Dean was quite a ways past tipsy when the Huskies lost, slurring at players who probably hadn’t even thought of that loss in over a decade. Sam was slumped against the other end of the couch and regretting how much vodka he’d mixed into the eggnog, his head thick and heavy yet floating. If it weren’t for the stirring between his thighs, he’d have forgotten about his last present to Dean entirely and dragged himself to bed.
He glanced over at his brother with bleary eyes, his thoughts swimming as he took him in. Casual, loose, like he still had all the time in the world to do whatever he wanted. Sam had no idea how he wasn’t always on edge thinking about his impending death, how that fact didn’t seem to get through his thick skull. How could he not care?
Dean noticed that he was staring, but all he gave in return was a lopsided smile.
“Your finger okay, Sammy?”
He’d been fidgeting with it unconsciously since it’d been bandaged up, unable to keep himself from messing with it no matter how much he would try to deter Dean from doing the same. It wouldn’t matter at this point if one of Dean’s wounds got infected from him picking at it and Sam struggled to think of reasons why it would matter if his exposed nail bed did the same. While it may not have been intentional at first, that thought lingered as he continued to mess with it. Dean would laugh and call it a shitty suicide attempt if he knew what was reeling in the back of Sam’s mind.
“Yeah. Itchy, it’s probably scabbing. Don’t worry about it.” He propped his injured hand under his head and looked over at the open window. It’d be a white Christmas, just for Dean.
“You need help redoing the bandage?”
He started to sit up despite Sam shaking his head, ready to jump into action with a trembling, unsteady body. His hands gave out from under him and he collapsed into his seat again, laughing at his dampened agility. Dean’s head fell forward, his eyes crinkling as his smile grew.
“Really strong. Trying to knock me on my ass?” He leaned against the arm of the couch and refocused his attention back on Sam.
His organs were tying themselves up into knots, which was not doing any favors to his creeping nausea. Sam still smiled back, the warmth coming from Dean’s praise turning his insides into a hot toddy. “Not on purpose. It’ll help, though.”
“Help what?” Dean slouched, his legs spreading as he slid down the seat. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of the slight bulge in Dean’s jeans.
“You’ll see.”
He stood—not without a little wobbling—and moved to the window. He could only hope the gears were turning in Dean’s alcohol-soaked brain. Sam lingered at the window before closing the curtains, taking in the blanket of snow that had fallen onto the Impala. It was the kind of picture-perfect Christmas crap that Dean would have loved, but with how he was struggling to stay upright on the couch, he didn’t want to risk trying to call him over to see it. He didn’t want to spend the first half of Christmas Day in the ER.
Sam closed the curtain and took his time carefully stepping back over to the couch, certain that if he made one wrong step he’d break his face. Despite his discomfort with it, his face could be a deeply useful asset on hunts and they did not have facial reconstruction surgery money. It also seemed cruel to think of Dean spending his last year with his brother looking at a face that was no longer familiar to him.
Dean watched Sam with half-lidded eyes, either falling asleep or fully aware of what he planned to give him. While it could technically wait until tomorrow, he couldn’t help but feel like he needed to make the most of every minute with Dean. Sam helped him back into a proper sitting position and watched him unbutton his jeans. His cock wasn’t fully hard yet, but Sam wasn’t close to spilling, either. Sam took his jeans off and debated sliding his underwear to the side, but opted to take them off for Dean’s sake. One less thing for him to try and maneuver.
Sam settled into his lap, grabbing the cushioned back behind Dean and smiling down at him. “I have one more present for you.”
Dean was getting hard with each moment Sam spent on his lap, almost hard enough for him to stick it in. He pushed the front flap of Dean’s underwear to the side and took his half-hard shaft in his hand, stroking his slit with the head of his brother’s cock. Sam wasn’t wet enough yet, but he would be. For now, Dean seemed to like his method of teasing.
“It’s not my birthday,” Dean said coyly, reaching out and touching Sam clumsily but gently.
“It’s close enough.”
Sam dug the fingers on one hand into the upholstery while the other dragged the slick accumulating on the head of Dean’s cock down his length. He was hot in Sam’s hand, a little sluggish but very eager to slot into place inside Sam. It’d been so long since they last had sex like this that Sam couldn’t remember what town they were in, what hunt they were on that was put on momentary pause to allow them that kind of stress relief. He knew it was the middle of a hunt though, not afterwards like now, like normal. Sam couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t still grieving when Dean put everything on hold to give it to Sam until he was able to sleep a nearly full six hours. Maybe this was thanks for that, on top of a present he didn’t expect any thanks for.
“No condom?” Dean was ready to go, his cock was still a little flaccid but he’d be able to stay inside Sam’s pussy without slipping out.
“You gave me crabs when I was in high school, I can handle it.” Ever since Dean made his deal, Sam had thought less and less about protection. Losing the most important person in his world made it harder for him to care about his health, made it harder to care about much of anything other than trying to keep him alive, really. If Dean left him some STD as the only memento of their life spent together, that would be better than nothing.
Sam lowered himself onto Dean’s cock, wincing as he stretched around him. He wasn’t wet enough and it had been, at the very least, months since Dean’s cock had been inside him. In a way it felt like the first time, only Dean couldn’t break his hymen again and leave them scrambling to clean up the evidence in case Dad got home. Dad might have been watching now, though, if he was in a position to. Really taking in how his parenting set his sons up for the real world. Maybe he was just as sick as them and was finding joy in what he’d done to them, but it didn’t seem fair to blame Dad for them going all Flowers in the Attic even if his negligence hadn’t helped matters.
Either way, Dean was doing just what he’d been ordered to: take care of Sam.
He slid into Sam’s pussy until just an inch of him was left, the base of his cock naked and exposed while the rest of him stretched Sam wider than he remembered. His grip on the couch tightened and his other hand, now free, grabbed the arm rest. Dean’s hands found purchase on Sam’s hips, guiding him down until he was sitting flush in his brother’s lap. Sam bit his lip and moaned behind his teeth, filled too fast but not finding a reason to pull himself off of Dean.
“Good boy, Sammy.” His voice swelled with pride that didn’t feel right in this scenario, but made Sam wet. He sat up halfway and thrust back down onto Dean’s cock, grunting at the friction against his walls. Sam never wanted to feel empty again.
He rocked up and down in Dean’s lap, picking up speed and rolling his hips as Dean grabbed him tighter and tipped his head backward. Sam leaned in and kissed Dean, that same warmth flowing over him when he felt him smile against his lips. He brought one free hand to Dean’s jaw and kept his chin turned up towards the ceiling, fucking Dean’s mouth like Dean was fucking his pussy.
“Yeah? Good boy?” He was practically gushing, the praise making his already thick head feel like it was filled with syrup. The front of Dean’s jeans were soaked with his slick.
“You are, you’re perfect,” he groaned as he pulled Sam down hard on his cock. His head grazed Sam’s g-spot in one long stroke, making him whimper and hold back a staggered breath.
His clit was throbbing, pink and swollen and aching for touch. Sam reached down and took it between his fingers, tugging with an amount of force that would have been painful if he wasn’t close. Now, the pain only added on to the arousal that was making everything inside him fluid and white hot. Dean leaned up to kiss him again, his teeth scraping against Sam’s bottom lip as he attempted to coax his mouth open. He couldn’t taste Dean past his overly-boozy eggnog and he wished now that he hadn’t made it to Dean’s tolerance.
“It’s like you’re trying to bite my dick off,” Dean rasped against Sam’s jaw.
“Too tight?” Sam rolled his hips and grinned at the sight of Dean bracing against a surge of arousal. His cock twitched inside Sam, nudging at his g-spot once again.
“You’re sure you don’t have teeth down there?” Dean almost looked genuinely worried for a moment, but after another kiss and another hard thrust down onto his cock he looked sated.
His eyes were half-lidded, an open, lopsided smile greeting Sam. He wanted to remember Dean like this, the tension gone from his face and leaving only a light, loose, peaceful man in his place. It wouldn’t be a realistic image of Dean, but it was one that Sam wanted for him. Something to make up for all the calm their way of life denied, something to make up for all the fun Sam hadn’t let him partake in while he still had the chance. He stared, took in his lax features and the way Dean’s eyes sparkled when he looked at Sam. Tears brimmed his eyes.
What he’d miss most of all was knowing that even if he and Dean never saw each other again, he would still love Sam.
Sam exhaled, looking down and wiping his eyes. Even on the verge of tears, he was still on the verge of coming and he could deal with his feelings later when Dean wasn’t balls-deep inside of his pussy. He leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against the couch and he started bouncing on his cock, trying to finish Dean off.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and moaned with each bounce, his pussy clenching with every slap of Dean’s balls against his ass. His cock was starting to slide out and Sam was tugging his clit so hard it was starting to genuinely ache. Sam panted the closer he got to finishing, disregarding the pain he was causing himself.
He wasn’t sure what happened when suddenly it stopped: his forehead was against the couch, he was still in Dean’s lap, but they’d stopped moving. Sam moved, looking down at Dean to make sure that he hadn’t fallen asleep, or something worse. Sure enough, he was still awake.
His eyebrows were furrowed in a way that tugged at Sam’s guts, and his hands were holding fast on his hips, keeping him still.
“I wanna look at you.”
“Yeah?” Sam sniffled, trying to keep it contained but failing miserably.
Dean nodded, letting one hand loose from his hip and wrapping it around the back of his neck.
“I wanna memorize what you look like when you come.” Dean was genuine in a way that would have made his skin crawl if he wasn’t doing it just for Sam. “Maybe it’ll be the last thing I see before I die.”
Sam smiled bitterly but went lax in his lap, letting Dean guide him back into a rhythm that made his thighs quiver and his toes curl. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and started to follow his rhythm, like he was riding a mechanical bull in one of the seedy bars Dean loved. Sam felt high, darkness clinging to the edges of his mind determined to remind him that this won’t last forever, there was no way it ever could, but he could push reality away for just one moment. He focused all of his attention on riding Dean, fucking him into the couch and making his big brother feel good, feel happy seeing just how good he made Sam feel.
His pussy clenched around Dean’s cock and held him like a toothless bear trap as he came, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth gaping open as he gasped and moaned through it. Like every muscle in his body was pulled as tight as a violin string and suddenly released. He gushed around Dean’s cock, leaving the front of his jeans utterly ruined. His head fell forward, his sweat-limp hair flopping into his face as he took in trembling breaths, trying to regain what little composure he had before.
Dean sought him out, kissing him sloppily once he was through the worst—or best—of it. Sam returned it, thinking that he was starting to taste traces of Dean underneath the eggnog and seven ounces of vodka. Another thing to add to his mental list of what he’d miss about Dean. He’d probably even miss the mean nicknames after a while.
Sam moved slowly in his lap, trying to coax Dean’s orgasm out of him. He wanted to feel him come inside of him, feel it drip out when he went to the bathroom to try and mop up whatever refused to stay inside him until the next time he had to piss. Unless Dean decided to throw him down onto the couch to clean him up himself, which was a possibility Sam wouldn’t be opposed to. He just hoped that he’d share, as disgusting as he used to find that idea.
“Come on, it’s starting to hurt,” Sam laughed, raking one hand through Dean’s sweaty hair.
“Like you haven’t been pulverizing me for the past five minutes!” He grunted, his grip tightening on Sam’s hip. Close, just a few more…
Sam felt wrecked when Dean finally shot his load inside him, like the space between his thighs wasn’t a pussy but was instead some kind of grisly crime scene. Dean would still love it all the same, no matter how red, sore, puffy it was after what they’d done, but Sam was going to feel it tomorrow. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make for a good present for Dean.
He watched Dean toss his head back, his eyelids fluttering and a moan twisting his mouth as he came deep in Sam. His eyes rolled up underneath his eyelids and Sam got a rush out of how tight Dean was holding him in the midst of his orgasm. Like how he’d hold him in the middle of the night after he’d had a nightmare. He knows he’ll never have that again.
Sam flopped off of Dean after his cock went soft, collapsing onto the couch and breathing heavily. For once, he felt like he needed to recover before he begged Dean to fuck him again. The emotional turmoil bubbling inside him alongside the stress he put on his body left him overwrought and in need of a proper rest. Dean seemed to be in agreement as he lied down next to Sam, his head on his sweaty shoulder.
“You really want to see me looking like a dork when you die?” He stared up at the ceiling, not wanting to watch any emotion contort Dean’s face.
“Yeah. I’ll die happy knowing I made you happy, something corny like that.”
Sam’s mouth pulled into a slight frown. The turmoil was winning again.
“You won’t be seeing every girl you’ve ever had sex with?”
Dean paused before he answered, like he was considering what he’d say next. Almost like he’d gained some type of clarity after coming in Sam.
“Sure, I’ll see them. But you’re most of my memories, Sammy, I’m gonna see so much of your stupid face when my life flashes before my eyes.”
He reached out and put his hand over Sam’s face, jiggling it gently. Sam fought his way out of Dean’s lazy grip, a smile pinching his cheeks. He didn’t have much to say back, not when his chest was starting to swell with the same type of joy that took over him when he really saw Dean looking at him. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this, but he didn’t have it in him to overthink that now.
Instead, he threw an arm around Dean and let him slip one of his legs in between Sam’s thighs until he was lying on top of Sam. Dean’s face nestled against Sam’s chest.
“It’ll be you and Baby, all the way. I’ll die a very happy man, I promise you.”