Work Text:
Sam's hand and breathing shiver faintly as he leans close, tongue poking out in concentration as he draws careful strokes over his brother's skin, feeling the steady heartbeat like a communion beneath his hand.
Dean sits as still as possible, eyes locked on Sam's face, devouring his features as he so rarely gets a chance to do. He is drawn again and again to that provocative tongue tip, moist and pink and as alluring as bait on a hook to a fish. He finds himself fantasising about leaning forward, taking that tongue into his mouth and sucking on it, rolling it between his lips and nibbling, tasting, exploring...
"Dean?"
With a start, Dean realises that Sam is staring back, eyes wide and dark, mouth slightly open and his lips glistening; and Dean honestly can't recall whether it was Sam who licked them, or himself.