: Cas & BrimstoneGoldPairing:
: Incest, PWP, NC-17, dubcon, choose not to warn for everythingSummary
: Sam tries a new way to convince Dean that souls are overrated. Length
: 8000 wordsA/N
: Inspired by the following video by Atoriso: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3vbNcfVgYk
"Yeah, I'd like to order one of the specials," Sam said into the cellphone, pacing back and forth in the hotel room, shirtless and with a sheen of sweat that had his muscular chest glistening each time he moved into the line of sunlight streaming into the motel room.
"No, just one this time. Yeah. Same motel." He looked at his watch, then glanced toward the bathroom where he knew Dean was listening to his side of the phone call. "Oh, yeah, I like that," he said, his voice going silken. "All night? I'm up for that. Very up for that. Hang on a minute." Sam pulled the phone away from his ear. "Dean, we're not doing anything tonight, right? You don't need
me for anything, do you?" He gave a slight smirk, not that Dean would see it. Not that he would have allowed Dean to see it.
Dean stepped into the doorway, shaving cream still on half of his face. "Why?" The single word sounded like a challenge.
"Just answer the question," Sam said, tilting his head and challenging Dean back. "Do you need me tonight?"
Somehow, Dean’s gaze had slipped downward to Sam's chest, but Dean snapped his eyes back up. "No," he answered, pressing his lips together in a tight, unhappy line.
Giving Dean a sweet, understanding smile, Sam turned his back on him and brought the phone back to ear. "Yeah, then, it's on. Nine. I'll call back when I have the number." Sam turned off his phone, tossed it on the bed, and then stretched his arms high above his head, the sunlight highlighting ever ridge of muscle in Sam's back. He gave a soft, pleased groan, then bent over and untied his shoes. A second later, he sat down on the bed and pulled them off along with his socks, then stood and stripped off his shorts and briefs and headed for the bathroom.
Dean wanted to shake Sam. To tell him to cut it out. To stop stripping in front of him, to stop working out at every opportunity, and the stupid groans as he exercised or stretched, they just had to go. The real
Sam wouldn't do any of those things, not the way Soulless here was flaunting it every way he could.
Caught up in his thoughts, it was too late for Dean to stop Sam from brushing past him and going into the bathroom. "Dude, I'm not done shaving," he grit out, following him inside.
Too late. Way too late. Sam was already in the damned shower. Dean focused his eyes on the mirror in front of him and moved the razor down his cheek. He wouldn't acknowledge the fact his eyes wanted to stray, that his peripheral vision showed Sam's movements, and that his goddamned heart was racing.
It had always been a little hard, dealing with his fucked up attraction to his brother, but now... now it was a nightmare. He couldn't wait to get Sam's soul back. Things would be normal again then. Easier. And he'd have his brother, not some knock-off of him.
"Better hurry up shaving then, because it's getting hot and steamy in here," Sam said, lathering a washcloth. The soap slipped from the cloth, clattering to the tub bottom. "Aw, fuck
," Sam muttered, bending over to pick it up and swinging around in the tub so his ass brushed along the shower curtain before he straightened and put the soap on the shelf.
After running the soapy cloth over his chest and groin, he pulled open the curtain part way. "Dude, I forgot to put my shampoo in here. Would you get it? Please?"
Having turned at the racket the soap made, Dean now found himself staring into Sam's eyes. Not trusting himself to speak, he just turned on his heels and left the room. Under his breath, he grumbled, "hot and steamy... I'll show you ‘hot’..."
Toeing Sam's duffel bag over, he rummaged through it and grabbed the shampoo. It was a ridiculous thing to do, but he opened the bottle and sniffed it, telling himself it was to prove this wasn't Sam. Sam, his Sam would never take hours to select an expensive name brand shampoo. And yet, its musky scent made him think of just how this
Sam tortured him with his nearness, with getting all handsy and touching him all the time, and who had no freaking idea what he was doing to Dean in the process.
Storming back inside the bathroom, he held the bottle out only to stumble. The curtain was open all the frigging way and Sam had his back to him, water running over his face. Dean's gaze traveled over Sam's shoulders, down his back, and to that perfectly formed ass, then snapped up. "Take the damned thing," he growled, thrusting it into Sam's hand before Sam turned all the way around.
At the sink, he shaved as fast as he could, cursing freely when he cut himself. Using a towel to wipe his face clean, he stormed out of the bathroom and pulled the door shut with a decided slam.
What he needed to do was to go to a bar or something, maybe score and get some relief. He looked over at Sam's bed and noticed Sam’s phone on it.
Crossing the room, he grabbed the phone and took down the last number Sam had called. No, he didn't give a damn if Sam had a date. It was just that he had a feeling Sam was up to no good, and he needed to keep close tabs on him, make sure his interactions with people were not of the sort that would land him on America's Most Wanted. Yeah, that’s all that this was about.
He'd punched the number into his own cell phone when the sound of the shower water cut out. Aiming a dirty look at the bathroom door, Dean decided his investigation could wait.
* * *
Sam had stripped off his shirt and began doing push-ups. Slowly. Methodically. Perfectly. He enjoyed working out before sex. He liked to get the endorphins going early and found that it made the sex that much better.
He finally rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He had been pushing Dean, subtly, trying to find all his older brother's buttons. It had taken more time than he had anticipated. Time, he feared, he was running out of. What if Dean didn't take the bait tonight?
Sam began doing his sit ups. "Still getting sex so...I win. Either way. I win," he told himself.
He hadn't called the prostitute’s john back to give his room number, but he’d told the front desk that if someone came looking for him by name or description, to go ahead and give them his room number. He smiled to himself as he crunched his abs, tightening them and thinking about the next work out those muscles would get later that night. He couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation.
* * *
A hooker. Sam didn't pay for sex. Neither of them did. Ever. The fact that Sam had called one, and not for the first time per the information Dean got from the 'talent coordinator' who’d been on the other end of the number Dean had gotten from Sam’s phone, just highlighted how different this Sam was from his
Sam. Oh, he might look the same. Might have a body that was made for sin and, sometimes, he could smile just like his Sam. But this...him, he was not Sam.
Dean paced the length of his room.
He could go to a bar. Get drunk. Pretend he wasn't angry. Pretend his anger had nothing to do with all the unintentional ways Sam had been tempting him, or the fact that Sam was off getting his fix and would act as if nothing was wrong or different when he got back. Things were wrong, though. Sam was wrong. And wrong-Sam made it really, really hard for Dean to keep pretending he’d never had any inappropriate feelings for his brother.
Man, he was getting so agitated, even his thoughts made no sense.
Marching to the table, Dean picked up his keys and his wallet, then headed out of the room. Getting toasted was sounding better by the second.
Angry at himself, Dean slammed his car door and stared up at the flashing motel sign. Why hadn't he just kept driving? Stuck to the plan? Because he wanted to protect an innocent from that bad Xerox copy of his brother, that's why.
It took ten minutes for the receptionist got off the damned phone and finally answered his question. Sort of. She told him Sam was in room 109 and that some of the doors in that hallway had the numbers missing, because some of the rooms were getting refurbished and painted.
Without a 'thank you,' Dean walked in the direction she indicated and started heading down the long hallway, his expression hard as granite. He moved from one side of the hallway to the other, checking for numbers, pissed off that they made finding a room so damned difficult. Since he'd seen a number 98, he moved to a door thinking he was at the right one, almost reached for it when he saw room 109 a few feet away.
Crossing the hall, he stood in front of the room and looked down for a long moment, then he gave a hard knock.
Sam did a final pull-up on the movable bar he’d put in the door frame, and picked up a towel to wipe his face. He heard the footsteps stop in front of his door. Since the front desk had called him and let him know his guest had arrived, he wasn’t surprised.
Sam made a quick phone call, then set his phone on the nightstand.
"It's unlocked," Sam finally called out. The door opened and he gave a slow, knowing smile as his gaze raked over Dean. "Come on in. You want a whiskey?" he asked, pouring a glass and holding it out to him.
The way Sam's heated gaze traveled down, then up his body, you'd think he was the hooker Sam had been expecting, and not his brother. It was stupid that Dean’s pulse jumped, stupid that he even thought that way.
Grabbing the glass, Dean knocked the drink back all at once and set the empty glass down on a table next to the door. His jaw pulsed as he stared at Sam for a long moment. "What the hell's going on?" he finally demanded.
Sam slipped past Dean and locked the door, then came up behind him and whispered in his ear, "What would you like to have go on?"
The sound of the lock turning had Dean tensing. Before he could turn around, Sam's hot breath caressed his ear and cheek, sending a shiver down his spine and straight to his cock. Swallowing, he didn't turn his head, he held perfectly still and tried not to think about the heat emanating from Sam's body. "I'd like an explanation."
"An explanation?" Sam purred. "You don't want an explanation." Sam switched and whispered into Dean's other ear. He knew he had to be careful. Just enough push without going too fast. "You want something else. Something only I can give you." Sam's tongue tickled Dean’s ear as his fingers lightly travelled down Dean's sides to the junction of Dean's shirt and jeans. "Something you've dreamed about but were afraid to pursue. Don't deny it. I see it in your eyes, in the way you watch me, in the way your breath hitches sometimes and your pulse races. In the way you smell." Sam inhaled deeply. "You smell...sexy."
Dean's eyes slipped closed as Sam's words washed over him and as every muscle in his body tightened and tensed from Sam's hand ghosting over him so lightly he might be imagining it. Only he wasn't, and he knew it.
It was bad. Sam had seen through him. Seen the dirty thoughts he had in his head, the needs, the desires he'd kept buried for so damned long that it had become easy, second nature even, to pretend he hated the hugs, to push Sam away, to walk away from him and into the arms of a warm, willing woman who actually wanted him back.
When Sam's fingers dipped under his tee shirt and skimmed over his burning skin, Dean’s heart almost jumped out of his chest. "Enough!" he snapped, taking a step away and wheeling around to face Sam, steeling himself. Trying not to let his mind go to dark places. The sort of places he imagined when he was in some back alley getting head or was being fucked by some guy who just happened to be tall and have dark hair, someone he could imagine was Sam.
His breaths came out a little harshly and he licked his suddenly dry lips. "I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not funny. Now get your shit, and let's get out of here," he barked.
Sam closed the distance between them, forcing Dean to retreat until Dean's back hit the wall. "Your heart is pounding, Dean," Sam crooned. "Just once, don't you want to taste these lips that you've dreamed of tasting? Or run your hands over my chest? Don't you want to hear me moan and whimper and beg for you, cry out your name? Just once don't you want that?" Just once.
The offer reverberated in Dean's head. Every cell in his body screamed for it, tried to shout down the small voice telling him it was wrong, that if he slipped down that slope, there was no coming back. His gaze dropped to Sam's hand pressing against his chest, keeping him pinned to the wall. "My heart's pounding because you've gone nuts and I'm not your hooker substitute." It took everything he had to push at Sam. "Now get off me, and act like my brother and not this... this thing..."
"I haven't gone nuts," Sam said, letting Dean push him back. "And you're not my wannabe hooker. You're my wannabe lover. You've wanted me ever since I hit sixteen or seventeen. You've watched me when you could. But you think it's wrong. Brothers shouldn't feel that way about one another. Why, Dean? Who else do we have? We've only got each other, that's all we've ever had, so what's so wrong about taking it to the next level? You love me, don't you?" Sam asked, running his hands down his own body.
Dean had made those same arguments to himself so many times during his bouts of guilt after he’d jerked off to thoughts of crawling into Sam's bed, or imagined scenarios of hot, lusty sex where Sam would tear his clothes off after surviving some demon they both thought was gonna be the end of them.
He blinked. Those were just his own thoughts, his dark secrets that should never see the light of day. And yet Sam was shining a bright light on them, taunting him. Knowing all of this, Dean couldn't help watching Sam's hand drift downwards over his body, couldn't help his own arousal.
"Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth!" Angry. Needing this to stop, needing Sam to cut it out now, Dean swung at him. His fist connected with Sam's jaw once, then again, and he followed after him. "Are we done here?"
"Not quite," Sam said, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. He moved forward and with lightning speed, gripped both of Dean's wrists and pulled Dean's arms behind Dean's back. He spun around and pushed Dean back up against the wall. "Well, I want it just once," Sam said and crushed his lips against his brother's, pressing his body against Dean's as he held him there.
Dean flinched from Sam's mouth but couldn't escape it. The hot imprint of his brother's body pushing up hard against him, Sam's mouth moving over his, it sent silent messages to Dean's core, awakening long suppressed desires and making it impossible for him to bury them again. He tried to pull his mouth away, but the battle was already lost because he was letting Sam's tongue inside, letting the fiery kiss take its course. He tried to free his wrists, but they remained trapped between his own body and the wall, a testament to Sam's sexual aggression, and damned if it didn't heighten Dean's arousal. Moaning against Sam's lips, he protested, he demanded, he slowly caught fire.
Sam closed his eyes. Yes. He'd done it. He'd gotten Dean to admit it, to pursue the feelings he had for Sam. Sliding his leg between Dean's thighs, he rubbed, offering pressure to the hardness he felt pressing back. When Dean moaned, Sam responded in kind, kissing him more intensely, holding Dean's wrists in an iron grip, feeling his own fires being stoked.
"Dean, tell me you want me," Sam begged when he broke off the kiss and began kissing his way down Dean's jaw to his neck. He sucked Dean’s smoothly shaven, sensitive skin into his mouth.
So all this time that Sam had been torturing and teasing him, it had been intentional. Dean suddenly realized that the guy had probably known exactly how he'd react to Sam getting a hooker. Emotions. A firestorm of anger and lust warred within Dean, tearing him apart with thoughts of both beating Sam within an inch of his life and tearing his clothes off.
“Tell me,” Sam insisted.
"Not telling you anything, asshole," Dean growled, shivering at the sensations rippling through him from the wet heat of Sam's mouth on his throat. Jerking his head, he bit Sam's lip, drawing blood, punishing him even as he released his flesh and kissed him with all the heat of his anger and lust. "Get my shirt off," he demanded.
Sam's eyebrows lifted as Dean coaxed him back into a kiss, only to bite him hard and then kiss him even harder. "You want it rough? I can do rough," Sam said. "And here I figured you'd wanted to fuck me. Am I wrong? Do you dream of me fucking you? Sinking my hard and dripping cock into your tight, hot ass?"
He let go of one of Dean's wrists and spun him around, pressing him up against the wall and shoving his leg back between Dean's. Gripping the hem of Dean's shirt, he pulled it off and tossed it aside. He twisted Dean's arm up and into a lock.
Leaning in he bit Dean's shoulder hard, drawing a few drops of blood, then pressed his burgeoning cock against Dean's ass. Sam closed his eyes a moment and groaned as he ground against Dean. "Or do you dream of me loving you like you deserve," he whispered into Dean's ear, nipping it. "Tell me what you want. Handcuffs and bent over? Biting? Tied to the bed? Or me at your mercy?"
Reaching around with his free hand he cupped Dean, squeezing Dean's hard cock. "I can already see myself down on my knees, my lips wrapped around your swollen cock, squeezing your balls as I suck you off better than you’ve ever been sucked off before. I see you thrusting your cock so far down my throat, pounding into my mouth, coming so fucking hard as I swallow every drop of you down." Sam's hand slid up between the wall and Dean's chest until he reached one of Dean's nipples and began playing with it, squeezing and twisting it hard. "Just tell me how you want it, Dean. Tell me!"
Dean didn't want to desire any of these dirty, filthy things from of all people, his brother. He hated that Sam could see right through him, that he knew, that he could see straight to his dark soul. With the side of his face pressing against the wall, and his arm twisted painfully behind his back, he could pretend this wasn't what he wanted, that he wasn't asking for this. Even if Sam's hot breaths gusting against the back of his neck and the slide of his calloused hand over his chest and his rough treatment of his nipple was straight out of one of his fantasies and had him so fucking hard and heavy that it hurt. He ground his ass against Sam's cock, a strangled sound escaping him at the thought of being fucked hard.
"Fuck you. I didn't ask for this," he finally answered, his words at odds with everything he wanted and with the movements of his body, the way he rubbed his ass against Sam's rock solid cock, the way he turned as far as he could and crushed his mouth against Sam's, his eyes sliding closed the instant he pushed his tongue into Sam's mouth, giving lie to his words.
Sam's groaned as Dean pushed back, making his cock throb and ache, his stomach tensing and pulsing. He wanted to rip Dean's pants off of him and to fuck him then and there, fuck him so hard Dean would walk strange for a week. He heard Dean's words and already his mind was working to get past Dean's lies when he found Dean's tongue at his lips. He let Dean in, tangling his tongue with his brother's, both of them vying for control. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's waist and pulled him up hard against his body, his moans of desire increasing in volume as more blood filled his cock.
"You didn't ask for it, but you want it. Always wanted it," Sam breathed against Dean’s lips. He spun Dean around and shoved him down onto the bed. With unbelievable speed he tightened a rope around one of Dean's wrists, then covered Dean's body with his own. "You are so fucking hot, I want you ten ways to Sunday," Sam said, running his large hands over Dean's bare chest. He leaned in and sucked hard on Dean's nipple.
Dean's breath came out in a punch as Sam landed on him, his weight pressing Dean down into the mattress. Turning his head, he looked at the rope around his wrist. "Sonova--" Arching practically off the mattress, he cursed again, this time at the intense heat that shot straight from his nipple to his aching cock.
Closing his free arm around Sam, Dean ran his hand up Sam's back, his fingers digging roughly into Sam's flesh each time he thought of the times Sam had intentionally taunted him with glimpses of his body, exercising half-naked in front of him, showering when Dean had to be in the bathroom at the same time. Lust, fueled by anger, had him half-fighting Sam, and half-fighting to get him closer.
Eventually, Dean was fighting for more. More of the wet heat of Sam's mouth. More of his rough touches. Wrapping one leg around Sam's, Dean raised his hips off the mattress, rubbing himself wantonly against Sam, a groan escaping him as his cock caught against Sam's, then groaning again when Sam slipped away. "God dammit," he ground out, moving his hand to Sam's firm ass and yanking him down as he raised his hips again, blinding heat coursing through his veins.
It was perfect as far as Sam was concerned. Dean was so fucking hot for him, wanted him, even if he didn't want
to want him. Sam thrust against Dean again and again and then suddenly slipped from his grasp, sliding down between Dean's legs. His long fingers went to the button of Dean's pants and undid them, his eyes watching Dean's face. Gripping the zipper, he tugged it down. Opening the flaps of the jeans, he mouthed Dean’s hard cock tenting his undershorts, then found his tip and sucked on it until the thin material was wet with Dean's pre-cum and Sam’s saliva.
Head lifted off the pillow, his chin against his chest, Dean watched Sam undo his pants. His gaze lifted to Sam's eyes and he couldn't shake the feeling that Sam was watching him like a tiger stalking its prey. Instead of dampening his lust, it sharpened it.
Lifting his hips, Dean silently urged Sam to go on, rubbing against Sam's mouth, groaning when his cock strained against the restriction of his shorts. Wanting more, needing it, he grunted in frustration, knowing he was being toyed with. Somewhere in the back of his mind lurked the fear of being left like this. Of being teased to this point, then...
Gritting his teeth, Dean lifted his hips. "Take it out. Suck me," he demanded, wishing he could take the words back but meaning every one of them.
Sam's lips curved into a smile as he tormented Dean just a little longer. He slipped his tongue in the opening in the undershorts, licking along Dean's shaft, playing and toying until Dean's pained groans and erratically moving hips told Sam that Dean was ready. He gripped the elastic waistband and pulled it away from Dean's body and then down, tugging Dean's jeans down a little further in the process.
"You are so ready for me, baby," Sam murmured and without prelude went down on Dean, deep-throating him and sucking hard on his cock. He sucked and slowly pulled off, stopping while Dean’s tip was still in his mouth, moaning as Dean's pre-cum dribbled onto his tongue.
When Sam took all of him, every last inch of his cock at once, Dean slammed his head back into the pillow, a pained groan tearing from the back of his throat. Reaching out, he grabbed Sam's shoulder, his fingers digging into Sam's flesh. As he writhed and thrust into Sam's mouth, he jerked his other hand, trying to tear it free of the ropes. The sounds Sam made, the way he let some of his cum dribble down, the way he sucked it all back into his mouth, it was so damned dirty. So fucked up. So damned fucked up, he felt guilty enjoying it. Guilty for demanding more, for fucking into Sam's mouth, for closing his legs around Sam's body. "Do it, finish me," he snarled.
Sam reached down and unfastened his own pants then pulled off Dean's cock as he tugged at the legs Dean had wrapped around him. "No. I don't want you finishing in my mouth, I want you finishing inside me, filling me. I want you to fuck me, Dean. Fuck me hard and brutal. Fuck me like you've always dreamed of fucking me."
Dean's mind filled with images of himself fucking Sam's brains out. His cock grew unbelievably harder and his legs dropped from around Sam, even as he insisted, "I'm not doing a damned thing to you, Sam. I don't dream of this, I --" His words cut off when Sam's too-knowing gaze pierced right through his lies. Screwing his eyes shut, he took a couple deep breaths, trying to regain control over his body and his thoughts.
Sam slipped off the bed and stood up, shucking his pants, then gripped Dean's pants. Leaning over, he sucked on Dean's cock and when Dean arched, thrusting into his mouth with a gasp, Sam yanked off the jeans. Letting Dean's cock slip free of his mouth, he sucked Dean's balls into his mouth, running his tongue around them, playing with them, pleased with every reaction he got from his brother.
Finally, he retrieved the lube from his duffel, fingering his own hole, lubing it well. After squeezing some more lube into his hand, he gripped Dean's cock, slowly sliding his hand up and down its length. "You want me to ride it, Dean? Or do you want me doggie style? Or under you, looking up into your eyes, so you can watch my face and see the pleasure you're giving me?"
He ran his tongue up the center of Dean's chest, to his neck and then crushed his lips to Dean's. Gripping Dean's hair tightly with one hand, he gave Dean the dirtiest tongue-fuck he could manage, while still stroking Dean's rock-hard cock with his lubed hand.Fuck off. Get off me. Stop doing these things to me. Don't want you. Don't want to want you. Harder. Oh God, gimme more. Fuck you. Fuck you for making me want this. Fuck me for wanting it.
Dean's mind swam with contradicting thoughts, right clashing with wrong, protective habits battling long suppressed desires. While he was busy planning to do the right thing, he lost the battle and found himself sinking to the bottom, returning Sam's dirty kisses, giving as good as he got, thrusting into Sam’s hand and clawing at his brother, sure his fingerprints would mar his skin.
The instant Sam broke the kiss, Dean looked up, took an audible breath and licked his lips. The uncertainty had left his eyes. "Ride me. I want to be so deep inside you, you'll be sorry you started this game." Breaking eye contact, he looked up at the bedpost and reached up to untie his wrist.
"Who's playing," Sam whispered, his pupils blown wide with lust. Straddling Dean, he gripped his cock and held it as he slowly impaled himself on it, his breath hitching at the pain of the intrusion. Sam was unstretched, and even if his hole and Dean's cock were both well-lubed, it didn't change that Dean's cock was painfully large for his virgin hole. He squeezed his eyes shut, digging his nails into Dean's chest, not caring if he broke skin in the process. "Fuck..." Sam breathed. "You like that, Dean?" he asked, finally opening his eyes and looking down at his brother.
Ripping his hand away from the post, Dean settled his hands on Sam's hips and released his lower lip from between his teeth. Sam was so damned tight around him, it made his cock burn. He could only imagine Sam's pain, though Sam seemed to want to share it, the way he was clawing at his chest.
The question was still there in Sam’s eyes, but Dean didn't want to answer, to admit it felt good to have his cock wedged deeply inside Sam's tight hole, to stare up and find his brother's face there, for real, and to see the heat in those eyes that could be so empty at times. Gripping Sam tighter, Dean rocked his hips, groaning at the intense sensations that ripped through him. "You like that, Sam?" he countered, rocking sharply again and unable to stifle a harsh, almost pained, grunt.
Sam threw his head back and groaned as Dean thrust up into him. "Fuck yeah, I like it," Sam said, returning his gaze to Dean as he pulled off Dean's cock a little only to slide back down on it, taking Dean as deeply inside him as possible. "Perfect. You're the perfect lover," Sam told him, clenching around him. "Fuck me hard, Dean. Fuck me harder than anyone you've ever fucked. ...Damn you'd look hot tied up and blindfolded."
It was bull, even as he fucked Sam harder, even as he felt his gut tighten with desire, he knew it. Sam had told him that he felt nothing for anyone, that he could con anyone, and this... it had to be a con. Still, with the air heavy with the scent of sex and with memories upon memories of longing, of pretending someone else was Sam, or using his hand as a substitute, Dean found it impossible to keep truth and fantasy separate. He started to fuck harder, lifting Sam's heavy body with every thrust of his hips and groaning as Sam lowered back down, clenching so damned tight around his cock. He kept the rhythm slow, almost too slow, forcing the pace on Sam, refusing to allow him to go faster.
His gaze dropped to Sam's erect cock bouncing heavily with their movements. Sliding his hand down from Sam's hip, he swept it over Sam's cock and closed his hand around it, his breath punching out as another dark desire manifested. How many times had he imagined how hot and hard Sam would feel in his hand, how his hand would glide up and down the length of his cum-slicked cock? A stab of guilt had him squeezing Sam hard, and bucking his hips sharply, using the pleasure to deafen his conscience.
Sam tried to speed Dean up, but Dean was apparently determined that it was going to be a long slow fuck, which was fine with Sam. Whatever Dean wanted, he would give to Dean. Physical pleasure Sam appreciated, and physical pain was uncomfortable but irrelevant. If Dean's dream was to flog Sam senseless and then fuck him, he'd do that too.
When Dean's hand wrapped around his cock he moaned in approval. Then Dean was thrusting into him and squeezing him. "Nice," Sam breathed, beginning to run his hands over Dean's hard chest, pausing at his nipples and giving them some attention. "You ever given a blow job, Dean?" Sam asked him, his eyes half-closed as he absorbed everything.
"Idle curiosity, or is there a point to the question?" Dean paid rapt attention to Sam's reactions, to the expressions crossing his face, to the way he dragged in his breaths. Sam was confident and sure of himself, and even of Dean. It was there in the fact that he'd started this party, and in the way he talked to Dean, not pulling any punches, not toning down the filth. It was there in the way he'd tied Dean's wrist, and in the way he'd taken their jeans off. But those weren't the moments that Dean looked for. The moments that took Dean's breath away were in those moments that Sam showed weakness, when he faltered in reaction to Dean's thrusting his cock just right, or the way his hands stopped moving and he bit his lip, or the way his nostrils flared as he gasped for air. The way his eyes slid closed, even though Dean could tell he was struggling to keep them open.
Sam didn't answer Dean immediately, too caught up in the pleasures of the flesh, caught up in the moment. Finally he forced his eyes open and looked down at Dean. "Just thinking how good you'd look giving me head, and wondering if you'd ever wanted to blow me." He focused his gaze on Dean's face as he leaned forward, wanting to steal another kiss from him.
As Sam brought his mouth down over his, Dean knew his attempts to keep this impersonal were failing. He wanted the kiss. He wanted his brother. As dirty and wrong as it was, he'd wanted Sam for a long, long time. His mouth moved against Sam's in an explosive kiss that had him thrusting harder, but needing more. Pulling his legs up, he planted his feet flat on the bed, his knees pressing against Sam's back. Rocking himself forward and up, he pushed Sam down onto his back, and landed on top of him, still inside him.
Putting his hand under Sam's back, he helped him rise and they moved back a little, so Sam's head wasn't hanging off the bottom of the bed. Then, looking down at him, Dean started to fuck him again, pulling half way out and slamming his cock in all the way. "You ever been fucked, Sam?" he asked.
It took Sam a moment to realize what Dean wanted when he pulled Sam back up a little. He made a mental note that being concerned about the comfort of your sexual partner was apparently important. He didn’t answer Dean’s question truthfully, wanting to keep his brother immersed in the fantasy and knowing that hearing Sam admit he was sure he’d been fucked in hell would pull Dean out of it.
"’Grade A’ virgin ass you're fucking," Sam said, wrapping his legs around Dean and lifting up, pulling Dean in deeper every time Dean thrust. Suddenly he spasmed and cried out Dean's name when Dean hit his prostate. "Fuck..." Sam breathed, digging his fingers into Dean's shoulders. "Definitely think I should have broadened my sexual horizons sooner. More. More of that."
Feeling Sam clenching and shuddering around his cock, Dean almost lost it. He definitely wanted more of exactly that. He started to fuck Sam harder, more deliberately, striving to give him pleasure even as he told himself he was just getting this over with. He felt Sam's heels digging into his back, urging him on, as if he needed the encouragement. Leaning in, he landed a hard kiss on Sam's mouth, brutal at first, but quickly gentling even as the heat within him rose. Running his hand along the side of Sam's face, to the mattress, Dean started to piston in and out of Sam, a sheen of sweat covering him as he strained to give both of them what they needed.
There was no doubt that Dean was accurate as he pumped in and out of Sam, nailing Sam's prostate so many times Sam's head was near spinning, his breath coming in gasps, tremors of pleasure shaking him to his core. When Dean began kissing him again, Sam returned the kiss hungrily, his hands running up and down Dean's damp back. Initially Sam was surprised when Dean's kiss changed to something more gentle and loving. His brow furrowed and he hesitated. Dean, the eternal protector. He wanted to show Sam how much he loved him, cared about him...or his brother just got all sappy near the climax. Whichever it was, Sam responded in kind.
When Dean began to ratchet up the speed, Sam pressed his cock against his brother’s sliding body, feeling the tension in him increase. Dean was pounding his prostate and suddenly Sam felt his balls tighten.
The desperate press of Sam's damp, hard cock, against his stomach excited Dean, wound him up tighter. Unable to speak. Unable to stop, or slow down. Dean pressed on, fucking Sam with all his strength, pushing himself, pushing his brother to the brink, and then pushing both of them over the edge.
"Dean!" Sam practically screamed as he arched and pulled Dean in deep as he locked his arms around him and humped against Dean's stomach. Heat exploded between them and Sam moaned again.
As Dean shouted out his own climax and started to come deep inside Sam's ass, filling him, he reached between them and closed his fingers around the base of Sam's cock, constricting blood flow and sensations to his dick, making certain he stayed hard even after his climax.
Cursing as Dean squeezed his cock, stifling it instead of milking it, Sam never got the chance to close his own hand around his cock. Dean pulled out him and tugged on his leg so that Sam reluctantly unlocked his ankles. His eyes widened when Dean suddenly went down on him, taking his cock in his mouth, deep throating it to the point Sam's sensitive tip bottomed out in the back of his throat. Sam couldn't stop the sudden thrust he gave even if he'd tried, but it didn't matter because Dean already had him swallowed down.
"Fuck yeah, Dean," Sam said, looking down, seeing his cock in Dean's mouth. He wanted to just go at it, fuck Dean's mouth hard and deep, but he flashed back to Dean making sure he was comfortable, and then Dean's gentle kiss. "I was right. You're hot. Just seeing you like this is getting me hard all over again." Licking his lips he asked, "Can I fuck your mouth, or you wanna control it and work me?" He ran his fingers through Dean's sweat soaked locks. "Either's good for me."
Dean pulled off Sam's cock, licking its tip as it fell from his lips. He nodded toward the mattress to one side of Sam, then rolled over onto his back. One hand on the side of Sam's thigh, he pulled him, inviting him to roll over and do the fucking. "Ride my mouth all you like."
Sam's breath hitched at the porn like dream Dean was turning this into. Sam slowly slid his cock into Dean's mouth, groaning deeply as Dean's tongue wrapped around his cock. "Don't let me choke you," he said hoarsely, not really giving a shit if he did, but he was trying to be exactly what Dean wanted him to be. "Put your hands on my hips and if it's too much, just squeeze and I'll pull out."
Slowly he began to pump in and out, trying to gauge how deep and hard he could go, listening to Dean's breathing. Moans spilled from his lips as Dean's mouth worked him.
The tone was so much like Sam’s I gotcha,
Dean could almost believe he was with Sammy. A tear slipped from Dean’s eye as he redoubled his efforts, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking on Sam's dick, pressing his tongue over Sam's tip when Sam pulled partway out of his mouth. He started to hum around Sam's thick cock, lifting a hand to close it around its base and twisting his wrist, stroking the area that remained outside Dean's mouth each time Sam pulled back. As his brother’s thrusts deepened, Dean moved his hand to Sam's balls, squeezing them, encouraging him to come.
Sam didn't expect it, not any of it, from Dean. Dean worked him hard, making it damned fine. When he began humming, Sam's arms almost gave out. For a moment he wished he could feel something beyond the basic carnal pleasures and desires he felt. He wished it meant something to him that it was his brother doing this for him...he wished he could tell Dean how much all this meant to him. But it would be lies. The most he could say truthfully was that Dean was a helluva good sex partner and was someone he would definitely enjoy fucking again or being fucked by again.
Sam didn't hold back any of his moans of pleasure as his hips thrust again and again. When he felt Dean's fingers on his balls, that was all she wrote. Cum poured from his cock. He trembled a moment then pumped fast and hard as his balls emptied themselves into Dean's wet, hot mouth.
Dean swallowed as fast as he could, trying to milk Sam's cock dry. He kept drinking, then licking Sam's cock clean before letting it drop from between his lips. When his eyes met Sam's, his own were uncertain. He was no longer lust's little bitch and reality was crowding him too fast.
Sam worked his way down until was staring into Dean's face. "That was amazing. I've had a lot of sex and you...you were the best of any I've had." He lightly stroked Dean's cheek with his fingers. "Was I...was it everything you wanted? Everything you'd dreamed and hoped it would be?" he asked, hope showing clearly in his eyes. He had wanted it to be perfect for Dean but he could see the doubt in his brother's countenance.
"You already know it was," Dean answered, his eyes closing slightly at the tender gesture, pressing his cheek against Sam's fingers. There was an ache in his heart. The same ache that had always been there when he looked longingly at his brother, only now, it was accompanied by shame. "Don't make this something it isn't. Please," he added softly.
"I can't read minds. I can only hope it was what you wanted it to be," Sam said quietly. He frowned a moment. "This was sex. What else is it supposed to be? You've wanted me this way for a long time, and after this," he leaned down and captured Dean's mouth, kissing him gently, the way Dean had kissed him, "I hope you want me this way every night from now on."
Dean kissed him back, he couldn't help himself. It didn't ease his guilt, but it did ease a yearning he'd had for years. Breaking the kiss, he rolled on top of Sam and looked into his eyes. "And when you get your soul back? What then?" His jaw pulsed as they stayed like that for a long, silent moment, before he rolled off Sam.
Getting off the bed, he started grabbing his clothes. What he really wanted was to sleep in Sam's arms and hear him say everything would be okay. And Sam, this Sam would do it too. Not allowing himself that comfort was punishment. It wasn’t anywhere near as harsh as his punishment should be, and he knew that too.
"Why are you beating yourself up over this? Why do you insist on torturing yourself?" Sam sat, propping himself up on his elbows. "Don't you see? This is perfect. You love me. How could I ask for anyone better as a lover than you? Can't you see us, after a hunt, showering together, washing each other off, and then falling into bed for some unbelievably good sex, then you can fall asleep in my arms, safe. You can have that. It's yours for the taking, willingly offered. Hell, willingly desired." Sam got out bed and grabbed Dean's biceps, making Dean look at him. "You can have me. Don't you want me? All you have to do is two things. Say 'yes'...and simply stop worrying about getting me back my soul. I don't want it back. I don't need it back. You're my conscience, just like you said you'd be. And without that soul, there is no 'what then' there's only this. Only us. From now on. Like it was meant to be."
"Yeah, Sam. It's that
simple," Dean answered. His tone implied the exact opposite. Shaking himself free, Dean silently got dressed. The entire time, he was completely aware Sam was standing there, naked, available, offering himself up for whatever Dean could think of. His words, so damned logical, went through his mind, over and over, tempting him, taunting him, much as Sam had been doing for weeks before Dean succumbed.
Once he was dressed, he never looked at Sam again, he just strode out of the room, calling himself all sorts of fool for complicating a complicated situation. Fucking it up beyond repair.
* * *
[One Week Later]
Sam gave a small, secret smile as Dean shut off the TV in their motel room. Sure, Sam didn't need to sleep, but Dean did, so he didn't mind the darkness. As soon as Dean had settled himself, Sam rose, stripped, turned off the lights, and slipped into the bed with Dean. He rolled on his side and after a moment, Dean rolled over and settled back against Sam as Sam spooned up behind him. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's waist and pulled him close, then kissed the side of Dean's neck.
"Good night, Dean," Sam said softly.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, telling the voices in his head to shut the hell up. Slowly, he put his hand over Sam's and relaxed against his warm body, whispering hoarsely, "G'night, Sammy."