It wasn’t really a game, not in so many words at least. Technically, Dean Winchester didn’t play games that didn’t involve large wads of cash won by unsuspecting strangers in bars. But this thing between Sam and him? It was as close to playing as the brother’s would ever get.
Maybe Dean thought of it slightly like a hunt. Something he planned, researched, executed with a perfection expected of him. They never discussed it, not even after the first time it happened or now, dozens of times later. Which was just fine for Dean, he was never the one that wanted to discuss anything.
And it was possibly more fun like this anyway.
Like now as he stood in the shadows just outside their motel room. He had been planning this particular scenario for days now, waiting for just the right motel that would give up the proper advantage and hiding spot. Everything had been staged, the required items stashed in easily accessible places around the room, and Sam sent off on some menial task just so Dean could wait.
Fucking with his brother, whether literally or figuratively, was something Dean took a great deal of joy in. And it didn’t hurt to know Sam felt just about the same, no matter how much he chose to bitch about things in the aftermath. This was something Sam wouldn’t bitch about though, Dean smirked just thinking about it.
Sam was annoyed, Dean could tell just from the way his shoulders hunched as he climbed out of the car and shut the door with too much force. Dean flinched on behalf of his baby and decided he’d sink his teeth extra hard into Sam’s hipbone as punishment. His brother needed a serious lesson in respect for the finer things in life.
Though Sam carried dinner in the bags looped around his fingers, Dean lunged forward the moment he passed close enough. Sure enough the bags clattered to the hard cement path as Sam struggled, working to get the upper hand, not yet aware of who exactly was attacking him.
That was just fine, there was something outrageously hot about Sam fighting against him. Despite all the years that had passed, or maybe because of them, Dean was still stronger than Sam and a well placed knee landed in the back of his brother’s thigh sent the taller man tumbling forward into the wall. It could possibly have hurt, Sam let out a rather frustrated oof, but Dean knew the pain kind of did it for Sammy.
Leave it to his brother to be one kinky twisted fuck. You know, more kinky and twisted then just allowing his brother to shove his dick up his ass.
Dean had no plans of telling Sam it was him, after all his brother could always use extra training and this was the perfect opportunity for it. Instead he pressed up flush to the taller man’s body, rocking his crotch with purpose along Sam’s ass and curling his fingers tight over thick wrists. Leaning just barely forward, Dean exhaled a slow and steady breath against the back of Sam’s neck, watching the hair part under the stream of air.
“Dean,” Sam whispered with a certain sense of relieved realization. But the fight didn’t leave his body, he still held himself tense against the brick motel wall, fingers curling into fists with a shaky inhale. “Get off me.”
“Mmhmm,” Dean hummed, not too bothered by Sam’s protest. That was pretty standard routine for this thing they didn’t talk about. After all, if neither of them attempted at least a feeble fight against it, then it would be far too much like admitting they were perfectly okay with it. That was something Dean was pretty sure had to stay buried, for now. Didn’t mean he had to follow his brother’s not really meant request anyway.
Dean pressed Sam’s wrist hard down into the wall, slipping his leg between his brother’s and pushing up, a warning pressure. Without being told Sam kept his hands in place as Dean reached into his back pocket, tugging a thick black scarf free and bringing it swiftly up. Before Sam could work up any further half assed protests Dean slid the scarf over his eyes, tying a secure knot at the back of his skull.
This had Sam reacting, his hands moving up as if to grab the scarf and tug it off, or fight against Dean for something they both knew he wanted. Dean smirked and easily grasped his brother’s temporarily flailing arms, working them back behind his body to draw the man from the wall in a near delicate arch. Secretly, privately, Dean could admit to the deep thrill he got seeing his brother’s body like this.
“Gonna be a good little boy for me Sammy?” Dean all but growled into Sam’s hair, working him from the wall and over the few feet to the motel door. “Wouldn’t want to have to punish you for disobeying.”
“Fuck you,” Sam spat back, but the words came out less harsh and more like a moan and Dean smirked. As far as he was concerned, Sam might as well be begging for it.
“Figured I’d be the one doing the fucking tonight,” Dean commented as casually as he might make a note about the weather. He could hear Sam’s teeth clench together with irritation and Dean swallowed a laugh. For some reason it always did tend to get under his brother’s skin when Dean appeared so nonchalant about the whole fucking each other thing. Maybe it was all just part of the game they weren’t really playing.
Using his brother’s body to push the motel door open, Dean led them swiftly inside and didn’t bother with the lights. There was enough moonlight spilling in from the blinds and it wasn’t like Sam could see anyway. They’d been doing this long enough Dean was pretty sure he could blindfold himself too and it would still be just as good.
He let Sam’s nerves and anticipation build, guiding him forward in slow steps and not giving any indication of what might come next. So when he unclasped his hands from Sam’s wrist and suddenly spun him the man stumbled, working quick to correct his stance even as Dean tore at the front of the shirt, ripping the line of buttons open to slide the material down off broad shoulders.
Sam groaned and rolled his head forward, one hand reaching out to grasp Dean’s hip. “Really? Did you have to ruin my shirt?”
“You wear too much plaid.” Dean shrugged with a smirk, letting the shirt flutter down to the floor and drifting his fingers back up Sam’s arm.
The touch was too soft and he watched Sam’s head tilt to the side in concentration, likely confused why Dean was basically caressing him. Alright, it was maybe a little odd. So Dean overcompensated and planted his fingertips hard into Sam’s shoulder blades, shoving his brother hard down onto the bed and grinning at the sharp exhale of breath.
“Fuck, a little warning Dean? Nearly bit my tongue,” Sam snapped but Dean knew the words were under heated. After all, if Sam were really bothered he would have removed the blindfold by now and that had clearly not happened.
“Yeah yeah Princess, you want a little warning when I’m about to shove my cock up your ass too?” Dean snorted a laugh, walking around the side of the bed and reaching out for the set of handcuffs resting on the night table.
Sam huffed out a noise, some cross between arousal and annoyance, and tilted his head toward the slightest sounds Dean was making. One cliff of the cuffs together and Dean could literally hear the man’s swallow. He watched as Sam slid further up the bed without being asked, close enough to the headboard his arms would stretch up easily.
For some reason that sent heat curling low in the pit of Dean’s stomach and he wet his lips, kneeling on the mattress and reaching out to snag Sam’s arm. “God you want me, don’t you Sammy?” Dean was nearly growling the words against his brother’s ear as he tugged Sam’s arm a just a little too hard, curling one open cuff around his wrist.
Sam sucked in a breath, like to protest, and dean dipped down to use one of the most effective measures in keeping Sam from being bitchy. His teeth sank down into the fleshy curve of Sam’s relaxed muscles over his arm. “Jesus,” Sam gasped, his body reflexively twitching up toward Dean’s.
A smirk played across Dean’s lips as he looped the handcuff around the bar on the headboard and secured Sam’s others wrist. When he’d first found out his brother had a biting thing it had really been an accident. They’d been hyped up on a hunt gone well and too much adrenaline. Sam had him pinned to a cold brick wall down an alley and Dean had been working at getting control back, another part of the not-so-much game.
He’d clamped his teeth on Sam’s neck. It had apparently been enough to have Sam’s hips jerking up into the touch and Dean had been left reeling when Sam came from nearly no stimulation at all.
Since then, Dean had taken every opportunity he could to sink his teeth into his brother’s skin, leaving more bruises than Sam ever got from hunting. Dean was actually pretty sure there was nothing quite as hot as seeing Sam walk out of the bathroom, towel low on his waist, and beads of lingering shower water traveling down the teeth mark dark purples and blues decorating his body.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam hissed as Dean moved to his neck, sinking teeth into a patch just below a bruise from a few days before - if the weirdly green brown color was anything to go by. It was impossible for Dean to keep the smirk from growing on his lips.
Yeah, he really enjoyed knowing he could fuck his brother over like this. It made Dean feel powerful in a way hunting never did, just like this thing between them burned like it never had with anyone else. And Dean certainly had plenty of anyone else’s to compare too. “Start beggin’ Sammy, maybe I’ll give you what you really want.”
Something like a rather disgruntled scoff fell from Sam and he turned, Dean could sense his gaze shifting restlessly even with the blindfold securely in place. His brother, ever the hunter, was trying to track every little move Dean made. It kind of made Dean want to test him even further.
“Aw, c’mon Sammy.” Dean laughed hoarsely and slid to the edge of the bed, bending down to tug at Sam’s boots. “When you beg, an angel gets their wings.”
“Christ, Dean, don’t talk about angels right now,” Sam groaned, squirming when Dean’s hands massaged down over his thighs.
Dean grinned and slid his fingers across the denim, rubbing down along the impressive bulge in Sam’s jeans. “Hey now, I’m not the one who likes to call out Jesus Christ when my brother’s fingers are driving up into my tight-”
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam practically hissed, his leg swinging as he aimed a kick at Dean’s chest.
Dean managed to swerve and avoid getting hit. His eyebrows rose high on his brow as he considered his brother. “Oh. You’re pushing it now Sammy. No respect, none at all. Guess I better teach you a lesson.”
Something close to a whimper fell from Sam as Dean pulled back, stepping away from the bed and leaving his brother there, still panting softly. Dean held as still as he could, hardly sucking in a breath, watching as Sam slowly calmed then froze, head tilting just barely to the side as he strained to listen.
They stayed that way for a surprisingly long time. Dean was nearly holding his breath, knowing Sam was listening for even the smallest tell. He might insist Sam and he never played games but he wasn’t sure what else to call this.
Sam was the first to lose patience. “Dean?”
Maybe it was the slight waver to Sam’s tone, the way his breath hitched afterward that was the slightest sign of fear, whatever it was Dean couldn’t hide any longer. The last thing he wanted was Sam thinking he’d simply left, no matter how much of a bitch his brother could be, he was Dean’s bitch after all.
In one sharp move he tugged on the hems of Sam’s jeans, yanking the denim clean off his body. Sam’s bare hips had Dean smirking, fingers ghosting over his calves. “Commando, baby brother? Didn’t even realize you had it in you.”
Sam didn’t answer but in the moonlight Dean could see color crawl across his cheeks. The longer Dean stared and brushed barely there touches along his skin, the more Sam squirmed. That rush of power slammed hard back into Dean, making him growl low in his throat. For some reason having power over Sam was like a heady rush that made breathing just a little harder than usual.
The gentle touches morphed to something harder, a thousand times more intense as he exploded into movement. He drew back and flipped Sam onto his stomach, his brother’s arms criss crossing by the headboard and locking him further into place. Sam struggled for a moment but Dean drew him up onto his knees, ignoring the restless twitches of the man’s body and curving his fingers over the delicious swell of a plump ass.
Dean had a thing for Sam’s ass. But there was the high possibility that Dean simply had a thing for Sam, and it extended to every single part of his body. Oddly enough, though Dean would never admit it out loud, he was alright with that.
“Dean,” Sam hissed when all Dean continued to do was massage the fleshy mounds. Sam would insist he was not the type to beg but Dean wasn’t an idiot, and he’d heard those breathy pleas fall from his brother’s mouth on more than one occasion.
Dipping down, Dean spared a moment to smirk as he considered his earlier thoughts regarding punishing Sam for slamming Baby’s door. It was impossible to punish someone though, when they would so thoroughly enjoy whatever you did to them. Regardless, Dean sank his teeth just the right side of too hard into Sam’s ass, riding out the jerk twist thrust back into the heat of his mouth.
His fingers straightened out as he drew back once more and landed a hard smack down onto Sam’s right cheek, the skin instantly darkening in the low light of the room. A strangled moan fell from Sam with another roll back of his hips and the smirk on Dean’s lips grew. He landed a few more hard smacks to each side, knowing the skin was only more sensitive, the sting just a little harsher after every slap.
Sam was panting into the pillow beneath his head, his body in constant squirming motion as if the pleasure was making it impossible for him to hold still for any length of time. Again, that rush of power surged through Dean and he latched onto it, ducking his head down to scrape his teeth over flushed pink skin.
“Jesus,” Sam groaned, legs automatically shifting to spread a little wider, his body silently begging for more though Dean knew he was fighting the words.
“Some people just call me Dean,” Dean couldn’t help the low murmur, or the louder chuckle that followed when he could practically feel Sam’s eye roll.
“Would you just-”
Dean didn’t let him finish whatever bitchy request he was about to say. Instead he slid his lips along Sam’s skin until his tongue could flick out and lave a slow stripe over puckered flesh. Sam’s moan was too loud, almost strangled as if he were fighting it, and his body rocked forward and back, continuing its silent cry for more, more, more.
If there was one thing in life that Dean could one hundred percent say he always did, it was taking care of his baby brother. Whatever Sam wanted, whatever Sam needed, and so, he wasn’t really able to ignore any pleas, whether they were spoken aloud or not. This was likely why Dean could only tease to certain extents, as long as he was giving Sam some form of satisfaction, then he could say he was doing his job and to the best of his abilities.
His tongue swept over and over Sam’s hole, gathering up the salty musky taste that couldn’t be named but was still oddly addicting. Dean curved his fingers into Sam’s ass and spread him wider just so the tip of his tongue could press a little bit deeper, break the tight ring of muscle and slip just barely inside. It made all the air seize in Sam’s lungs, his back tensing until a long shudder of pleasure shook him from head to toe.
The way Sam dragged out his name in a low guttural moan curled like a fist of white hot desire in Dean’s gut and his hips twitched forward, the pressure of his jeans trapping his cock too much and horribly maddening all at once. Dean kept his tongue working as deep as he could though because he knew he was making Sam crazy, he knew just by the roll of his hips that if he did this long enough, Sam would come from Dean’s tongue fucking into him alone. Having that power made Dean the clear cut winner of this game they weren’t playing.
Dean knew all the signs that Sam was reaching his end. The way his breath grew shaky and rough, the moans falling into gasps, and the arch of his spin up in a curve that made his six foot four frame damn near elegant. As his tongue swept circle after circle, deeper and deeper into tight muscle, those signs increased and Dean slowly pulled back. His head tilted to the side and his teeth graze over that still sensitive pink slapped skin.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam spat, jerking back as Dean’s teeth clamped down just a little harder.
“That was the plan.” Snark and Dean went hand and hand, Sam was fully aware of that apparently because he only huffed a slight laugh and slid his legs just a little wider.
There was a variety of ways Dean could take Sam, he’d experienced most of them and couldn’t pick a favorite, but right now he was going for just like this. Sam’s arms were pinned in place, his hole puffy and slick from the assault of Dean’s tongue, and the sight was burning enough Dean had to roll the heel of his palm down against his crouch to keep from losing it right then and there.
“God, Sam, sometimes...” Dean trailed off with the shake of his head and when Sam strained back to see him, Dean knew he didn’t have to go on. Sometimes this thing between them was like fucking gunshots.
Enough with the sentimental shit.
Dean slid off the edge of the bed long enough to shove out of his jeans and grab the bottle of lube from the night stand. Sam’s head was tilting toward him again, tracking his movements, and Dean couldn’t help smirking as he flicked the cap on the bottle open and spread cool cream over his fingers.
Climbing back onto the bed between Sam’s still spread legs, Dean couldn’t resist another slap to the curve of his brother’s ass. Sam hissed at the unexpected contact, hips snapping forward then rolling back as Dean rubbed over the sensitive patch. “Stop fuckin’ teasing, Dean.”
“Gotta learn the best things in life are worth waitin’ for, Sammy.” Dean smirked and crawled a little closer, bringing his hand up and shoving three fingers into his brother without warning, free hand grasping Sam’s hip and holding on through the following rippling wave of twitching muscles.
“Christ,” Sam’s voice was tight, a half hiss, half groan, and Dean was a little worried his brother might lose it and come right then. Not that he wouldn’t fuck him regardless, he’d just have to do a lot more manhandling work if Sam was post-orgasm unconscious. “Just. Do it.”
Dean smirked again but he bit his lip to keep from calling his brother out on the might as well be begging. He could point out that Sam’s attempt at fighting things before had clearly been a waste of energy but then, without that, Dean was sure he wouldn’t enjoy this quite as much as he did.
Taking Sam’s advice, Dean only spared a minute or so longer to scissor his fingers open inside Sam’s tight muscles before he pulled back, sitting back on his heels to stroke the already warmed lube over his aching cock. The pleasure was building too swiftly in him and Dean squeezed around the base of his cock, watching as Sam’s body squirmed back toward his as if he could magically get Dean there and fucking him already.
A few fleeting ideas of teases danced across Dean’s tongue but he swallowed them back, rising up instead to line himself at Sam’s entrance and jerk forward with one swift thrust. Bottoming out in Sam was not something he would ever get used too. The pressure always felt too tight, the muscles burning too much, and the vice like grip around him matched the way Sam’s fingers curled around the bed post and held on.
Dean was panting, his body half slumped over Sam’s, his hips already circling in a slow roll that drove them both just a little more crazy. It was Dean’s time to internally chant more, more, more and before Sam could open his mouth and semi-beg again, Dean was drawing back and slamming his hips down with enough force to rattle their bones.
The mattress protested with a squeak beneath them as Dean’s hips caught a rhythm and held it, sharp thrusts in, quick pulls back, hips slamming up against pink tinged skin over and over. Dean’s fingers dug bruises into Sam’s hip, sweat beading and gathering over his brow until he had to release a hand and drag the back of it over his skin to keep the salty drops from hitting his eyes.
Sam was wheezing breaths, half moans started and cutting off each time Dean thrust back into him. More than a dozen in quick succession and Dean hit the spot he’d been aiming for, Sam’s entire body lurching with the hard press against his prostate. Dean’s fingers curled and he drug nails that he kept just a little longer for this purpose alone down Sam’s back. They left red marks in their wake and Sam shuddered the touch hadn’t been painful at all, like it was simply some caress of a lover.
That vice grip tightness didn’t easy the harder Dean thrust. In fact, it was simply growing tighter around him, nearly holding him in place, and Dean had to work to draw his body back and breach down forward once more. There was only so much more he could take, they were both dancing along that line, and his nails scraped flesh once more before trailing up to curl in thick brown hair.
With a sharp tug he pulled Sam’s body back, lifting him as far off the mattress as he could get with the handcuffs still holding him in place. Sam called out at the hard pull of his hair but didn’t try and duck out of the touch. Instead his ass was rolling back to meet each of Dean’s thrusts and his moans were turning into whimpers that suggested how close to the line of his release he was.
Dean was working through the lust haze of his mind, trying to gain a thought beyond holy fucking tight, so he’d yet to get his hand on Sam’s cock. But that didn’t seem to matter to his brother. Five, maybe six thrusts later and Sam was coming with a loud moan of Dean’s name, his body twitching almost violently as Dean gave his hair another sharp tug and snapped his cock forward into impossibly tightening heat.
The grip was enough to tip Dean right over the edge with him. Maybe it was the way Sam was still rocking his ass back, fucking himself on Dean’s cock like there was no possible way he could get enough, no matter how hard Dean pumped forward.
Dean’s mind spun from not enough, not enough all the way to oh fucking Christ, Sam but he couldn’t manage any words through the strangled groan rising up his chest. He came with the white hot spark of pleasure curling his toes, soaking through every part of him, and still his hips continued a slowing thrust until he’d milked himself empty inside his brother’s clenching muscles.
All the energy, the pleasure high, the power, seeped out of Dean and he collapsed onto Sam’s back, huffing a satisfied grunt into the hair at the nape of his neck. After a few moments Sam’s arms gave out, his knees right along with them, and the sank down onto the mattress - Sam let out a little puff of air that maybe sounded a bit on the pained side.
Dean could really just stay there forward, his cock slick and heated in Sam’s still quivering ass, his fingers still curled in smooth locks. Pretty frequently he bitched at Sam about getting it cut but really? He’d whoop his brother’s ass if he even got close to a barber’s shop. Dean really liked having something to grip tight to when he was giving his brother a thorough fucking, like he’d just done.
Finally, Sam started squirming again, and Dean’s limp cock fell from him with the slightest wet squelch. “Dean, fuckin’, getoff,” Sam grumbled, the words a little mumbled like Sam was having trouble talking.
Or, like Dean was laying on his back and therefore Sam was kind of having trouble breathing. Dean smirked slightly and rolled, flopping off Sam’s back and dropping to the bed beside him. He turned his head just so he could watch Sam’s sprawled form. His arms and hands were a twisted together mess at the headboard, his legs were still slightly spread, and his face was buried in the pillow though really, that couldn’t have been helping the breathing issue very much.
Dean groaned and forced himself to sit up, rolling his legs off the edge of the bed and pushing him to his feet. He stretched his arms up, savoring the relaxed pull of his muscles and the way he buzzed with an energy he could only feel after a really good fuck. They might never discuss this thing between them, but Dean was pretty sure it was doing wonders for both their tension levels. Getting steadily laid made it a lot easier to not be so stressed about the shit they dealt with on a day to day basis.
Wandering over to his duffel bag on the floor, Dean scratched absently along his chest and considered how nice a hot shower sounded. He was just about to head that way, to the bathroom that is, when Sam practically whined from his place still on the bed. “Dean, seriously? Come take these fucking handcuffs off.”
Oops. Dean grinned and turned toward his brother, leaning back against the wall and watching the way Sam’s ass lifted up off the bed in vain. “But, you look so pretty, all bound up like that. Who says I won’t want to play with you after I get all clean?”
Even with the blindfold, Dean could feel the heat of Sam’s glare when he turned his head Dean’s way. “If you even so much as want to look at my ass again, I suggest you come over here and remove the cuffs.”
Dean stared a moment longer before exhaling a weary sigh, pushing off the wall, and strolling to the table where he’d left the handcuff keys. “Can’t really keep me from looking,” Dean mumbled, under his breath so Sam wouldn’t hear him, then turned to head to the bed.
It wasn’t like he’d really deny Sam anything anyway.