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Grudge Match

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It takes a lot to catch an angel, especially when you’re not actually trying to hurt him.

Dean spits blood out of his mouth, grins as he leans his weight against the dungeon door, listening to the angry thumps against it from the other side.

“I think we pissed him off,” he chuckles, and stares at his brother.

Sam looks distinctly unimpressed, though at what Dean doesn’t know.

“I think he’s concerned we’ll kill each other.”

Dean shrugs but inwardly he’s willing to admit it’s a possibility. The last time he was a demon, he remembers stalking his brother through these hallways, but this is a different Sam standing before him now.

He won’t pretend to understand how, but it doesn’t really matter.

If it comes to it, he will take the little prick out, but there’s other things he’d much rather be doing.

When he catches Sam drawing his eyes appraisingly over his body, he can’t help but flaunt a little.

“See something you like, Sammy?”

“Sam. You like yourself a lot, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?”


Dean hits the wall hard, the wind knocked out of him, but he’s ready for when Sam follows through and catches his wrist before Sam’s fist can smash into his face.

One twist and Sam goes crashing down onto the map table, grunting with the force of it, and then Dean’s on him.

Little bitch really thought it’d be so easy, to pin him down and make him take it?

And look who’s underneath who right now.

Until Sam sinks his teeth into Dean’s wrist, going for the bone, and that pain distracts him long enough for Sam to flip them, to push Dean face down and twist his arms up his back.

“Just…. Just accept that I'm going to fuck you,” Sam says, panting. “It’s going to happen either way, but you’ll find it easier if you’re not fighting.”

Dean jerks up, trying to break Sam’s hold, but the fucker must have gained some muscle when he lost his soul because it’s like trying to bust through steel.

“I’ll tear it off,” he threatens, when he hears Sam undoing his zipper, when Sam just tugs his jeans down to his thighs.

Sam leans closer, breath hot on Dean’s ear. “I might not care.”

And Dean can tell the crazy fucker’s being honest.

Yeah, he’s getting hammered through this table, no doubt about it.

He snarls as slick fingers breach him, Sam taking no time and showing no mercy, prepping him fast and harsh, and then his blunt cock head is pushing, pushing and Dean arches back as Sam’s just shoves into him.

It’s fucking agony, but at the same time it touches something deep in him and he can’t help but push back to meet it.

Sam seems geed on by that and he pounds into Dean, a brutal rhythm and fuck him, this’ll be over too soon, but then it is, Sam coming blistering hot inside him and Dean’s dick spilling messily over his pants and the table.

Sam’s laughing as he lets Dean go, gets shakily to his feet, zips himself up.

Dean cuts that laugh off, pushing himself up and onto his brother in less time than it takes Sam to draw his next breath.

He pushes him hard against the wall, pins him there, feels his eyes black over.

“I guess you want your turn,” Sam says. He’s got that look of intent about him, and even like this Dean can read his brother like a manual.

“I guess you’ve got something else in mind? Figures you’d balk at my dick up your ass, Sammy.”

Sammy tsks him. “No, I have that in mind too, just a little more...taboo.”

“Oh?” Okay, his little brother has his interest piqued.

“You fuck me,” Sam says, and Dean nods his approval (though it’s happening anyway, with or without Sam’s say so). “And I fuck the angel. At the same time.”

Dean grins. Sammy always has the best ideas. “You’re a fucking pervert,” he says. “But, you know, I like it.”