Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner

Carve your name in my heart

They stumbled through the door of their motel room, clinging to one another and failing in their attempts to stifle laughter. It was Sam's 17th birthday, and Dean had taken him for a beer or six to celebrate. Now here they were, half-drunk, Dean calling a "Sorry!" in the direction of the wall, in case anyone was in the room next to theirs.

Sam huffed out a breath of laughter as his brother shoved him backward, toward the queen-sized bed. The back of his knees hit the mattress's edge, and Dean shot him a grin before shoving him down. Sam smirked up from new position on his back, watching as Dean crawled onto the bed to move up and over him. When the older man was straddling him, sitting lightly on his waist, Dean leaned down to brush his lips against Sam's mouth.

Sam rose up a bit as Dean grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and tugged it over his head. It was tossed aside, forgotten immediately as his big brother leaned in to catch his right nipple in his mouth.

"Nng-" Sam breathed a soft groan of pleasure as his brother's lips and teeth went to work on him. Soft bites across his chest, on his collar bones, his nipples, his throat. Their eyes met as Dean raised his head: the elder Winchester gave him a slight grin. The man's entire face was lit with excitement as Dean reached over the side of the mattress, for something tucked beneath it. Moments later, he laid an object on the bed next to Sam, which was wrapped in soft, white gauze. He unwrapped it, hips pressing down against Sam's and drawing a soft moan of pleasure from him, to reveal one of his knives.

It was his Bowie, his sharpest and favorite. Cleaned to perfection, shining in the light of the motel room.

"Trust me, Sammy?"

Sam nodded immediately, whispered, "Of course." He watched as his brother took hold of the knife, fingers caressing the smooth handle.
The younger man let out a whine of need when Dean leaned in close and whispered, "Want to carve my name into your skin, Sammy."
He nodded yes, the words "Do it, please" falling from his lips like a prayer. Dean growled above him, leaned down to catch his lips in a hot, possessive kiss. When they finally parted, Dean picked up the knife and scooted down to rest his weight on Sam's thighs.

Sam bit his lip in anticipation as his big brother placed the tip of the knife in the hollow of his throat. Dean smiled at him, fond and loving – Sam's heart danced inside his chest at the sight – before gently tracing the blade down his chest.

"Love to see you like this, Sammy," the older man murmured, trailing the blade's tip around his left nipple and eliciting a shiver from the younger Winchester, "Laid out under me, trusting me.. fuck, you're beautiful."

The older man chuckled softly as he flushed, shook his head and muttered, "Shut up." His hips arched upward, gasp escaping his parted lips, as the tip of the blade pricked his skin. Dean shot him another smile, brushed fingers along his throat; seconds later, Sam felt the sting of the sharp knife, cutting lightly into his flesh several inches above his nipple.

He was hard, practically dripping, before Dean had finished the first letter.

"My pretty little masochist," Dean murmured as he continued his work, fingers of his free hand brushing soothing paths along Sam's throat and chest. The man paused in his work to plant kisses and soft bites along his chest and stomach. Sam writhed beneath him, pressed his hips upward: he stopped his movements immediately as his brother murmured, "Be still."

When Dean was finished with his work – four two-inch letters, carved neatly in his brother's skin – the man brushed his thumb over the bleeding cuts. Sam watched, mesmerized, as Dean lifted his hand to his mouth to suck the blood from his thumb. "Fuck, Dean," his voice was breathless, drew a smirk from the other man, "That's hot."

Dean reached down and loosed the button and zipper of his jeans. A full-body shudder ran through him as the man freed his cock from the denim's confines, brushed his thumb over the slick, dripping head.

"Wanna cum, Sammy?"

"Fuck," Sam nodded yes, pressed his cock against his brother's hand, "Please, Dean." He watched as Dean picked the knife up, drew it along his own palm. A line of beaded droplets of blood rose to the surface; Dean squeezed his hand closed, causing more blood to well up. It was running down his hand in a trickle when he pressed his palm against Sam's chest, against the cuts he had made. He rubbed his hand against the bleeding letters on Sam's skin, mixing their blood, and murmured, "Now I'll always be part of you, Sammy."

Sam came so hard and so sudden at the words that he momentarily blacked out.
He came back to awareness, breathing erratic and body shaking from the force of his orgasm, with Dean licking the cum and blood from his stomach and chest.

"So perfect, Sam," the older man breathed the words against his throat, nipping his skin to mark him with his teeth, "All mine."

"Only yours," he reached for his brother, brushed their mouths together, "Only ever yours, Dean." His brother laid his head on his chest as Sam brushed his fingers over Dean's name, carved into his skin. It was perfect. A shudder ran through him as the other man caught his hand and pulled it to his mouth to suck the blood from his fingertips.

Dean lifted his head to look at him as Sam told him, "Waited a lifetime to wear your name." A low, possessive growl escaped the other's throat, and his mouth was caught in a hard, bruising kiss seconds later. Dean groaned against his mouth as the other rocked hard against his hip; Sam smirked against Dean's lips as he realized that the other was cumming, arching against his hip, and in the jeans he still wore. He outright chuckled as Dean's head fell against his shoulder, hands clutching his ribs to hold him tight.

Dean's voice was breathless and wrecked as the man nipped his ear and murmured, "Shut up, Sam. Your fault, you dirty whore."

"Your dirty whore," he kissed Dean's forehead, slipping his arms around the other man.

"Mm, fucking right. My perfect, beautiful, little whore. My entire fucking world, sweetheart. Don't get comfortable, I'm not through with you yet. Happy birthday, babyboy."

Sam smiled, brushing his fingers over the name on his chest again.
Pretty much the best birthday ever.