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Sam moans and presses his face deeper into Dean´s neck, his hands tightening their grip on Dean´s shirt as he tries to get closer. He´s panting, his breathing fast and uneven, greedy little intakes of air that feel unreasonably hot against Dean´s naked skin.

Baby flies through the next corner and gravitation pushes Sam´s hips flush against Dean´s thigh.

Dean swallows. Hard.

Shit. That is definitely, definitely not Sam´s gun.

He feels himself flush all over, the thought of Sam´s dick being right the fuck there enough to make every muscle in his body lock up, but Sam doesn´t seem to share his mortification. Instead, he grunts in approval and starts rubbing up against Dean, the hard line of his cock burning with unnatural heat even through two layers of denim.

Crap, this is not good. So, so not good.

Dean pushes Sam´s sweat soaked hair out of his face and does his best to ignore the humping. If that´s what it takes to ease Sam´s pain, than he´s damn well going to bite his tongue and fucking deal with it.

“Dad.” Dean snarls without looking up from Sammy. “Hurry the fuck up, he´s losing it.”

John doesn´t answer, but a second later Baby roars and speeds up even further, gravel flying up and hitting the undercarriage and her sides.

For once, even Dean doesn´t give a shit about her paint job.

It does take his attention away from Sam for half a second though, and his little brother uses his distraction to slide his hand a little lower, greedy fingers finding places they seriously have no business being, sex venom or not.

“No groping, Sammy.” Dean admonishes gently, and removes Sam´s hand from where it is fumbling with his zipper. “You know the rules. Keep your hands in G-rated territory, man.”

Sam whines unhappily and twists his hands free, his fingers immediately sneaking under Dean´s shirt and finding the naked skin of his lower back. He nuzzles closer, mouths at Dean´s throat and begins to hump his thigh in earnest, shallow little thrusts that make Dean´s blood run a little faster, each movement sending shivers down his spine.

“Dean!” Sam whimpers. “Come on, you gotta – just let me - “

He breaks off with a moan that is more pain than pleasure, body tensing up when another cramp hits him hard. There´s nothing Dean can do but hold him through it, hands rubbing soothingly over Sam´s back in a futile attempt to lessen the pain.

The cramps are coming more frequently now, a sure as hell sign that their time is running out, and godfuckingdammit, Dean still has no idea how to fix this, doesn´t know how to get Sam through the night.

He´s wrecked his brain and he´s come up with nothing. Nada. Not even a hint of an idea.

The worst part is, that Dean is about ninety percent sure that Sam wouldn´t be this fucking helpless if their places were reversed.

Sam would remember. Sam would know. Sam would find a way to save him.

If Dean had been just a tiny bit faster, he might have cornered the incubus first and they could have avoided this goddamn mess.

Baby´s tires screech in protest when John brings her to a stop in front of their room, the force of it so strong that Dean has to brace himself against her front seats to keep him and Sam from tumbling through the car.

He´s out of the Impala in seconds, thanking every God he can think of that their motel is even sleazier than usual and that none of the other guests bats an eye when he manhandles Sam to their door.

It doesn´t help that the kid is clinging to him as hard as he can, refusing to let go of Dean for even a second and doing his very best to grope him as much as possible.

John´s two steps behind them, already growling into his phone with an urgency that tells Dean everything he needs to know about the gravity of their current situation.

He ignores the panic rising in his chest and instead focuses on getting Sam on one of their beds.

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean soothes, doing his best to sound calm. Somehow, it works. Barley. “You can keep touching me if you want, I just need you to sit here and wait for Dad, okay?”

“Don´t want Dad!” Sam protest, but he sighs happily when his hands find Dean´s naked skin again. “Just you, Dean. Only need you.”

The kid´s burning up with fever, eyes wild, pupils blown, only traces of Sam underneath the venom haze. He looks a bit like one of those drug addicts they sometimes show on TV to scare off teenagers, shaky and desperate and in dire need of another fix.

Dean looks up when John comes in, his stomach turning to lead when he catches the expression on his father´s face.

“No.“ He growls, shaking his head in denial. “No, Dad. Don´t tell me you got jack shit. Don´t tell me that there´s nothing. Don´t - “

“Dean...” John starts, raising his hand in a placating gesture.

“I won´t let him die! There must be something we can do!”

“Then shut the hell up and listen, boy!” John snarls. “I´m fucking trying, alright? But we don´t have many options left!”

He takes a deep breath and then visibly forces himself to continue in a calmer tone. “There is no cure, Dean. I talked to Bobby. I talked to Rufus. They called up every goddamn hunter they could think of, but they all came up empty.”

John swallows and gestures to Sam who is non-too-subtly trying to crawl his way into Dean´s lap. “If we wanna save Sam, then we gotta let this one run its natural course.”

It takes Dean a few precious seconds to get what he means, but then the realization hits him like a sucker punch and his stomach churns dangerously.

“Fuck.” He breathes, his previous fury evaporating like snow in the desert. “Dad, you – you can´t think that I would ever agree to - "

“What do you want me to do, Dean?” John snarls, the helplessness in his eyes completely at odds with the anger in his voice. “What do you want me to say? I don´t like this any more than you do, but that´s our only options right now. You or me, Dean. One of us has to do it. He´s too far along for stupid experiments, and I´m not going to let some stranger touch my son!”

Dean´s shoulders sag.

Dad´s right.

Fuck, of course he is. It´s been hours already, there´s no telling how much longer Sammy is going to last until his heart gives out. He´s barley even coherent anymore, the incubus venom burning him from the inside out.

There is no time.

And hell, he´d rather die than let someone else touch Sammy.  Especially when Sam´s like this, drugged up and unable to even understand what the fuck is going on, let alone consent to anything.


Dean licks his dry lips. “I - I can´t just rape him, Dad.”

“You can.” John says, voice like steel. “And you will. I will not let Sam die because of some freaking sex curse.”

“He´ll hate me forever. I can´t - “

“Let him fuck you.”

Dean´s eyes snap up to his father´s. “W-what?”

“Let Sam do the fucking if that makes you feel better, but I need a decision. Now, Dean!”

Fuck. F. u. c. k.

Dean takes a deep breath

“Alright.” He says, voice thick with something he doesn´t dare name. “Alright, yeah. I´ll do it.”

John nods once, as if he hasn´t expected anything different, and catches his eye again.

“You ever….?”

Dean feels his face grow hot, embarrassment bubbling up inside him, and he shakes his head no.

No, no one has ever touched him there, not even himself, not even once. But he can´t deny that he has thought about it. Gotten off at the thought of it, even.

He has just never dared let himself find out.

To his relief, John only nods again, all business, and then goes to riffle through his duffel. “Alright. I´ll talk you through it.” He says, as if this is just another exercise or training episode. Somehow, that makes Dean feel slightly better.

“Sam.” John says, his voice that dangerous sort of calm that means that there´s trouble ahead. “Get that damn shirt off your brother!”

Sam makes a punched out little noise and then scrambles to obey, for once only all to eager to follow John´s order. His fingers are clumsy and feverish, not an ounce of his usual grace in his movements when he grabs Dean´s shirt and impatiently pulls it upwards.

Dean freezes for a heartbeat or two before he remembers that he has to help, and lifts his arms to allow Sam to pull his shirt over his head. It lands somewhere on the floor behind them, and then Sammy´s pressing close again, greedy hands roaming over every inch of Dean´s naked skin he can reach.

“Shoes next, Sammy.” John interrupts, and for a moment Dean is not sure if Sam is able to obey even if he wants to. But years of following orders and rigorous training somehow seem to make it through the haze of venom induced lust, and Sam pulls away reluctantly.

He drops to his knees, right there in front of Dean, shaky fingers fumbling with the laces of his combat boots.

Sam takes Dean´s shoes off one by one, head bowed, eyes firmly on his task, only looking up when Dean´s barefoot, toes digging into the dark blue carpet.

Fuck. Dean had been dead set on not enjoying this just a mere second ago, but it´s fucking hard to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach now.

Not with Sam´s flushed face inches away from his crotch. Not with Sam´s hand slowly trailing up his calves and thighs to grab hold of his hips and -

“Jeans, Sam!” John barks and suddenly the spell is broken.

Not that there´s much time for Dean to recover – Sam´s hands are on his jeans even before John has finished speaking, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone deafeningly loud in the quiet of their room.

Dean´s breathing has picked up, too – it´s faster now, harsher, and he can feel his control slipping away with every piece of clothing that is discarded. Sam has barley touched him and he´s coming apart already, has to clench his hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

Sam doesn´t seem to have any such reservations, though, the venom pushing him forward, not giving him the luxury of doubt.

He opens Dean´s jeans eagerly and pulls them down, underwear and all, uncaring for Dean´s yelp of surprise, and then his little brothers mouth is right the fuck there, pink and wet and so, so close to his dick.

Sam groans and shifts closer, nails scratching over Dean´s hips.

“Dean.” He slurs, thick with want. “Need you.”

“Sammy.” Dean answers, voice breaking half-way through. “Sammy, please, you don´t have to -”

The rest of his words are lost when Sam leans in, wraps his lips around the head of Dean´s cock and sucks.

Dean curses and slaps a hand against the bed frame, fingers white-knuckling the sturdy wood as Sam takes him deeper, nearly choking himself in his eagerness. Dean wants to tell him to slow down, want to push him off, but he has no breath to spare for words, can´t get his muscles to cooperate, because Jesus Christ, that´s Sam sucking his cock. Sam. Not a dream, not some other floppy-haired kid that Dean has picked up in some sleazy bar. Sam.

“Enough.” John growls, and suddenly there´s a hand circling Dean´s biceps. “Get your mouth off your brother´s cock, Sam, and get yourself undressed. And you — on the bed, Dean. Come on.”

He pulls Dean with him and drags him over to the bed, the expression on his face stony, his jaw clenched so tight that it nearly hurts to look at it, and for a tiny moment Dean nearly breaks it all off – how the fuck are they supposed to face each other come morning?

But there´s no time for second thoughts, so Dean only watches as John climbs onto the bed first, his back to the headboard, and then spreads his legs for Dean to sit in between.

He doesn´t pat the empty space between his legs, but the invitation is clear regardless.

Dean flushes, hasn´t expected John to be this close during the whole thing, but he obeys and crawls on the bed, sits with his back ramrod straight, careful not to touch his father anywhere.

John snorts, wraps an arm around him and pulls until Dean´s back is flush against his father chest, the coarse fabric of John´s shirt scratchy against his naked skin.

It´s only then that Dean notices that Sam is watching them. He´s naked now too, and fuck – fully hard, his thick cock angry-red and leaking pre-come. It´s the prettiest dick Dean has ever seen.

“Spread your legs, Dean.” John says, and Dean does, hesitantly opening his thighs for Sam to settle in between, fervently not thinking about the many, many girls that have done the same thing for him.

He must be moving too slowly, though, because John wraps a calloused hand around Dean´s right thigh, and pulls – spreads him wide and open, bares everything to Sam´s hungry gaze.

“Come here, Sam.” John orders, and Sam is moving eagerly, nearly frantic now that he is about to get what he has been waiting for for so long.

He settles between Dean´s legs like he has always belonged there, hands sliding up the insides of Dean´s thighs and wrapping around his cock with a confidence that is equally as hot as it is disturbing – Sam´s supposed to be a virgin, his innocent little kid brother. It´s not right that the little nerd obviously knows how to handle cock.

Sam begins to stroke him, maddening, delicious pressure, and Dean whines and pushes up into his hand.

It´s wrong. He shouldn´t be enjoying this, shouldn´t want this as much as he does.

Sam might look like he is into this, but Dean damn well knows that he´s not, that its the venom driving Sam´s actions and not Sam himself, that this might, in fact, fuck them up beyond repair. That Sam might come to hate him in only a few hours time.

But its fucking hard to think about that when Sam is kissing his way down Dean´s cock, one of his hands cradling his balls while the other slowly inches lower and lower...

There´s the click of a bottle next to Dean´s head and then John is admonishing Sam again, telling him to slow down a bit.

“Venom or not, I´m not letting you go in dry.” John grouses and pours a generous amount of lube over Sam´s hand. “Go slow, Sam.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath at the first feeling of a finger right there, and he nearly closes his legs again, but John hand´s are like steel around his thighs, holding him open without much effort.

“Shh, Dean.” His father murmurs, voice gentle. “You gotta relax for your brother, let him open you up.”

Dean´s face burns and he bites back a whimper, eyes fluttering closed when Sam´s finger starts to circle his hole.

Sam´s careful, even despite the drugs in his system, his fingers massaging the muscle with firm strokes that make sparks of pleasure fly up Dean´s spine.

It´s weird, fucking weird and a bit overwhelming, every touch new and magnified by how sensitive he is back there.

“Push it in, Sam.” John orders and Dean opens his mouth to protest, but it´s too late, Sam is already pressing in, gently but relentlessly, the slickness of the lube easing the way.

Sammy´s finger pops in, right through the muscle, and Dean groans at the burn, the weird fullness increasing when Sam pushes deeper and then starts to pump his finger in and out with slow movements.

He´s close enough that Dean can feel Sam´s breath on his ass, focused on his new tasks with an intensity that makes Dean hot all over. Fuck, no one should ever look at an asshole like that, least of all at Dean´s asshole, and the mere fact that Sammy is actually willing to-

Dean nearly bucks off the bed when something wet and hot ghosts over his perineum, but Sam ignores his squirming and gives him another long lick, tongue dragging right over the place where Sam´s finger is working him open.

Sam - Sam is licking him.

The rational part of Dean´s brain knows that this is more than just a little unhygienic, probably tastes fucking vile, too, but Sam moans like this is the best thing ever, and buries his face deeper into Dean´s ass, tongue pressing in right next to his finger, stretching him even further.

Soon, there´s a mixture of spit and lube dripping down his ass and Dean has never felt this dirty in his life – sitting in his father´s lap while his little brother is eating his ass like it´s pussy, the sounds alone enough to make him blush all over, wet and sticky and absolutely filthy.

Sam gives him a second finger, pushes in deep and curls them upwards, and Dean jerks and curses, fingers digging into John´s thigh as he tries and fails to stay still.

God, he never knew fingers could feel this big, can barley think about the fact that they´re nowhere near as thick as Sammy´s dick.

Behind him, John keeps murmuring encouragements, the flat of his hand pressed firmly against Dean´s stomach to keep him from squirming too much.

Dean knows that he´s not supposed to get turned on by this, that he shouldn´t like to be held down, but the truth is that his dick is more than a little into this. He´s nearly painfully hard, the head a deep angry red, a puddle of pre-come already forming on his stomach, smearing when John tightens his grip.

“Sam, give your brother another one.” John growls, voice hoarse, and God, God , that´s three fingers now, slowly scissoring Dean open, stretching and pulling at his rim.

But the discomfort fades and fades and then disappears entirely, and soon Dean is pushing back on every single one of Sam´s thrusts, hips moving as he tries to take those fingers deeper.

It´s a good thing, too, because Sam is clearly at the end of his rope.

“Dean!” He chokes, eyes wild and no longer entirely human. “Need to fuck you, Dean. Please, please, I need to -”

“Y-yeah.” Dean breathes. “Yeah, come on. I´m ready, Sam, fuck me - “

He can´t hold back a whine when Sam pulls his fingers out, his ass suddenly empty and clenching around nothing, but he feels weirdly lightheaded, too, the sheer thought of Sam´s dick going up there enough to make his stomach flutter with nerves.

Sam crawls closer, clumsy fingers reaching for Dean´s ankles and lifting them up to wrap around his waist.

Suddenly, Sam seems nervous, like he´s not quite sure how to proceed, eyes flicking up to meet Dean´s, clearly looking for guidance.

And for the first time in his life, Dean has no idea how to help his brother.

But then John´s there, hands stroking Dean´s trembling thighs, Sam´s tense hips, his quiet calm soothing them both.

“Show him, Dean.” John whispers into Dean´s hair, lips brushing his temple. “Help your little brother.”

Somehow, that´s exactly what Dean needed to hear. His muscles unclench and he can think again, can move again, and he reaches between his own spread legs and shakily wraps his hand around Sam´s cook.

Sam makes a wounded little sound when Dean strokes him, skinny boy hips jerking forward greedily to get more friction, and all Dean wants is to jerk Sam off for real, to make Sam fuck his hand until he spills all over Dean´s fingers. To lick his hand clean after, maybe share the taste with Sam.

“Later, boys.” John admonishes softly, and yeah right, fucking incubus, so Dean takes a deep breath and then presses Sam´s cock right against the place where he is open and wet, twitching with the need to be filled.

Shit. Shit.

It feels huge, fucking massive, so much bigger than Sam´s slender fingers, the fat head of his cock impossibly thick and hot against Dean, and he can´t, he just can´t -

“Good boy,” John murmurs, calloused fingers grabbing Dean´s thighs again and pulling them even further apart. “Come on, Dean. Open up for Sammy.”

Sam presses in, the tip of his dick pushing through the first ring of muscle and Dean jerks and chokes on a moan, every instinct telling him to fight the intrusion.

Sam´s already sliding deeper, though, slow and steady, dick pushing at Dean´s insides, spearing him wide open, pleasurepain racing up his spine and stealing his breath.

“Dean.” Sam sobs, breath hitching. “Dean.”

And then Sam´s all the way in, dick buried deep inside Dean´s guts, balls flush against his ass, hips trembling with the effort not to move.

Dean´s gasping for breath, hands scrambling for purchase as he tries not to lose it then and there.

He´s full, so fucking full, the stretch nearly more than he can take, but he still moans in protest when Sam starts to pull out.

It takes Sam a bit to find a rhythm that works for them both, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated in a way that speaks volumes about his experience, his previous bravado be damned.

Which means that Dean is Sam´s first. His first fuck. His first lover.

And God, that shouldn´t mean anything, should make Dean feel nauseous instead of victorious, but he can´t help the possessive warmth that spreads through him at that thought.  He´s had so many of Sam´s first. It only is right that he should be the one to claim this one, too.

The thought is lost to pleasure a moment later when Sam shifts, angles his hips a bit different and then slams back in, the head of his cock rubbing over a place deep inside Dean that has him seeing stars.

His hips jerk up on their own accord as he tries to take Sam deeper, and he keens when Sam hits that spot again and again and again.

Something dangerously similar to a sob is clawing its way up his throat and Dean tries to swallow it down, tries to muffle it in John´s shirt, but it´s fucking useless.

He sounds helpless, broken, his self-control slipping with every jab of Sam´s hips and Dean fucking hates it.

But he loves it, too, the feeling of Sam inside him so much better than he´d imagined it to be, the slight burn just as addictive as the pleasure.

“Doing so good, sweetheart.” John praises. “So fucking good for your brother, Dean.”

It makes Dean feels feverish, mindless, like the incubus got him too, and hes distantly aware that hes babbling, slurred whimpers of Sam´s name, loud groans for John, pleas and fuck-me´s that will probably make him blush tomorrow.

One of his hands is nearly crushing John´s larger one and he can´t even remember when he grabbed it, his whole world narrowed down to Sam, Sam, Sam.

Sam isn´t faring any better than Dean though, mindlessly fucking into him, deep and hard, his face hidden in Dean´s neck, littering the skin with bruises and teeth marks.

“´m close, Dean.” He slurs, and then bends his head to suck one of Dean´s nipples into his mouth.

Dean comes with a shout, his eyes rolling back into his head, white noise in his ears as his cock jerks between them.

He´s distantly aware that Sam is cursing and fucking him even harder, his rhythm faltering, and then Sam is coming too, the slide in and out of Dean´s ass getting easier with every pulse of come.

It takes Dean a while to get back to his senses, the fog of pleasure slowly clearing from his mind.

Sam is still motionless, collapsed on top of Dean like a fucking rag doll, boneless and sated, the unnatural fever that has wrecked his body during the last few hours finally gone.

A wave of relief crashes into Dean and makes him feel lightheaded. He untangles a hand from where it has been gripping the sheets and slowly moves it to card through Sam´s hair, fingers massaging his scalp.

“Dean.” Sam mumbles and slowly lifts his head from Dean´s shoulder. His eyes are clear again, no feverish venom haze turning his brain to mush.

It worked. Thank fuck, it fucking worked!

Dean doesn´t think, doesn´t dare give himself time to doubt, simply pulls Sam in and kisses him, slow and soft and sweet.

Sam seems stunned for a moment, but then he groans and eagerly presses into the kiss, lips parting to let Dean´s tongue into his mouth.

His hands come up to fist into Dean´s hair and he shifts a bit. The movement makes his softening dick slip out of Dean, and they whimper at the sensation, both of them scrambling to push it back in. That´s when Dean feels it: the hot line of another cock pressing into his back.

Dean freezes and tilts his head back a bit to get a better look at John´s face. What he sees there doesn´t do anything to calm the sudden worry twisting his stomach into knots.

Dean shifts again, rubs his lower back against his father´s crotch and watches as the muscles in John´s jaw tighten so much that he almost expects them to snap.

Ah, crap.

“It got you too, didn´t it?” Dean whispers, already knowing the answer but needing to ask anyway.

“Dad? Dean?” Sam is looking between them quizzically, realization dawning on his face at John´s nod.

He disentangles himself from Dean´s embrace and slowly sits up, helping Dean to do the same.

It stings a bit, the slight discomfort in his ass more prominent now that he is moving, but Dean bites his tongue and swallows it down. He´s dealt with worse.

“Dean.” John says hoarsely, tongue licking over his dry lips, eyes roaming over miles of naked skin. “Dean, I -”

“Yeah.” Dean answers immediately, trying not to think about what exactly he´s agreeing to. “Yeah, Dad. Come on.”

He´s not sure what to do next though and so he´s more than a little relieved when John takes the decision off his shoulders with a flick of his hand.

His father climbs off the bed and gestures for Dean to lie on the edge of it, impatiently pulling him into the right position when he proves to be too slow.

Spreading his legs for another person still feels weird and uncomfortable, and it only gets worse now that Dean´s fucked open and filthy, Sam´s come slowly leaking out of him, but John clicks his tongue disapprovingly when Dean tries to cover himself up, so Dean relents and fists the bed sheet instead.

“God, look at you.” His father murmurs as he fumbles with his own zipper. “All pink and sticky – Sammy really did a number on you, didn´t he?”

A satisfied hum from somewhere behind Dean´s head tells them both that Sam agrees with that assessment, but Dean´s retort gets lost in a moan when John presses two fingers into his ass, slowly pumping them in and out a few times, pushing Sam´s come right back in.

“Dad!” Dean whines, his dick twitching in a valiant attempt to fill again, even despite the fact that every touch burns a little.

He´s sore back there, Sammy´s pounding has seen to that, and now he´s about to get fucked a second time – God, he´s going to feel ths night for weeks.

“Fucking tight, isn´t he, Dad?” Sam quips from behind and slides a hand into Dean´s hair to scratch at his scalp, fingers moving in soothing circles.

John grunts in approval and pushes his jeans halfway down his thighs to pull his cock free.

He´s huge, bigger than Sam for sure, and the thought of being split open by that makes Dean´s stomach clench and a hot wave of want tingle down his spine.

He whimpers when John pulls his fingers out and then grabs Dean´s hips to pull him closer, his thighs parting further to allow his father to settle in between.

John takes himself in hand and rubs his dick over Dean´s hole, head catching on his stretched out rim and Dean can feel himself twitch in anticipation.

He feels empty – Dean´s only had a dick up his ass once and already feels like he can´t get enough of it. It´s more than a little embarrassing. The tought alone makes him blush all over.

“Shh, sweetheart, I got you.” John murmurs and rubs a soothing hand down his flank, clearly mistaking Deans´s embarrassment for fear. “Let me make you feel good.”

Then his father lines himself up and pushes in, the slide slick and easy thanks to Sam´s previous efforts.

It´s still a stretch, the burn delicious and tinged with pleasure, and by the time that Dean´s ass is flush with John´s groin, Dean is almost sure that he can taste his father at the back of his throat.

John fucks him slowly, deeply, and it´s entirely different from Sam´s frantic enthusiasm, each movement controlled and measured, each thrust punching the air out of Dean and leaving him breathless.

“Fuck.” John curses. “God, Dean, you´re wet like a fucking girl.”

He punctuates the words with a few harsh thrusts and Dean nearly fucking sobs with pleasure and turns his face into the sheets to hide the burn on his cheeks.

He doesn´t get far.

Gentle hands carefully cradle his face and coax him into looking up again, and when Dean opens his eyes, Sammy is there right beside him.

His brother is still naked, his cock beginning to chub up once more and his eyes are so full of heat that Dean almost fears that the incubus venom hasn´t been burned out entirely yet.

But it´s only Sammy in there, no drugged-up haze this time, and that makes it all both better and worse.

“God, Dean!” Sam chokes out and then kisses him roughly, tongue delving deep until Dean is too far gone to do more than pant into Sam´s open mouth.

Seemingly satisfied, Sam finally curls his body around Dean´s and buries his face into his neck, lips pressing kisses on every inch of skin he can reach.

“Can´t wait until it´s my turn again.” Sam whispers, and then he settles down to watch, his right hand splayed possessively right over Dean´s thundering heart.