Curses suck, Sam has decided.
Oh sure, this particular curse is cute at first. It’s pretty fucking adorable, actually, the way that he can make even the tips of Dean’s ears go red with nothing more than a brush from his fingers.
The fact that they have to have filthy, low-down, animalistic sex to put things right seems downright awesome ... until Sam tries to get his brother’s shirt off and get smacked in the face for his trouble. Hard.
He sighs as he rubs his jaw.
This is gonna be a long night.
“Okay,” Sam says, trying to keep his voice rational. “Let’s try talking this out.”
“You stay over there,” Dean says. His eyes are wide and doe-like, color high in his cheeks and still light and panting from Sam’s attempt to give him a peck on the cheek. He looks, in short, even more fuckable than he normally does.
Sam’s not sure if the old warlock was diabolical in his choice of curses, or if he was just lucky enough to pick one that would punish them both.
“I’m staying,” Sam says, lifting his hands palms out to show Dean that he’s safe.
Dean sucks his lower lip into his mouth before looking away again with a breathy little gasp. Sam clenches his jaw and resolutely doesn’t let the absolute cocktease of a movement affect his dick. Much.
“So you’re cursed,” he says instead. “You get that, right?”
Dean nods, eyes demurely lowered to the floor. And fuck, but there’s one adjective Sam never thought he’d be applying to his brother.
“And you know what we have to do to break it.”
Dean nods again, blushing even more furiously, and as Sam watches his brother take those shallow, short breaths that are driving his cock fucking nuts, a horrible, horrible thought occurs to him.
“Dean, what do we have to do to break it?”
Dean chances a glance up at him, fidgeting, and then, in an uncertain little voice, offers, “Kiss?”
Oh. Oh no.
“Sex, Dean. We have to have sex.”
Dean’s eyes flicker around the room, looking for escape, and Sam should not be having so much trouble stopping himself from going over there and throwing his brother down on the bed and ... and fuck, ravaging him.
He wonders if Dean is physically a virgin again or if it’s just in his mind.
“You know what sex is, right?” he prods, and if his voice is a little rough, then Dean sure as hell isn’t calm enough to notice. Probably wouldn’t understand the arousal thickening it even if he was.
Dean chews on his lip some more and nods.
“Use your words, dude,” Sam orders—partly because he actually does need to know if Dean knows what’s going on, partly to stop him from plumping out lips that don’t really need the help.
Blushing hard enough that it has to be painful, Dean whispers, “It’s, uh. A man puts his ... thing. Inside a chick.”
“Yeah, okay, except it’s gonna have to be me who breaks this thing, and in case you haven’t noticed, neither one of us is a girl.”
Dean is confused enough by Sam’s statement to forget how terribly embarrassed and frightened he is by the whole situation. Wrinkling his nose, he asks, “Then how?”
“Well, normally when we do this, my cock goes in your ass.”
“Eww!” Dean exclaims, leaping to his feet as though he’s thinking about running out of the room.
Sam shifts forward on the bed a little so that he can catch his brother if he makes a break for it and waits for him to get over his latest mini-freak out. It takes a while, with enough repetitive “eww” exclamations to make Sam wonder if the warlock’s curse turned his brother into a thirteen-year-old girl as well as a virgin, but finally Dean settles, hugging his arms to his chest while a vulnerable flush paints his face.
Sam decides not to mention just yet that they’re going to have to do more than just fuck to break the curse—each and every one of Dean’s cherries are gonna have to be popped, one right after the other. Although after the first one goes, Sam’s hoping his brother will be a little more amenable to experimentation.
If you can call doing things you’ve been doing for years ‘experimenting’.
“You can’t put your thing there!” Dean says finally, voice hushed and scandalized. “I poop from there!”
Okaaaaay, maybe they should start with a blowjob.
“Goddamn it, Dean!”
“I said I was sorry!”
“You gave me a black eye!”
“Yeah, well, you were trying to take my pants off!”
“I can’t give you a blowjob with your jeans on, genius!”
Thirty minutes later, after Dean has slipped the ropes Sam used to tie his hands harmlessly down to the bed a
grand total of ten times, Sam sighs and sits back, rubbing his bruised face.
“This isn’t working,” he says.
“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.”
Sam glowers up at his virginal, skittish brother. “How come you can say ‘shit’ no problem, but can’t manage ‘ass’? What kind of fucked up curse is that?” Absently, he rests his hand on his brother’s thigh.
Dean slaps him.
“Okay,” Sam says slowly, lifting his hand away. “Clearly this requires alcohol.”
One bottle of Johnny Walker later and Dean is loose and slurring his words on the bed. He’s still plenty flushed and flustered, but Sam’s actually managed to get his clothes off and now—hallelujah—he has his hand on his brother’s cock, slowly working him to hardness despite Dean’s obvious rising nerves.
“Sammy,” Dean pants, turning his face to the side and biting his lip. His hips roll, pushing up against Sam’s hand artlessly, and it’s probably the hottest thing Sam’s ever seen. “Oh, oh that feels—Sammy, feels—”
“Feels good, right?” Sam coaxes, wrapping his fingers more tightly around his brother’s length and giving it a tug.
“Oh,” Dean moans again, helplessly. “Oh, what’s—Sam, what’s—”
Which is when he comes all over himself with a breathy little exclamation of surprise. After, he lies there looking astonished and fucked out—from nothing but a hand job, and a clumsy one at that—and Sam was definitely wrong before.
This is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
And then it’s right on to round two.
Turns out Dean-as-a-virgin is a bit of a hair-puller when it comes to blowjobs. Sam normally wouldn’t mind, except for how Dean can’t seem to decide whether he wants more of Sam’s mouth or if he’s embarrassed enough to shove him away despite how good it feels. The whole tug of war thing is getting old really fast, and Sam finally pins his brother’s hands against his stomach so he can really go to town, making it as sloppy as he knows how.
Dean’s even more surprised by his second orgasm than he was by the first, and he makes the most beautiful, shocked noises while twisting against the bed. When Sam lifts his head and lets his brother’s cock slip from his mouth, he finds Dean staring at the ceiling with wide, stunned eyes.
God, he’s blushing everywhere.
“Two down,” Sam rasps. “And Dean?”
Dean looks at him, mouth hanging stupidly open. Impossibly, he’s still blushing.
“It is so my fucking turn.”
Three hours and three orgasms later, Sam is finally seated where he needs to be, cock sliding in and out of his brother’s very definitely re-virginized ass. His own ass is barely sore at all: Dean shot before he was even halfway in and Sam was able to pull off his cock, turn around, flip Dean onto his back, and push in himself before Dean really knew what was going on.
And boy, wasn’t Dean’s face a pretty picture then: gasping and bewildered as Sam’s cock filled him and pushed all the air from his lungs.
It’s even better now, though, because although Dean should be used to the sensation, he keeps writhing and making punched, breathy little sounds, and he’s staring up at Sam with vulnerable, shy eyes, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, and he’s tight as a fucking vise.
“Oh!” he keeps exclaiming. “Oh, Sam! Sam, I’m—you’re so—oh my God!”
Sam fucks in one last time and then shudders as his orgasm grips him. Dean’s eyes somehow manage to get even wider, his expression mortified, and then a wind whips through the room and Sam collapses on top of his brother, panting.
“Dean?” he manages after a few minutes. “You fixed?”
Dean clears his throat and rasps, “Dude, that was fucking awesome.”
“Man,” Dean complains later. “My face hurts.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m gonna be black and blue for a fucking month.”
“Blushing,” Dean insists. “For, like, seven hours straight.”
Sam shoots his brother a heated glance from where he’s poking his own face in the mirror. “Go ahead and keep pointing that out.”
Dean smirks. “Heh. Really turned you on, huh? The whole virgin act?” Running a hand down his chest, he flutters his eyes and coos, “‘Oh, Sam, help me! I don’t know how to do this’.”
There’s only one possible response Sam can make to that, and a couple of minutes later, Dean’s busy moaning while Sam fucks his ass open again with ruthless, demanding snaps of his hips. Because Dean was probably just joking, but it’s best to be sure.
Just in case.