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Dean likes driving at night. With the window rolled down, cool air against his face, music turned down low, his baby purring around him. The empty highway stretches out before him, with none of the morons who clog it up during the day. The Impala can run free, and Dean just sits back and enjoys it.
Sam sleeps, usually, and Dean likes the quiet, the even rhythm of his brother's breathing. Mostly Sam leans his head against the door, and Dean grins and pictures what the marks on his face will look like when he wakes up this time.
Every once in a while, though, Sam will doze off and slide in the other direction, against Dean. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, Dean doesn't try to stop it. He doesn't want to risk waking his brother up by pushing him in the other direction. Sam needs his sleep, after all.
It's got nothing to do with the way it feels, Sam's breath ghosting across his neck, lips brushing his skin, the faint, contented noises Sam makes.
Dean sighs and drives as smooth as he can so that his brother won't be jerked awake.
Twenty miles later, Sam shifts slightly, his lips pressing against the crook of Dean's neck again. Dean figures Sam's just moving in his sleep, until lips are replaced by teeth. Dean tries not to inhale too sharply in surprise, but the curve of Sam's smirk against his skin tells him his brother noticed. Sam's lips trail further down, and then across to close around Dean's earlobe, and okay, that's just unfair.
"Pull over," Sam murmurs, and Dean can't help the shiver that runs through him as his brother's breath washes over his skin.
It's just as well the highway's deserted, because Dean doesn't exactly check for traffic before he pulls up at the side of the road. There's a moment of sudden silence as the Impala's engine stops. Then Sam's hand is on the back of his head, turning him to face him, and Sam's kissing him before Dean can process it, hot and tempting, and Dean was never trying to resist.
There's no room in the Impala for this kind of thing and they both know it, so Dean's not surprised when Sam groans and reaches past him without breaking the kiss, fumbling for the door handle on Dean's side. Then Sam's shoving him out and following him, and Dean has to try to get himself together enough to climb out without tripping or falling on his ass.
Sam presses him up against the side of the car, and Dean reaches out to him. The moonlight bleaches away all color, but Sam's still Sam, even in monochrome, and his skin is warm beneath Dean's hands. Dean strips him bare, chases the shadows across the planes of Sam's body with his mouth, and his brother's moan is loud in the silence.
Dean doesn't plan it, doesn't think, but he finds himself on his knees, the Impala solid behind him. When he takes his brother's cock in his mouth, Sam groans, his hands shooting out to brace against the side of the car, bracketing Dean's head. Dean concentrates on the way Sam tastes, stark and strong in a way that matches his moon-bleached coloring, and lets Sam fuck him, tiny thrusts that grow more powerful as he loses control.
Sam comes in a rush, with a strangled moan, and Dean enjoys the bitter taste, the reality of it. Before he has a chance to think any further, though, Sam is pulling him to his feet. It's cool under the night sky, but when Sam presses up against him, pinning him against the Impala, Dean feels warm.
He lets Sam kiss him, taste himself on Dean's lips. Then Sam's hand closes around his cock and starts jerking him, sure and steady. Dean tries to break the kiss, because Jesus, it's so good and he can't breathe with it, but Sam's other hand is holding his head in place, and there's nothing Dean can do but let it happen, light-headed and desperate and coming quicker than he'll ever admit to in the daylight.
"Dean," Sam sighs, pressing his face against the curve of Dean's neck again. Dean concentrates on breathing and tries to stop trembling, lets Sam hold him up.
He likes driving at night. But some things he likes even better.