping against Sam’s scalp as he tightened his grip, “eat me, Sammy.”
He would have eaten Dean raw. He would have diced him up and poured his cubed meat into a wok, tossed it into a stir fry. He would have saved his meat in the freezer, savored him for as long as his meat lasted. He would have held onto the last freezer-burned piece of him until the day he died, so a part of Dean could stay with Sam for eternity.
Though, eating him would keep Sam and Dean together forever, anyways.
His blood would have to suffice. Uterine lining, blood clots that came with his menstrual cycle; little pieces that Sam could pretend was their inbred bastard, bitten and swallowed like tapioca pearls. But Dean’s menstrual cycle was almost as irregular as Sam’s, he hadn’t been fed in so long. He could have asked Dean to give him his arm when he bled, tried to bite a little bit of his torn skin off, just to feel it underneath his teeth.
Sam lapped at his entrance, swallowing as much slick as his body provided. In lieu of blood, his ejaculate might do.