Dean hovered over Sam in the backseat, tangled between his brother’s neverending legs. His fingers were driven two inches deep and curled until they scraped against his walls.
“Ngh, Dean, slow down,” Sam murmured. The column of his throat was exposed, shining like chrome in the low light coming through the windows.
The only sounds in the cabin were Sam’s quick, light pants and the bench creaking under their shared weight. Dean leaned forward and put his mouth on Sam’s neck, kissing it haphazardly and making him scoff.
“That’s not an apology.”
“It’s close enough, isn’t it?”
He rocked two fingers in and out of Sam like a seesaw, making him wince and grip onto Dean’s headrest.
“Don’t go in deeper, please.”
His legs began to fold back onto him, like curling up would stop the pain, and he reached between his thighs to grab Dean’s wrist.
“C’mon, Sammy, I’ve worked you open before and you’ve lived. You didn’t do this with Jess?”
He straightened his fingers out inside Sam and made him whimper. His reward for not immediately pulling away was Dean spreading his thumb out to roll against his clit.
The only response he gave was a small head shake and a shallow sigh as his clit was showered with attention. His thighs trembled and he tightened around Dean’s fingers, clenching with pure, wet heat. He stroked Sam’s leg with his free hand and sat in place to watch him fall apart on Dean’s hand, just like when they were kids.