“Tell me how it feels, Sam,” Dean commands, pressing rough fingers to his prostate.
This Dean likes to keep him on the edge for as long as possible.
“Feels good.” The hard cock against his belly confirms what he’s saying. But it's not just that, his whole body responds to Dean. And Sam knows his brother can see everything: his hard nipples, moans he can’t contain, and the hungry hole swallowing the fingers inside it.
“How good is it?” He insists.
“Fuck, Dean. I...” He can’t put it into words, hips rocking against the fingers buried in him.
“Oh, God! It's so intense that I…can’t...explain...”
Stuck between Dean's exploration and stimulation of his prostate, the need for relief increases.
“You don’t even know, Sam.” He doesn’t think he has brain cells working right now to understand what Dean means.
Then, under the scrutiny of hungry green eyes, his opening automatically contracts when the fingers come out of it.
Sam groans quietly in disapproval, cheeks burning when the same fingers touch his rim, and his brother doesn’t tear his gaze away from it.
“C’mon, Dean.” He says in a pleading voice.
“You’ll never understand,” Dean continues, his fingers still gently probing the wrinkled skin.
Dean’s not making much sense now. But maybe he's not his brother at all.
The big brother he has known since birth is less contemplative, preferring to be funny and stupid sometimes.
With this Dean, he doesn’t know how to act or what is expected from him.
His cock leaking against his belly, however, is a reminder of how much he needs his brother.
The transition between his plea and Dean's movement is so sudden that he only becomes aware of what happened when he feels the massive member violating his entrance.
“I want you to feel it.”
There’s no doubt that Sam will feel it. The probability is that he will feel it for a week at least. But the pain is welcome. It means he’s alive.
The large member is twitching inside him, his body adjusting to the length and girth.
After that, Dean’s hips are slamming forward, hard; the force making the headboard hit the wall.
At first, Sam was just happy to have his brother back. Weeks of despair and loneliness staying in the back of his mind with the return of his soulmate. Pain, uncertainty, and longing erased with sex, sweat, and tears.
“I know your dirty secret, Sam. You need this so bad,” Dean growls, forcing him to take it.
Some facts are irrefutable, and that is one of them, even though Sam will never admit it out loud.
Clenching his entrance, he allows himself to feel the relief of having his brother inside him, pressing where he needs. Nevertheless, the doubt tormenting his mind is still present.
The changes are so subtle Sam takes time to realize that something is wrong with his brother. He even notices a different gesture, an unusual hairstyle for Dean's preference and the choice of food in restaurants.
But it was when Dean fucked him in the restroom of a bar without caring about the three guys watching the whole scene that he confirmed his suspicion. Public sex has never been a thing between them. On the contrary, Dean's jealousy would never allow him to expose Sam that way.
Then, common things happen; Dean talks about his feminine hair, calls him Samantha and Princess, eats with his mouth open and this is his brother again. Goofy, annoying and adorable.
The strong hands on his waist kind of hurt. And Dean is so deep inside him, moving Sam’s ass against his groin at an intense pace.
Sometimes Sam thinks he's ignoring the obvious. There are so many strange situations. A big brother not too worried about him in a dangerous hunt, lack of care with the Impala, improved reflexes and strength. But the protective mode is activated in another hunt, the flirting is the same as always, and Sam’s confused again.
There are times when his big brother makes love to him, and Sam can no longer tell if Dean and Michael are the same person or not. He thinks both are amalgamate into one, each of them taking control of the same body on certain occasions.
Narrow hips slam forward harder, and the force of the impulses rips out an almost scream from Sam's throat.
“Unsuspecting mothers would love to see you married to their daughters, but I know what you’re really like under all your politeness, Sam.”
As Dean keeps his thrusts fast and relentless, Sam’s face is pressed against the blue sheets, which are muffling his groans.
“But they couldn’t look at you if they knew the truth, slut,” his big brother says.
The truth is something he's been avoiding since Dean's return. Each unusual gesture is followed by one so familiar that the only essential truth is that they are together again.
“And you like that, don’t you? You like being called by what you really are. By your true nature, slut.”
It’s the fault of the precise thrust over his prostate, but Sam cries out the very moment he hears the word slut. And the laughter that comes to Sam’s ears doesn’t sound like Dean at all.
“Sam fucking Winchester, the Chief, all spread out in my bed and so needy for my cock.”
His hard cock against his stomach and his moans—despite the efforts not to make sounds—are the physical evidence of every word his brother doesn’t hesitate to leave out of his mouth. Receiving Dean/Michael inside him every fucking time and without hesitation even in the face of doubt also proves that.
When everything stops, and he’s suddenly empty, the protest coming out of him is shameful to his own standards.
The arms that turn Sam on his back on the bed aren’t gentle. But the green eyes and the smirk are the same, as always. The need to humiliate—so evident on his brother's face—is new, too. And it's terrifying how much Sam likes it.
Fragments of memories pass through his head.
He was naked on Dean's lap and impaled on his brother's dick. People were watching. Don’t. He remembers the sharp teeth. They were vampires.
There was a collar around his neck and a hot mouth swallowing his dick.
Pain, pleasure, and humiliation.
He remembers hands opening his buttocks and exposing his hole. And he was wet and raw, always naked and being taken by more than one man.
His brother was watching, sipping his whiskey and impassive to the whole scene. The only evidence that he was being affected was the huge erection in the middle of his legs.
Maybe it was all a dream. Dirty desires that are hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind.
He can’t say.
"Dean?" He opens his legs, placing a hand on his balls and arching his back, wanting his brother to have an unobstructed view of his hole.
“How much do you want it?” Dean asks, stroking his erection deliberately. And he has all power here, over his body, his emotions and, ultimately, over his life.
“Come on, Dean!” Sam moves a finger to his wet entrance, playing with the rim, but without penetrating it.
“You know what I want.” Dean shows no intention of returning to fuck him. Sam knows what he has to do, and that's no less embarrassing.
The long finger continues to explore, finally entering him and looking for his prostate. But he knows that's not enough, either for him or Dean.
“Please, Dean. I want,” he says, and it sounds more like a whine. The brushes of the finger on his sweet spot making he clenches his ass around it.
“What do you need? You have to be more specific, Sammy.”
The hand caressing Dean's cock is the same one that has mapped every inch of Sam’s body. But it's also the same that doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger in a hunt.
The ferocity in Dean's eyes makes him shiver. And despite his hesitation, he responds, “Your cock, Dean. I need it. I’m so wet for you.”
Now there are two fingers inside him. And the second he notices Dean moving between his legs, he has to bite his lower lip to avoid moaning in relief.
One hand holds his wrist and pulls his fingers out. Then three thick fingers replace his.
The intensity of pleasure is inexplicable. Dean's touches have the power to set fire to his body. With his feet on the bed, Sam moves his ass, trying to find the best angle.
“Whore! So responsive. So many lovers and I've never seen anyone like you, Sam.”
A growl escapes between Sam’s open lips. He doesn’t need to be reminded of Dean's lovers. Or is this Michael? He can’t say. He never can.
“Oh God! Please...”
His brother adds another finger as his thumb massages Sam's perineum. And he’s about to combust, literally.
The ability to maintain an erection for a reasonable time and without effort—while Sam is at his mercy—is recent as well.
Not two weeks ago, Dean fucked him for three consecutive hours; all available surfaces of the bunker used more than once. He could barely walk afterward.
Despite that, he wants more.
With his mind focused on the present again, Sam moans, needy and wanting.
He doesn’t have to wait any longer. In the blink of an eye, he finds himself sitting on his brother's lap, the big and hard member back where it belongs.
The hands that help him bounce up and down are soft now, without the familiar calluses. But the smell of oil and leather that fills his nose when his forehead drops onto Dean's shoulder is still the same.
Worst of all, though, is that Sam loves it when he shouldn’t. His biggest concern should be the effort to get rid of Michael once and for all. But the likely symbiosis between his brother and Michael has a hypnotic effect on him. His logical mind knows what to do, but something prevents Sam from acting on that. Also, Dean has never been as at peace with himself as he’s now.
He inhales his brother's scent once more before abandoning his spot on Dean's shoulder. The dilated iris almost hides the green of his eyes, and he remembers another Dean.
A Dean who said terrible things to him and tried to kill him. However, that was not his brother. That was a monster, intrinsically evil.
The man inside Sam is his brother. Maybe he’s sharing the same body with an archangel. But his big brother is still there.
Sam’s holds on the broad shoulders, rolling back and forward on the length of his brother’s cock. He leans in to kiss the mouth slightly open in front of him, his dick leaving traces of pre-come as it comes into contact with the skin of his stomach and Dean’s.
His eagerness is so apparent. He grabs Dean's head with one hand, releasing his lips and pulling it against his nipple, but still fucking himself on the dick inside him with everything his body has to offer. His brother licks and nibbles at each of his nipples before placing a strong arm on his lower back, stopping his movements. He feels Dean's other hand on the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss again.
They stay that way for a few seconds, just kissing. And Sam can’t get enough of the whiskey taste in his brother's mouth. This Dean rarely drinks beer anymore. The preference for whiskeys—and those expensive—is another change in his brother's habits.
Suddenly, Dean's hands are on his buttocks, forcing him to resume his movements.
“That's it, Sam. Fuck my fat cock. Fuck it with that tight ass of yours.”
And he does that. He bites his lower lip and fucks himself onto his big brother's cock almost mindlessly. His body knows what to do automatically and how to find the best angle for his prostate. Not to mention the ability to please his brother.
But he's pretty sure it's not the first time Dean says that to him. Then another memory emerges from his subconscious.
A bet on a questionable bar and he was the prize.
Dean won, of course, but Sam ended up fucked on the pool table. He was exposed, naked and with his legs open.
He was displayed as something exotic to predatory stares.
Dean was the only one who fucked him that night, however. But his brother allowed two men to ejaculate on him later.
And despite the tears that escaped from his eyes, his dick remained erect all the time. A touch of Dean's hand was enough for him to come hard.
Now, he can almost feel the same eyes on him again. He can practically smell cigarettes and cum.
Everything is too vivid to be a dream.
However, without being able to face the truth, he prefers to believe that was a dream.
The alternative would be to recognize what he has become, what he allows his brother to do with him, and how much he likes it.
He's not ready for that. Not yet.
Pushing down the feeling of embarrassment, he focuses on working hard on the member buried deep into him.
His voice is demanding when he speaks again, “I thought you were going to make me feel it, Dean.”
For a second, Sam thinks he sees a flash of blue in his brother's eyes.
Then the characteristic smirk makes an appearance. Challenge accepted.
Dean holds him by his ass cheeks, getting out of bed—effortlessly. Sam clings to his brother, wrapping his legs around his hips. Dean lowers him down onto his cock again and slipping inside him easily. The thrusts begin as soon as his back hits the wall of Dean’s room and the impact forces the breath out of Sam’s lungs.
This Dean doesn’t complain about his weight, nor does he show any physical effort. He loves to see Sam impotent. He takes pleasure in impaling his little brother on his dick while Sam cannot do anything about it.
His helplessness fuels Dean's hunger. And the only thing he can do is grab the firm skin under his hands for the wild ride.
The obscene slap of flash on flash and of moans are loud in the quiet room.
Every nerve ending of Sam responds to the constant stimulus on his prostate. “Mmm, Dean,” he sounds wrecked. The feeling of his brother inside him is intoxicating, almost like a drug.
Dean does well in his promise by establishing a bruising pace. It hurts. But it's also so good.
Fucked up isn’t enough to define their relationship right now.
And it's just when he comes—so fucking hard and untouched—that he notices the bedroom door open. The door he was sure to close before they started it.
Shocked eyes stare at Sam.
"Jack!" He screams, unconsciously drawing more attention to what is happening between them.
There are shock, curiosity, and worry all over the young face.
“Fuck, Dean! Stop.” His hands pushing Dean's shoulders are ineffective.
“No. Jackie can watch if he wants to,” his brother grunts.
His protests are ignored, and he remains trapped between his brother and the wall—efficiently being maneuvered up and down on Dean's cock.
The pace of the impulses is intense, and Sam can only look at Jack and beg with his eyes for the boy to understand.
Betrayal is the last emotion he sees before Jack runs away.
“Damnit, Dean. Stop. I need to go after him,” he says, digging his nails on the skin of his big brother's shoulders.
A hand covers his mouth, forcing his head against the wall.
“Shut up! We'll finish what we started. The little freak isn’t going anywhere,” Dean’s voice is raspy and dark.
And for the first time since his brother's return, he's afraid. And he wants his Dean back and only his older brother, without the unwanted inhabitant who’s probably sharing the same body.
But despite how defenseless Dean makes him feel, there is an imperative of obedience in his DNA. He will follow his brother to Hell if necessary.
A nod of his head is enough for the hand to come out of his mouth.
He doesn’t dare question the fact that the door is still open, hoping no one else will show up.
Then, he abandons himself to his brother’s desires, and the sense of guilt gradually fades away—with every well-placed thrust of his brother’s hips. And he allows himself to enjoy it.
The track of time is also lost when he closes his eyes. His brother is all he can feel, inside him and around him. Wings, maybe. But he doesn’t open his eyes, thirsty for the comfort it brings.
A new orgasm hits him, and this time there’s no impediment to the cry coming out of his throat.
“That’s it, baby. Let it go.” The deep voice encourages against his ear.
And that's what he does. His surrender is complete. There are no ties, no judgments, no fear of repercussions.
By the time he opens his eyes again, he feels the warm wetness filling him as strong arms still hold him against the wall, his name being whispered more than once.
He’s more unconscious than conscious when Dean finally put him down on the bed.
The cleanliness of his body is methodical and almost reverent. Sam, in the meanwhile, remains passive, watching every touch of the washcloth on his skin.
This is the same Dean who raised him and took care of his needs since he was a baby.
After, the little kisses on the back of his neck are so familiar he wants to cry. He doesn’t do this, however, choosing to get lost in the illusion that this is his Dean and only him.
He'll deal with Jack tomorrow.
Today, only the solid presence behind him matters and the unbreakable connection between them; a bond that survives everything, even death. It's a lifetime of meetings, disagreements, happiness, and pain.
“You've always been mine, Sammy. And that will never change. I promise.”
Sam believes in him.