Dean is never accepting a drink from anyone ever again. Especially not anyone who is in any way, shape or form connected with the case they’re investigating. Very, very especially when that case involves spontaneous acts of wild monkey sex.
Oh yeah, also? He’s never drinking again with Sam. Fucking ever.
“So fucking pretty,” Sam pants as he shoves Dean against the wall and sticks his tongue down his throat. Dean kisses back for a few seconds—because, hello, Sam’s mouth is fucking awesome—and then growls and shoves back, driving them against the trailer’s opposite wall and coming out on top. Heh. Sam’s mouth is still right there, though, and even though Dean meant to say something, he gets distracted by how much he wants to fuck it—tongue, fingers, cock; he isn’t picky. His tongue’s closest right now, though, so he goes for it.
And yeah, Sammy’s just the bitch Dean always knew he was, opening up for it and moaning and spreading his legs so Dean can get his thigh pressed up nice and tight against his little brother’s cock. Dean’s thinking of elevating Duane Preston to sainthood right about now. Even if the dude does live in a filthy trailer with those creep-ass gnomes out front instead of a garden. And offer supposed federal agents supernatural roofies with their alcohol. Thereby making Dean want to fuck his little brother’s brains into sometime next week.
And for Sam? That’s gonna take a whole lot of fucking.
Sam grinds against him, huge hands gripping Dean’s head and tilting it so that he has a better angle on the kiss. Or maybe not for the kiss, because he keeps tilting until it gets painful and Dean has to break away with a low curse.
“Ow! Dude, what the fuck?”
“’Zactly,” Sam replies. This time, he doesn’t so much thrust against Dean as he pops his hip out and uses it to roll Dean to one side—guiding Dean’s turn with those oversized paws of his—and before Dean can blink he’s pressed against the wall again, with his brother huge and sweaty and shoved up against him. Letting go of Dean’s head with one hand, Sam reaches down and starts fumbling with Dean's buckle instead.
Dean’s not so happy with the whole pinned-against-a-wall thing, but he’s down with shedding some of the extra layers, so he gets his hands underneath Sam’s jacket and pushes it back off his shoulders, helping. Sam growls, shaking his hands away and biting down on his neck.
“Hey! I’m not a fuckin’ chew toy!” Dean complains, trying to jerk away.
Sam has Dean’s buckle open by now and is unzipping him, not at all careful about the goods, and this time Dean shoves him away without following. His cock is hard and leaking when he looks down at it, but it doesn’t seem to be cut or nicked at all, which is so goddamned lucky for Sam. Dean’s horny, too, but no one sees him trying to castrate his brother with motherfucking metal teeth, do they?
“Okay,” Dean says, looking back up to see that Sam is using the breathing space to strip himself of some unnecessary layers. It strikes Dean as a really excellent idea, actually—kinda like the time that waitress in Boston offered to call her friend for a threesome—and he’s on board and shrugging his own coat off even as he says, “This is fucking stupid. We’re letting Prissy get away.”
“Preston,” Sam pants, tearing his shirt off without bothering to unbutton it.
Dean’s own shirt feels like it’s suffocating him, and he rips it down the middle in his haste to get it off. “Whatever!” he spits, pushing down his pants. “Point is, you need to bend over and let me fuck you so that we can both get this shit out of our systems and do our jobs.”
“Who said you were fucking me?” Sam asks, which is such a ridiculous question that Dean rolls his eyes.
“I’m older,” he says, trying to work his pants off over his shoes. His cock keeps distracting him, though, bobbing against his stomach and demanding attention. “Besides, if we were gay and fucking? I’d be the butch one. You said it yourself.”
Ah ha! Victory is Dean’s! He kicks his pants (one shoe caught inside, one still on his foot) across the room and then lets out a whumph of air as Sam crashes into him again. They fetch up against the wall, hard, and Sam’s mouth is all over Dean’s neck and collarbone and chest. He groans as Sam finds a nipple and bites down.
“Also said,” Sam gasps between bites. “That you were—over—overcompensating.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Dean groans, because seriously, no way should Sam be able to think in words of more than one syllable, let alone use one in a sentence. He feels his brother’s cock rutting against his hip and reaches down to press it against his own. He doesn’t have any lube to slick the way, but there’s plenty of precome and the friction feels fucking awesome. Oh, and while he’s on the subject of cocks? Sam has totally been hiding, like, a freaking anaconda down his pants.
“Jesus Christ!” he gasps. “Is that your fucking dick? What’d you do, drop an atomic bomb on it?”
Sam’s head comes up long enough for Dean to see a smug glint in his brother’s eyes. “Knew you were a size queen,” he says, and then ducks in to maul Dean’s mouth.
Dean can’t help but kiss back, still jacking both of their cocks, but he’s thinking he should probably be kicking his little brother’s ass for that last comment. He has no clue what a ‘size queen’ is, and he doesn’t want to find out.
What he does want to know is what Sam’s ass would feel like squeezing nice and tight around his cock.
Dean’s dick pulses and, with a little growl, he latches onto Sam’s lower lip and sucks it into his mouth while maneuvering them both forward and toward the door he noticed before. Kitchen and living room are both out here and the trailer isn’t that large, so it’s gotta be the bedroom. While his cock would be perfectly content to fuck Sam here, Dean refuses to let his libido get in the way of his manners, and Sam deserves better than a quick rut up against the side of the trailer the first time he’s fucked.
Dean’s negotiable for any subsequent endeavors, of course.
Sam goes along with unexpected docility, and Dean has an absent moment of thinking that if all it takes to shut his brother up is Dean’s hand on his cock and Dean’s tongue in his mouth, then there’s gonna be a hell of a lot more of both going on in the future. He realizes he still has one shoe on, kicks it off, and then the trailer spins around him and Dean grunts as he fetches up roughly against the plywood door.
Sam’s chuckling into the kiss—he was planning that, the devious little bitch—and now he’s using his body weight to keep Dean there while reaching for the doorknob with his left hand. Dean only realizes he has no clue where Sam’s right hand is when it reappears again, goosing him, and he hip checks it away.
“You wish!” he says, mashing the words against Sam’s lips, and then the door opens and he falls backwards. Sam collapses on top of him, hard enough to drive Dean’s breath from his lungs. Even winded, Dean’s body is reacting to the horizontal position and the heavy weight without his permission: wrapping one leg around Sam’s bony hip and thrusting up.
“Fuck, yeah,” Sam moans, palming Dean’s face and humping back, and all of this friction is turning Dean’s brain into something resembling Jell-O.
Then he feels something nudge at his ass—something freakishly, freakishly large—and his sense of self-preservation temporarily reasserts itself and he rolls them sideways into the foot of what has to be a bed. The impact jars his shoulder, but the important thing is that he’s on top again. Where he belongs. It’s perfect except for the part where they’re on the crappy floor of a douchbag’s trailer and no fucking way is he fucking Sam here.
“C’mon,” he demands, getting a hand between his brother’s broad back and the floor and pulling as he clambers to his own knees. Sam comes up willingly, trying for Dean’s mouth as they both struggle to their feet. Dean is definitely on board with that plan, even if Sam has started up all of that ‘pretty’ shit again.
Seriously, if either of them is gonna be the ‘pretty’ one, it’s gonna be Sammy, with his long hair and his puppy dog eyes and that little sashay in his hips when he walks. Fuck, Dean’s driven to stroking his cock just thinking about it, and when Sam licks at his throat, he tilts his head back to give his brother more room to work.
“Bed,” he gasps as Sam’s teeth scrape against his skin, and Sam’s busy jacking his own cock but he nods and shoves Dean down onto the mattress.
Now that he’s here, Dean’s not sure the bed of a pervert is really the place he wants to be fucking Sam either, and also he really didn’t intend to be the one on his stomach with Sam sliding up hot and huge against his back.
Bucking up is reflex, and after that Dean gets a little confused and finds himself in the weirdest wrestling match he’s ever had. Because both he and Sam keep getting distracted and humping each other, and their bodies keep getting slicker because of all the precome spilling all over the place—Dean’s gonna be dehydrated by the time he finally gets to come. He keeps accidentally ending up with a fistful of Sam’s enormous dick (which is making his mouth water more and more every time he catches sight of it), and eventually he winds up wrapping his lips around it and going to town.
He tells himself it’s self-preservation—if Sam is fucking Dean’s mouth with his cock, then he isn’t using it to try to fuck Dean’s ass—and then, when he finds himself moaning a little too appreciatively, he tells himself that it’s only fair to give his brother’s cock the same treatment Sam is giving his. Dean’s on top of Sam again while they suck each other, and for once his little brother seems more than happy to let him stay there. Sam’s just as enthusiastic about this little exercise as Dean—practically gobbling his dick, and slobbering all over it, and sucking, and generally making Dean think about composing odes to his brother’s mouth.
Or at least buying him a really nice thank you card. Dean wonders whether Hallmark offers ‘You Give Awesome Blowjobs - Marry Me!’ as a pre-printed option or if he’ll need to get a blank one and make his own.
Then Sam pulls his head back, letting Dean’s cock slip free (Dean makes a completely manly and understandable whimper of disappointment) and a second later his hands are on Dean’s thighs, bunching his body up further. Dean’s knee slips a little and his back protests—he’s already bending enough trying to make this whole reciprocal blowjob thing work, thanks very much—but Sam’s got a death grip on him and he’s still a little busy with Sam’s gorgeous, oversized cock, so he doesn’t complain.
Or at least, not until something wet wriggles between his ass cheeks. Then Dean jumps, letting his brother’s cock slip from his mouth.
“Holy fuck!” he shouts, squirming, but Sam’s fingers tighten and Dean realizes with a sinking sensation that his cock is enjoying this a little too much for him to put up much of a fight. Actually, as the wet thing—aw, fuck, he knows what it is, he might as well admit it—as Sam’s tongue swipes over his hole, a shivery, warm sensation washes through him and leaves him limp. Sam nuzzles his face into Dean’s ass and sets his mouth where no one’s mouth has gone before. His tongue circles the rim once, driving a low moan from Dean’s throat, and then starts pushing.
Dean doesn’t make a sound. He sure as hell doesn’t make anything that could be classified as a shriek, a keen, or a whine.
That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.
Girly noises aside, it feels good. It feels really good, actually, and Dean starts moving his hips a little, fucking his ass back toward his brother’s face to get more. Sam makes a sound that’s a lot like the sound Dean makes whenever he’s nose-deep in pussy and takes his hands off Dean’s thighs in order to pull the cheeks of his ass apart, giving himself more room to work.
And Jesus Fucking Christ, Dean never would have pegged Sam as this kinky. Not in a million years. Just goes to show him what goes on at Stanford. If Dean had gone to college, he probably would’ve wound up just as twisted as his little brother.
“Oh, shit,” he moans as Sam makes this twisting movement inside of him, and then instantly regrets it because he doesn’t want to think about that now, Christ.
With his mouth still pressed against Dean’s ass, Sam gives a territorial growl. It feels really fucking weird. And good. Also good. A moment later, Sam pulls his tongue out and lifts his head—this time Dean definitely keens, wriggling hopefully for more—and rasps, “If you don’t start sucking my cock again, I swear to God, Dean, I will leave you here and go jerk off outside.”
Sam wouldn’t. Dean’s sure he wouldn’t. But now that Sam has mentioned it, Dean’s mouth is watering and that cock is bobbing right in front of his nose. If Sam hadn’t been doing such ungodly good things to his ass, Dean would’ve been all over that shit ages ago. Opening his mouth, he bends Sam’s cock toward him with one hand and sucks it back in.
“Oh fuck—your fucking mouth,” Sam groans, and then goes back to fucking his tongue into Dean’s ass.
Dean isn’t sure how long it goes on for (not as long as Dean would like—Christ that feels good) but eventually Dean wises up to the fact that it’s going to take full-on, penetrative sex to get this out of their systems. And yeah, he’s kind of been angling for that, but he’d prefer to have the question of which dick goes in which hole more decisively settled—after all, if Dean can work Sam’s cock well enough that he shoots, then Dean gets to top by default.
Not that it’s going to be a problem.
“Mmph,” he slurps, pulling his head back and letting go of Sam’s cock again. “Dude, this isn’t—ah, fuck—isn’t working. We gotta—I gotta fuck you.”
Sam pulls his tongue out—Jesus, Dean feels wet down there, and loose—and pants, “Yeah. Gotta fuck you.”
That’s not exactly what Dean said at all, but he’s on top so he figures he has a clear-cut advantage here. He gets up on his hands and knees, turning around, and straddles Sam’s waist. Fisting his cock a couple of times, he looks down at the place between his brother’s legs where he’s going to have to fit—okay, and looks a little at Sam’s cock, which is pointing up at the ceiling and slick and shiny from Dean’s spit—and then bites his lip.
More than anything, he wants to just let instinct take over and rut against Sam’s ass until he somehow slips inside, but he refuses to hurt his little brother. He refuses to let some dick-swelling, mind-altering supernatural roofie that he was stupid enough to drink make him hurt his little brother. Even at the expense of his own pride.
“Okay, so I, uh, I don’t actually know what I’m supposed to do,” he confesses, jacking his cock faster to make up for the lack of contact. His other hand creeps back behind him without his permission and he prods at his wet hole with two fingers. Just to see if Sam actually drooled a couple of gallons of saliva in there like it feels like he did.
Sam’s watching him with dark, heated eyes, and now he reaches down, gripping Dean’s hips and pulling him forward slightly. “I do,” he pants.
Before Dean can figure out what’s happening, his brother has slapped his hand out of the way and is pulling Dean down onto his cock.
Dean gasps, trying to tense up. His body ignores him, licked stupid and open by Sam, and he slides down easily on that enormous cock, which snugs inside of his body like it belongs there. Dean goes a little cross-eyed as his ass sinks flush with Sam’s body, leaving him speared and full of dick. Leaving him fucked.
Even though he is, nominally, on top.
“Oh my God,” he says.
Sam looks a little stunned, too. But also smug. Fucker.
Except then Sam’s dick pulses inside of Dean and Dean remembers that he means that literally.
“Oh my God,” he repeats, louder.
Sam’s muscles bunch as he lifts Dean up—Dean loses his air again at the sensation of all that cock retreating—and then yanks him down. Hard. Dean might—might—make a tiny mewling noise at that.
“Oh, fuck, Dean, you feel so good,” Sam groans, starting to lift him again.
Dean forces his eyes shut—if he doesn’t look he can deny it all later—and then puts both hands flat on his brother’s chest and starts to slide himself up and down. It aches a little, all of that meat opening him up, but mostly it just feels really, really good. His cock is throbbing, and jerking around, and sometimes when he slides down Sam’s cock rubs up against something inside of him that makes him see stars.
“Oh my God,” he says again, only this time it comes out more as a moan.
Sam’s hands drag up his sides and find his nipples. He starts pinching and pulling, and Dean has never been one to say no to a little bit of pain with his pleasure, so he lets out a low cry and moves faster.
“Dean,” Sam pants, fucking up at the same time that Dean pushes down and somehow getting his cock deeper. “So fucking tight—fucking hell, man.”
Dean’s figured out the right angle now, so that he’s getting that spark every single time, and it’s making him shudder uncontrollably. He’s pretty sure he’s going to die of heart failure while Sam is fucking him.
Vindictively, he hopes the experience scars Sam badly enough that he swears off of sex for life.
“You fucker,” he manages finally. It’s nice to know he can say something other than ‘oh my God’, even if the words are coming out a little sloppy. “I’mma kick your ass later.”
“You—oh, Christ—you love my cock,” Sam responds, biting his lower lip and bringing his legs up a little to give himself better leverage to fuck the Empire State Building he calls a cock into Dean’s ass.
“Do not!” Dean protests, dropping his head back and rocking down even harder. “Oh, fuck, right there!”
It comes out without his permission.
Maybe Sam didn’t notice.
“Dean, you—fucking riding me—look so fucking pretty, Christ—”
Dean can’t make response to that other than senseless grunting, but Sam loses his own words right about then so it’s okay.
Somewhere around the half hour mark, Sam gets greedy for Dean’s mouth as well as his ass and flips them without missing a beat, pinning Dean to the bed and leaning in to slip him some tongue while he starts to really give it to him. Embarrassingly, Dean only makes it through a couple of thrusts before spurting all over himself with a hoarse yell. Sam comes seconds later, fucking in through his orgasm and then dropping to a sweaty, panting rest on Dean’s chest. Fuck, he’s heavy.
“Gerrof,” Dean grunts, pushing. He can feel the roofied-daze leaving him, and he wants to be horrified by what they just did, but really all he can think about is how hard he just came.
“Dean,” Sam says, getting clumsily up to his elbows and looking down at Dean with a rapturous, stunned expression that only comes with really good sex. Dean tries his very best not to be proud that he put that look there.
“Dude,” he snaps instead, going for righteous fury. “Your cock is still in my ass. Out!” He wriggles his hips for emphasis, but Sam only wraps his arms around Dean’s chest and swoops in for a kiss.
Dean lets his brother have his way with his mouth for a few minutes—cause hey, what do you know: turns out Sam’s kisses are pretty nice even without the benefit of a roofie—and then jerks his face away. He’s the older brother here, and also the one who was just totally tricked into bottoming. He is not going to engage in a post-coital make-out session with the little bitch. It’s the principle of the thing.
“You liked it,” Sam crows, and Dean has no idea how his brother can manage to sound so wondering and yet unbearably smug at the same time.
“In your dreams.”
“You liiiiked it,” Sam repeats, rolling his hips and fucking his half-hard cock in and out of Dean’s sore hole.
Dean’s cock twitches where it’s crushed between their stomachs. He ignores the traitor (honestly, he’s thinking of disowning the thing: it shows absolutely no judgment and gets him into more trouble than it’s worth) and says, “If I liked it, it’s only because I was fucking roofied. Doesn’t count. Now get off me. I wanna go take about five hundred showers—fuck knows where these sheets’ve been.”
He starts to stir but Sam only tightens his grip. With his eyes fastened on Dean's face, he makes that shallow fucking motion again and—
“Oh my God, already?” Dean exclaims, not sure whether to be horrified or proud. “You really are a girl!”
“This coming from the guy with my cock up his ass,” Sam purrs, picking up a rhythm as his cock swells even more.
Is it bigger this time, or is it just Dean?
“Oh hell,” Dean mutters as his own engine revs, and then wraps his legs around his brother’s waist. In return, Sam makes a contented noise and licks his jaw.
What the fuck does his brother think he is anyway, a cat?
“If it helps,” Sam whispers, “You can lie back and pretend we’re still under the influence.”
Is that a dare? Dean’s pretty sure it’s a dare. He narrows his eyes and thrusts back against his brother with renewed vigor. Oh, it’s fucking on now ...
When they finally stumble out of the trailer three hours later, Dean’s walking a little more bow-legged than usual. He’d be annoyed if he weren’t still feeling boneless and sated. As it is, he’s pretty sure they stupid, happy smile on Sam’s face is mirrored on his own.
“You sure we have to take this guy out?” he asks, grabbing one of Sam’s ripped sleeves as his brother starts for the passenger seat and pulling him close. He nibbles at the corner of Sam’s jaw. Not, y’know, because he had a craving. He just spotted a fleck of come that they missed there is all.
“Pretty sure,” Sam answers, but he sounds a little distracted. Probably because he’s walking Dean backwards and pressing him up against the Impala. Huh, Sam and the Impala.
Ooh, Sam, sex and the Impala.
“We can’t—” Dean pants, tilting his head back as Sam sucks a few more marks into his throat. “We can’t just give him a medal? Maybe a cease and desist warning?”
Sam stops mauling Dean’s throat long enough to lift his head and give him a half-amused, half-annoyed stare. “Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah. He’s a perverted scumbag, whatever. Preaching to the choir, dude.”
Satisfied, Sam leans forward, aiming for Dean’s lips this time.
“Can we at least get his recipe first?”