“Let me give you a massage,” Sam said for what seemed like the sixtieth time.
“I'm fine. I just need a shower, then I'll be okay,” Dean said as he limped into the motel room.
Dean heard Sam huff behind him, but at least Sam didn't try to push it. Dean tried to pull his clothes off quickly, but everything hurt so much that it seemed to take forever. By the time Dean got his shirts off and his jeans and underwear down around his ankles, he groaned pathetically at his evil boots for being in the way of him being naked and getting into the shower.
The shower was right there. Just a few feet away. There was hot water waiting to make his muscles feel better. But he was still standing in the doorway of the bathroom, and those fucking evil boots were mocking him.
Sam didn't say anything. He just walked over, knelt down at Dean's left side, and started taking Dean's boots off. Dean didn't even bother protesting. He hurt too much, so he just grabbed onto the doorjamb as Sam lifted first his left foot, then his right, pulling off the boots and socks as he went.
Sam was the only one who ever got to see Dean like this, his walls down and letting someone else take care of him for a minute or two.
He was so grateful to Sam for getting the evil boots off that he would have hugged Sam had he not been standing there naked. So instead he smiled his thanks at Sam and stumbled into the bathroom, stepping out of his jeans and underwear as he went.
Dean yelped as he leaned down to turn the water on in the shower. He knew Sam was standing in the doorway, but Dean didn't ask for help, and Sam knew Dean better than to just shove his way in there to assist.
Lifting his right leg to get into the tub made something very odd happen that Dean had never felt before. Something he wouldn't ever want to explain to anyone, but after letting his leg back down, his foot back on the ground, he knew Sam would be wondering why Dean was just standing there.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, just sore,” Dean replied, lifting his leg again. This time the odd thing that he never ever wanted to explain to anyone ever was stronger. So strong that it made him gasp and hunch over a bit.
“Doesn't sound like you're okay,” Sam commented.
Dean didn't want to lift his leg again, and there was a blush on his face that he hoped Sam couldn't see from the side.
“You hit that bannister pretty hard with your lower back. If something's wrong, you need to tell me. It's an injury. You know we have to be open and honest about injuries,” Sam reasoned with him.
“Fuck,” Dean growled. “This is really stupid.”
“All right, then tell me the really stupid thing,” Sam insisted.
He so didn't want to say it. But he'd never felt this before. It couldn't be good. And now the feeling wasn't going completely away when he was standing still.
Okay, so he'd never ever explain what was happening to him to anyone but Sam, because this was Sam, and he wouldn't laugh, and he'd know what to do because he was Sam.
“C'mon, man. Just tell me,” Sam said.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his right hand on the wall ensuring he wouldn't fall. “My asshole is spasming, and it fucking hurts, and it gets worse when I lift my leg.” Dean felt his face get hotter.
Sam sighed. “That means you did something to the discs in your back.”
Dean groaned. “Just what I need.”
“Since you're still up and walking, it's probably just a squishing of one of your lower discs instead of a flat out bulge or rupture, so if you be careful and we get you relaxed and stretched out, you should be okay, but I want to help you so you don't do any more damage,” Sam said.
Dean knew better than to say no. They'd been dealing with injuries all their lives, and if Sam said he needed help, Dean needed help. “Okay,” Dean mumbled.
Sam was immediately at his side, an arm around Dean's waist and another gently lifting Dean's left leg up and over the rim of the tub. Dean tensed, waiting for more pain and spasming, but with Sam's support and with Sam doing the work, nothing got worse.
Sam got Dean the rest of the way into the shower, then closed the curtain. “I'll be right here. Hang onto the wall the whole time, but get yourself under the water, try and relax. Let me make it as hot as you can stand it.”
“Okay, there,” Dean said as the water got hotter and hotter.
“Just stand under the water and relax. I'm going to put our stuff away and get the bed ready so you can just crash when you're done with your shower,” Sam said, leaving Dean standing under the spray.
Dean tried to relax, but everything hurt. Of course it would be some stupid reason he got hurt. They were on a hunt, a salt and burn, one that was really easy. They'd already destroyed the lock of hair that had been keeping the spirit locked in the house. It had been in the urn along with the girl's ashes.
They were walking across the landing and Dean was walking down the stairs first when his boot caught on a loose piece of wood on the landing. Thankfully there were only six stairs from the second floor to another landing, then the stairs made a right turn and there were another eight stairs to the first floor.
Still, Dean had started to fall, caught himself enough to keep from tumbling all the way, but couldn't catch himself enough to keep from hitting the bannister with his lower back, which stopped him from falling off the stairs to the first floor below, but it hurt like a son of a bitch.
So the guys hadn't even been digging up a grave, hadn't been fighting with the spirit, and they'd gotten off quite easily because the homeowners had not only recognized the girl in spirit form, but they'd immediately suggested the lock of hair in the urn when Sam had asked if they had a keepsake from the girl.
Sam walked back into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and shut the water off. He opened the curtain and Dean scowled at him. Sam had changed into a T-shirt and his ratty old sleep pants.
“I wasn't done. It still hurts,” Dean said, then pouted at Sam.
Sam chuckled. “You've been in there for fifteen minutes. You need to lie down and relax now.”
“Fine,” Dean grumbled.
Dean didn't fight with Sam over who got to dry him off. Sam toweled him gently but efficiently, then helped Dean out of the shower.
“Hand me those soft gray sleep pants, would you?” Dean asked as he trudged over to the bed.
“I'm going to give you a massage. Get on the bed, face down,” Sam said, ignoring Dean's request.
“Sam, I'm fine. I just want to go to sleep,” Dean practically whined.
“An injury means you do what I say,” Sam said firmly. “And I say you get on the bed so I can give you a massage.”
“Bossy bitch,” Dean mumbled as he did as he was told.
Dean went slowly, and as he got into position, face down in the center of the bed, his back and asshole spasmed hard enough that he yelped again.
“Yeah, you're fine,” Sam teased from somewhere on the other side of the room.
“Shut up,” Dean said into the mattress. “And quit staring at my ass. This is gay enough already.”
Sam tossed a towel over Dean's ass, probably because of Dean's comment, then crawled onto the bed and straddled the backs of Dean's thighs.
“Try to relax, but it's probably going to hurt for a while,” Sam warned.
“Yay,” Dean deadpanned.
Dean heard Sam pop the top of a bottle and then rub something between his hands. The scent that wafted to Dean's nose was a mixture of herbs, gentle and pleasant. He moaned loud enough for it to be called theatrical as Sam started massaging his upper back and shoulders.
“Forget whatever derogatory comments about your huge paws I've made in the past,” Dean moaned. “Your hands are officially awesome.”
Sam chuckled. “I'm sure tomorrow you'll be back to making those same derogatory comments about them again.”
“Mmm, but I give you permission to smack the back of my head if I do, because this is awesome,” Dean said dreamily.
Sam hummed, then worked his way out each of Dean's arms, massaging each muscle group individually, even working on Dean's hands and fingers. When he finished with Dean's arms, he went to the center of Dean's back, spreading his hands out and pushing down firmly as his hands smoothed along Dean's body out to his sides.
Dean hissed a bit at the pain of his muscles fighting it, but when Sam found tight spots, he just pushed more slowly and deeply until Dean's muscles gave up their fight.
Sam worked his way to the top of Dean's ass, taking a lot of time making sure Dean's lower back was relaxing.
“Hey!” Dean growled as Sam pulled the towel off of Dean's ass.
“Relax, idiot. You're going to undo all the work I just did,” Sam said as he put a hand on Dean's lower back to keep him from moving.
“You know that whole gay thing? You just ramped it up,” Dean accused.
“Knock it off. I'm trying to help you. You know that whole disc thing? The spasming of your asshole means you're pushing on your spinal cord,” Sam said as he started massaging Dean's lower back again.
“Oh,” Dean said stupidly.
“Yeah “oh,” so shut up,” Sam said.
Dean kind of felt silly for fighting Sam on this. Sam was trying to help him. They were brothers. They cared for each other. And if Sam had been the one injured, and Dean had known what to do about it, Dean would've been doing the same thing and not taking any whining from Sam over it.
Dean went back to moaning softly as Sam massaged Dean's ass cheeks. Dean felt a little ridiculous getting his ass squeezed and rubbed by his little brother, but it felt so good that he was starting to really not give a damn.
“Do you trust me?” Sam said, pulling Dean out of his half-asleep state of mind.
“Hmm?” Dean mumbled.
“Do you trust me, Dean?” Sam asked again.
“Yeah. Why?” Dean asked, just now noticing that Sam's massaging was actually making his ass cheeks spread, and now his little brother was getting glimpses of his asshole. Dean wanted to grumble about it or tell Sam to knock it off, but everything felt too good to make Sam stop.
“Because I know what to do to make your asshole stop spasming, but I need you to lie still and not freak out about it or you're going to tense up again,” Sam explained.
“Ah, should I freak out?” Dean asked suspiciously, trying to keep still and as relaxed as possible.
“No, because you trust me,” Sam said reasonably.
“Uhm, okay, I guess,” Dean said.
Sam's thumbs met at the top of Dean's crack, and this time, instead of massaging just the globes of Dean's ass, Sam's thumbs ran gently down his crack, over his asshole while the rest of Sam's fingers and his palms massaged Dean's cheeks. Dean's breath caught in his throat.
“Relax,” Sam said again.
Dean tried to relax, but it was difficult. As relaxed as he had been, he felt his shoulders tensing while Sam slowly added more pressure with his thumbs. It didn't hurt, and other than the fact that his little brother was touching between his ass cheeks, it wasn't uncomfortable.
“This is going to feel so much better,” Sam said, his voice soft and soothing. “Jess hurt her back a few months after we moved in together. She had been cleaning the ceiling fan in the living room, standing on a chair, and the chair broke. She went down, her back hitting the edge of the chair right about where you hit the bannister with your back.”
“That sucks,” Dean mumbled.
“I felt so bad for her,” Sam continued. “She wasn't the type to cry easily. She was a tough girl. And she didn't cry over hurting her back, but it was obvious she was really hurting. When she told me that her asshole started spasming, I freaked because I thought she'd done something really bad to her back, so I quick ran in and did some research.”
“Geek,” Dean said affectionately.
Sam chuckled. “Yeah, but I found out how to help her,” Sam said as he put his left hand at the base of Dean's spine, pushed down gently, and ran the thumb of his right hand down Dean's crack, circled his asshole, then went down his perineum to his balls.
Dean gasped, the sensation waking up other parts of his body that really shouldn't be awake when his brother was around. Sam didn't seem to notice Dean's situation, or maybe he was just ignoring it.
“What I found out was that the injury to the discs is the beginning, and it fucks with your muscles, especially the anal sphincter,” Sam said, repeating the path his thumb had taken before. “So just like massaging the back helps, your asshole is just like any other muscle, and it needs to have the tightness worked out because it's trying too hard to pull you back together, trying to fix the injury to your back.”
Dean really hoped Sam wouldn't make him turn over. The attention to his asshole and taint had made him completely hard. Dean had never been with a guy before, had never fingered himself, and no woman had ever ventured back behind his balls. Dean hadn't ever had an interest in his asshole before, so he had no idea why now he was getting so turned on by this.
The good thing about getting turned on by it was that instead of tensing, his muscles were relaxing with arousal. The embarrassment was melting away, and he told himself that he did trust Sam, and Sam was doing this to help him.
“So I laid Jess out naked on the bed," Sam continued, “massaged her back, her arms, and then I worked on her ass. Of course she was loving it, making all these awesome noises of enjoyment, but I felt so good for having made her feel good.”
Dean moaned. The visual was not helping his rock hard dick. Jess had been hot. And even though at the time Dean had said she was out of Sam's league, he was beginning to see why Jess had stayed. If Sam was this good at a massage, he had to be great at other things. And Dean could totally say that in a big brother way because he was proud of his baby brother.
“She squeaked when I first dipped into her asshole,” Sam said as he did the same to Dean.
Dean held his breath. His little brother's thumb was dipping into his asshole at the middle of every stroke up and down his crack. He considered telling Sam to knock it off, but he had to stick with it not only for jerk-off material in the form of Sam's story, but also because if Sam had helped Jess, this surely had to help Dean's back. It was for medical reasons. Yeah.
“I could feel her tight little asshole fluttering around my thumb,” Sam said as he pushed his whole thumb in.
Dean grunted as Sam's thumb started pushing around counter clockwise, not turning, but just moving in a circular motion. Dean's asshole started to spasm again, and this time he felt the pain and odd feeling shoot up his spine, and it produced a gagging sensation in his throat. He tried to keep from making any noise, but a combination of a grunt that was almost a cough and a moan came out of him anyway.
“I just kept telling Jess to relax,” Sam said as he continued. “Relax her asshole, relax her back, and just try to melt into the bed.”
Dean tried to steady his breathing, but his dick was throbbing, his asshole was sending shocks of pain and that odd gag-worthy sensation up his spine, and Dean was trying extremely hard to lie still and not thrust back at Sam. Then there was also something in his head telling him he should tell Sam to stop just because that's what he should do. But he didn't.
“I told her to let me do all the work, make her feel good,” Sam said. “With Jess, I let my thumb work on her asshole and slid my middle finger down to play with her clit.”
Dean groaned so loudly that his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he couldn't help it. His hips jerked, but he caught himself, made himself stay still instead of rutting into the bed.
“Now, since you don't have a clit, I'm going to have to improvise,” Sam said, then found Dean's prostate with his thumb and began massaging it.
“Oh, fuck!” Dean growled into the bed. Dean grabbed onto the sheets with both hands and held tight.
“The reason I played with her clit was not only because of course she really loved it,” Sam drawled, “but because massaging her asshole and getting her off, getting her to have a good, strong orgasm, well, I read that it would fix the problem with her asshole spasming.”
Dean would deny it to the day he died, but he whimpered. Loudly. He'd never felt anything like this before. And he decided then and there that he'd never question why gay guys fucked ever again.
“So I kept working on her clit,” Sam said as he pushed harder on Dean's prostate, rubbing deeper in a circular motion, speeding up some. “I kept playing with her asshole, and she'd never had anybody play with it before me, and I think it really surprised her how much she liked it because she stared getting really vocal.”
Dean would have spread his legs if Sam hadn't been sitting on them. It was frustrating him to have to keep so still, and he was beyond caring that he was making needy noises while Sam was fingering him. It felt too good to care.
Dean's panting got louder, and he was just barely keeping himself from getting up on his forearms so that he could push back into Sam's hand. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he just let Sam's voice wash over him, the visual filling his mind and painting a picture, Sam's fingers driving him crazy.
He didn't even care when he started up a mewling noise, because what Sam was doing was just that good. He never would have guessed this was what he'd been missing out on having never played with his asshole.
“She started begging me to let her come,” Sam said, voice gravely and deep. “I had to remind her to stay still, and she was so frustrated at not being able to move that she growled at me.”
“Mmmnh, fuck,” Dean moaned into the sheets. “Oh, fuck, please!” Dean said, trying to keep it at a whisper, because apparently he was still a little embarrassed by his neediness.
His body was trembling, and he'd forgotten he was in pain to begin with, so when he squirmed, a zing of pain went down his legs, making him yelp. Sam smacked Dean's left ass cheek, making Dean mewl even louder.
“Stay still or I'll stop,” Sam threatened.
“Sorry! I'm sorry! I'll stop. I'm being still,” Dean babbled. “Don't stop. Please don't stop.”
“Jess was shaking apart,” Sam said with a chuckle. “I was kinda worried she'd hurt her back more because of how much she was writhing and squirming, but from what I read, as long as you don't twist and you're careful, the beneficial effects of arousal and orgasm are totally worth the little bit of tensing up of your muscles as you squirm around on the bed.”
“Ah, fuck, oh!” Dean wailed into the sheets.
He wanted to demand that Sam get off his legs so that he could thrust. His toes were curling, his feet stretching and straining at the end of the bed. He had to be tearing holes in the sheets with his fingers.
“Well, by now Jess was a babbling mess, so wet that she was dripping onto the sheets beneath her pussy,” Sam said as he sped up the massaging of Dean's prostate.
“Sam, oh, fucking hell, yeah, Sam!” Dean gasped, his mouth opening wide to pant into the sheets.
“Her nipples were rubbing on the sheets so much that later she had sore nipples,” Sam said with another chuckle.
“Oh, fuck, Sam, you're fucking killing me!” Dean wailed.
Sam let out a very evil chuckle, then sped up even more. “Jess threatened to punch me if I didn't make her come. She was always a bit demanding in bed, which of course was fine with me and I even encouraged it. The rougher I got in bed, the more demanding and bossy she got until we both had bites and scratches all over us and we were lying in a boneless heap of mess.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” Dean yelled, his voice straining. “Please, oh fuck, Sam, so close, please! Sam, please, I need more, I, fuck, please!”
“So yeah, she threatened to punch me, which is when I started doing this,” Sam said as he started shaking his hand, making a vibration effect but never missing a beat in massaging Dean's prostate, “and she came with a scream.”
“Oh! Fuck!” Dean screamed, coming harder than he ever remembered coming before in his life. His legs were straining, his asshole was squeezing Sam's thumb, and his dick was throbbing nearly hard enough to hurt as he came onto the bed. “Sam! Sam! Fuck!”
Sam kept on massaging, but let up on the pressure as Dean finished his orgasm, gentling Dean through into a bonelessly happy state, then very gently slowing to a stop and sliding his thumb out.
Dean shivered and panted as he came down, feeling better than he had in a long time. He let go of his death grip on the sheets and let his body completely relax.
“Best. Brother. Ever,” Dean slurred into the bed.
Sam chuckled. “I take it you feel better,” Sam said as he climbed off Dean's legs.
“Bestest,” Dean assured him.
“Yes, I am,” Sam said, sounding very pleased with himself, and a level of smugness only a little brother can achieve. “In fact, I'm such a good brother that I put a towel down on the bed before you laid down, and if you let me roll you just a bit, I can get it out from under you so that you don't have to sleep on the wet spot.”
“I mean it. Bestest,” Dean repeated as he let Sam gently roll him to his left side to get the towel out.
Sam rolled him back to his front, tossed the towel, then pulled the blanket over Dean's back and legs. “Get some sleep. You'll be a little sore tomorrow, but you shouldn't have any more trouble with your asshole spasming.”
“Bestest,” Dean said again as he fell asleep.