90.365

Dean’s in that delicate place between sleep and awake, where his body feels heavy and unconsciousness is just right there. Like any moment he’ll be gone to the world for several hours. Teetering and waiting for fall.

Dad had been asleep. Had been for a while now. Snoring away in his drunken stupor. It seemed to happen more often now. Dad drinking himself to sleep but honestly Dean didn’t blame him too much. It seemed more and more often that they couldn’t get a win. They were just a little too slow or a little too wrong and one too many people died. So yeah, it had gotten bad. Demons plagued Dad’s mind and he chased them with a fifth of whiskey.

But he was in that place, just waiting to fall when he felt cold fingertips skim the base of his spine, right above the hem of his sweatpants. He made a sound, low in the back of his throat and slowly he felt a pair of lips settle on the knob of bone at the base of his neck.

The fingers moved, skirting along his stomach as they gently pushed into his skin, rolling him from his side to his back. Sam kissed along the side of Dean’s neck, tongue teasing at that sensitive spot at the base of his ear and Dean opened his eyes, seeing nothing in the dark other than the darkened silhouette of his brother.

Sam didn’t say anything as he threw his leg over Dean’s hips, pulling his body up from laying next to him, to straddling him.

Dean shot a worried glance over at the form of their father who was sleeping just feet away from them but soft fingertips on his cheek brought Dean’s gaze back to the thing that made his heart run wild.

The moon was sneaking past the curtains and into the room and they seemed the reflect the gold that was shining so bright in Sam’s eyes.

“Sam…” Dean whispered, trying to sound like he was warning his brother but Sam bent down and kissed him, swallowing everything that Dean was ever going to say.

“Shh.” Sam muttered against Dean’s lips, his fingers touching every piece of Dean that he could reach and Dean melted underneath the touch. “You’re tense, De. Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

Dean groaned against Sam, unable to keep the sound within his chest and Dean could feel Sam smile against him.

Then Sam started to crawl down Dean’s body, kissing and touching and leaving love bites in his wake as he disappeared underneath the thin blanket that was wrapped around Dean.

Sam sucked a spot on his hipbone that Dean knew was going to bruise in the morning and he knew that he was going to press his fingertips into it to the point that it hurt, only so that it would stay on him longer, a constant reminder of what they were and what they did in the dark.

Dark marks for dark secrets.

Skinny fingers slipped underneath the hem of his sweatpants, pulling them down his thighs and Dean lifted his hips of the bed, just so ever so lightly so that Sam could pull them further down.

Sam wrapped his skinny fingers around the base of Dean’s cock and a moan slipped out past Dean’s lips and he grabbed a handful of the sheets under him to keep himself grounded.

Sam kitten licked up the length of him and then without warning, Sam closed his mouth around Dean, take him as far into his throat as Sam could possibly manage and the sound that was ripped out of Dean’s mouth was feral.

Dad shifted on the bed beside them, snorted in his sleep and Dean froze, body going rigid as Sam continued to suck Dean off. Dad was restless for several long months, shifting in his bed, tossing and turning before he finally settled and his snoring resumed.

Dean’s heart was beating through his chest, blood pounding in his ears and he wrapped his hand in Sam’s hair and pulled on it slightly, torn between letting Sam continue and stopping this because Dad was right there and if Sam kept this up, Dean wasn’t going to be able to keep quiet.

Sam’s head popped up from underneath the blanket, hair a perfect mess on his head, lips shining with spit and he only smiled.

“You gotta stay quiet, De.” He purred. “Don’t wanna wake daddy up, now do we?“

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Cap. 2017 pag. 90 de 365

Hablar de nosotros en pasado
nos recordó que estábamos tan distantes
que teníamos que evocar alguna memoria en común
para poder tenernos cerca de nuevo.
Nos habíamos despedido en silencio,
en el fondo sabíamos que regresar
era más que volver a tener una plática;
implicaba encontrar ese algo,
esa coincidencia,
esa poesía,
que mantuviera ardiendo el alma
aunque lloviera.

___

M. Sierra Villanueva