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Summary
Dean’s name is stuck on Sam’s lips. It won’t fall out the way he wants it to, the way he needs it, and so the curve of his mouth is forever bound to the first syllable, the bare breath that begins the name, a half-formed gasp if he gets far enough. And Dean - Dean’s on top of him, hips pressed against his, buried deep inside his flesh until he’s not anymore, and then until he’s there again. He’s scared of the wide open eyes looking up at the sky, the long hair caught on a sheen of sweat, the literal moon and the stars reflecting in his brother’s eyes as they make love on top of the Impala.