It wasn’t demon blood, but he still felt himself losing his composure as he licked at the cut Dean gave himself.
His forearm was warm underneath Sam’s tongue, almost hot, and his blood wasn’t brackish like Ruby’s had been—Dean tasted sweet, almost synthetically so, like his blood really was made of corn syrup and food coloring. Sam grabbed his arm tightly, clasping his lips around the cut and sucking more blood out of a cut that was too shallow, wouldn’t give him all that he wanted.
“Easy, Sammy,” Dean told him softly, stroking his hair.
Sam felt unbearably hard as Dean cooed to him like he was comforting a crying baby, confusingly so, but he put those concerns to the side. He licked along the narrow slit of Dean’s cut and lapped up a runaway trail of blood that was close to dripping onto the worn leg of his jeans. He held onto Dean like he was going to pull away and deny him more of his sticky sweet blood.
He pulled Sam up by the back of his shirt, forcing him to take a long, needed breath. Dean’s eyes were dark and bottomless, and Sam’s heart hammered in his chest. His erection had not flagged.
“Don’t make me stake you,” Dean threatened with no malice behind his voice.
He wrapped his cut, not sanitary or medical grade now that he’d gotten his grubby hands all over it but good enough. Sam would patch him up properly once his head wasn’t swimming thick with arousal.
Dean reached in between Sam’s thighs and rubbed at the bulge underneath his zipper, grinning when Sam gasped and spread his legs for him.
“That’s not fair,” Sam argued, Dean’s blood still smeared at the corners of his mouth.
He leaned in and caught his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste himself on Sam’s skin. It felt filthier than anything they’d ever done before, and Sam whined as his erection truly started to strain against the back of his zipper. Dean’s broad fingers brushed against his restrained cock, making him exhale roughly against his brother’s lips—tinted popsicle red with his own blood. He pulled his mouth into a lopsided grin that Sam never thought he could miss, the warmth of the expression washing over him like midday sunshine.
“Who said anything about fair?”