(no subject)

[why_me_why_not]

Title: Tequila and Teethmarks
Author: why_me_why_not
Beta'd by: anael
Cheerled in parts by: ltlredhairdgirl, wendy, maddykitty
Fandom/pairing: Supernatural fandom, Sam/Dean
Rating: RS
Warnings: Wincest, nakedness, boy!kissing, biting
Summary: Dean just laughed, like this was all some sort of game. Maybe it was. If so, Sam didn't understand the rules, but he was pretty sure he was losing.
Disclaimer: Don't own the boys, but my birthday's coming up if any of you need ideas for what to get me...
A/N: Okay, so I said I wasn't going to write Supernatural fic. Apparently I lied. Reviews & concrit welcomed & cherished.

DEDICATION: a present for acostilow and closetcrombie, in honor of their marriage and their impending takeover of the Special Hell

Music to go with, courtesy of anael: Nightblindness by David Gray



"C'mon, Sam, do another shot with me!"

Sam glared at his brother and reached for his Coke. He should have called it quits on the tequila when he felt it start to affect him -- when he let Dean talk him into body shots. Of course, when they had first started that, there had been several smiling blondes as part of their entourage. Sam wasn't quite sure when the girls had disappeared. All he knew was suddenly it was Dean licking the line of salt off the overheated skin at Sam's collar, and all Sam could think was that he wished it was a little less tongue and a little more teeth.

"C'mon, man, it's my birthday!"

Actually, it wasn't. They had passed that milestone about a week back, but at the time they had been in the backwoods of West Virginia, staking out a poltergeist. This was Dean's birthday celebration though.

Sam gave in with a sigh and reached for the shot glass Dean was holding out. Dean was standing across the table from Sam, still amazingly steady, the smug bastard. Sometimes, amidst alcohol-induced logic, Sam thought he should have done a little more partying and a little less studying when he was at Stanford. Then maybe he'd be able to at least compete with his brother's higher level of tolerance. Of course, he never knew with Dean; he could be slipping Sam twice as many shots as he himself was taking, and who was to say the Coke in his hand actually had any liquor in it?

Sam licked the back of his hand that held the shot glass, reaching for the salt shaker with the other. He was surprised when he felt strong fingers close around his wrist. Dean.

Sam looked up, catching the up-to-no-good gleam in Dean's eyes, eyes that never left his as Dean deliberately licked a slow stripe across the inside of his own wrist. His hand still wrapped around Sam's, he guided the salt shaker to sprinkle a dusting of salt on his own wet skin.

Dean offered his wrist to Sam, finally breaking eye contact to shift his gaze downwards as Sam lapped up the salt. The skin under his tongue was smooth and hot, a faint taste of tequila and Jack already there. If he pressed down just so, he could almost feel the erratic pulse beneath his tongue.

Sam closed his eyes, savoring the sensation. He let his teeth scrape against Dean's wrist, feeling the warring give and resistance of skin. He almost gave in to the urge to bite down, but jerked away when he remembered they were in a crowded bar and this was his brother, for Christ's sake!

He quickly threw back his shot, the familiar burn of the tequila as it slid down his throat a welcome distraction. Yeah, it's definitely time to stop drinking, he thought as he sucked the juice from the slice of lime.

Dean just laughed, like this was all some sort of game. Maybe it was. If so, Sam didn't understand the rules, but he was pretty sure he was losing.

"Dean, maybe it's time to call it a night, head back to the motel." Sam was proud of himself for not slurring his words.

"What, are you kidding me? It's still early! Lemme buy you another drink!"

Sam shot his brother a look that he hoped meant 'Are you out of your fucking mind?' but he already knew the answer to that question. Dean had never exactly strayed too far from insane.

Sam groaned and rested his forehead on the tabletop. He should have known better than to go out drinking with Dean. "Why didn't he just go home with one of those girls and let me go back to the motel?" Sam mumbled to himself.

"Because it's not one of those girls I want to be with tonight."

Sam almost jumped at the harsh whisper in his ear. When had Dean come around behind him?

Dean rested his hands on the table of either side of Sam and leaned in closer. In typical Dean fashion, he was showing a blatant disrespect for Sam's personal space. Sam shivered at the warm breath ghosting over his ear as Dean spoke again, his voice husky with whiskey and lust.

"C'mon, Sammy..."

"It's Sam," he corrected automatically, lifting his head up off the table. That was a mistake. Not only was his head swimming from the sudden movement, but now he was pressed right against Dean.

Dean let out a low laugh before leaning down and lightly nipping Sam's ear. "Sammy."

Sam pushed back from the table, knocking Dean off balance even as he clutched at his arm to stop his own sway. "I'm leaving."

Sam knew his attempt to storm out was ruined by the fact he was quite unsteady on his feet, but that was okay as long as he could restore some of the space between himself and his brother. The rush of cool air that hit him as he left the bar felt good against his flushed skin, and he took a moment to appreciate the change in atmosphere from the stifling closeness of the bar.

Fuck Dean. Sam could stumble his way to the Impala and pass out in the backseat. Or not, since the doors were locked and Dean had the keys. Fuck! Oh well, maybe he would just sprawl out across the hood.

He had just reached the edge of the building and Dean was suddenly there, slamming Sam up against the wall with unnecessary force. Sam was about to protest, but Dean was kissing him, hard and hot and sloppy, and Sam's mind couldn't come up with anything beyond how good it felt to be pressed between the bricks of the wall and the slightly more yielding solidity of Dean's body. Dean had one hand on the wall beside Sam's head, the other twisted in Sam's shirt, as if he wanted to pull him closer, yet there was no distance between them to overcome with closer.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that this was wrong and they needed to stop, get back to the motel and sleep off this insanity. Though if Dean didn't keep doing that thing with his tongue Sam was going to kill him.

Sam whimpered at the sudden loss of heat and hard body when Dean pulled away from him, the hand he still had fisted in the fabric of Sam's shirt jerking him forward.

They reached the Impala and Dean dropped the keys twice before he managed to unlock Sam's door. A dozen reasons why it was a bad idea for Dean to drive flickered through Sam's mind, but the only one that concerned him at the moment was how pissed he'd be if Dean wrecked them on the way to the motel.

Dean slid into the driver's seat, and the space between them that normally seemed so small stretched out forever. If he didn't think it'd make him feel like a teenage girl, Sam would have slid across the seat to sit pressed right up against Dean. Instead, he fidgeted nervously in the passenger seat. There was no radio, no conversation; the purr of the Impala was punctuated only by the crackling tension between them. Sam was bothered by Dean's silence and by the way he had both his hands wrapped around the wheel as he focused only on the road. Oh, no. Dean started this shit, and if he thinks he's going to get away with not finishing it, he's dead fucking wrong.

Sam reached toward Dean, intending only to touch his arm and draw his attention, but was distracted by the way Dean's fingers tightened around the wheel when Sam got close. Oh.

Sam rested his hand lightly on Dean's denim-clad thigh, rewarded by the way Dean shifted slightly in the seat. Despite the chill of the night, Sam could feel the body heat beneath his palm, and he knew that if he pushed down and slid his hand upward just a bit... If the fact Dean was still studiously ignoring him -- and was now clutching the wheel so determinedly that his knuckles were turning white -- was any indication, Sam was walking a fine line. As much as he wanted to push the issue, he wanted more to make it back to the motel alive, so he contented himself with keeping his hand where it was, a physical affirmation that Dean was still right there.

The distance between the bar and the motel was thankfully short, and when Dean cut the car off the still silence was almost deafening. Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition, using the same hand to grab Sam's shirt once more and pull him across the seat for another one of those promise-filled kisses, before sliding smoothly out of the car and striding off towards their room. Sam stared at him for a long moment, wondering when they had fallen into the Twilight Zone and what exactly was going on and how Dean was able to be so steady on his feet after all the alcohol and why the fuck was he still in the car?

By the time Sam reached the room, door standing wide open, Dean had already discarded his boots and was shedding his shirt. Sam pushed the door closed with a growl, toed off his shoes, and crossed the room in two long strides to shove Dean up against the wall. He kissed him fiercely, his tongue drawn to the taste of salt and tequila and whiskey and Dean. His eyes were closed, but he could picture clearly the smirk he felt on Dean's lips. Apparently Dean was still winning.

Fuck it. Let him win. If this is what Sam got for losing, bring it on.

Sam lowered his head, licking and nipping down the side of Dean's neck, down to his collar, and, oh god, all the skin between here and the waistband of Dean's jeans was just begging to be explored with Sam's tongue, but Dean's hands were on the hem of his shirt, pulling it upward, and Sam had to back away and lift up his arms to allow Dean to pull the shirt over his head, tossing it off to the side.

Sam brought his hands down, sliding them over the hot, smooth skin of Dean's body, tangling his fingers in Dean's belt loops and tugging him closer, groaning at the welcome pressure of Dean's erection pressed against his own, despite the layers of clothes still between them. Dean's breathing was as rough and ragged as Sam's own, and Sam couldn't help but wonder what kind of delicious noises Dean could make... what kind of noises Sam could draw from him.

Sam licked at Dean's collar, a long, slow swipe of his tongue that made Dean's head fall back against the wall as he revealed more of his neck for Sam's perusal. Sam, even if he was sometimes a little slow on the uptake, was much too smart to turn down such a golden opportunity. He peppered the skin with hot, openmouthed kisses and drank in the intoxicating taste/smell/sense of Dean.

Dean's hands were skating along Sam's lower back, his rings, still chilled from the outside air, cold against his skin. Then Dean's hands were sliding over his ass, pulling him closer, and dammit why were they both still in their jeans? Dean, awesome brother that he was, must have been reading his mind because he pressed one of his hands between their bodies, skimming over Sam's stomach before coming to rest on the button of Sam's jeans, hesitating. Sam took that as a request for permission -- the silent equivalent of is this still okay? -- and managed to force out an "Oh, god, yes!" around the bit of skin he's currently working his tongue over.

Dean flicked open the button, slid down the zipper, and slipped his hand inside, solidly palming Sam's erection through his boxers. Sam's not sure which of them was moaning at the obscene pleasure, and it may have been both of them, but just in case he decided to put his mouth to better use and bite down.

Sam was thrown off-balance as Dean pulled his hand away and pushed him backwards, the back of his legs hitting the bed only a few steps later, and Sam let himself fall, expecting Dean to be right behind him. Instead, Dean was standing beside the bed, eyes roaming over Sam's body, as if Sam was a feast laid out for his personal pleasure. Sam fought the urge to shift restlessly under the intense gaze, stifled the urge to demand Dean hurry the fuck up! Despite the severe recent adjustment in their relationship, he still knew that Dean wouldn't respond well to being rushed.

Dean rested one knee on the edge of the bed, leaning over to tug at Sam's jeans. Sam lifted his hips slightly off the bed to help, and Dean slid his jeans and boxers off in one effectual move, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. Dean's full weight was on the bed now as he brought his other leg between Sam's. He kissed Sam, this time more slow and lingering than the ones before, and wrapped one of his hands around Sam, the friction of his callused hand rubbing against Sam's cock causing Sam to arch into the touch. Between the alcohol and the anticipation, it wouldn't take much.

Sam could imagine exactly what that hand looked like, sliding up and down his cock. For years he had noticed the way handled his guns, the way he tended to them with the same loving touch he was now applying to Sam. Oh God. If that wasn't enough, Sam felt completely surrounded by Dean, filling up all his senses. Now Dean's voice was low and rough against his ear, "C'mon, Sammy," and his tongue was hot and wet against the skin of Sam's shoulder, teeth scraping teasingly, as if Dean knew how much Sam wanted to be bitten.

And when he finally did Oh fuck! sink his teeth into Sam's shoulder, Sam came Oh God, Dean! from the inseparable mixture of pleasure and pain. He was vaguely aware of Dean using an edge of the bedspread to wipe off, and he reached for Dean's hand, pulling it up until he could bite lightly at the place on the inside of Dean's wrist that had started all this in Sam's mind. Sam's gaze didn't waver as he held Dean's eyes, Dean allowing himself to be pushed over onto his own back. Sam leaned down, nipping at Dean's lower lip, sliding his tongue over his, realizing that the faint metallic taste there was blood, his blood, and oh God, that's hot.

He made his way down Dean's body, almost regretting not taking the time to savor the scenery, to map out each distinct bit of skin with his tongue, but right now he had a single destination in mind. He stopped for a moment when he reached the top of Dean's jeans, rocking back on his heels. Sam placed his hands on the inside of Dean's thighs, slid them slowly over the rough denim, and came to rest with both thumbs at the button. Sam made short work of the jeans, not caring where they landed when he jerked them off, and took a moment to drink in the sight in front of him. This was his brother, his brother!, under his hands, hot and hard and wanting, and he didn't think he'd ever seen anything so hot.

Sam dipped his head, nipped lightly at the skin on the inside of Dean's thigh. When Dean bucked his hips and made a noise that Sam would have called a whimper if it had come from anyone else, Sam smirked and bit harder. He lifted his head slightly, wrapped one of his hands around the base of Dean's cock, licked from where his hand was to the head before wrapping his lips around it. He had never done this before, but he knew what felt good, and from years of sharing a room with Dean he knew which sounds meant he was doing something right, pressing and twisting his tongue like this, sliding his hand like that... Then Dean's hands were threaded in his hair, tugging slightly, fingertips pressing into his scalp, and Sam wondered which one of them was in control. Another slide of his hand, and Dean's grasp tightened, and why haven't we done this before? Another press of his tongue, and Dean's coming, and why do I want to be called Sam when Sammy sounds so fucking right falling from Dean's lips?

Sam swallowed convulsively, coughed a bit when he raised his head. He wondered if the smug and satisfied look on Dean's face was mirrored on his own, but the alcohol and the afterglow were getting to him and he crawled up the bed to lay next to Dean. He briefly considered reaching for one of the pillows that were, for some reason, no longer on the bed, but decided against it. Dean's whispered "Sammy" echoed in his head as he drifted off to sleep.

---

Sam fought his way up from his sleep-induced haze, wondering why his head hurt so much and his mouth tasted like dirty sandpaper and he was feeling naked and heavy and hot and downright grungy. Sam cautiously lifted his head a bit. And what the fuck is Dean doing laying half on top of me? With a groan, Sam let his head fall back against the mattress as the memory of the night before came crashing down on him. That's the last time I go drinking with Dean.

Finally, Sam untangled himself from his brother and made his way to the bathroom. As he waited for the shower to warm up, he turned on the cold water in the sink and stuck his head under the faucet, thirstily lapping up the water. If he could have formed coherent thoughts, he would have found that disgusting, but right now he just needed a drink. When he got into the shower, he rested his head against the side of the stall, eyes closed, as the water sluiced over him, washing away the sweat and some of the tiredness but not doing much for his head. He turned slightly and winced as the spray of water slid over his shoulder. Glancing down, he saw the angry purple-red bruise in the shape of teethmarks. Fucking Dean.

Sam cut off the water and wrapped a towel around his hips. He was planning on crashing in the unused bed in their room and sleeping for a few more hours, but first...

"DEAN!" Sam picked up one of the pillows from the floor and swatted at the lump under the covers, earning a groan from his brother. "You bastard!"

Dean's head emerged from under the blankets, one half-opened eye peering at him lazily, as if even that was too much effort this morning. "What?"

"You bit me!"

"You liked it. And for the record, Sammy, you bit me too." Dean pulled the blanket back over his head, blocking the light.

Okay, so maybe he had liked it, but now he was going to have to figure out how to cover it up or explain it... "You left teethmarks, Dean!"

Dean emerged from his cocoon again, both eyes now open and staring at Sam with a look that was both amused and proud. The look that crossed his face when his gaze landed on the mark was downright proprietary.

Oh, hell no. Dean wasn't going to see this as some kind of badge of ownership or something, was he? Damn fucked up older brothers and their lofty ideals of entitlement and always right! "Dean --" Sam started.

"Sammy," Dean interrupted, taking the pillow that Sam had hit him with and tucking it under his head, "just shut up and come back to bed."