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Wicked Game

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Dean loved games.

The excitement, the spontaneity, anticipating his partner's next move. He basked in every little second of it. There was victory, loss, and on the rare kinky occasion, punishment. Often times, the thrill of a cat and mouse chase was more fun for Dean than the main event. He always made sure to move like a predator- stealthy, practiced, pouncing so quick you never saw it coming, striking so hard you'd never unsee it.

When Dean was in high school, he used to have the time of his life playing with pretty girls in short skirts, teasing them for days before finally taking them to supply closets, or the back row of a dark movie theater. He used to spend ages running his fingers up their milky thighs and twirling their hair, while he whispered dirty things into their ears. Most of the time they'd melt like putty in his hands, but every once in a while he'd meet a girl who wasn't undone by such conventional methods. Dean took particular joy in cracking those hard cases, and would always wind up lapping at the juices of his victory.

He's twenty now, so he doesn't get to toy with underage girls anymore. There's no more giggling underneath the school bleachers, or inappropriate touching in the basement while mommy and daddy sleep upstairs. The games he plays now are dirtier, sweeter, something forbidden. Sure, Dean still prowls for women every once in a while, but that's not what he likes best. Because lucky for Dean, he gets something even better than a pair of tits and a leaking pussy.

He gets Sam.

Now, Dean gets his nice, hot, sixteen year old brother, and all his dimpled grins, tanned skin, and teasing kisses. He gets to revel in the pleasure of biting thick, still-developing muscles and sharp collarbones. He's been savoring the taste ever since Sam was thirteen and he kissed Dean for the first time. Since then, there's been hundreds of make out sessions, touchy-feely groping, and secret handjobs in the back seat of the Impala (because, as Dean has recently discovered, Sam is a kinky son of a bitch, who loves pushing his luck). The blowjobs started up when Sam was fifteen, and as soon as he turned sixteen, Dean deemed him old enough to have sex. Real, penetrative, mind-blowing sex. Not that what they were doing before wasn't positively Earth-shattering, because it totally was. For Dean, it was just different than experiencing the searing, wet heat of an ass clenched around his dick. And Sam was ridiculously, virginally tight. The first time Dean spread Sam open and took him apart, he came almost as fast as his little brother did. It didn't matter that Dean had years of experience under his belt already, Sam's ass was good enough to drive him practically insane. No matter how many times Dean fucked him, the kid never lost his appeal, or his tightness.

It's been nearly a year since all the real fucking began, and Sam has spent every moment of that time trying to prove one thing: if Dean was good at playing games, he was even better. Nine times out of ten, Dean would have to agree, simply based on the common knowledge that Dean
would do literally anything for Sam. The fact that Sam is going through a major deviant phase has helped his case exponentially, but Dean's got no shame, so it sort of balances the scales.

A few days ago, Dean had returned home from a hunt, bloody, bruised, and hot on his dad's heels. Sam had been left alone in the motel due to the attitude he gave their father before they headed out, when John decided Sam would just be getting in the way if he were to tag along. Sam had bitched and fought even harder, his unspoken, stubborn protest at being separated from Dean. Of course, it hadn't worked, and they'd spent the next eight days on different sides of the state. John thought the separation would teach Sam a lesson, but in reality, he'd only succeeded in teaching the boys that Wisconsin really sucked when you were miles apart from the one person you wanted to be with.

Naturally, Dean expected Sam to leap into his arms the moment he got back, like an over-eager puppy. Instead, he was met with heated glances and secret touches, meant only to drive Dean crazy, and provide no relief. It was as frustrating as it was sexy, and Dean was ready to reach his breaking point.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

If Sammy wanted to play, Dean was all for it. One night when they'd gotten a little too tipsy, they'd created a game fit for both of them. There were rules and punishments and a fuck ton of foreplay, things Dean has always been a fan of. First one to break down and beg loses, and if neither of them did, the first one to fifteen points wins. They played different little 'rounds', which could be initiated and ended by either one of them. Usually, each round began unexpectedly, and ended just as suddenly. Onlookers would have no idea what was going on, only Sam and Dean could understand each other's body language so well as to pick a winner and award points without saying a word. It was fun and something different, so instead of asking Sam to take pity on his poor soul, Dean began playing back. He was already at a disadvantage, because Sam had started things without consulting Dean first, but that merely fueled his desire to win.

Currently, they were in a small diner on the outskirts of Illinois, having already moved south from Wisconsin so that their dad could begin his next case. Luckily for Dean, he wasn't needed for this one. It was a routine salt and burn, should only take three days max. That gave him more time to mess with his brother. Sam already scored three points, and Dean was down by two. But jealousy was a major weakness for Sam, and Dean has been leering at their cute waitress the entire time they've been here. She was blonde and curvy, and had no problem shoving her well-developed chest in Dean's face, even though their father was sitting right there with them. John just kept smirking, proud of his boy for being smooth with the ladies. Sam was less enthused. A pout was playing on his pretty lips, tugging the corners down and puffing his bottom lip out miserably. Yes, it kinda-sorta broke Dean's heart to see his brother looking so down, but it was also kinda-sorta really hot. Sam didn't even have to try.

"Thank you, darlin'," Dean drawled while their waitress, Natalie, set his double bacon cheeseburger with extra fries in front of him. She blushed at the nickname and gave him a small smile. Sam made a quiet ugh sound to Dean's right and slouched further in his seat. When Natalie bent over to reach the inside of the booth and give Sam his food, she exposed more of her chest and a sliver of skin at the small of her back. A hint of a tattoo could be seen and Dean hummed appreciatively.

"Let me know if you boys need anything else," she said, speaking as if she cared about all three of them, while only looking at Dean.

"Will do," Dean promised with a wink. He made sure to watch her ass when she walked away. Their dad was snickering and Sam had a death grip on his fork.

"You just don't stop, do you?" John chuckled, shaking his head.

"I have no idea what you mean," Dean gasped, playing stupid, knowing that it would fuel Sam's irritation.

"She's cute," their dad continued, "Might be able to keep you entertained for a little while when I'm gone."

"The last thing Dean needs is another booty call," Sam scoffed, pushing that green stuff he dared call food around his plate.

"Hey," John protested, "I meant that he should take her on a date. What's got your panties in a bunch?"

Oh fuck, Dean thought, Sam in panties.

"Yeah, c'mon Sammy, lighten up," Dean egged. He watched the pissed-off swipe of Sam's tongue over his top teeth in delight. "You worried she'll take away all the quality time you'll get to spend with your big bro?"

Sam raised his eyebrows and let out a mocking laugh. "Trust me, that's the least of my worries."

"Bitch," Dean teased, throwing a fry at Sam. It hit him in the cheek and left a salty little grease stain that Dean was dying to lick off.

"Dude, what are you, six?" Sam spat, scrubbing at his face. Dean did it again and stuck out his tongue when it got Sam in the forehead.

"Seriously? Cut it out, you're such a jerk!" Sam cried, punching Dean in the shoulder. Soon enough they were bickering like twelve year olds and John had to intervene.

"Both of you, knock it off of I'll drag you out of here by your ears," he growled, "Dean, learn to act your age-"

"Like that'll happen," Sam snarked.

"And Sam, lose the damn attitude. I'm getting real sick of it," John finished.

Tails between their legs, they mumbled a reluctant "Yes sir" in unison and went back to eating. To make matters worse, Natalie came back to check on them (Dean).

"How's everything taste?" she drawled.

"It's all delicious," Dean smirked. She gave him a look that implied the food ain't the only thing in this joint that tastes good.

"Glad to hear it, baby," she purred, sauntering off. Sam was so pissed, he started stabbing at his lettuce with his fork, making harsh scraping sounds against the plate.

"Easy, there Sammy, what'd that plant ever do to y- holy shit," Dean jumped, not ready to feel the hand on his dick.

"What the hell is your problem?" John demanded.

Dean coughed awkwardly. "I, uh, turned my n-neck too fast. That vamp in Wisconsin did something nasty to it, t-there's a pain I wasn't r-ready for." He stammered his way though a half-assed response, doing his best to think on his feet. Sam's hand was tightening and beginning to move up and down over Dean's jeans, getting him hard. John accepted the lie easily enough, not giving him anything more than a skeptical eyebrow raise, and went back to his plate. Dean sent Sam a heated glare, and that was the moment he realized his little brother must've been sent by the devil himself, because all Dean got was a fuck me daddy look in return.

Dean clamped his fingers around Sam's bony wrist and tugged his hand off, placing it on Sam's side of the seat. Surprisingly, Sam retracted it and set it back on the table, looking smug. Dean got the feeling he was only getting started. Rubbing his neck to make it look real, Dean shoved a handful of fries in his mouth and willed himself to think about things that weren't sexy.

Dead bodies. Guns. Knives. Bloody things. Monsters.

Sam began tracing patterns into the side of his glass, little shapes appearing every time Sam's long fingers wiped away the small droplets of water. Dean wished he could take his eyes off them, but knew he'd couldn't.

Naked old ladies. Bobby in a speedo. Dad having sex.

Dean's burger was all but forgotten when Sam started tracing the rim of his glass slowly, stroking his thump up, down, and over the top of the straw. When he put the flimsy piece of plastic between his perfectly pouted lips, Dean bit his own to keep from letting out some sort of noise.

You're losing, the voice inside Dean's mind ridiculed. Don't let him see what he does to you.

There was one final nail hammered into Dean's coffin, a tiny thorn poking at his side, when Sam began stretching. He tilted his neck to the side and exposed his long neck, reached his arms up towards the sky and put a few holy inches of his toned stomach on display. The little groans coming from the back of his throat were simply pornographic, and when he parted his rose colored lips, curled them around a delicate yawn, Dean wanted to thrust his cock between them so badly he could cry.

Overall, the entire exchange took about seven minutes, from the time Dean started throwing food, to this exact moment where he signaled defeat. He didn't say anything. He didn't do anything. He didn't even meet Sam's eyes. The desperation on his face while he gazed at Sam's mouth was a clear enough message. I give, you win. This round is yours. Then that was it. Subtle, quick, and effective. That's how the game was played and how most every round went.

The rest of their dinner passed quietly, no talking, no bickering, no secret teasing. Dean supposed to their father, the silence would've been comfortable. Sam was busy basking in the glow of his well-deserved victory, and Dean was chomping at the bit. His dick was still half hard and since Sam wouldn't be taking care of it later, he'd like to eradicate the problem on his own, as soon as possible. Despite this, he still managed to put his entire burger away and top off all his fries. Apparently, horniness still can't trump hunger.

"You boys ready to go?" John asked, already flagging Natalie down and digging through his pockets for his cash.

Even when Dean kept his gaze carefully elsewhere, he could still feel her eyes burning into his skull. When she came back with John's change and the receipt, she handed the money to his father and the paper to Dean. There was a phone number scribbled on it in pink pen and a tiny face winking at him from the corner. She was gone without another word, her only goodbye a subtle drag of fingertips across Dean's arm as she went. She already thought Dean was coming back, so she didn't need to leave him with any parting words. Dean considered picking up the paper, stuffing it in his back pocket so that he could have her number and call her for a good time later. Sam wasn't putting out, and there was someone else already willing. Maybe driving for hours, just to meet Natalie, like their father suggested, would be what pushed Sam over the edge.

Then there was a warm body pressed against his side and the word move was being whispered into his ear. Dean shivered, looking up at their father to see if he'd noticed, only to find he was already on his way out the door.

"Boys, let's go!" he called back to them, and Dean was scrambling to his feet, needing to get away from Sam but wanting to pull him closer. A scene like that wouldn't be welcomed in a place like this.

Sam brushed past him, all long-limbed and confident, and Dean decided he needed to be knocked down a few pegs. He reached out and snagged Sam's shirt by the collar, pulling him back, taking slight joy in the way his little brother gasped when the fabric tightened around his throat.

"What the hell was that?" Dean hissed.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Sam said coyly, repeating Dean's words from earlier when he'd had the upper hand.

"You're going to get us caught!" Dean scream-whispered, ushering Sam towards the door.

"You act like it's the first time we've fooled around under his nose."

"Making out while he's asleep in the bed next to us is 'under his nose'. Grabbing my dick, in his direct line of vision isn't sneaky, it's stupid!" Dean chastised.

"Get over it, you're just mad you lost. And it was under the table, it's not like I got 'brotherfucker' tattooed on my face." Sam said with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't do it again," Dean threatened as quietly as possible when they got to the Impala. Their dad was in the drivers seat, rolling the windows down, getting ready to go.

"It's not my fault I don't always like to share what's mine," Sam told him, unfaltering and unapologetic. He didn't even pause to look at Dean before climbing in the backseat.

Caught off guard, Dean paused with his hand on the car door handle. Sam had never claimed ownership like that before.

"Dean, get in, what are you doing?" John said.

Always good at following orders, Dean opened the door and sat himself down, staring ahead at the road before them.

"You sure you're alright? Been actin' a little strange today," his dad asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just...need a little sleep."

"You've got about six hours before you gotta take over. Enjoy it while you can."

Dean, of course, didn't get any sleep at all. He closed his eyes, sure, but it was impossible to reach that state of unconscious dream land. He couldn't do it while Sammy smirked at him in the rear-view mirror, his words bouncing around inside Dean's brain.

I don't always like to share what's mine.

It was at that particular moment Dean knew he was fucked. Both literally and figuratively. The kid hasn't stopped growing, he was already at eye level with Dean. Sam would be well over six feet tall with the body of a god, and there would come a day where he'd get tired of asking, tried of Dean's games and just start taking. Even if Sam didn't know it yet, Dean could already see images of himself on his back, on his stomach, on his knees, Sam's massive frame looming over him. He pictured Sam's big hands around his throat, could see his back muscles flexing and rolling like ocean waves under his skin. There would come a day when Sam was finally bigger than Dean in every sense of the word, his little brother not so little anymore, and that dominant hint of whatever was in him would take over. Strong willed, strong bodied and one hell of a fuck, Sam would make a great top someday.

Dean hoped it was sooner rather than later.


As promised, John had needed Dean to take over about six hours into the thirteen hour drive. Dean was exhausted, having gotten no sleep because of the things he was conjuring up in his mind.

The first hour was spent picturing Sam's fully-developed body. Bulging biceps and bitable shoulders. Legs longer than a giraffe's. Washboard abs and a jaw so sharp, Dean could slice his palm open. During the second hour, Dean pictured himself in every possible position with this older Sam. Wrists bound to the headboard or behind his back. Legs spread while Sam buried his face between Dean's parted thighs, so eager to feel his little brother's mouth they practically fell open on their own. Bent over a table while Sam fucked him raw from behind. That specific fantasy struck a chord in Dean, and suddenly they were back to their current sixteen and twenty year old selves, the roles reversed. Hour three passed by in a whirlwind of Sam laid out on the nearest flat surface while Dean ravished him, making a mess of the boy who still loved getting fucked. By the time they were four hours into the drive, Dean remembered they were at war. Thinking about Sam wasn't helping him win, so for the entirety of the fourth and fifth hours, he tried deriving different plans and strategies to make his little brother keen. About halfway through hour six was when Dean began to feel sleep start creeping it, but by then it was too late, so he forced himself not to doze off.

"You're up," John muttered gruffly, pulling into a rest stop. "Sam, I'm going to drain the lizard, then you're moving up front. I'm crashing in the back seat. Fill 'er up when I'm gone," he declared, patting Baby's hood.

Oh no.

Oh yes, Sam's devilish grin disagreed. He was practically dancing when he slid out the impala and made his way to Dean's side.

"You hear that?" he purred as soon as their father was out of earshot. "A whole seven hours together in the front seat."

"Don't get any ideas," Dean warned, leaning against the gas pump, "I've gotta keep my eyes on the road."

Sam tilted his head. "That's never stopped you before."

Dean shrugged. "I never had anything to lose before."

"What's there to lose now?" Sam asked. Dean thought it was a stupid question until he realized he didn't have the answer. Sam had sprung things on him so quickly, they never decided what they were playing for.

Dean considered it. He thought about asking Sam to do that thing he always wanted to try, but decided against it. Just in case he lost. Things weren't exactly pointing in his favor. "You decide," he said, narrowing his eyes.

Sam's face lit up like a kid on Christmas, child-like giddiness consuming his features. "This is new. You never willingly let me choose."

"I like trying new things," Dean said.

"Or maybe you've already given in," Sam suggested, raising his left eyebrow.

Trying so hard to make himself appear in control, Dean pushed himself off the gas pump and right into Sam's personal space. He enjoyed the way Sam took a step back, as if slightly intimidated. His voice was neutral, controlled. "Don't make me take it back."

"I'd love to see you try," Sam countered. It was such a typical, little brother response, sounding so petulant and stubborn, but the meaning behind it was so much heavier. Dean didn't comment back, afraid of starting something he knew he couldn't win right now.

"So what's the verdict?" he wondered after their moment of intensity.

A brief pause. "Free blowjobs for a month. Wherever and whenever, winner doesn't have to reciprocate if they're not up to it," Sam decided.

Dean was surprised. He expected something more intense and a hell of a lot kinkier. These types of things usually were with Sam.

"Okay. Easy enough. Deal," Dean agreed, stepping back when he saw their Dad reappear in the corner of his eye.

"Playtime," Sam chimed in a sing-song voice, heading for the passenger seat.

"I thought I told you no games," Dean growled.

"When have you ever known me to listen?"

"Let's get a move on," John said, appearing from behind Dean.

Dean nodded, getting behind the wheel almost solemnly, his demeanor a stark contrast to that of his bubbling brother.

"Try to make as few stops as you can," John instructed, practically falling into the backseat, "I wanna make it there by morning."

"Yes, sir," Dean obliged, dread and poorly disguised arousal, thick in his voice. He knew he was in for it.


To be fair, Sam at least waited until their dad fell asleep. Dean had to give him credit for that. He already knew his protests from before were futile, so he'd been waiting patiently for Sam to make his move.

"Remember the time Dad and Bobby went on a hunt together, and he left us with the car?" Sam began, sliding over in his seat to be closer to Dean.

"I don't recall," Dean said flatly.

"Yes you do," Sam argued, "I had just turned fifteen. They were gone for my birthday and said they would be for the whole week, so you wanted to do something special for me."

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself, already knowing where the story was headed.

"You had me grab my shit and get in the impala. You never told me where we were going because you wanted it to be a surprise," he continued, now flush against Dean's body. Gentle whispers of words brushed Dean's ear as Sam spoke, sending invisible chills up and down his spine.

"I pried it out of you, eventually, and found out we were going to the Smithsonian. I was so excited, but I didnt know how to repay you. Then I remembered you had just taught me what a blowjob was. How to please you, make you happy...I was so eager to learn," Sam reminisced.

"Yeah, you've always been a nerd," Dean breathed. Sam really was eager back then, an obedient student awaiting any sort of tips or criticism he could get. In just a little over a years worth of time, he's gone from an enthusiastic, inexperienced kid to a master of sex and seduction. His transformation gave Dean whiplash.

Sam carried on with the story. "I wanted you to know how appreciative I was. How grateful that you took the time to think of me."

There was a subtle press of lips against the soft spot of skin under Dean's ear. This was dangerous territory. Kissing on the lips, or initiating contact between their mouths, counted as a loss. Sam was playing with fire, but he knew how to handle the heat.

"So I slid over, right to where I'm sitting now..."

Another kiss against Dean's jaw.

"...then I reached for your belt..."

Nimble fingers came down to toy with Dean's buckle. Sam kissed him again, this time at the base of his throat.

"...and when I finally got it off, I pulled down your zipper..."

Dean's belt was opened, his zipper down.

" show you all I'd learned, as a way to say thanks."

Dean swallowed hard. "I'm not asking for it."

"Are you sure about that?"

For the second time that day, Sam had put his hands on Dean's dick. This time, the only thing separating it from Sam's bare skin was the thin layer of his briefs. Again, Sam was so close to breaking the rules, but so carefully avoiding it. Had he snaked his hand under Dean's briefs to wrap his fingers around Dean's cock, he would've lost. Dick-to-skin contact was forbidden. Even when Sam allowed the tips of his fingers to delve under the waistband, he got away with it. He never strayed any farther than Dean's lower abdomen, and no rules were broken.

"C'mon, Dean, I know you want it, just ask. There's no shame in losing," Sam urged.

"I told you no," Dean deadpanned.

"What's a few bj's here and there? That's all it is. Just say those magic words and we'll be ready to go. You've always loved getting road head. "

A tight-lipped smile spread across Dean's face. He took his right hand off the wheel and put it under Sam's chin, as if he were pulling him in for a real kiss this time.

"Sammy," Dean whispered when their lips were centimeters apart.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, eyes closed, waiting to hear Dean admit defeat.

Then, suddenly, Dean had a steel grip on Sam's jaw and his eyes were flying wide open, cheeks squished together, making him look like a fish. Amused, Dean shut him down completely. "If you think some half-assed dirty talk and a couple of gropes are gonna break me, you're sorely mistaken. Get back in your seat and step up your game, little boy, because I've only just started."

He wasn't sure where the 'little boy' came from. But the look in Sam's eyes when he said it was enough to let Dean know it conjured up some sort of emotion. That counted for something.

Sam didn't speak. Didn't move, didn't try to touch Dean, didn't even breathe. Eventually, he blinked twice, scooted back to his side, and laughed. It was dark, sort of bitter...maybe just a little bit sexy. It made Dean's fists clench tighter on the wheel, his body shiver.

"Step up my game, huh? Alright. Fine. Just remember you wanted it."

End of round. Point Dean. Sam didn't try anything else for the rest of the drive, just sat quietly and occasionally tapped his fingers to the music Dean put on to fill their silence. He brooded the rest of the way to God-knows-where, Illinois without speaking. The gears turning in Sam's head were practically visible.

Dean had won the round, but it still managed to feel like a loss.


By the time they got to the motel, Dean could barely keep his eyes open. It was nearly four thirty in the morning, and they'd made it all seven hours with no stops. He was so exhausted, all he did was glance when Sam stripped off his shirt and headed for the shower. Their dad flopped down on the bed closest to the door and went right to sleep, not even bothering to get changed. After digging through his duffel bag for a couple minutes, Dean found a clean pair of shorts and tossed his dirty clothes on the floor. He needed to do laundry soon.

The sound of running water could be heard through the thin motel walls, a gentle pitter-patter that reminded him of rain. It was soothing to Dean, and he climbed into bed, focusing on the noises in the bathroom instead of his fathers chainsaw-like snoring. In hindsight, it was a bad idea, because his thoughts turned from running water to picturing Sam under said running water. Having witnessed it before, Dean knew it was a sight to behold, and the older Sam got, the more his body changed from lithe to lethal. Dean could see the chords of muscles forming in his arms, his legs, his back. Felt them any time his fingers danced over Sam's skin and pictured it all under the boiling hot spray.

Ever since he was little, people have told Dean he was going to be a heartbreaker. Women from seedy bars and diners. Old ladies in stores that used to stop him and his father just to pinch his cheeks. Even Ellen, who he and Sam used to frequently visit with Bobby.

You better watch this one, she'd say. Lord knows his daddy won't, and he's gonna be a real looker some day. Don't need anymore Winchester babies running around.

Maybe Dean was attractive. He wasn't really sure. Because the entire time he was growing up and people were looking at him, he was too busy looking at Sam. His whole life, Dean's kept such a close eye on his brother, always feeling sort of helpless the more Sammy grew up, right in front of his face. His chubby face was gone, now high cheekbones and a small dimple in his chin. He grew into all his limbs that used to be too big for him as a twelve year old boy. His hair got longer, his temper got shorter and at nearly seventeen years old, Sam was so beautiful it broke Dean's heart in half. It was only going to get worse.

As if on cue, Sam stepped out of the bathroom. Crappy lighting and a cloud of steam poured out behind him, still shirtless and towel-drying his hair. Dean was torn between wanting to lick the drops of water off his body or kissing him until neither of them could breathe. Expecting some kind of inappropriate comment from Sam whenever he finally crawled into bed, Dean was surprised when he said nothing at all. That was when he knew they weren't playing right now. It was just them, tangled together in the dark, drawing comfort from their only real source of happiness in this life they lived. Each other. The head on Dean's chest was a familiar weight he'd come to adore, often times unable to fall asleep without it there. Dean didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around Sam and pull him close. He wasn't worried about their father seeing them. By morning they'd be all spread out and fighting for bed space, just like always.

Sam mumbled something that sounded like 'goodnight Dean' and was out like a light. Dean smiled, feeling like he had everything in the world.


When Dean woke up, Sam wasn't in bed anymore. Panic gripped him momentarily, as he bolted upright and began searching the room. He didn't have to look far. Sam was spread out on John's bed, casually flipping through television channels, picking at what looked like a small stack of pancakes.

"Mornin', sleeping beauty," Sam said, eyes never leaving the screen.

"What time is it?" Dean rasped, voice thick with sleep.

"Almost eleven."

"Holy shit, why didn't you wake me up?" Dean asked.

Sam stuffed a fork full of pancakes in his mouth. "You needed the rest."

"Dad gone?"

"Yeah, left about an hour and a half ago. Said He'd be back by Sunday evening," Sam gestured to the small table in the corner of the room, "He brought breakfast before he went, though. And there's a note for you somewhere over there, too."

Dean pulled himself off the bed with a grunt, ambling over to the table. A bacon, egg and cheese sandwich sat inside a McDonalds bag and a short message was scrawled messily on a napkin.

There's a hundred cash and new credit cards in your bag. Be back Sunday. Watch out for Sammy.

"Watch out for Sammy," Dean murmured to himself. The same thing he's been told since he was four. The same thing he's been doing on his own for so long now, he doesn't know why their dad still feels the need to remind him. Part of Dean wonders what would happen if John knew 'watching out for Sammy' included making him come three times in one night, and fucking him so hard he couldn't walk right the next day. John would probably shoot him. Would definitely punch him first. Or maybe he would just pack Dean's things and throw him to the wolves, literally, and use him as bait for whatever the next case was. Not that Sam would ever let that happen. He'd fight their dad tooth and nail, and be right there with Dean, together in life, together in death. It was nice to know there was someone out there willing to die for you. More importantly, Dean liked knowing he had someone to die for. It gave him purpose and the strength to keep going when all he wanted to do was quit.

"How long've you been up?" Dean questioned, taking an obnoxiously large bite of his breakfast sandwich. It was disappointingly cold.

"Long enough to have jacked off and made a trip to the store."

"What'd you get?"

"Usual stuff. Cereal, ramen, loaf of bread, some cheese, case of beer."

Dean's eyes widened. "How'd you manage that?"

"The guy behind the counter liked me," Sam winked, "Really liked me."

Dean stiffened, the thought of some creep feeling up his boy making him hate the taste of food in his mouth.

Sam laughed at his expression. "Relax, nothing happened. I'm just good at getting what I want. Besides, married men aren't my thing," he looked down and smiled secretly, "Actually...I bought you a little present."

"You did?"

Sam nodded and bit his lip. Dean knew this wasn't going to be good. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?" Dean pushed.

"The kind you get when you ask me for it nicely," Sam said allusively.

So that's what it was. Another trick to make Dean cave. The curiosity of it all was going to drive him mad, but he was strong-willed and this wouldn't be what ruined him...he hoped.

"That's not happening," Dean scoffed.

Sam shrugged. "Fine. It's your loss. Maybe the guy from the store will appreciate it."

"Thought you said married guys weren't your thing," Dean retorted.

"They're not," Sam agreed, "but kinky sex is."

And there it was. The bomb that dropped and ended Dean. He didn't ask Sam to show him what his surprise was, but he shut up pretty quickly after that. Now, he was itching to know. There were endless possibilities as to what it could be, and Dean began to think he'd overestimated himself, while he pictured every sinful option.

Another round over, another point to Sam. Dean was losing, three to five.


The weekend came and went, John was back Sunday as promised (an unusual occurrence, for most of the time their father extended his deadlines by at least two days to go on a post-hunt bender), and Dean hadn't asked Sam what his surprise was. Sam had tried to crack him, almost did a number of times, but Dean somehow managed to grasp his few remaining threads of self-control and hold on for dear life. He'd also been able to even the score a little bit, now only down by one in a six to seven game.

They stayed in their tiny motel room for one extra day after their father got back, then the Winchesters were off to Georgia. John didn't tell them why they were going, just said he had some "personal stuff" to take care of and would need a few weeks to sort it out. By this point, Dean knew John's "personal stuff" was really about his crusade against the demon that killed their mother. He didn't blame their dad for wanting to kill the thing so badly, he just wished he would allow the boys to help more often.

They landed in a small town named Thornwood two days later. By some miracle, they'd found a house this time, complete with three bedrooms, decent water pressure, and a normal sized fridge. To make things even better, Sam and Dean would have it all to themselves. Sam, of course, had to go to school during the day (Dean had enrolled him at the local high school almost immediately after arriving), and Dean would probably have to get a job to avoid running out of money. But in the evenings it would be just the two of them, alone together.

John had barely gotten through the door before he was turning around, headed right back out again. He'd given Dean the ritualistic take care of yourself, but more importantly your brother speech, slapped two hundred bucks on the kitchen counter and bolted, the impala's roaring engine audible all the way down the street.

Music to Dean's ears.

"Hey, Sammy!" he cried out, ready to get the inevitable ball rolling. No answer.

"Sam!" he tried again. Nothing.

"What the hell is he doing," he bitched to himself, climbing the stairs noisily. He heard muffled sounds from Sam's bedroom and pounded loudly on the door a few times before shoving it open. "Sam, Dad's gone what're you- oh."

"I- uh...I see you got started without me," Dean swallowed, unsure what to do with the sight in front of him. Completely naked and already panting, Sam had three fingers in his ass and a hand wrapped tightly around his dick. Sweat was forming on his body, making his skin shine and hair stick to his forehead. He looked so fuckable Dean's insides melted.

"I was horny," Sam gasped, thrusting up into his own hand, "and you weren't gonna do anything to help me."

Dean made himself comfortable, leaning against the doorframe for support when Sam arched his back off the bed and whined, most likely having found his prostate.

"Fuck," Dean hissed under his breathe, unable to look away.

"You don't have to stand there," Sam said, "You can always come in here, finish me off. C'mon Dean, I'll be so good, don't you want it? Don't you want me?"

It was tempting. God, it was so tempting, Dean was digging his fingernails into his palms to keep himself grounded. His blood was singing with desire, wanting him to get on that bed and tear Sam apart, put his mouth over every inch of his sweet little body.

"I can't," Dean forced out, genuinely on the brink of tears. It caused him physical pain to say no to Sam, to deny himself the feeling of pure, wholesome bliss.

"You won't!" Sam cried, "There's a...a- oh god, a difference."

An unintelligible noise clawed its way out of Dean's throat, one so embarrassing he'd deny it, if asked.

"Last chance," Sam threatened, biting his lip and closing his eyes, "Either say yes or I'll deal with it myself."

Precome was beginning to pool on Sam's stomach, next to his belly button. Dean had never wanted to taste something so badly.

"I'm gonna regret this," he mumbled to himself, looking to the sky to curse whatever the fuck was out there watching over him. "The answer is no."

"Fine," Sam whined, "Get out."


"I said get out," he repeated, "You don't wanna participate, that's fine, but you don't get a free peep show either. Make sure the door is shut behind you."

The boy was evil. Pure evil. Dean was shaking when he stepped back. The last thing he wanted to do was leave- scratch that, the last thing he wanted to do was lose, leaving was the second to last thing he wanted to do- but he closed the door behind him with an almost deafening click.

The smart thing would've been to go downstairs. Turn on the tv, play some music, maybe cook something in the kitchen. Drowning Sam out would've been better than Dean going to his own bedroom and listening for every single moan his brother let out. He flopped on his bed and pressed his ear against the wall, desperate to hear any hitched breath or gentle cry he could. Sam didn't bother to be quiet. He screamed and cursed, wailed a litany of Dean's name. Nobody could blame Dean for the hand than wound up down his pants, jerking himself off with quick, hard strokes. He closed his eyes to visualize Sam, flushed and beautiful, begging for Dean to make him feel good.

Sam finally finished with a scream rivaling that of a banshee and Dean was quick to follow. He smacked his head and his fist off the wall in the process of coming all over himself, wishing he could see what his brother looked like at this very moment.

Eventually, the house became eerily quiet. Dean didn't move, and assumed Sam didn't either. He couldn't hear the creak of bed springs anymore. Maybe Sam's orgasm was so intense he fell asleep right afterward. Dean sure hoped so. It would lessen his chances of having to see his boy looking freshly fucked and pleasantly satisfied.

Thankfully, they didn't need to use words to establish there was no winner this time. Silent communication is what Winchesters do best.


It was night time before they faced each other again.

At some point, Dean had dozed off, intending to take a thirty minute nap then feed the monster growling in his stomach, but unfortunately, neither of those things happened. He'd accidentally slept for hours, waking up just in time to see the sun set. The rumbling in his stomach had quieted down by then, dulled by sleep, so he decided to sit on their porch swing, sip on a beer, and watch the last traces of light bleed from the sky.

The Georgia air was warm, Dean could feel summer peeking just around the corner, and he hoped they'd be here long enough to see it through. It was a silly thought, they never stayed in one place for that long, and Dean wasn't the type to wish for stability. He liked the open road, the travel, eating diner food and shacking up in cheap motels. Sam was usually the one wishing they could stay in one place for longer than two months, so that he could make some real friends or join the soccer team. Maybe it was his hormones, or the sleep still clouding his brain, but the idea of their father being gone for a little longer while he and Sam lived life on their own sounded more appealing than just about anything.

It was dark now, blackness creeping in from every angle while insects chirped away in the grass. A sudden feeling of calm washed over Dean. He took another swig from his bottle and embraced it, taking advantage of these moments that were few and far between.

A little while later, the front door was opening and soft yellow light spilled outside. "Hey," Sam's gentle voice spoke, "I wondered where you went."

"You found me," Dean said, tilting his beer towards Sam, then up towards his lips. "Come sit."

"That's the last one, you know. Hope you're planning on sharing," Sam joked, coming to curl up on the swing next to Dean. The old wooden thing creaked against the extra weight, but held steady, supporting both of them while they rocked gently.

"I'm sorry, how old are you?" Dean teased.

"Cute," Sam chuckled, reaching for the beer when Dean yanked it out of his reach. The brief moment of Sam's shirtless body pressed tightly against Dean's sent tiny electric pulses through his veins.

"Hey, who got this beer again?" Sam reminded when he'd had enough of Dean's antics.

"Yeah, yeah, quit your whining," Dean said fondly, passing it over. Sam wasted no time wrapping his lips around it and chugging. Fascinated, Dean watched the way Sam's throat worked as he swallowed, the subtle bob of his Adam's apple moving up and down. The desire to lean in and suck a bruise into the tender skin was so strong, Dean could barely wait until Sam had finished drinking the bottle's contents before moving closer.

Sam gasped, breathy and startled, when Dean's mouth sealed around its target. He dropped the beer, the thud of it hitting the floor sounding far too loud in the quiet night. Sucking like a vampire, Dean fisted one hand in Sam's unruly brown hair, while the other held tight around his waist, attempting to pull him closer. Eventually, Sam got the message, and he straddled Dean's lap, putting him in a position to feel his older brother's erection poking at his hip.

"I'm flattered," Sam breathed sarcastically, "S'that all for me?"

"All yours, baby. Only thing you gotta do is beg real good for me and you can have it," Dean mumbled against Sam's flesh.

"No...'m not that desperate yet," Sam denied. It was hard for Dean to take him seriously when he was beginning to involuntarily buck his hips.

"Sure seems like it," Dean continued, dragging his hands down Sam's back to settle them on his ass, grabbing two big handfuls and squeezing tight. Sam moaned and started grinding down harder, feeling so good that Dean had no choice but to jerk his hips up and feel Sam move.

"Look at you. Rubbing against me, already so needy for it. What if the neighbors see, Sammy?" Dean goaded. Eyes squeezed shut, lips parting prettily and cheeks flushed, Sam looked positively wanton in the glow of street lights and moonlight. "Know what I think? I think you'd like it if we got caught. You're always trying to make a move when Dad's around, or in public an exhibitionist, Sammy?" Dean was genuinely curious, having never gotten around to asking Sam what newfound kinks he'd discovered during his recent sexual development.

Sam was unashamed when he sobbed a broken, "Yes."

"Slut," Dean admonished, though there was nothing but affection in his voice. "What would you do if I fucked you right here, hm? Would you scream my name like you did earlier? Let everyone on the street know that you're getting pounded by your big brother?"

Sam whined and kept gyrating his body, making the most gorgeous sounds when Dean ran his lips further down Sam's shirtless torso and started biting at his nipple.

"Yeah," Dean said, taking Sam's physical reaction as his verbal response, "I think you would."

He grabbed Sam by the chin and forced him to tilt his head downward so their eyes met. They gazed at each other with burning intensity, panting and grinding, cocks hard, dying for release. Their mouths were almost touching, but neither of them sealed the gap. Neither of them were ready to lose. Sam reached up to run his fingers over Dean's lips, pulling gently on the bottom one.

"Just this once," Sam pleaded, "Maybe we can let it slide. Maybe we can allow it."

Dean knew what he was asking for. What he wanted. Of course, giving in to Sam's wishes and turning the other cheek showed weakness on his part, but he didn't care. He wanted to kiss Sam just as terribly. There was nothing wrong with a little leniency every once in a while, and besides, rules were meant to be broken.

"Okay," Dean agreed, licking his lips. Sam's eyes tracked the movement. "Yeah. Yeah we can- but, um, we should still make up for it later."

"How?" Sam asked.

"Dunno," Dean said, "You got any ideas?"

"Maybe one," Sam whispered quietly.

"What is it?"

"B-Bondage," Sam stuttered, cheeks flushing.

Dean hesitated. "What about it?"

"You and I have never really, um. I mean you've like, held my wrists together and stuff but, uh-"

"Spit it out, Sammy."

"Whoever loses should get tied up," Sam explained in a rush, "You know, when- whenever one of us finally breaks and we fuck...the loser gets tied up. In addition to the whole free blowjob thing."

"How come you've never told me about any of this stuff you're in to?" Dean wondered.

Sam gave him a slight shake of the head. "I dunno. It's new to me, too. I just recently found out I liked it. Well...might like it. Haven't tried it with anyone so 'm not sure yet."

Dean raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Alright. Deal."

Sam was on him not even a second later, crashing their mouths together in what could only be described as aggression, already running the tip of his tongue over Dean's lips to ask for entrance. Dean opened up eagerly, having wanted this for what felt like years. Sam was an excellent kisser, Dean had taught him everything he knows, and there was nothing more addictive than the taste of his little brother on his tongue.

The swing was still rocking and creaking, too small for their large bodies, making it hard for them to find a position where Sam wasn't awkwardly sliding off Dean's lap.

"Inside," Sam demanded, getting none too gracefully back on his feet, "Go to my room."

Dean eagerly hurried inside to follow Sam upstairs, allowing himself a brief period of self-indulgence where he grabbed Sam by the waistband of his shorts, pushed him against the railing, and kissed him again. Sam didn't protest. When Dean grew tired of his t-shirt preventing him from skin-on-skin contact, he stripped himself of it almost violently, discarding it somewhere behind them. Pulling Sam off the railing and turning him so that he was facing forward once more, Dean began to walk backwards up the steps, tugging Sam along with him, far too desperate to break their kiss. They moved slowly, clumsily, ungraceful in a way that would disappoint their father and all his hunter training. They were better than this. If John could see them blindly feeling their way down the hall to Sam's bed, he'd be disappointed in them for more than just kissing.

"Why're you laughing?" Sam asked when Dean chortled, fumbling his way into Sam's room.

"It's nothin'," Dean assured, "Just pictured Dad's face if he saw us now."

Sam shuddered. "I don't ever wanna think about that. Or know why you're thinkin' about Dad when you've got me, half-naked and horny right in front of you."

"Key word is half, kiddo," Dean quipped. "I want the full show."

"Sorry, that's only for paying customers," Sam apologized, none too sincerely. Taking a step back from Dean, he hooked his shorts with his thumbs and yanked them down, kicking them to the side and out of the way. Before Dean could comment, he was dropping to his knees in front of his older brother, unfastening the button and zipper of his jeans. He slid them slowly, seductively down Dean's legs, mouthing at Dean's cock through his briefs.

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled, gripping Sam's hair and keeping his head close. "Quit playing dirty."

Sam hummed. "I thought dirty was how you liked it."

"Not when there ain't no happy ending at the finish line."

"Hey, that's your call," Sam said, "You want it, you got it."

"Stop talking and get on the bed."

"Are you waving the white flag?"

"Just do as your told, Sammy."

"Fine," he sighed, "But following orders has always been your thing, not mine."

Dean didn't argue. Sam did have a point.

Sam crawled on all fours up towards the headboard, pausing to cast a heated glance over his shoulder when he realized Dean wasn't following. "You coming or what?"

"God, I wish," Dean groaned, feeling weak at the knees, lunging for the bed. He descended on Sam's body like a predator ready to devour its prey. Twining their fingers together so that he could bring Sam's hands above his head, Dean kissed his brother again, a lingering peck, and a crude promise.

"This what you like, Sammy?" Dean spoke against Sam's lips, as he pinned his little brother's wrists together. "You like feeling helpless?"

"Yes," Sam grunted, panting heavily and arching up into Dean. He looked desperate, hungry, that subtle spark of unyielding dominance becoming prevalent in his eyes. Curious, Dean rolled them over so that their positions were flipped, and Sam was now the one on top with all the power.

"You sure? 'Cause it seems like you enjoy the thought of having me tied up and defenseless a lot more," Dean said.

Sam growled, honestly, truly growled and attacked Dean's throat. That was his answer. He sucked like a leech, leaving a variation of purple bruises and reddening teeth marks everywhere. The fingers of his left hand came down hard on Dean's chest, curling slightly over the jut of his collar bone, while his right hand snaked under Dean's head and into his hair. Gripping tight and pulling backwards, Sam made sure the freckled flesh of Dean's neck stayed vulnerably exposed.

It was a complete loss of control, on both their parts. Sam was ready to rip Dean to shreds, and Dean was going to let him.

"Are you ready to quit being so fucking stubborn?" Sam spoke around a mouthful of Dean's neck, skin trapped tightly between Sam's teeth.

Yes, he almost agreed. I'm yours, Dean thought, take what belongs to you.

"Keep trying, Sammy-boy. You'll get me there eventually," is what he said instead. Sam was too far gone to realize that Dean just admitted he knew he was going to lose.

His frustration was vocalized with an angry almost-scream, and a harsh roll of his hips. Dean hissed and wrapped his arms around Sam's body in a fashion similar to a bear-hug. What they were doing before seemed like a friendly greeting compared to what was happening right now. The grinding they did on the porch was nothing like this. That was child's play. This was what Dean's dreams were make matter how cheesy it sounded.

Their bodies were moving so harshly that it looked like a fight. Every time Dean thrusted up and Sam's body jolted toward the ceiling, he came back down with a force strong enough to dig Dean even deeper into the mattress. They panted and groaned and growled against each others lips, into each others mouths, occasionally flicking out a tongue to taste the skin of the one person that was supposed to be forbidden.

"Sit up," Sam commanded, sounding like he's just swallowed gravel. Dean did as instructed, pushing himself so that his back was against the headboard, making sure Sam never slid off his lap. This position gave Sam more leverage, Dean knew this, but they were both so close to losing it that it didn't even matter. Dean kept his grip on Sam's hips while his little brother worked him over, driving him closer and closer to the edge he knew he couldn't fall over.

"Say it," Sam ordered, sounding every bit like the powerful dominant he was learning to become.

"No," Dean managed.

"I said say it," Sam hissed into Dean's ear. When his fingers flew up and squeezed Dean's neck, the older Winchester nearly lost it. That one action, that subtle warning, made Dean shiver so hard he got goosebumps.

"Come with me," he pleaded, though it came out high-pitched at the end, and sounded more like a question that anything.

"What?" Sam faltered, though his tone was still harsh and domineering.

"We're already breaking the other rules tonight, what's one more?" Dean tried to reason, the roll of his body never-ending.

Dean didn't expect Sam to laugh, but that was what he got. A throaty chuckle from a teenage boy who sounded like he'd been gargling nails, and had far more control than he had any right to.

"You're so screwed," Sam giggled, taking Dean's face between his hands, going in for the kiss.

As always, Sam was right. His smartass little brother had such a strong hold, that he could've asked Dean to cut out his beating heart, and Dean would've done it, then handed it over on a silver platter.

"We doin' this or what?" Dean grit through clenched teeth.

"Duh," Sam huffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it should've been.

"Bitch," Dean scoffed.

Sam smirked. "Am I?"

Dean mouthed at the skin under Sam's ear, a sensitive spot they'd discovered on accident one day. Usually, it gave Dean some control over Sam. Right now was not one of those times.

"You seem to like me being on top just as much as I do," Sam pointed out, with a shit-eating grin. "Last I checked, having all the power doesn't make me a bitch. Certainly doesn't make me your bitch."

"I'm hearin' a lot of talk, but none of that means shit until you put your money where your mouth is," Dean ground out. He was so close, so needy, too head-strong to give up, not without a fight, and ask his little brother to just bend the fuck over.

"Actions speak louder than words, Dean, unless it's you begging me for what you really want," Sam purred.

"Oh yeah? You seem to know everything, so tell me, what do I really want?" Dean asked, knowing the answer, but desperate to hear it come from Sam's lips instead.

"You wan' me to ride you so hard you can't see straight," Sam said, "Wanna put your cock so far up my ass I can feel it in my throat, which you'll prob'ly fuck after you've torn up my ass."

"Fuck," Dean whined, clutching onto Sam for dear life. He buried his face in the crook of his little brother's neck and breathed deeply, the smell of sixteen-year-old-hormones and uncontrollable lust driving him wild.

Sam's tone was teasing, but held underlying layers of seriousness. "That's the idea."

Dean's body was on fire. Beads of sweat rolled down his back, while his chest rubbed against Sam's in a slick slip-and-slide.

"You feel how hard I am, Dean? So close. Gonna come, just for you. All for you."

"Christ, Sam, where'd you get that mouth from," Dean gasped.

"I learned from the best," Sam grinned, through twenty layers of sexual tension and his almost-orgasm, "You taught me everything I know."

"Damn right," Dean grunted, "Don't you forget it."

"Could never forget it," Sam told him. "It's all I think about."

"Aw, shucks, Sammy. You think 'bout me?"

"Mhm," Sam nodded, eyes squeezing shut on one particularly good thrust.

"Tell me," Dean demanded.

"'Member when I kissed you for the first time?"

"'Course I do. You were thirteen, and awkward," Dean said. That was one of his favorite memories. July 4th, 1996. Dad was gone, per usual, and Sam was crushed about not getting to spend the holiday as a family. Dean went out later that day and bought a bunch of fireworks, most of which were illegal, and took Sam out to an empty field. They set them off and the night exploded in obnoxiously bright blues, reds, greens and yellows, but Sam's smile was brighter than all of them. Dean had purposely saved the biggest one for last, attempting to create some sort of grand-finale effect. Sam sat patiently on the hood of the Impala while Dean lit the wick, jogging away quickly to stand by his brother's side. A yellow spark shot into the ink black sky, just as two fingers tapped nervously at Dean's shoulder. He turned around and was suddenly face-to-face with Sam. Their noses were touching, their long eyelashes nearly brushed, and just as everything around them was illuminated by blinding color, Sam leaned in. Dean's eyes were closed, but he was still seeing fireworks behind his eyelids. Sam's mouth was clumsy, and he wasn't really sure what he was doing, but Dean knew that it was only the beginning of something great.

"That was my first kiss," Sam said, "Well, my first real kiss. Only one that matters. You know what you said to me?"

Yes. "What did I say?" Dean asked. Of course knew the answer. He wanted Sam to say it.

"You said you wished you could make me yours," he whispered. "Ironic, really, because you didn't know I already belonged to you. Even back then. I think about that all the time. How, even though you didn't think you could ever truly have me, you still taught me all that you could, trying to make me good for you, even though you thought you were making me better for someone else. You told me how fast to go when we were kissing, how much tongue to use, when it was okay for me to stick my hand down your pants. My personal favorite was when you showed me how to repress my gag reflex when I'm sucking your dick-"

Dean moaned. Sam smiled proudly.

"-anyways, my point is that I've always been yours. You've always been mine, we've always been each other's. And when I think about you taking me under your wing, I think about that ownership. Because that's hotter than anything I could ever dream of."

Dean's heart was beating so fast he thought it would explode. His chest was tight with emotion, and it physically hurt to look at Sam's face. "You big ol' sap," he joked, in an effort to lighten the weight of feelings pressing down on his shoulders.

"Bite me," Sam said with an eye roll, leaning down to kiss Dean's smirking lips.

"You're a giant cheeseball," Dean kept going, though his love for Sam was obvious.

"Apparently not cheesy enough to make your dick go limp," Sam stated.

"Yeah, I've been waiting for you to finish me," Dean said.

"With pleasure...literally."

One more kiss. One really great, lip-biting, tongue-filled kiss and two, three, four, five thrusts, then Dean was coming. His hips were lifting off the bed ever so slightly as his heels dug into the mattress and his head lolled back, calling out Sam's name. The younger Winchester was soon to follow, hands flat against the headboard with Dean's head between them, their foreheads touching. They stayed like that for a while, breathing heavily while they waited to come down from their high.

Dean was the first to break the silence. "Jesus Christ, Sam."

"Yeah, you too."

"What 'm I gonna do with you?"

"That's your choice, now. Put your game face back on, Dean, because we're at war," Sam grinned, then rolled off the bed. Now that the comforting weight was gone from Dean's lap, he felt cold and sticky, staring disdainfully at the wet spot on the front of his briefs.

"Ew," he muttered.

"I call dibs on showering first!" Sam called as he hurried out the room, "I'd invite you to join me, but...I don't want to."

"You little shit," Dean cried, hauling himself to his feet then chasing Sam down the hall. "You're gonna have to fight me for it!"

"No, you always use all the hot water!"

"Samuel Winchester, get your ass back here!"

"Ooh was that a threat? You gonna make me?"

Needless to say, Dean did.


Disappointingly, Sam had school the next morning.

Dean was more bummed about it than Sam was, brooding around the kitchen while he made them breakfast and packed Sam's lunch.

"Cheer up," Sam said, knocking their knees together under the table, "It's only a few hours. I'll be back before you know it."

"What am I supposed to do around here?" Dean sighed, "I'm gonna be so bored."

"You could always go job hunting," Sam suggested.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "We're not tight on cash yet, I think we can get by on whatever I make hustling pool. For now, at least."

"This place is sorta messy. You could clean up around here."

"Do I look like a housewife to you, Sammy?"

In his typical bratty little brother fashion, Sam rolled his eyes to the sky and exhaled dramatically. "Go to the gym. Take a nap. See a movie. Jerk off. I dunno, Dean, do whatever it is you normally do when I'm not here."

"You're always here," Dean moped.

"You'll be fine," Sam promised, standing up to put his dirty plate in the sink, "I've gotta go."

"Want me to walk with you?" Dean wondered, a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

Sam shook his head. "I'm sixteen, not six, Dean. I can make it on my own."

"I didn't ask if you were capable. I asked if you wanted company," Dean argued.

Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder and placed a kiss on Dean's cheek. "I know what you're trying to do. It's a new school, with new people, and you're worried about me. You wanna get the lay of the land, or stake some kinda claim on me in front of everyone so they know not to mess with me."


"Maybe I just want to take a quiet, introspective, morning stroll with my little brother. Is that so wrong?"

"You?" Sam mocked, "Introspective? Yeah, right."

"Hey," Dean protested, "I can be deep!"

"The deepest you've ever been is seven and a half inches in my ass," Sam said with raised eyebrows. A smug look lit up Dean's face.

"Lose the grin, goofball."

"Seriously, though, you know I wouldn't be me if I didn't worry about you all the time."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"Never said you couldn't."

"Okay, I'm actually leaving this time," Sam said, heading for the front door, "If you try to follow me, I'll kick your ass."

Damn it. Busted again.

"No need. My ass will be right here," Dean grumbled, lifting his coffee mug to his lips.

"That's what I thought."

"You got your phone?" Dean checked.

"Yes, mother," Sam said sarcastically.

"If I didn't look out for my baby what kinda parent would I be?" Dean meant for it to be lighthearted. The words were out before he realized how heavy and true they actually were.

"Mhm. See ya later, jerk."

Then Sam was gone.

Everything was fine, for the first ten minutes. Dean managed to finish his entire cup of coffee before he collapsed into an unproductive puddle of nothing. He couldn't look for a case, because Dad hadn't given Sam permission to go hunting. Dean couldn't and wouldn't leave Sam here by himself. If anything happened to him, Dean would go out of his mind. Sam did make a good point about the place being a bit of a pig sty, so Dean began fixing things up a little. He made it through the kitchen, the living room, didn't give a rats ass about the bathroom or his own bedroom, and made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning some of the windows. Afterwards, he walked down the hall and stood face to face with Sam's door. Part of him knew it was an invasion of privacy to snoop. The other part wanted to be the asshole big brother who can't keep himself from taking a good, unsupervised look around his kid brother's room.

In the end, asshole big brother beat respectful human being.

Sam's room was pretty empty. It normally was, they never had any time to make things feel personal and cozy. A few books that looked boring as all hell were stacked on the nightstand next to Sam's bed. There were some shirts thrown in a pile on a chair. When Dean sorted through them, he realized two of them were actually his. Sam wearing his clothes was always hot, so he let it slide. A video game here, a magazine there, and that was just about everything. Sam didn't have much, but Dean vowed to give him everything he wanted and more. As best as he could, at least. It was hard to provide Sam with the luxurious lifestyle he deserved when the only money they were making was from whatever minimum-wage-paying job Dean managed to find.

He was about to leave when he accidentally kicked something stuffed haphazardly underneath the bed. Crouching down, Dean reached under and pulled out a duffel bag. Finding the bag was unassuming, but what struck Dean as odd was the fact that it still felt full. Sam always unpacked everything as soon as they got someplace. He patted it a few times, definitely felt something in it, then pulled the zipper open. There was another smaller bag made of plastic, handles tied together at the top. It looked harmless enough, but there had to be something good inside if Sam was trying to keep it a secret. Dean went to work opening it up when he was hit with something Sam had said days before.

I bought you a surprise.

This could very easily be it. Dean felt butterflies in his stomach while he looked down at the bag, contemplating if he should open it up and ruin the surprise or not. It didn't take much thought.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it wouldn't lay a hand on Dean Winchester.

He was careful not to tear anything when he opened it up. One peek inside and he was instantly harder than diamonds. The first object was a shiny pair of brand-spankin-new metal handcuffs. Dean handled them with care, afraid he was going to leave some sort of mark and damage their perfect condition, though he knew they were going to take quite a beating relatively soon. He wanted nothing more than to slap the cuffs around his own wrists and take them for a spin, but he wanted Sam to be there the first time he put these on. If he put them on. Technically, he didn't know if these were meant for him or Sam. He supposed they would be for the loser of their little game, recalling what Sam had said about bondage last night. He'd suggested it fully knowing that these cuffs were tucked away safely in his room. Setting them carefully to the side, Dean stuck his hand back in, fingers coming to a complete halt when they brushed something lacey. He rolled it between his thumb are forefinger, before deciding, yep, these are most definitely what I think they are. Lifting them up slowly, Dean damn near cried. In his hand was a red, lacey, pair of panties, that were most definitely big enough to fit a man. All Dean could think about was Rhonda Hurley, and how he'd gotten too drunk one night last year and over-shared some details of his night with her. Apparently, Sam had clung on to that particular bit of knowledge and saved it for when he'd really need it. Dean's fingers were shaking as he pulled out the last object, a thick strip of black satin. Dean brought it up to his face and covered his eyes, testing it out to see if he could see through it. He couldn't.

"Fuck," he breathed, overwhelmed with what he'd just seen, "Fuck."

Dean's cock had grown so hard he had to rub himself through his sweatpants to relieve the building pressure. That touch alone was almost enough to make him come, images of Sam in panties screwing with his brain so hard he couldn't think straight. He wanted to fuck Sam. He wanted Sam to walk through that door right freakin' now, so he could take what was his. He didn't care if he lost. He didn't care if he gave up. All that meant was that he had to blow Sam and wear the handcuffs. Both of which were things he wasn't object to in any way. Things were going to end tonight, Dean was going to make sure of that, but the first order of business was to put everything back exactly as he'd found it.

Afterwards, he ran to his room, frantically searching for his cellphone. When he found it, he scrolled through his extremely short contact list until he saw Sam's name. He knew that he was in class and probably wouldn't answer immediately, but hoped he would anyways. Dean pushed his pants down to his ankles and flopped back on his bed, using one hand to send a message while the other gripped his dick.

what r u doing

Sent. To Dean's extreme pleasure, Sam answered almost instantly.

nothing. class is boring. learned everything here three schools back.

That was his Sammy, so smart and always ahead of the game.

poor you. wanna know what im doin?

Sent. Another quick response.

no. but ur probably gonna tell me.

Dean smirked. He snapped a picture of himself jerking off and typed a quick message before sending it to Sam.

took ur advice. u said to jerk off so i am.

This time, it took longer for Sam to respond.

dammit dean im in class

Dean began stroking himself slowly.

u just said u already know it all. cant u help a guy out?

Sent. Now he waited.

not while im sitting in the middle of a ton of ppl

He could picture Sam squirming in the back of the classroom, hunched over his phone, doing his best to keep his dick at bay.

am i makin u hard?

Sam didn't give Dean the smartass remark he expected. There was only two little words on the screen.

fuck you

Dean actually laughed out loud, knowing Sam was beyond frustrated. His hand moved faster and faster over his cock. Dean played with himself and waited to answer Sam's text until he came. When he did so, he took another picture of his hand and stomach completely covered with it.

look what u made me do. hope the rest of ur day is great :)

Dean threw in the smiley face to be an ass. Sam didn't answer, which meant Dean took the cake on this one. Another point to Dean and the score was almost even. It didn't matter. He knew one of them was going to break tonight.


When it was time for Sam to be heading home from school, he texted Dean to tell him he'd be late. Said he had twenty bucks in his pocket and was going to make a run to the grocery store, since they didn't have much to eat right now.

Dean didn't think twice. Just assumed it was because Sam was hungry after his day of munching on cafeteria food, and wanted to eat something in particular when he got home that they didn't currently have. Jogging was something unusual for Dean. Quite honestly, he hated it, but he needed a way to blow off some steam until he fucked his brains out. So he threw on some shorts, stripped himself of his shirt since it was an unusually hot day, and headed out.

Obviously, Sam would be waiting for him when he got back, but what Dean didn't expect to find was him sitting on the kitchen counter, sucking on a popsicle like his life depended on it. Dean stopped dead in his tracks the second he saw him. It was cheesy. It was cliché. It was so damn effective Dean almost dropped to his knees and started begging for it on sight.

"Wondered where you were," Sam said, licking a flat stripe up the side of his cherry-flavored ice. He'd changed into a pair of basketball shorts and one of Dean's too-big t-shirts, while his feet dangled just a few inches above the floor. The untied shoelaces of his sneakers slapped quietly against the tile floor every time he swung his legs. It was obscene. Sam looked so childlike, so innocent, but his intentions behind this whole scene were anything but.

"I see you got what you wanted," Dean said, swallowing in an attempt to wet his dry throat.

Sam's mouth had been working at the tip, and he pulled off with a wet popping sound. "Yup, I did."

Red juice was running all over Sam's hand. It coated his fingers and dripped down to the top of his wrist. He made no attempt to wipe it up. Dean walked over to him slowly, what he hoped was seductively, eyeing his little brother like a slab of raw meat. Sam's gaze held challenge as he looked Dean straight in the eyes and took the popsicle to the back of his throat, making all sorts of noises when he pulled it back out and started thrusting it shallowly between his lips. When Dean had enough he grabbed Sam by the wrist and snatched the popsicle out of his hand. Sam made a small noise of protest when Dean tossed it into the sink, but was silenced when two of his fingers were placed in Dean's mouth.

Dean took his time sucking the juice off of every digit, swirling his tongue around each finger carefully. His brother's cheeks were flushed, almost as red as the sticky substance covering his hands, completely entranced with the way Dean was cleaning him up. When Dean had gotten every finger clean, he turned Sam's hand so that his palm was facing the sky. One fat lick right up the center, from wrist to fingertip was enough to get rid of everything, and Dean knew he wasn't imagining it when Sam moaned softly.

"Been waiting for you to get home all day," Dean said.

"Honestly? I have been, too," Sam admitted, "So what did you do, besides sext me?"

"Not much," Dean answered, thinking of the bag in Sam's room. "I ended up cleaning."

"And you said you weren't a housewife."

"Not a housewife," Dean stated, "Just a responsible big brother."


Dean attempted to change the subject. "What about you, Einstein, what did you do to entertain yourself in all of your classes, since you're just too good for them?"

Sam shrugged. "I didn't do anything."

"Not even when I sent you my dick?"

Sam tried to hide his smile in his shoulder. "Nope. Not even then."

"Who's the one bullshitting now?"

Sam opened his mouth, closed it, then reluctantly told the truth. "Okay, maaaybe I went to the bathroom during fifth period and took care of a few things."

"Mmm. Tell me more," Dean said, leaning in to kiss as the exposed skin of Sam's shoulder. Dean's shoulders were still a bit bigger than Sam's, so his shirts always slipped down a little too far, putting more of Sam's gorgeous collar bones on display.

"There's not much to say. Saw your pictures, got really horny, went to the bathroom, and got off. That's it."

"Tell me what you thought about. You know I love hearing it," Dean said. Sam was turning to Jell-O.

"I imagined what it would be life if you had been there," Sam began, "Thought about how quiet we'd have to be so we didn't get caught. Pictured what it would be like if someone came in and saw me on my knees through the bottom of the stall."

"Go on," Dean urged. He was interrupted by the sound of a timer going off, and Sam was gently pushing him away.

"I'd love to, but my frozen pizza is ready."

Dean had been so distracted, he didn't even realize there was anything in the oven. Up until this point he'd forgotten he was still shirtless, sweaty, and dying of thirst. Although that last one could've been fifty-fifty jogging and Sam. He kept a careful eye on his brother, as he bent over to grab the steaming pizza. His shirt slipped up his body a little bit, revealing the waist band of his shorts. Sam bent just a little further, and his shorts dropped just a hint lower. A subtle peek of red was winking at Dean.

"Sam," Dean said, voice so low he saw his brother tense.

"Yes?" he asked as he put the pizza on top of the stove.

"What are you wearing?"

"Y-You can see what I'm wearing," he said nervously, shifting on his feet.

"Under your clothes. Come here," Dean barked. His voice was coming out sharper than he intended it to be, but he couldn't help himself. Sam shuffled over nervously, keeping a skeptical eye on Dean like he didn't know what to expect. When they stood within touching distance, Dean pulled the elastic of Sam's shorts back and looked down, groaning outright when his suspicions were confirmed.

"Um, surprise," Sam said, obviously unsure how Dean was feeling.

"You win," Dean practically snarled. It came from low in his throat, so thick with arousal he could cut it with a knife.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Dean pushed Sam against the counter harshly, the slap of his palms on the marble top much louder than anticipated. "You heard me the first time. I said you won. I give up. It's over."

"I knew it," Sam said softly, "I knew you were gonna snoop through my stuff. Knew you'd recognize these the second you saw them."

"Congrats, boy genius, you played me like a fiddle. I want you upstairs, now."

Pizza totally forgotten, Sam hurried up the stairs and bolted for his room, Dean trailing right behind him. They took the stairs two at a time, and the moment the were behind Sam's closed door, Dean's remaining pieces of clothes were off. Sam was the same, aside from the small piece of cloth that wasn't quite big enough to completely cover his cock.

"What's the verdict? Am I prettier than Rhonda Hurley?" Sam asked, batting his eyelashes and biting his lip.

"You always have been," Dean said, "Prettier than her with those fucking panties, prettier than her without them. No contest."

Sam kissed him hard and maneuvered them so that Dean was flat on his back, while Sam perched on top of him. This seemed to be the position of choice the past few days.

Both of them had been waiting long enough for this to happen, so they didn't waste much time on the preamble before Sam started making demands.

"Loser gets locked up," he said, as if Dean needed to be reminded of the rule they'd set, "Give me your wrists."

Dean practically threw them in Sam's face, more eager to feel the cold bind of metal than he cared to admit. Sam was gentle when he locked them in place, making sure they weren't too tight, or too loose. Once they were adjusted to both Sam and Dean's likings, Sam placed Dean's wrists above his head and said, "Don't. Move."

Eager to please, Dean nodded diligently. Sam was once again completely in control, and he marveled at the way they could switch positions. One second Dean would be the one barking commands, having all the teasing control, and the next, it would be Sam. The fact that they could both play either role was foreign, yet exciting for Dean. He was sure Sam felt the same way.

Aware of how vulnerable he suddenly was made Dean squirm. He couldn't use his hands. He was totally naked, and there was a good chance Sam would be putting the blindfold over his eyes. Dean was aware that sensory deprivation enhanced his feeling of touch, but he hoped that Sam would wait to cover Dean's eyes until after he took off his panties.

"This was the only thing I could think about all day," Sam said, trailing kisses down Dean's chest. "Kept imagining what it would be like to have you cuffed underneath me."

"What do you think I jerked off to?" Dean asked, "Been dying to see you in those things all day."

Sam hummed. "Then I guess we'll forego the blindfold for now."

Dean nodded. "That would be appreciated."

"For now," Sam reiterated, "That doesn't mean you're off the hook forever."

Dean's mouth quirked up at the corner. "I didn't think it did."

"Good. Hold still."

Sam's mouth was an unexpected wet heat around his dick. Dean gasped and arched his back so far he could've sworn he heard his spine crack. Just like everything else, there was no slow build up to Sam sinking his mouth to the base of Dean's dick. It's been so long since they've fucked, teasing wasn't something either of them were up for right now. Every time Sam's head went down, his tongue flicked up, and when his head came up his tongue went down. It was an overwhelming sensation, and Dean had to fight with all he had not to come in Sam's mouth. When he pulled off to tease at Dean's slit, Dean unconsciously moved his hands to grasp at Sam's hair. It was a force of habit, he didn't mean to break Sam's rules, but when his little brother pulled off completely, he knew he wasn't going to do it again. Sam pinned them firmly above Dean's head for the second time, glaring down at him with pupils so wide, his eyes looked black.

"I thought I told you not to move," he growled. Dean swallowed hard, bucking his hips in search of the friction he'd just been denied. "Do it again and I will blindfold you."

It was a threat Dean didn't take lightly.

Sam continued to suck him off for a few more minutes, until he could sense that Dean was a desperate, needy mess.

"Sammy- oh shit- you gotta stop. I'm gonna come if you don't, you need to stop," Dean whined.

Sam pulled off and looked up, lips red and swollen, hair a fucking mess, while he wiped spit and precome off his face with the back of his hand. "I forgot to get lube. Where's yours?" he asked. Dean practically sobbed at the sound of Sam's voice, raspy and raw from fucking his throat with Dean's dick.

"Side pocket... bag in my closet," Dean managed to get out.

Sam winked and stood up. "Be right back. Don't go anywhere."

Dean watched Sam's ass as he went, already dying for him to return. Every second he couldn't see Sam was another second he felt like he was going to spontaneously combust.

"I'm gonna try to make this quick, since neither of us are gonna last long," Sam explained as he came back into the room, "Same rules apply. No touching, I'll let you have your fun after I get what I want."

Dean thought Sam would've taken off his panties to start stretching himself. It was a welcome surprise when he didn't, just coated his fingers in lube and pulled the red fabric to the side. Sam positioned himself at an angle that gave Dean a perfect view of the one digit that slid inside easily. Sam keened at the initial stretch, but managed to slide a second finger alongside the first one quickly. Once he worked himself up to the third finger was when things got harder, Dean knew that from experience. Sam was just so tight, it always took a while for that third finger to get situated comfortably inside. It was also when Sam could begin to reach far enough that he brushed his prostate. It wasn't as good as Dean's fingers or cock hitting that sweet spot, but it was something. Dean could see the exact moment Sam found it, his mouth fell open just a little wider than normal. When Sam pushed that fourth and final finger in, he wasn't ready. Both of them knew it. But Sam has never objected to a little pain mixed with his pleasure, and he was as ready to get fucked, as Dean was to fuck him.

Sam gave Dean's shaft a few strokes, coated it with lube, then positioned himself over it. "You ready?" he asked coyly.

"Where's the condom?" Dean asked.

"Have you been tested recently?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "About three weeks ago. Haven't been with anybody since."

"And I haven't been like this with anybody but you, ever, so we're fine. Don't need it"

"Alright then. C'mon, get a fuckin' move on, Sammy, please," Dean begged.

Sam started sinking downward, allowing gravity to do most of the work for him. "Since you asked so nicely."

It took few minutes for Dean to be fully sheathed. Sam grew sweaty and flushed by the time he was totally seated. A few more minutes passed before Sam adjusted to the burn-stretch of it all. He began moving with small, figure-eight motions that kept Dean's cock against his prostate the entire time, and the hot, pleasurable, spark of it dulled some of the initial ache. Once he was comfortable, he started to lift himself up slowly. Dean was making a bunch of unintelligible noises, so desperate to touch him, but knowing the consequences of his actions if he did. Sammy first, Dean later. This was the first round of many, and if Sam wanted to be a toppy bottom, Dean was gonna let him.

"Ugh, you're always so big," Sam whined.

"I take that as a compliment." Despite the whimpering, begging disaster Dean was being resorted to, he still tried to keep up some aspect of his usual bravado.

When Sam was ready, he really started going at it. Every time he raised himself up and slammed himself down, it was as if someone were pulling his body with a string. Dean thought it was a stupid comparison, since the only puppet in the room was him. Sam was so hot it felt like there were burns being left on his skin, anywhere Sam was gracious enough to lay a finger. They settled comfortably around Dean's throat, and that's when Dean really started begging for it. He wasn't sure what he kept asking for, but whatever it was Sam was willing to give, Dean wanted to have it.

"Please...please, Sammy I need it. I need all of it, everything you got, give it to me," he wailed.

"Shh, it's yours, Dean. It's all yours. I'm yours. You're doing so good, I just need you to hold on a little longer," Sam soothed.

"You're so hot," Dean told him, "So fucking pretty, it should be illegal. Look so good riding my cock in your panties."

"Keep talking," Sam panted.

Talking. That was something Dean could do. Sam loved ownership right? If that's what got him off, he was gonna get it.

"God, you don't have any clue, do you? How gorgeous you are? How everyone looks at you? They all do Sammy, every single one of them. They all want you like I do, they wanna make you theirs. But they can't can they? Because you're mine. I'd kill them all, Sammy, anyone who dares glance at you the wrong way."

Sam's eyes were shut now. His movements were becoming jerky and his grip was tightening on Dean's throat.

"I'm gonna come," he choked out.

"Come just for me, right? Only me?"

Sam nodded. "Just for you."

"Let go, Sammy. I wanna see your face when it happens. I want you to come with me."

It didn't take long. A few more stuttering thrusts and Sam was slamming himself down for one final burst of pleasure, throwing his head back and screaming with the intensity of his orgasm. Dean did the same, reaching out for Sam with his bound wrists, rules be damned. They screamed and shouted together, while their bodies writhed in pleasure. When they came down from their high, they were both boneless, a weeks worth of sexual tension being released in this one moment.

Sam flopped gracelessly against Dean's chest, mumbling some nonsense about him being the best thing that's ever happened to him. Dean stroked Sam's sweaty back until he stopped shaking, the small act calming for both of them.

"You're so good at that," Dean murmured against Sam's forehead.

"At what?"

"Sex," Dean chuckled, "Best I've ever had. And I'm not just sayin' it 'cause I'm biased."

"I'd say the same, but you're the only one I've had," Sam joked.

"If I have any say, it'll stay that way," Dean said seriously. "But it doesn't matter. I'd still be the best."

"Too bad you're not the best at playing games," Sam jabbed, "Because I won."

"Yeah, yeah, all hail Sam Winchester, master of sex and seduction," Dean fake-sighed, pretending to be annoyed.

"That has a nice ring to it. Maybe it should be my new name."

"In your dreams, kiddo."

"Yeah. I figured that's what you'd say."

A few moments of blissful silence passed between them before either one spoke.

"Hey, Dean?"


"You wanna go again?"