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Like Staring Into the Sun

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Dean can smell sex the second he opens the door to their motel room, scent of girl heavy in the air, permeating his senses.

There she is, pale skin cut from lamplight and shadow, sitting in the chair by the dresser. Poured into a tiny little scrap of black dress, eyes smudged with dark kohl and lips swollen, smeared red lipstick, the point of her tongue, creeping out to lick at the crimson colored skin. She’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, eyelashes black smudges against her cheeks. She’s on Sam’s lap, her back to his chest, head lolling back against one huge shoulder, her legs splayed open, and Dean takes a sharp breath as the door swings shut behind him with an almost ominous boom.

Sam’s got his hand up under her skirt, fingers working.

“Dean.” His eyes are full of shadows, points of glittering light from the lamp caught in scorching heat.

The girl gasps, starts to sit up, and Sam pulls her back against his body with his free hand, holding her in place.

“No,” he whispers against her ear. “Don’t be shy.” He takes his hand away from her pussy, runs it down her inner thigh to the knee, and slaps it gently. “Open your legs. Let him see.”

She moans and throws her head back, spreads her thighs apart and Dean can see from here that her panties are sopping wet, white satin soaked through and clinging to her inner lips, flesh rosy tinted beneath. And God, Dean can smell her from here, too, ripe, spicy heat. Feels it go straight to his dick. Some instincts, you just can’t repress.

“Good girl,” Sam whispers, licking up the side of her neck, hand moving back between her legs. He slides her panties over, runs his fingers over pink skin and her hips jerk against him, knees falling further apart. He pushes two fingers inside her, slick and glistening wet, angles his head against her to look at Dean, his eyes dark heat.

“God, Dean, she’s soaking wet,” he whispers, thrusting his fingers inside her harder, and she moans again, head falling back on Sam. He whispers something in her ear that Dean can’t hear, and she lifts her face, eyes glazed as they try to focus on Dean.

Sam pulls his fingers out her with wet pop, brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. The girl groans in protest, and Sam shushes her. “She tastes so good, Dean. Sweet,” Sam says, hand gliding back down to spread her pussy open.

Meets Dean’s eyes and holds them, presenting the girl like a trophy for inspection. “Taste her.”

Three weeks ago, Dean would have told Sam he was out of his fucking mind. In point of fact, three weeks ago, he’d done just exactly that. How they’d gotten from there to here Dean still didn’t exactly understand, but he’d bet money it had something to do with the fact that Sammy had been weaned learning how to twist Dean inside out to get his way.

That and the wicked, hungry glint in his baby brother’s eye when he’d stared Dean up and down like he was starving and wanted to lick every inch of Dean’s skin to see how he tasted.

Dean groans, steps forward and falls to his knees, putting a hand on each of her thighs, fingers running over hot, silky skin.

She inhales sharply, breasts rising and falling, and Christ, this has to be one of the most twisted things he’s ever done. He leans in, inhaling the scent of her, and she starts to reach for him, fingers brushing his hair.

“No touching,” Sam hisses, and she lets her hands drop away, fall to her sides, whining as she cants her hips toward Dean.

It’s all the invitation he needs. Starts low, tongue easing just inside her before dancing away, licking up the spread expanse of her inner lips till he reaches the top and swirls his tongue around her clit. And damn, Sammy sure knows how to pitch a sell; there isn’t much in the world Dean loves more than doing this. Her breath hitches, and he can see her hands fist, dig into the cushion of the chair in a death grip. He circles it a few times, swings his head back and forth in slow shakes, letting his tongue follow the motion. Makes her whine and mewl until he finally takes mercy on her and sucks the tiny bud between his lips.

“Does that feel good?” Sam asks, voice rich and dark, throaty and deep. He can feel as much as hear the girl moan in response, and Sam chuckles, fingers flexing and spreading her open even wider. “Is he doing a good job, sucking your pussy?” Sam’s voice gets closer, lower. “I told you he would.” And Christ, that should really not send a shudder racing down Dean’s spine, but it does, gravelly voice and naughty words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

“Tell him,” Sam orders. “Say his name.” When the girl doesn’t immediately respond, Dean sees and feels Sam’s fingers dig into the flesh of her cunt, hears her whimper in pleasure pain.

“Tell him.”

“God. So good, Dean,” she breathes, voice ragged and desperate.

He suckles harder, her body dripping honey into his mouth, hears her breath hitch in her chest. Sam’s cupping the weight of one of her breasts, fingers rolling the nipple through her thin dress, and she’s revving up like an engine, purring and humming, body rocking in a slow rhythm against Dean’s chin.

“God, you’re fucking loving it, aren’t you?” Sam asks her, voice insidious and thick, snaking into Dean’s brain, shooting sparks all through him, and his mouth’s full of girl but his body seems pretty damned interested in Sam. “What do you think Dean?” Sam asks, breathing heavy. “Should we let her come yet?”

The girl moans again, gives a desperate roll of her hips into Dean’s face, trying to push herself over the edge. Sam just spreads his hand over her cunt, covers it, and Dean’s tongue is caught between his brother’s fingers for an instant—taste of salt and pussy and pure Sam--and he pulls back, hands trembling, eyes flicking up to his brother’s.

Sam’s face is dark, terrible and beautiful all at once, his eyes fixed hungrily on Dean, burning embers that pierce Dean’s soul, rip him open and lay him bare with need. Sam’s tongue flickers out, licks his lower lip, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so perfect and utterly, completely fucking hot in his whole life. He wants to trap Sam’s tongue in his mouth, suckle on it, memorize the taste, paint his name across it with spit.

Eyes locked, heat and years, the girl squirms, forgotten on Sam’s lap between them.

Sam’s mouth quirks in a grin, the slant of his eyes narrowing just a fraction, and without ever taking his eyes from Dean, he rolls his hand against the girl’s pussy, turns his face and bites into the angle of her jaw. “You wanna fuck me?” he asks her, still staring at Dean, and Dean feels the words tear through him like a shot, stealing his breath and boiling his blood, cock twitching helplessly against his belly, and fuck, he’s pretty sure Sam could make him come just by talking. He’s pretty goddamned sure Sam knows it, too.

Sam moves his hand away from her pretty pink slit, smirks when she whines. “Take off her panties, Dean.”

He strips them down her thighs, sodden, sticky mess, while Sam rips her dress over her head. Helps her lift her hips while Sam slides out of his jeans beneath her. Smell of male musk, rock hard length of Sam’s cock curling up onto his belly, and it’s just as huge as the rest of him. Long fingers wrap around it, pushes it up under the girl.

Sam puts his other hand on her shoulder, and Dean watches the head of his cock disappear inside the girl, teasing.

“That what you want?” he asks her, and Jesus fucking Christ, the purring rumble of that voice is such pure sex that’s it’s criminal. Dean watches the girl catch her lower lip between her teeth, eyes closed, face flushed and strained. Watches her dance on the raggedy edge of “almost”, wanting it so bad he thinks she might praying to God for deliverance.

Sam pushes her down on his cock so hard that her eyes fly open and roll back in her head, every muscle in her body trembling and taut. “Fuck yes,” she hisses, rocking forward with her hips while Sam holds her down, impaled on his dick.

“Wanna watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” Sam whispers, releasing her, and then Dean feels Sam’s fingers curl into shoulders, hard and hot, pulling Dean in.

“Make her come Dean. Make her come while she fucks me.”

The girl lifts her hips, rocking up and down the length of Sam buried inside her, her hands braced on the arms of the chair, and Sam just sits there, staring over her shoulder down at Dean. Not touching her anywhere except where his cock disappears inside her ripe, pink cunt.

Dean leans in, feels his lips brush against the curve of his brother’s dick, and fuck, this is so very many kinds of wrong.

He wonders what it says about him that he couldn’t care less. Finds he doesn’t care very much about that, either.

His tongue melts against the velvet skin of Sam’s cock, mapping the veins beneath, and he feels Sam shudder, hears him hiss—“Fuck. Dean.” And he knows where this is going, has known since Sam brought the first girl back to their motel room three weeks ago. It’s not about the girls. The girls are just the excuse. It’s about them. Them and this unavoidable thing that’s growing between them.

Taste of salt and girlslick, velvet meeting satin where their bodies join, and he licks up the center of her, pressing her clit with the flat of his tongue. Sam clutches his shoulders tight, and he laps with slow strokes, the length of Sam’s dick, all the way to her twitching clit and back down again as she fucks Sam for all she’s worth.

They move together in one rhythm, keeping time in thrusts, licks and sucks. When Dean feels the girl tense, her rhythm flounder, he digs his fingernails into the tender skin of her inner thighs and bites down soft around her clit, tip of his tongue catching it and flicking it with steady strokes.

She comes so hard Dean can feel her muscles clamping and fluttering around Sam’s cock, shudders so violently he thinks she might shake apart with the force of it, scream torn from her throat in a single ragged note, broken glass and volcanic explosion.

Sam grabs her hips, sinks his fingers deep into the hollows and grips her, fucking up into her with quick, hard thrusts while he holds her still, not letting her move a millimeter while he rams in and out of her, and Dean does his best to hold on, shaking with the power of Sam’s strokes. Sucks her clit hard, runs his tongue up under the hood, and feels her legs stutter, slamming tight around his shoulders. She’s trying valiantly to close them, to blunt the pleasure that must be so intense by now that it borders on pain, but Dean’s body is in the way, and it doesn’t matter, too late, another second and she’s gone anyway, body convulsing and jerking like an earthquake, her screams so high and loud that Dean feels his ears pop, and Jesus fuck he doesn’t think he’s ever felt a woman come like this, like a force of nature gushing all over his chin, isn’t sure she’s going to survive it.

When Sam finally lifts her from his cock, she’s limp, body falling back against Sam, tears streaming from her eyes in black eyeliner flecked rivulets. For a second, Dean’s afraid they’ve hurt her, but then she smiles, manages a chuckle through the tears and mutters something in a language that doesn’t sound like English, but Dean figures he pretty much gets the gist, regardless.

From over her shoulder, Sam’s still staring at him, mouth deep pink and eyes sharp beneath the glaze of lust.

They’re both still rock hard, neither of them satisfied. Staring right back at Sam, Dean unbuttons his pants, reaches inside and takes his cock in his hand. Watches as Sam does the same, long fingers gripping his cock right in front of the girl’s still dripping cunt.

And they can still come back from this. Dean’s tongue licking his brother’s cock could be an accident given he was eating a girl out while she fucked his brother. Twisted as it is, they can chalk it up to circumstance. They can pretend that both of them aren’t still thinking about it right now like the girl between them was never here. They can go back to normal, no harm, no foul.

And for tonight, maybe they will.

But they both know it’s only a matter of time.