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The Usual Unfortunate Circumstances

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Dean was trying to see the bright side of this—he really was. But it’s not every day you find yourself subjected to a curse. Just every other day. In hindsight, grabbing a quickie in the church closest after destroying the poltergeist might have been just this side of distasteful. It was ‘Thank God We Lived’ sex, of course. Besides, isn’t copulating a natural thing?

He probably deserves this.

“Dude, don’t you even fuckin’ think about calling me a ‘little devil’ again, Sammy” Dean threatens darkly, brows furrowed. “I am not that short.”

He definitely doesn’t deserve that.

“I am not saying anything.” Sam reassures doing a poor job of keeping the smile out of the corners of his eyes and the edge of laughter out of his voice.

“Yeah? Well, ya sure are bein’ loud about it,” Dean mutters and resists the urge to tug at the two horns protruding right out of the top of his forehead again.

“I wouldn’t dream of calling you adorable, either. Not even cute.” Dean develops a case of leadfoot in response, the Impala thrumming warmly.

“What’s the hurry?” Sam asks, trying not to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid she’ll catch up with us and decide to give me a forked tail or something.” Dean actually sounds a little worried. Sam can’t tell if he’s joking. "And this?” Dean gestures at Sam’s unhorned forehead, and back at his own, “Is totally unfair.”

“Why? I can’t help I seem to be immune to such curses.” Sam shrugs innocently.

“Yeah, immune. Ducking behind me totally had nothing to do with it.” Dean says, sounding heated, but letting the Impala level out to a mere 80 miles per hour.

“I can’t help being terrified of little old ladies, either. And, if I recall correctly, you weren’t the one with your junk hanging out.”

“She was a little unsettling even before she caught us in the closet. I should have just let the poltergeist waste her.” Dean takes a hand off the wheel to scratch the base of one of the horns.

“Look at it this way, you’ll only have them for a week.” Sam attempts to placate.

“Still sucks out loud, especially if they’re gonna itch the whole time,” Dean sounds sullen and drops his hand.

Sam catches it, and holds it. “I’m sure I could think of something to distract you over a measly seven days.”

“What, Sammy,” Dean waggles his eyebrows, and does his best Austin Powers. “Do I make you horny?”

You’re terrible, Sam wants to say, but goes for the truth instead. “Yes.”

“Hah!” Dean’s triumphant look is totally worth it.

“Pity about the tail, though. I mean, prehensile--”

“Sam!”

Chapter Text

They drove to what Dean must have thought of to be a safe distance some three hundred miles away to stop at the Briarwood Motel somewhere in God Knows Where, Georgia. Sam didn’t notice if they were near anywhere; he had been dosing on and off. He had offered to drive, but Dean must have not trusted him to hightail it far enough away from curse-wielding little old ladies.

He couldn’t tell if his brother was fidgeting because of his newly curse given horns were bothering him or it was part of this back from Hell fighting rest Dean. The shifting around in his seat certainly didn’t help Sam’s snoozing any.

Because of the horns on his head, Sam had to check them in while Dean waited in the shadows of the car and parked in an equally secluded spot then quickly ducked in the room his duffel in tow.

“First shower?” Sam asked setting his own duffel on the floor and taking time to salt the door and windows.

Dean grunted in response and made a beeline to the bathroom.

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes or say some other smart aleck comment. He had said enough of those in the car earlier. Though they had been funny, he felt like he could give them a rest until at least after breakfast tomorrow. Dean wouldn’t have if their positions had been reversed.

All the more reason to control myself, Sam thinks.

Dean comes out of the shower looking absolutely weary wrapped in a loose towel as he digs through his duffel to find a clean pair of boxers.

“Dude, it’s hard to wash your hair with horns in the way,” he says, absently touching the base of one then pulling on his underwear.

“I’d imagine so,” Sam said trying to give his best understanding tone and not completely failing.

“Of course, I’d say it’s probably hard to wash all that mop of yours, Sammy. I should give you a haircut,” Dean mutters tossing the towel towards the bathroom and crawling under the covers.

“So, giving me a haircut would somehow make us even in the scale of curse to evil in your opinion?” Sam asks while heading to the bathroom to take his own shower.

“It’d be a start,” Dean mutters trying to get his head comfortable on the pillow. He sighs. “Still sucks out loud,” his voice groggy.

Sam hides his smile as he shuts the bathroom door.

***

Sam wasn’t exactly positive what woke him, per se, but the fondling of his balls might have had something to do with it.

He couldn’t have been asleep very long. It was still dark outside and in the motel room.

“Huh,” Sam mumbles, sleep heavy in his voice.

Dean doesn’t say anything in response and the fondling continues.

“Dude, Dean, seriously,” Sam mutters a little more awake now, his hardening cock hard to ignore.

“Whassit? Sammy?” Dean’s voice is muffled against his pillow.

“Don’t start nothing you’re too busy sleepin’ to follow through,” Sam sighs.

“Not doin’ nothing,” Dean says turning his head to squint unpleasantly at his younger brother as he turns on the bedside lamp. Dean gestures with open palms out from under his pillow and Sam freezes.

He then quickly scrambles out of the bed pulling covers with him, standing with the sheet tangled around his ankles.

“What the fuck—?” Dean didn’t finish his question because he saw exactly what Sam was bewildered about.

Even still, Sam decides to state the obvious. “You have a tail, Dean.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean exclaims.

Both watch as it flicks lazily back and forth, seemingly with a mind of its own, then rests mostly on Dean’s thigh, forked end slightly curled. Dean bangs his head against the pillow like that will make it go away.

“Dean,” Sam speaks quietly, gathering up the covers.

His brother huffs a breath and peaks an eye at his brother.

“I know, it sucks out loud.”

“Understatement of the year.” Dean mutters.

“But remember it’s just for the week,” Sam consoles.

Dean lobs a pillow at him, which Sam dodges easily.

“I’ll research, first thing in the morning.” Sam placates.

Dean answers him with a lifted eyebrow.

“Dude, I’m totally not going to start research now. It’s only been—“a glance at the clock—“three hours.”

The eyebrow is accentuated with a glare.

“Let’s try to go back to sleep.” Sam suggests, trying to be calm and reasonable sounding.

Dean huffs, “easy for you to say.”

Sam stands there, arms full of cover, trying to tell himself that a tail—a pervy, feely tail that seems to have a mind of its own—isn’t a big deal. Nope. He certainly doesn’t have anxiety about being groped again in his sleep. Nope.

“Dude, I’m cold,” Dean states simply and saying anything but that really.

“Yep,” Sam makes himself move back to the bed. He hastily arranges the covers then positions himself with a miniature gulf between them.

“You’re not weirded out at all,” Dean mutters.

Sam shrugs with an embarrassed apologetic smile as Dean switches off the light. Embarrassment is easier in the dark.

***

It only took the tail fifteen minutes to snake its way back over to Sam’s unsuspecting cock. It also only took Sam five minutes to become supremely frustrated.

“Dean, your tail is a total tease,” Sam states, groaning as the tail withdrawls.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds a little amused. Leave it to Dean to sort out how to control a new appendage in under twenty minutes.

“You’re just going back to sleep aren’t you?” Sam asks.

“Yep,” Dean says with grogginess and a happy sigh.

“I hate you.”

“I know, Sammy. I know.”

***

It only took an hour for Sam to relax enough to fall back asleep—after he jerked off in the shower, twice.

***

The next morning after breakfast was had, it took all of a half hour for Dean to get bored.

“Found us a case yet?” Dean asked for the third time in as many minutes.

“Nope,” Sam manages to keep his glare down to a minimum.

“Sam—.”

“Clean the guns or something.”

“Already did that.”

“Do it again.”

Dean sighs and sits in the seat beside Sam at the room’s table to sulk.

It takes him a mere three minutes to quietly reach over with his tail and grope Sam’s crotch.

“Hey!” Sam leaps up.

“What?” Dean asks practically shining his halo.

“Dude!” he says, indigent.

“I’m bored.” Dean says it like Sam couldn’t possibly have known.

“I noticed.” Sam resists the urge to rub the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache he fears he’s developing.

“And I was thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

“Dude, harsh.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you? Because I could make you very sorry,” Dean says with that look—the one that’s all promise, wicked and gleaming that goes straight to Sam’s dick.

“How sorry?” Sam asks and wishes he weren’t wearing pants and soon he will be without them.

Dean grins. “How ‘bout I show you?”

Sam can’t hide his blush as Dean stands and takes a predatory stance in front of him.
Sam clears his throat. “So show me,” he challenges.

“Take off your shirts,” Dean states. It isn’t a request.

Sam unbuttons his over shirt and drops it on the floor behind him. He pulls his tee shirt over his head and stands expectant.

Dean’s gaze is all heat as he takes in all his brother’s scars. “Pants, now,” command, voice husky.

Sam obliges and tries not to smirk proudly at how happy he is to be standing there.
“Go to the bed. On your hands and knees,” Dean gestures and undresses.

Sam obliges and assumes position on the bed facing the headboard. He tries to turn his head, but Dean stops him.

“Face forward,” Dean states and digs around his duffle for the lube as Sam tries not to jump the gun in anticipation. Instead of a slick finger to open him up, a cloth covers his eyes that Dean knots on the back of his head.

“A blindfold?” Sam sounds amused but he didn’t know he could get harder.

Dean chooses this moment to smack his brother’s ass, letting his hand rest there on the stinging flesh.

Sam gives a surprised groan. That answers that, he thinks.

“Are you sorry, Sam?” Dean asks. It’s a loaded question.

“Yes,” Sam answers, voice thick.

Dean slaps Sam’s ass again. “You really shouldn’t lie, Sam,” Dean states and accentuates his words with another smack. His hand rests there, warming the tingling skin further.

Sam bites his tongue to keep from retorting that fact.

“Gonna open you up. Show you what gets done with liars,” Dean promises. His free hand, slick with lube, slides along the crack of his brother’s ass. He fingers the hole there, starting with one finger and quickly adding a second, gently scissoring in motion.

“Please, Dean, please,” Sam moans and fights not to push against those fingers and encourage them deeper.

“Please what, Sam?” Dean asks.

“More, Dean, more. Please,” Sam begs and arches against his brother’s hand anyway as pre-cum leeks from his cock.

Dean answers with another finger and brushes the prostate. Sam bucks against the bed in response.

“Be still,” Dean warns and pauses for a minute for Sam to control himself.

“Sure,” Sam says breathless. “Want you inside me, Dean, now, please.”

“You should stop being so toppy down there, Sammy,” Dean sounds smug. Dean removes his fingers and slowly slides his cock, inch by inch, to the hilt, his balls brushing against Sam’s ass, with a grunt and his hands firmly holding his brother’s hips.

Sam’s breath hitches. It feels like they stay that way forever with him wishing that Dean would just move for fuck’s sake. He forgot one important thing. Dean’s tactile tail reaches around to curl around the tip of Sam’s cock causing Sam to moan.

At last Dean starts to thrust, sliding out and in, slow at first with his tail toying with the head of Sam’s cock. Building up to a quick slick-slide, the tail mirrors Dean’s thrusts and grunts. All Sam can think to do for the longest time is to groan and curse with each deeper thrust and wank of his cock. The sensation is almost too much.

“Sam, I want you to come,” Dean commands with two final thrusts and Sam comes screaming, the tail milking his seed, then gently stroking as his brother reaches climax.

The tail withdraws and Dean slides out which Sam takes as his cue to collapse boneless on the bed. Dean ends up beside him with an arm draped over his back. Sam pulls off the blindfold to find Dean looking completely satisfied.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing, Sam finds that he has enough blood to talk. “So, I can only guess what you’ve got planned for the rest of the week.”

“There are worse, less constructive ways to spend ones time,” Dean states simply and Sam is hard-pressed to disagree.