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And If It's Quite Alright

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The sensation of wetness, trapped, sticky between his legs is what wakes Dean up.

Fighting his way from the deep sleep he was locked in isn’t easy - but the rush of liquid, positive that he’s pissed the fucking bed, has him sitting up, knocking his leg against Sam’s body to struggle out from the blankets - and Sam’s arms - fuck, he’s already had enough embarassing things come out of him in the last twelve or so hours. More isn’t gonna fucking help anything. He manages to get out of the bed, only to realize that it’s trickling down his backside, over his thighs, and… God, that’s fucking worse, ready to dart off to the bathroom and pray to God Sam didn’t notice.

Dean has to look.

It’s… his own slick. And Sam’s come. Both of which he thought he’d managed to clean up pretty well last night before he finally passed out, but nope, Sam got him so fucking deep that there’s still some in there. Christ, at least he can stop fucking panicking. He picks up the dirty underwear Sam ripped off of him once they get back from their hunt last night and wipes the backs of his legs off, goes for a piss, and then comes back, getting back under the blankets and facing Sam.

Sam’s still out like a fucking light.

No surprise there - he worked fucking hard last night. Three times, and Dean’s pretty fucking sure there’s no going back from that. Sam claimed him, loudly, messily, and Dean’s entire world is shaped like that now. Sam, nothing but Sam. Hell, that was some fucking sort of culmination, and yet - Dean can taste the want for more like the remnants of a delicious meal that he’s going to get to have again. And again, and again, and again. 

The gut punch of knowing - what Sam tastes like, feels like inside him, what he looks like when he fucking floods Dean’s guts with his knot and load, fuck - Dean’s not sure if there was any way to mentally prepare for that. His alpha can’t make proper heads or tails of it yet, and Dean doesn’t fully expect him to right away. The rest of his body? Completely on board with it. Sam knows how to fuck, and fuck well. That at least is securely in place. Every roll of his goddamn hips had Dean panting for more, and it’s fucking magic, or something, the way he just comes all loose and uninhibited the second Sam’s in him. 

He wants to be embarrassed. Needs to be. God, he’s a fucking alpha’s alpha, and Sam already fucking has him wrapped around his fingers like he owns him. He does. Dean knows it, and it’s either make peace with it now, or he and Sam will kill each other before the universe even gets in its next contender.

Alphas might have lost their fangs about a thousand years ago, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still killers. Sam especially. Going throat and ass up for him, it’s fucking dangerous - and Dean signed himself over with a fucking bow on top. Makes him horny to just think about how Sam had looked at him, once they’d stumbled back into their motel room, covered in gore and grim and each other already, hungry, powerful, possessive.

Mine, he’d growled, right before he’d put Dean on all fours and sank his teeth into the back of his shoulder. Mine, Dean, Mine.


Dean’s pretty sure that’s the last word he spoke the whole rest of the time they had torn into each other.

Slick anew has started to wet his hole, and Dean cocks his leg up, hard cock brushing against his forearm on his way past, two fingers catching on the rim and slipping inside himself with no resistance whatsoever. He wants again, and Sam’s still knocked the fuck out, pleasantly unaware of the hunger currently burning its way through Dean’s entire body. Playing with fire - that’s what they’re doing. Dean needs to get up, go jerk off in the shower, let Sam be. 

The voice in Dean’s head is telling him to roll Sam over and take what he needs, and Dean isn’t necessarily for listening to sense right now. His brain doesn’t deserve servicing, lust given complete control. Accepting that isn’t hard, not really. 

He pulls the blankets away, looks down at Sam’s body. That stupid big cock, half-soft, the slightest bulge of knot lies heavy between his legs, the faintest glimmer of precome pearled in the end of his foreskin. He’s still covered in dry slick and come all over his hips and thighs, the scent powerful, joined up with the backdrop of sweat-musk, grave burn and Sam’s adrenaline charged pheromones. Dean bites back a whimper, shoves his finger in knuckle deep. Three of his own ain’t enough, and Sam’s just there, entirely too dangerously beautiful.

Dean rolls over onto his back and arches against his hand, his left arm hooked around his leg to keep him stretched, exposed. He knows how pathetic it looks, slaved to his own desire for an alpha he shouldn’t have touched, a brother that the moral center he thought he had told him to not lust after. But he did, and Sam’s in it with him now, mated, bonded, and Dean feels like he’s about to fucking overheat.

Sam stirs beside him, and Dean freezes, chest caving at being caught. Alphas don’t react well to their mates playing without them, geared so finely to respond the fucking second slick hits their nostrils. Pulling his fingers out of his ass now isn’t an option, wanting it too much to fucking stop.

“Sam, fuck-” Dean bites his lip to halt any further words. 

Sam stretches, sits up on one elbow and looks hard at Dean, almost adorable as incredulity, then recognition plays over his face. A slow, easy grin breaks his mouth, and Dean feels all those flash in the pan doubts blow apart, because this is right, it’s good, perfect.

“Good dream?”

Sam leans in and nuzzles at Dean’s jaw, a lazy, happy monster of near unstoppable killing power - and he fucking nuzzles Dean’s face, neck, one giant hand coming over to splay over Dean’s chest and make him ease down. “Smells like it, Dean.”

“Yeah.” That’s all Dean dares to let out, moaning high when Sam’s teeth scrape over the pulse in his neck. Sam hums, fingers slipping down until they’re under the heavy swing of Dean’s apparently not at all drained nuts, pressing in on his prostate, down on top of Dean’s where they’re deep inside himself.

Sam works back up to his jaw and bumps his nose against Dean’s, catching Dean’s mouth with his own right as he’s turning his head. Fucking confident bastard, and even through the deep, almost sour taste of come and each other, Dean lets Sam lick into him, the tip of Sam’s tongue feeling like it’s going for his back molars. Sam gets his left arm around Dean’s shoulders, gathering him up, his cock hard, leaking, hot against Dean’s hip. Dean moans, submits - there’s no hesitation there. Moans into Sam’s mouth again when Sam knocks his hand out of the way and replaces it with his own fingers, three long and deep, rocking in, out, in, out, blunt tips right against his swollen prostate.

Dean’s cock jumps, leaks precome all over his Sam-marked belly, silvery as it pools in his navel. Sam lets his mouth go, slides down his body all without so much as a bump and just like that, he’s got the head of Dean’s cock in his mouth. Dean howls, soft, low, feels Sam’s tongue make a long, lazy loop around the inside of his foreskin. Jams his mouth and throat down further, until he’s got half of Dean in him, fingers still driving him goddamn mad in his ass. Dean’s toes curl up, heels dug into the bed. 

“Love suckin’ your cock, Dean.” Every syllable weighs a million tons, heavy and warm against the weeping slit of Dean’s dick, and he loves hearing it. Sam’s fucking worshiping him, deep throating because he wants to, not at all from being asked. Pushes himself farther, and Dean reaches for the shaggy curls at the top of Sam’s neck, fingers sliding up and in, holding on tight. Sam hums, approving, greedy with what he’s got. Keeps fucking Dean in, out, in, out, easy as can be, dragging, edging, making Dean want to burst.

Slick-scent has them so goddamn keyed up that when Dean’s orgasm finally hits, he feels the rush before the release. Sam’s drooling all over his shaft, fingers bumping his knot, not yet able to take that much - in time. God, his mouth is so, so good, so wet and perfect and his, Sammy’s pretty, stupid pink lips, tongue, they’re Dean’s. They have to be. No one else deserves them.

Dean’s hips fuck up into the yielding wet, and Sam swallows every drop, slips in that fourth finger and Dean’s soul gets signed the fuck over, gladly and without hesitation. Sam doesn’t let him go either, not until he’s collapsed, cock spent, twitching, his whole body a mess of hormones, sweat, unwashed passion.

Sam comes back to his mouth and kisses the deep, core-hot taste of himself back to Dean. Dean reaches for Sam’s cock, satisfied with the gasp he lets out at being touched. God, even for an alpha, Sam’s big, and Dean took every goddamn inch. He wants to be smug about it right now, but right now he’s got to get Sam off. Just has to.

Given how Sam’s leaking precome all over Dean’s hip and belly, it shouldn’t be all that hard to do. He pulls Sam over on top of him, puts his hard dick right up against his own, fingers wrapped around them both - almost. Sam’s too thick to get complete hold of, but locking his legs around Sam’s waist and his mouth with his own, he already knows has a one hundred percent success rate in making Sam bust.

Sam growls, thrusts through Dean’s slick-wetted fingers. Come on, Sammy, give it up for me. Dean growls back, bites on Sam’s lower lip, sucking it slow and hard into his mouth. Feels the pulse of orgasm around the girth of his knot, does it again. There’s so much precome between them that Dean’s positive they’ll be stuck together for a long fucking time, and is perfectly okay with that. Sam growls again, louder, and Dean feels his chest and stomach painted up, the scent of bleachy, alpha-heavy come frying his nostrils and brain. Sam ruts, bites, breaks himself down in every motion, until he has to back out of Dean’s grip and fall next to him, panting into Dean’s neck and shoulder.

“Got your attention, didn’t it?” Dean grins and kisses Sam’s sweating temple, promptly gets pulled to Sam’s body. “Fuckin’ hell, Sam, last night was…”

“We’re doing it again.” Sam’s voice doesn’t leave any room for argument. “Fuck, Dean, you can’t… I want you so fuckin’ bad.” He’s all the way awake now, scrambling for another gut punch hard kiss. “Might as well the the motel we’re stayin’ a couple more days.”

Two days with nothing but Sam in a motel room, God. The place is already painted with pheromones. Dean’s system is overloaded as it is, but he finds himself agreeing. And he needs to piss again. “We will, Sam. But we gotta clean up, get some grub first - I ain’t gonna be firing much on empty.”

Sam groans, pouts in a sigh. “But Dean…”

“Food, Sam. Shower, food, we come back, you can knot me up as much as you want. Fuck, I thought you were for a second there.” His ass is already starting to feel empty without it, and that’s not far off from torture itself. You don’t experience something that good just a few times. 

“Hurts,” Sam huffs. “Seriously, I’ve come so much in the last what, day, that my knot fucking hurts.”

“See? Needs a break. Last thing I want is for your dick to not work. Now come on, you’ve got some cleaning up to do.”

Sam wants to argue that a tongue bath is just fine, but if they’re going out in public, it is not going to be with alpha spunk in his hair.

Not that either one of them are particularly ashamed about it, of course.