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When Sam wakes in the night he is so hard it hurts, his dick throbs and aches with need. He feels like he’s hot enough to sear the sheets. Fever dreams ghost in his head, images of naked flesh, shiny black metal, flashes of white teeth and bruised lips. He groans and rolls over to bury his face in the pillow, glad that his room mate is away for the weekend.
His burning erection demands attention and he shifts again until he is more comfortable. Wraps his fist round the shaft and tries to conjure Jess into his mind. Soft curves and blonde hair, twinkle of blue eyes. But his libido is stubborn and refuses to play ball. Sam sighs in the darkness, too many nights for him to count have passed since they said goodbye but still his brother won’t let him go.
Sam’s breath hitches in his throat as he pictures those cool hazel eyes and that fuck me grin. Suddenly his hand on his dick feels clumsy, just too damned big and he aches for Dean’s steady touch. How many times did Dean climb in beside him? Whisper in his ear “Want me to take care of that for you?” his voice raspy with need. And how fucked is that? That until I came to school I never had to jerk myself off?
Sam speeds up a little, feeling the friction of skin against skin. Lotion would help but he doesn’t want to move or stop, just wants to keep on feeling the sensations. He imagines that it’s Dean’s hand wringing the pleasure from him, Dean’s thumb brushing the drop of pre-come from the head of Sam’s dick. Sam swaps hands for a moment as he tastes the drop of himself. I taste like Dean, I think I taste like Dean, I can’t remember what he tastes like.
That thought is pure pain, it wasn’t meant to be like this, it was meant to be Sam and Dean against the world forever. Then Dad made Dean choose and he chose Dad. A sob breaks in Sam’s throat as he keeps working his dick, and even though he knows he’s close his mind feels far, far away.
Silent tears track his face in the dark as he feels the physical tremors rack his body. Sam’s body is going through the motions pumping into his fist, breath gasping, hips bucking until he falls still and spent with his brother’s name on his lips.
When sleep finally claims him again he gives himself to it gladly, sinks into Dean’s arms. Sam smells leather and coffee and always a hint of smoke, even when they haven’t had to burn anything for weeks. Dean’s voice is desperate and broken. “I’ll make it up to you Sammy, you know I love you more, but he needs me Sammy, he needs me.” Sam whimpers in his sleep as the dream claims him once more.