Warnings: Incest, bondage, edging, frottage, rimming, dub-con
Word count: 5,277
Dean woke with a jolt. It took him one second to realize that he couldn’t see. It was completely dark, so pitch-black that it was as if someone had turned off the lights in the entire fucking world. His first gut reaction told him to freak the fuck out, that he had somehow landed himself right back in Hell again. The darkness did that to him now, threw him to some irrational edge of fear that he couldn’t seem to back away from. How many times had he woken up just like this? Sweating and afraid that he had somehow been tossed into the Pit again? Too many.
Fuck. Calm down, Dean.
Dean inhaled deeply and tried to calm the rapid pitter-patter of his heart to a rhythm that was more manageable. It took him several more seconds for him to deduce that he was lying on a bed in the motel room and one more after that to feel the worst fucking hangover he had ever had. He was both relieved and—shit. His head was throbbing and he was too drunk to move. So fucking wasted that he couldn’t move at all. What the fuck did he drink? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d remember after he had puked his guts out at the porcelain altar. Goddamit. Why couldn’t he move? Dean flexed his wrists and—
With a sharp inhale, Dean struggled wildly. His hands were bound together and tied to the bedpost as far as he could tell. What the hell was going on? Why the fuck was he tied up? Dean steadied his breathing, tried to use logic and reason to sort through the madness in his brain. All he could remember was that he must have passed out after drinking and hustling pool with—
“Sammy!?” Dean shot out, as if the name itself was his safety line.
“Dean.” Sam said, too calmly.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m fine, Dean.”
Dean felt relieved yet something nagged at the back of his head, a hunter’s sixth sense that told him everything was wrong. The sound of Sam’s voice didn’t come from the bed to his right. He wasn’t bound like Dean was. No. If this was the hotel room, the direction of Sam’s voice told Dean that he was at the foot of the bed. If Sam was okay, then why the fuck—
Dean struggled more, couldn’t help but inhale sharply again as the bed shifted, as if a significant weight had sat on its edge. Fuck.
“Sam. Untie me.”
“What the fuck? I said un-fucking-tie me.”
Shit. Dean tried to fumble with the bindings, but couldn’t. They were far too secure like a hunter had tied the knots. As if Sam had tied the knots himself. Dean tried to lift his legs but Sam held them down. Struggling again, Dean growled viciously.
“Sam, this isn’t fucking funny!”
“No one’s laughing, Dean.”
In the dark, Sam’s voice sounded so much colder, like it was missing everything that made him… well, Sammy. No thirst for life, no ridiculous optimism. It had no hope. This wasn’t his brother. It couldn’t be. Dean wanted to believe so badly that his brother had come back to him, as him. Not some fucked-up version of the brother he had once known like the back of his hand. The same Sam who ate salads instead of burgers. The same little brother who cried during chick-flicks. Whoever this was? He ate double-patty burgers with everything on it and didn’t even shed a tear during Marley & Me. Heartless bastard.
Sam hadn’t been himself since the first second Dean had laid eyes on him after his vacation in Hell. One whole fucking year and that bastard—shit. That wasn’t the issue right now. Dean wanted to believe so badly that Sam had gotten out of Hell unscathed. That Sam had somehow come back without all the fucked-up nightmares and irrational fears that Dean had been blessed with. Instead, Sam had returned to Dean with a few screws loose. Like he was… RoboCop except… Sam. Some fucking badass hunter with no feelings or facial expressions and a distant look in his eyes. Sam posed no immediate danger as far as he could tell—until now.
Dean was fucked.
The bed shifted several times as Sam crawled upward on hands and knees along the length of Dean’s body. Dean could feel his incredible heat, his brother’s stiff cock against his thigh—fuck. Among other things, Dean suddenly realized he was naked. And hard. So goddamn hard that it almost hurt. They hadn’t touched each other since Sam’s return. It had been too weird and there had been too much tension between them. His brother was not-Sam and Dean was too fucked-up in the head to act on anything. And now—
Dean’s thoughts were interrupted when Sam situated himself between his thighs, spread him wide with rough, quick hands. With a hiss, Dean struggled again, trying to use the strength in his legs to keep his brother at bay. Sam was stronger. Too strong. Impossibly strong. Like he was on fucking steroids. With Dean bound and spread open, there could only be one thing going through Sam’s mind—
“Sam.” Dean warned. “You know I don’t like being bitch—“
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Sam. I swear to fucking God—“
Dean’s mouth was stuffed with something then. It had a texture to it, like cotton, felt thick and prevented him from spouting off anything else. It was clear that Sam meant to tie it at the back of his head and Dean struggled wildly to make sure that that wouldn’t happen. After a few seconds, not-Sam had had enough. With a growl from above, Dean felt a huge hand drape over his mouth, the applied pressure pushing his head further into the bed. On his skin, Dean felt his brother’s breath all over him and it was a painfully corrective squeeze of fingers that stopped Dean from moving altogether.
“Dean, stop struggling.”
That voice, so unlike his brother’s, came with a promise of swift punishment if Dean acted out again. Dean couldn’t tell if he should be afraid for his life or so fucking turned on he couldn’t stand it—his dick chose the latter. Sam was quick to use Dean’s moment of obedience to tie the gag behind his head. Sam was so close and Dean couldn’t help but want it, to feel Sam’s heat because he had been without it so long. He swallowed down that desire with the pool of spit that had collected in the back of his mouth, ignoring whatever urges he and his cock had suddenly developed. This wasn’t Sam. Or was it? He couldn’t be sure anymore. Dean was confused, pissed off, fucking tied down. He didn’t know which way was up anymore (oh, but his dick knew—the fucker). He didn’t know whether he should fight back or surrender and let Sam (or whoever the hell he really was) just fuck him. But because Dean was a Winchester, he did the only thing he knew for certain how to do.
He fought back.
Dean tried to do everything and anything to free himself in that second. He thrashed, tried to use his legs to kick, use his fingers to claw and loosen the bindings. All at the goddamn same time. Sam was quick to respond, came in again with those damn fingers and gripped at the underside of his chin, thumb plastered against one side of his jaw while the others fanned upward across his cheek. Dean’s hair was pulled and his head tilted back at an angle that just pissed him off even more, to accept a warning more harsh than the first.
“Dean. Don’t give me an excuse to break you.”
His major concern wasn’t that his brother was going to crush him any given second. It was the fact that he had become too easily distracted by how close Sam had become. It was the warmth that Dean had missed in the last year—different than what he had experienced with Lisa. Sam’s was… safe and familiar. And in that warmth, Dean felt complete, like he was worth something. That warmth was different now and lacked everything that made Sammy perfect. Instead of gentle, not-Sam was rough and quick. Not-Sam wasn’t annoyingly affectionate like his Sammy was, didn’t try to brush his fingers along his arm or at the nape of his neck. This Sam barely touched him at all unless he was giving Dean a correction to his disobedience. If this wasn’t his Sammy, then who the fuck—
Sam leaned in again, but Dean didn’t care, too distracted by the way their cocks brushed together. It was sick how immediate his hips shot up to catch the passing friction, like he was so desperate that he’d fuck anything at this point. His body didn’t seem to care if this truly was Sam or not. And with his dick doing most of the thinking on good days? His mind too also started to not give a shit. He had been without Sam too long—a need for his brother, not sated by Lisa, or anyone else, or anything. The only one who could satisfy him was Sam… and if he had to settle for whatever this was? He almost had the inclination to just… go with it. What choice did he have, really?
His body answered for him and nothing could have stopped the groan from bubbling up out of his throat, caught by the cotton barrier in his mouth. It had momentarily quieted the want to be an asshole and struggle, made him docile for a second before the give-‘em-hell attitude returned. Before it could flare and send Dean into another frenzy, Sam folded a hand around both shafts, rocked his hips so that they’d slide together, skin-to-skin. It felt… amazing and inspired another heated groan from Dean. Suddenly, he didn’t give a shit who this really was.
“Are you going to behave now? Or will I have to punish you?”
Half of Dean wanted to struggle just to see what not-Sam would do, but everything felt too perfect to fuck it up. He unconsciously slipped into a sort of submissive lull, giving in to the way their cocks slipped together with each slow thrust of Sam’s hips—hot, wet, every goddamn sensation setting his nerves on fire. Fuck. If he kept going like this, Dean wouldn’t be able to stop himself from exploding. In that second, he realized how badly he fucking needed this and his body ached with it.
And it was almost as if Sam had read his mind. Because sight then, he pulled away from his defenseless brother to position himself between spread-wide legs—to do what, Dean didn’t know. Dean got his answer in the small, light kisses along the skin of his inner thigh, every single one of them shooting a bolt of electricity up and down his spine. His cock leapt with every one, each kiss moving closer and closer, feather-light and leaving Dean aching for firm contact. Sam mouthed the top of his inner thigh harder, hungrily, lavishing the sensitive spot with wet-hot kisses that blew every fuse in Dean’s brain. Beneath the affection, Dean had no choice but to grab a hold of the bedpost for no other reason than to keep his hands busy. It had been far too easy for Sam to earn another moan from his older brother’s throat and it only encouraged him to seek out more of them just like it.
Sam buried his face into Dean’s thigh, kissed and licked and… bit. Dean jerked with the new sensation, made a noise that voiced his displeasure, something that made Sam smile into his skin. Fucking sadist. But goddamnit did it feel good. The pleasure mixed with the pain—it was unmistakable and seductive. Dean couldn’t encourage Sam by sound, but he could by touching him. Dean couldn’t do anything more than rub his foot against Sam’s knee, arch his back and show him that what he was doing felt incredible to him. Suddenly, Dean completely forgot the difference between Sam and not-Sam, couldn’t give a single fuck. If he had been asked if this truly was his brother? The answer would be a resounding ‘fuck yes’. To Dean, right then, Sam had come back. And there was no question about it.
Sam laid one last sweet kiss on bruised skin before moving on to press lips to Dean’s balls, kissing and mouthing, and everything else that suddenly made him gasp out with the pleasure of it all. Sam’s affections reduced Dean to a whimpering mess, making him want more with every swipe of his tongue. And when Sam took one of his balls into his mouth—for fuck’s sake. Dean’s reaction was so immediate, so intense, that he hit his head against the headboard. It hurt, but he didn’t care. His head was groggy from the hangover, but that did nothing to dull the pleasure of Sam’s mouth working him like he had done this very thing every goddamn minute of his life.
But that wasn’t all Sam had up his sleeve.
Sam traded Dean’s balls in for something else entirely. Grabbing Dean’s hips, Sam pulled him to the closest edge of the bed like he was a piece of meat. And quite frankly, Dean didn’t give a shit. The whole ‘don’t objectify me, you asshole’ thought disappeared completely when Sam got onto his knees on the floor and rolled Dean’s hips up, just enough to expose his ass for reaming or—holy fuck. Dean felt a wet swipe of Sam’s tongue along his hole, sending a fuckload of sensations throughout his body, to his brain, everywhere. There were no words to describe how good it felt and Dean held tight onto the bed post if only to keep himself under control.
Sam flicked his tongue rapidly and then slowly, wetting Dean with tentative licks and then sucking with more pressure. Holy Mother of God. Dean groaned deep in his throat, tried desperately to push himself down onto Sam’s face. Sam took the cue well and buried deep, mouthing and licking with more enthusiasm than Dean could handle. Shit. He’d come right now if he wasn’t careful. He could feel it on the edges of his hung-over brain, too far away due to the alcohol, but there nonetheless. Everything felt so fucking good. Dean couldn’t do anything other than whimper when Sam licked him deep, stuck his tongue in his hole and wiggled it around. When Sam licked him from the inside, Dean arched up and hit his head again, groaned and did everything he could to lower himself down even further. He wanted it all; deeper sensations, for Sam’s tongue to be stuck so far up his ass—fuck it. All Dean really wanted was Sam’s cock, inside of him, splitting him in two. Dean wanted to be ridden so hard that he’d scream. And it was as if Sam knew how desperate Dean was and decided to take his damn sweet time instead. Not-Sam didn’t give a shit.
Dean whined pathetically when Sam finally pulled away, leaving him with an absence of heat for a just second. A second too long, a second filled with a sappy yearning for its return. And when Sam finally did, Dean hooked his legs around his shoulders, beneath his arms, as if to keep him in place, to never let him go. They tightened even more reflexively when Sam returned affections to his balls, kissing a line up to the shaft of his cock. A rush of heat and wetness lit his dick up like the Fourth of July, and it leapt with greedy want for more. Dean groaned and pushed his hips upward, became frustrated when Sam seemed to pull away. Like the fucker was teasing him. Like this whole goddamn time Sam was seeing how far his older brother could be pushed before cracking. Dean wished he had free hands, that they weren’t tied up unfairly. He’d use them to push Sam’s head so far down on his—
“Do you want me to suck your cock, Dean? Is that what you want?”
Dean nodded his head numerous times, like it would help, and tilted his hips upward for emphasis. Sam seemed to take the bait, rewarded him with the flat of his tongue, from the root of his dick to the head. With a groan, Dean savored every feeling, bit into the cloth gag while he fell powerless. The heat of Sam’s mouth teased his length before his tongue returned, licking yet another long, wet line along his cock to end in a barely-there kiss at the head. Several more licks like these, slow and teasing, mouth coming down to kiss at the spur of his hip before returning to his cock again. The teasing was cruel and Dean wished he’d just get-the-fuck on with it already; not because he wasn’t enjoying this, but because he was incredibly impatient. Dean wanted to feel his brother’s warm, wet mouth around his cock, taking it in as far as it could possibly go. But Dean wasn’t that lucky. Sam had come back from Hell with a thirst for torture, bringing Dean to the edge and then backing off like the biggest goddamn tease this side of the Mississippi. And Dean responded to it way too easily, whining and moaning like a dirty, back-alley whore. Fuck.
When Sam finally took just the tip of Dean’s cock in his mouth, he suckled on it gently, too fucking gently—and it drove him certifiably insane. Dean spent a sound of frustration past his throat, bucked his hips yet again just to buy one more inch out of Sam’s mouth. But his darling, younger brother wouldn’t have it. With a chuckle, Sam backed away as if to teach him a lesson, as if to show Dean who was in charge. Fuck him. It left him without Sam’s warmth again, left him needing it even more. He may have even whimpered, again, begging and whining like a dog kicked too many times. The whimpering turned into a groan, raw and deep, when Sam returned to take his dick fully into his mouth, tight lips down to the base of it. One full stroke, out to the tip and then down to the root again before Sam pulled off fully. Dean’s cock was wet with his spit, lacking the heat of his mouth and leaping for more attention. Dean groaned again, but this time it was a sweet noise just short of begging. And just like the prick that he was, not-Sam ignored it.
“That's all you get.”
Dean could hear the smile in his voice and Sam knew exactly what this was doing to him. And fuck-for-all if it wasn’t the hottest thing in the world right now. Rarely ever did Sammy take control like this. On the rare occasions that he did, Dean was reluctant to give up the lead. And now? He almost fucking begged to give it up, just wanted to be taken advantage of in every way possible.
Dean could hear Sam moving again, felt strong hands grip his ankles and toss him, to lay him out straight on the bed. Sam’s weight pressed down on the mattress and Dean could tell that he was situating himself between spread legs. The next sensation Dean felt was Sam’s slicked fingers pressing at his hole, teasing with just the tip, just enough to make him grunt with the need of more. One finger barely slipping in, slowly, too slowly, leaving Dean no choice but to push himself down on it as much as he possibly could. It felt good to be teased, to feel it right there and just enough. Sam pulled out again because he was being a total dick. And when he did, Dean couldn’t help but whimper pathetically, couldn’t help but search for that sensation again.
“Show me how much you love to be fucked by my fingers, Dean.”
Without thinking about it, Dean did as he was told, wanting nothing more than to comply, to show him how badly he needed Sam right then. Enough was e-fucking-nough. Dean used his bound hands to aid in pushing, hips slamming down on the one finger until Sam felt generous enough to slip in another. Dean groaned at the added intrusion, swiveled his hips in tiny circles while Sam moved them in and out of his body. Fuck. Dean couldn’t deny how amazing it felt, the way his ass clenched around those fingers, sucking them further in. And when Sam added a third… God. Dean tilted his chin upward and groaned again into the gag, arched his back gloriously as another wave of ecstasy ripped through him. Dean wiggled his hips again, fucked down on his brother’s fingers desperately. It wasn’t enough, nothing would ever be enough until Sam’s cock was in him, stretching him wide and filling him up. And it was downright scary how immediate Sam responded to that thought, his cues, and withdrew. The bed shifted again, tilting like Sam was reaching for something.
Dean barely registered the sound of Sam popping open the bottle of lube, but zeroed in on his groaning while his brother slicked himself down in the dark. It sounded deep , filthy, and was accompanied by the wet sound of cock in fist, a sound that made Dean shiver with how much he wanted Sam inside of him. Another groan, raw and belly-deep, and Dean knew right then that Sam was teasing him again. Hearing Sam call out like that… it was so fucking hot and Dean’s skin raced with the excitement and anticipation of it all. He could feel the wet stickiness of precome on his stomach, his dick leaping as Sam finally moved into position. Dean accepted him with the spreading of his thighs, the greedy upward tilt of hips that did nothing else but invite Sam inside. And then he felt it, the head of Sam’s cock just barely touching against his hole, barely pressing in before backing out and leaving Dean frustrated.
Goddamnit! Just fuck me, Sammy.
Dean’s impatience translated easily into the downward thrust of hips, just enough to feel Sam’s dick breach the tight ring of muscle. Sam allowed it, groaned as his cock slid in a little further and whispered the faintest chuckle when he slid back out. Dean growled in response, tried to hook and use his legs to force Sam closer. But Sam was stronger, always stronger and resisted his brother’s pulls.
He was so fucking turned on that he couldn’t fully embrace his anger, held his breath when Sam slid in again, this time further, breaking Dean’s concentration all together. The gag soaked up his groan and then a frustrated growl when Sam pulled out again. Dean writhed beneath him, shot his hips up just to feel his brother’s toned stomach slide against his cock. Shit. All Dean wanted to do right then was come, couldn’t stand being teased any longer. Sam answered by shoving his dick in his ass again, sheathing himself balls-deep before drawing his hips out again to leave Dean almost empty.
“Do you like it when I tease you? Just barely fucking you? You like that, don't you. God, you're so fucking gorgeous when you beg, Dean.”
Dean could barely breathe with how hot that made him, to be teased and tortured just to the edge of his orgasm. With yet another groan, Dean did beg then, tried to appease Sam by rubbing legs along his body, by arching his back so submissively that his subconscious scolded him for being such a pussy. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Dean just wanted to get fucked, pounded into the mattress so hard he would break in half. Sam rewarded him by burying himself deep into Dean’s ass, to the root, fucking him slow and rhythmically before lowering himself down. They were chest-to-chest now, skin sliding against wet skin, Sam’s hips pivoting and Dean’s body rising up to accept every inch. Dean groaned and tilted his chin to the ceiling, spread his legs even further while his hips did everything they could to bring their bodies together into the same space. Sam mouthed the underside of his chin before moving downward along his neck, to his collarbone. Kissing, sucking, biting. Lips now just barely touching his skin, moving like he was about to—
“This is all mine, isn't it, Dean? No one can fuck you like I can.”
And if to prove that point, Sam’s mouth sucked Dean down on one of his nipples, tongue flicking around the hard nub before nipping at it with tight lips. Wanting more, always more, Dean rolled his chest up closer to Sam’s lips and tongue, groaning when he complied and sucked harder and deeper. Holy fuck. It was incredible. All of it... the way Sam had taken control, giving Dean only what he was meant to have, teasing him.. breaking him. He couldn’t get used to this, couldn’t and wouldn’t let himself enjoy being emasculated like this.
Dean couldn’t think anymore when the heat of Sam’s mouth fell away, when broad hands tucked beneath his shoulders and slid down the length of his body—all the way down, kisses sprinkling his skin. Sam kissed his chest and palmed his ass, squeezing gently and before straightening altogether. Dean couldn’t see, but could imagine Sam on his knees at the base of him, cock still stuck deep in ass, and preparing for the fuck of his life. With another weight shift, Dean could sense that Sam was hovering slightly over him, just enough to remove the gag over Dean’s mouth. As the opportunity presented himself, Dean couldn’t waste another second.
“Sam.” He gulped with a haggard breath. “Untie me.”
“No.” Sam said with finality. “Don't ask again.”
Dean would have opened his mouth again, but didn’t, couldn’t as Sam drove into him so hard that he called out with a sharp, satisfied groan. Sam stilled his own hips, didn’t pump again until Dean saw fit to whimper and try to drive himself down on his brother’s dick. With another snap of his hips, Sam drove into Dean hard, the head of his cock striking against his prostate. Again, Sam paused to let Dean feel the sensation of his orgasm swell up and then die back down, like he was trying for the ‘biggest asshole’ in Guinness Book of World Records. So fucking cruel.
Dean wiggled his body, tried to fuck down on his brother’s cock again with a push of hands against the headboard. But it didn’t work. Sam grabbed his hips and prevented him from even moving. Frustrated, fed up, driven to the brink and then back again, Dean growled.
“Goddamit. Just fuck me already.”
“Beg for it.”
Sam’s hand clamped down on his mouth harshly, fingers pinching skin.
“I said beg.”
“Please.” Dean snapped out angrily when Sam took his hand away.
Sam held his hips then, drew his body back before slamming hard into Dean’s ass, so hard that he felt nearly dizzy with the adrenaline, with how fucking good it felt. He was so close, so fucking close.
“Please fuck me.” Another hard thrust. “Oh… God.”
And that was when Sam unleashed. Enough of the teasing, enough of the barely-there penetration. It was just hard, relentless fucking. The kind that left lungs burning for air, the kind of fucking that left legs sore and ass bruised. Sam drilled into his brother over and over, thrusting his hips so hard and so fast that Dean knew he’d lose it any second.
“So close.. so fucking—“
Dean felt lost in it all, helpless under the power of his brother. His groans fell from his mouth loosely, quickly, and so loudly that he could barely recognize them as his own. He sounded like a goddamn woman with how many times he called out, dirty and needy.
“You're not going to come until I tell you to.”
Shit. It was obscene how much he enjoyed this, being taken, reduced to nothing more than a bitch who took orders. Sam rode him hard, dug fingernails into his hips before abandoning them altogether in favor of throwing Dean’s ankles over shoulders. The sound of thighs slapping against Dean’s ass came to fruition, followed by Sam’s deep , appreciative groan.
“I love fucking this tight, little ass of yours, Dean. I should have my way with you more often.”
Dean cried out with a sharp moan and all he could do was hold tight onto the bed post while Sam drove into him.
“Tell me how much you love it—“ Sam whispered thickly.
Dean could only moan in response.
“Tell me how much you love being fucked by your little brother.”
Sam snapped his hips into him harshly, correctively, like he was punishing Dean for not answering.
Dean licked his lips and groaned again. “I love it—oh, God..”
“I love it when you fuck me.”
Dean whimpered as Sam picked up the pace, like his brother was rewarding him for being so good, for playing along. Sam reached around his legs and grabbed at his hips and pumped into him harder, thighs and pelvis slapping against Dean’s ass with every thrust. Their bodies moved effortlessly, all wet and perfect with how well they fit together, like they were one piece of a bigger puzzle. Dean could feel it in his gut, in his balls, the way his orgasm crept up on him, and he arched his hips into the fucking with a groan that was all too filthy.
“You’re such a dirty whore for this, aren’t you, Dean?”
Closer… so close.
“Yes. I’m a fucking whore—fuck..”
“My fucking whore. I own you, don’t, I—“
As his orgasm peeked and slammed into him, Dean cried out and succumbed to the sensations that completely and utterly overtook him. Above him, Sam groaned, choked it off like he was too much of a man to admit to his pleasure, and emptied into his brother’s ass. Dean felt warm inside, outside, all over, dirty and wet, just like a panting, spent whore. There was no loving kiss afterward, no cuddling—Dean fucking hated cuddling anyway—and no ‘thank you’. Sam removed his dick with a wet plop and left Dean empty. Sam was cold, unfeeling again… and didn’t make any fucking move to untie him.
“Sam.” Dean warned. “Un-fucking-tie me!”
Dean could hear Sam move around, the sound of jeans being pulled on and the sudden jangle of the Impala’s keys. The motel room door suddenly opened and Dean could see Sam look back at him and smile. It sent a shiver up Dean’s spine because it wasn’t familiar. That wasn’t his Sammy’s smile. It was something else entirely. Heartless and looked like something that belonged to… Robo-Sam.
“Don’t wait up for me.”
Sam flashed him a humorless grin and left, closed the door behind him with a loud, booming sound. The Impala’s engine roared to life seconds later and growled down the highway, leaving Dean alone in the dark with nothing but his own panting to comfort him.