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‘Say it, Sam.’
Sam was supporting himself on the table in the corner of the room, arms shaking as Dean fucked into him from behind.
Dean was tracing the gun up and down Sam’s neck, the movement almost gentle. His other hand gripped Sam’s hip as he thrust into him, making him bump into the edge of the table.
‘Dean, please don’t make me say it.’ Sam murmured quietly, head bowed, hair hanging in his eyes.
Dean traced the gun down Sam’s body. He lifted Sam’s limp cock with the barrel. He could never get it up when Dean took a gun or a knife out to play. But then again, he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself too much even when Dean was making love to him. Maybe he just didn’t like sex. That happened, right?
‘Dean, please put the gun away.’
‘I will, Sammy, I swear. Just as soon as you say it.’ He traced the gun back up to Sam’s neck and then pressed it to the underside of his chin.
‘I can’t say it, Dean.’
Dean took the gun away from under Sam’s chin. He fisted a hand in his hair and smashed his face into the table. Hard. He didn’t think he broke Sam’s nose or anything, but he started crying anyway. Fuck. He let go of Sam’s hair and pulled him back against his chest. He turned Sam’s head to the side.
‘I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t want to make you cry.’
Dean was fucking into Sam gently, kissing his neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He didn’t want to hurt Sam, he really didn’t. He wouldn’t have to if Sam wasn’t such a stubborn little bitch sometimes.
‘Please don’t cry.’ Sam was making those hiccupping little sobs that broke Dean’s heart. He wiped the tears from Sam’s cheeks.
‘Sammy, just say it.’ Dean murmured petting Sam’s hair.
‘I can’t, Dean, please…’
‘Sammy…’
Sam hiccupped again. ‘I won’t say it, Dean.’
Okay, Dean’s patience officially ran out.
He fisted Sam’s hair again and wrenched his head as far back as it could go, moved the gun to his temple and clicked the safety off. The sound of the click was deafening in the otherwise quiet room.
‘Fucking say it.’
‘I love you, Dean.’