Sam won’t love him in the morning.
Once the heat and humidity seep out of the car’s cabin and the bruises start to darken, Sam won’t love him anymore.
Realization will hit him then, and he’ll shy away, refuse to look his brother in the eye until he can make a break again and hitchhike back to California. They’ll still be waiting for him at law school, won’t they?
Dean tastes the deepest parts of Sam on his tongue, rolls his innate need for normalcy across the roof of his mouth, and he knows that he can’t be a part of Sammy’s new life. His real life, the one where monsters and demons don’t exist and his biggest problem is some ancient professor with a stick up his ass. The one where Dean is just a memory.
Now, Dean strokes Sam’s hair. He touches him softly and swallows down the thought that he broke his brother. A shiny, perfect action figure taken out of the box and immediately smashed against the floor. He should have resisted, he should have told Sammy “no,” but it was hard to let anything but “yes” past his lips when he straddled Dean’s hips.
It was hard to let anything but “yes” past his lips when Sam unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out.
It was hard to let anything but “yes” past his lips when he took hold of both of their cocks and stroked them together, frustration and restrained pleasure threading his eyebrows together as Dean did nothing to stop him. Because in what world was he ever going to tell Sam to stop touching him like that?
Sweat has long since cooled on Dean’s face, and he basks in the last few hours he’ll ever get of his brother’s undying love.