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crush into pleasure and downtown

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Sam shuts the chipped motel door with a vibrating thud. A weak groan escapes his mouth and he falls onto the bed closest to the entrance, curling up in the soft blankets and pressing his cheek to the cool surface of a pillow. The hunt had been five long days of torture, he and Dean barely even had time to sleep and this shit hole of motel’s terminal couldn’t process payment for twenty minutes. So Sam was stuck at the manager’s counter instead of taking a shower. But with payment sorted and a room key granted, Sam was finally able to fall into the welcoming embrace of Morpheus. Not the real god, heaven forbid.

Sam stares at the ceiling fan counting its revolutions and feeling how the tension eases out of his body with each turn. The sound of water splashing issued from behind the closed doors leading to the bathroom, which is a good sign - it means Dean is finishing with his shaving routine by washing the foam off his face, so he will vacate the room pretty soon. A dreamy smile slips through Sam’s lips, already anticipating the moment he will shut his eyes and submerge in a world of dreams.

Dean is sitting on his bed, looking at the TV-set and listening to the running water of the shower, that currently houses his naked baby brother. He isn’t really watching the show, it’s some “Through Time and Space” kind of crap, and Dean wouldn’t pay attention even if he wasn’t that exhausted. And turned on. They haven’t fucked, let alone kissed, for five full days and he feels how tension is swelling in each cell of his body, threatening to explode at any moment.

His little brother didn’t let Dean come near him for the whole time they were on the hunt. Sam claiming that he didn’t want sex to impede their investigation. Not that he was wrong. It was no secret that Dean loves sex, won’t miss any opportunity to get into some hot chick’s pants in every town that they stop off in. Even if at times it means leaving Sam with the sole weight of carrying the investigation for the night.

But those times are in the past. Everything has changed since that night.

They were both pretty drunk, stuck in the middle of nowhere - celebrating another week of survival. The warm pink of Sam’s cheeks was caught in the headlights of Impala. He was tipsier than his older brother, despite the fact that they had drunk the equal amounts of whiskey from a bottle that Dean had stolen from a bar three states away

Sam was sitting on the hood with his legs slightly apart, swinging his foot playfully, looking at the stars above; the starlight milk spilled over the dome.

Dean was not all that enchanted by night’s sky. His eyes stuck on Sam’s waist, looking so fragile against his wide shoulders. Dean’s mind wandered, pictures of his own hands struggling to enclose around this elegant part of Sam’s body born as foam on the crest of a wave and dissolved just as quickly when Dean caught himself ogling his baby brother, yet again. Occurring not for the first time since their “family reunion”. Sometimes he thought Sam was doing this, looking so tempting, on purpose, but then Dean would reprimand himself for shifting the blame. It was Dean who completely lost his head over Sam. It wasn’t Sammy’s fault that Dean was a pervert, who couldn’t keep his desire for own brother smothered and silent, letting it encapsulate his thoughts in viscous forbidden fantasies.

He cleared his throat, retreating to the backseats as if he was looking for another bottle, and not to readjust the bulge in his pants.

It was pretty dark and Sam might not notice it, but he was too afraid to leave it to chance. Dean hadn’t managed to make three steps as his thigh was caught by Sam’s shin. He turned his head to ask what his brother was doing - but the question died on his tongue, Sam’s shiny lips, wet with tongue slightly poked out, pulled him closer magnetically.

Dean was grinning like a fool, entrapped in the glassy sparkle in the eyes opposite his own. Sam was visibly lost to the bleary drunk mist, disoriented and vulnerable. A shiver ran down Dean’s spine. He wasn’t a good big brother at that moment with all these filthy thoughts swirling around in his mind.

“Sammy should have slowed down on whiskey, huh?” Dean raised his brow, placing his hands on either side of Sam’s hips, hovering between his brother’s legs. His voice sounded more predatory in the black of the light than he intended it to be.

Sam bit his lower lip, “Probably. De-fi-ni-te-ly,” he sing-songed in response, a finger absentmindedly twirling his hair with a sheepish smile. Dean’s dick twitched in response to the performance.

“Okay, Sasquatch, let’s move you to the backseat,” Dean decided to put Sam somewhere safe to sleep before he could have done something stupid with his drunk baby brother. His cheeks already felt like they were on fire after he registered the implication of what he’d said.He pulled Sam up by his flank to help him off the hood.

Instead of Sam’s feet landing on the ground, they circled around Dean’s back, pulling Dean up against himself. Dean felt Sam’s warm ass with his own stiffened cock and uttered a warning, “Sammy, don’t…” that was quickly silenced by a warm puff of air against his lips, his brother’s face close enough to touch.

Sam poked out his tongue teasingly and licked his lower lip.

Dean’s knees felt weak.

“Kiss me,” Sam looked at him in anticipation, unmoving, sitting like an invitation for his big brother laid out on a platter. His eyes suddenly sharp, taking in Dean’s reaction.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply, trying to calm himself down. His self control was flying out the window with each passing millisecond. His brother was drunk, not aware of what he was doing. Dean knew he had to be the stronger man, but his baby brother was always Dean’s weak spot, and Dean wasn’t strong enough to pass up taking advantage of Sam’s intoxicated state of mind. He’s wanted it, it’s been an acute need for so long. Too long.

Dean made the decision that he would excuse himself and his behaviour come morning, under the guise that they were both pretty wasted.

When he opened his eyes he saw that disappointment had started to creep into Sam’s features. Sam untangled his legs behind him, mumbling that he is sorry and should probably go to sleep, but his big brother gripped his thighs to still him in his spot.

Dean shortened the distance between their faces, his lips hovering over Sam’s, not touching yet, but with a promise of drawing together pretty soon. He looked in Sam’s eyes one more time, silently seeking Sam’s consent and his little brother gave him a final little nod.

The moment Dean received the signal to proceed, he instantaneously killed the remaining space between the two of them. His lips slid softly over Sam’s, a feather-like touch, but it was enough to make them both shudder and grip into each other’s arms to steady themselves. They parted for a second, sharing heavy breathes, wrought up over the novelty of the sensation.

Sam’s cheeks flushed the prettiest colour.

Dean whispered, “Fuck, Sammy,” placing frantic kisses on his cheeks, as if wanting to drink the rosé wine from them. Shy dimples found their way onto his little brother’s face, intrinsic to his unbelieving smile. Dean kissed them both.

“Kiss me again,” the begging tone of Sam’s voice lured Dean toward his brother’s lips. Cupping the nape of his neck, Dean leaned in and attacked Sam’s mouth, sliding tongue in and out of the inviting warmth, ravaging his lips. An obscene sound of their making out was the only noise to be heard in the tender tranquility of the night.

Time passed but they kept kissing, being not able to quench the thirst as if separating would kill them on the spot.

Dean felt Sam tugging on his jeans, pleading to take them off, and he was so stupid and drunk on the taste of his brother there and then that he would do anything asked of him.

Dean quickly unbuckled his belt and tugged his jeans down and left them hung around his ankles. While Sam awkwardly unzipped his own, taking out his dick before changing focus to sliding Dean’s boxers out of the way, to reveal his brother’s cock that bobbed up and down, as if happy to be finally freed. They stared at each other’s dicks, absorbing every single detail, committing them to memory. To draw on later - fantasies in the dark of their shared motel rooms.

Dean reached out first to put his hand around the shaft of Sam’s cock, sliding his foreskin down, a few teasing movements along its length. He cupped the head before touching the slit with his thumb, gazing right into Sam’s eyes, registering what made his brother let out moans of pleasure.

Sam whimpered, feeling Dean’s finger playing with the head of his dick and bucked his hips up involuntary. “Want to feel you, Dee…” Sam’s velvet voice enveloped Dean. He wanted to feel Sam too.

Dean brought his prick close to Sam’s, grinding and rubbing against it, working both of their dicks, his little brother made soft kitten meowing sounds with each slide of their angry-hard cocks. Sam grabbed hold of the edge of the hood for leverage, moving his hips up and down in sync with his brother’s strokes. Their movements to the tune of Dean’s low growling and Sam’s sweet moaning, intermingled in the night.

They pressed their foreheads together, lost in each other’s eyes, both glistening with lust, seeking confirmation that it was all real.

Having put his hand around both of their hard-ons, Dean sped up the pace of his own hips. Their cockheads were poking out of his enclosed fingers, and then hiding again rhythmically. Sam’s whines became more and more erratic, he kept whispering his brother’s name, holding himself together to the sound of it. Throwing back his head, he came in thick ropes, sputtering all over Dean’s fist.

Dean spread his brother’s seed over own shaft, and the knowledge of it - that he uses Sam’s semen as lube brought him over the edge in an instant and he came all over Sam’s cock, watching as it dripped down to cover his balls.

They were both panting loudly into each other’s mouths in postorgasmic delight, Dean stroking Sam’s face in acute adoration, kissing slowly and languidly, as if they had all the time of the world in their pockets.

Dean untangled his brother’s legs from behind him. When he felt that Sammy had become too pliant in his hands, he peered up to see that Sam was struggling to keep awake. Dean pressed a final kiss to Sam’s lips and carried his blissed out and sleepy lover on the backseats, cleaning them both before slipping in next to Sam, spooning him from the behind. Dean had never slept better, not even being cramped into a small space with his not-so-little brother could disturb his mellow dreams.

The next morning Dean woke up first, with his hand resting on Sam’s stomach and lips pressed to his soft hair. Dean inhaled deeply his baby brother’s sweet smell, waiting for Sam’s reaction to the compromising pose he was going to wake up to.

He felt as Sam’s body started to shuffle, breaking through the superficial tension of shallow sleep preceding awakening.
His brother’s hand fidgeted and found his palm, resting on his smooth stomach. Sam brushed his fingers over Dean’s knuckles, the touch was so light and intimate that Dean took in a deep breath.

“Mornin’, Dee.”

It was the night, lengthened into the next day, that changed everything. If someone previously had said that Dean was fixated on sex he would have agreed. But now it was not even half the truth. He craved physical contact with his brother so much so that it felt like a constant terminal buzz under his skin which could only be soothed by Sam’s touch.

The desire for Sam, so primeval, seemed to have been living and breathing in Dean forever, and now, after all these years, had broken free and couldn’t slake its hunger, in spite of the number of times his mouth found Sam’s skin and ate shivers from it.

They would make out in the car whenever they made a stop. Dean suffocated Sam with his never-ending affections, kissing his beautiful features all over until Sam giggled and asked him to stop.

His right hand periodically found rest on Sam’s thigh when they would drive through the vast expanse of the country. The thought of physically separating from his brother long was practically unbearable.

And sex. Sex was on another whole new level.

His mind brought to the surface a memory - there was no fan in the room and Sam was sitting in his slap, bouncing on his dick, the sweat drops running down from his forehead face scrunched in concentration and pleasure - and Dean just kept looking at him. He looked at Sam like a man mesmerised by a Renaissance painting, couldn’t avert his eyes from a picture so enigmatic and powerful that it followed him in his dreams. The images of Sam coming apart on his cock like recurrent shots of a movie. Sam then hopped off, tenderly pushing Dean to lay back on the bed, nudging his legs open, an expression of complete devotion written on Sam’s face when he entered Dean. Whispering words of love into his ear, telling Dean how good he is for him, and Dean came just listening to the low purr of Sam’s voice. His brother worshipping him inside and out.

To be honest, Dean became obsessed. Just as though he was chasing and grabbing every opportunity to be closer to Sam or otherwise the loss of it would torment Dean physically.

Dean wished he could act like anything but a needy dog, constantly begging for Sam’s touch and attention. But everything was spiralling out of his control. There was no going back after he tasted his brother.
He just needed more and more of him, craving to be deeper, tighter, closer with Sam. The worst part was that Sammy let him. Until it started to impede the process of cracking the case they both worked on.

Like this time, when they were investigating the sudden death of students who were found suffocated in their walk-in wardrobes.
They asked one of the victim’s relatives to show them the crime scene - and the woman was silly enough to leave them in that place alone. The wardrobe was fit with a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror and Dean, of course, couldn't help himself.

He turned Sam’s back and pressed his brother’s ass to his crotch, slowly taking off Sam’s clothes and soaking in the view of the opposite mirror. He unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, revealing impressive pecs and pinched his nipples, drawing out strangled moans from his brother. Sam tried to stop him through his whimpers, saying that the victim's aunt was going to return any minute.
But Dean wouldn’t listen, growling. “Look at you, wanna eat you alive, Sammy,” before latching hungrily to Sam’s neck, sucking bright bruises into it.

As Sam had predicted, the fussy aunt came back pretty soon, opened the door leading to the wardrobe without knocking, bothered with what these two had been doing for so long there - finding one of the FBI agent flushing hard, his hair disheveled and his shirt slovenly tucked in and the other one with a smug smile on suspiciously puffy lips.

Dean and Sam were almost dragged out by their ears, with the woman’s angry shouting heard throughout the whole street. People turned their heads to look at the two shameless young men who dared to unsettle aunt Maggie.
It was a small town and it went without saying that the next day every citizen knew about two male agents making out at the crime scene.

Not only had no one wanted to help them, but they refused to even listen to the brothers. From that day forward they had to scrape by on evidence collected first-hand, a tormentingly long process. For five days straight Sam had to read each and every newspaper in town to get to the bottom of the mystery. The angry spirit appeared to be a girl strangled by her classmates in the school’s changing room.

However, the worst part of this case was that Sam banned Dean from even touching him, saying he had told him to stop and Dean being Dean didn’t listen to him and they were now stuck in this shitty town where even every dog gave them a sour look. So he could forget about sex, let alone anything like a simple kiss,until they cracked it.


No wonder Dean is now sitting and waiting for his brother to come out of the shower, all wound up. Every cell in his body screams for contact with his brother. Unblessed with it for the whole damn week, his skin itching so hard he can’t wait any longer.
He feels like a drug addict. A simple, quick jerk-off won’t help, he is perfectly aware of it, the need and desire for his brother will only burn even greater, unsatisfied with these temporary measures.

After Sam finally gets out of the shower and falls into his bed, Dean materializes near his side in an instant - caressing Sam’s flanks and kissing him behind the earlobe, whispering sweet nothings about his savoury after-shower smell.
Dean reaches his hand to Sam’s crotch, about to slide under the waistband but gets his hand slapped away.

“Not tonight, Dean, ‘m tired. Let’s just sleep already.”

“S’want you, Sammy, please, baby, just a quickie. Promise.” But Sam just yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Do whatever you want,” Sam mumbles, “just don’t wake me, I’m so tire…'' the end of the sentence is abruptly cut off, Sam falling asleep as soons as his head hits his pillow. Completely exhausted from the long hunt.

Dean sighs in frustration, yet not ceasing to touch Sam’s flanks. His hand is slowly moving to Sam’s nipples, circling around areolas repeatedly and teasing the nub.
Dean’s mouth floods with saliva with the picture of them getting harder, on instinct, while their owner is not even awake, just tuned to Dean’s touch. He takes his chance and nips lightly on one of them, sucking on it softly to not wake Sammy up. The latter shuffles in his dream, moaning sweetly, just igniting Dean’s arousal even more. Who’s become bolder and is sucking on the tiny bead with broad swipes of his tongue, tugging it lightly with his teeth and releasing, his hand already gone downtown, stroking his stiffened dick.
Sam’s nipples are shiny with his spit, abused-red looking, like buds covered in dewdrops, after he is done. Dean growls lowly in his chest, wanting more, needing more.
His gaze travels to the pink petals of Sam’s lips, with a gloss of a spit, slightly ajar and so tempting.

He puts his fingers on the outer part of them and caresses them lightly, fantasizing about replacing his fingers with his cockhead. They feel so smooth and soft to the touch, so that it seems so easy to just part them more and slide his fingers inside without meeting any resistance. So Dean does, sneaking two of his fingers into the inviting warm wetness, caressing the inner silky surface of Sam’s mouth, sliding back and forth over his tongue.

The sober part of his mind orders him to stop, he is not that kind of man to fingerfuck his brother’s mouth while he is vulnerable in his sleep, but the rational kernel of this thought gets drowned by the greater part of him, sick and demanding of his brother.
Dean strokes his cock in tune with a steady shove of his fingers against Sam’s tongue, speeding up the pace and pressure, the tips of fingers already touching every now and then the back of his brother’s mouth. Dean growls almost savagely and violently, wanting to put his tongue next to the fingers entering his brother to fill that little sleep-slack mouth with even more of himself.

The moment he thinks about actually doing it, he pushes his fingers even deeper, almost sliding into Sam’s throat, that makes him cough in his sleep and Dean pulls out his hand immediately. Panicked for Sam to wake up with his brother’s index and middle fingers shoved practically fully down into his mouth.

Dean’s body shakes all over with arousal and the exhausting need to come, but he knows that if he jacks himself to release now without doing something, anything with Sam, the maddening ache which soaks through his skin won’t stop. Shivering all over with desire, his body won’t get tricked with pathetic self-satisfaction, it calls for Sam and can’t calm until the call is returned.

Sam is still submerged in dreaming, looking all relaxed and unbothered, and Dean just can’t be so cruel to wake him and ask the second time. He just knows Sam will say no and will be angry at him, and with the possibility that this cockblocking can be extended for an extra week as punishment for Dean’s impatience and insolence, Dean decides against waking Sam.
Sam looks so pliable, easy to be turned on his belly and be undressed without waking. Dean can’t stop himself, his hands already turning Sam slowly and tugging his sleeping pyjama pants down to reveal to cute round globes of his ass and moans lowly at the perfect view he’s endowed to observe.
He puts his hand on these soft cheeks, massaging circles in them - the dimples from Dean’s fingers pressed into soft skin look so hot, unearthly beautiful, reminding Dean of the sculpture depicting the abduction of Proserpina. Dean wants his hands to never leave Sam’s body the same way marble Pluto seizes his beloved in an ever-lasting hold that she can never escape.

Dean gingerly pries Sam’s cheeks open to have a glimpse at Sam’s little pink ring, that blossoms, opens for his eyes like a morning flower. Dean feels so fucking hungry, like a wolf looking at a soft, tasty lamb. Saliva already gathering in front of his mouth, he lets it pour onto that beautiful taut hole making it glisten with his spit like a jewel.

Dean comes to understand the very exact second that even the possibility of waking Sam won’t stop him from latching onto Sam’s hole. His mouth is already sinking into it, being magnetized. He shakes all over, the moment his lips find their way to this intimate skin, feeling the taste of it, he is sure no one except him has had a chance to try. This private knowledge, that the taste of his baby brother’s ass belongs all to him, causes Dean to feel possessiveness clutching his body. An animalistic groan falls from his mouth and travels to Sam’s core, making his brother writhe in his dream. Dean can’t stop, his tongue already making out with Sam’s hole, covering it in wide strokes and then breaching inside with a pointy end. Struggling to get even deeper, tongue-fucking Sam in earnest, painting his insides with his spit, his hand stroking his own dick in frenzied pace, the nasty squelchy sound of it hangs loud in the air. He hears Sam’s weak whimpers, his small shuffling on the bed sheet, his brother is dangerously close to waking up, Dean is just as close to pouring out his pent-up abstinence on Sam’s obscenely spread out thighs.

“Dean, what are you…?”, he hears his brother’s whiny moaning, the sound of Sam clutching sheets in his palms, and thinks to himself why now? When he is so close, so fucking close, to cumming. The desired release will draw upon with a few final strokes. His cock strained with need to relieve too much of cum gathered in his balls over the week.

“Go back to sleep, Sammy, won’t wake you again. Promise,” he tries to say as calmly as possible, despite his best efforts an unrestrained want creeps into his voice. His hands drawing soothing circles on his brother’s already tensed back.

Sam is looking at Dean now under his fluttering eyelashes, breaking into the waking world from a dream. The sleepy veil dissipates immediately, after he catches the hungry wild glimpse in his big brother’s eyes with his face buried deep in Sam’s ass. His hole feels loosened and slick as if Dean has been working it for hours. A shudder runs through his body as he notices what Dean’s other hand is doing, the fat glistening head of Dean’s cock appearing and hiding in his fist at a wild speed.

Blush burns on Sam’s cheeks after understanding what is going on - his brother eating his ass like it is the most delicious dish he’s ever tasted to get himself off, while Sam was deeply submerged in sleep. Sam feels shy and smug at the same time, the knowledge that Dean not only doesn’t avoid this dirty hidden part of him, but also finds it is hot and tempting enough to suck and lick on it and bring himself to release by doing it.

Sam then shifts and readjusts himself, getting on all fours, spreading his cheeks even wider and sliding his middle fingers inside his hole, stretching it enough for Dean’s tongue to thrust in and out without effort.

“Why did you stop? Keep fucking me with that fat tongue of yours, brother.”, Sam can’t believe the brazen dirty-talk that escapes past his lips, shame warms his skin.

To his surprise, his words have an astounding effect on Dean, who crashes his face into his ass with a deep gravely groan. Eating it, sucking the ring with his full mouth attached around the hole, feeding it his tongue, fucking Sam with a lustful wet slide of his muscle at a most violent speed.
Sam thinks to himself faintly that Dean’s jaw must ache with the strain of so much vigour and devotion, but he can’t care less at the moment. His own dick throbbing hard, pulsing with each thrust of this pointy-hard tongue.

Sam doesn’t notice how he starts to push himself back, to help Dean slide his tongue even deeper inside, to stuff him full.
He feels Dean’s hands on his hips, holding him in a fierce grip, fingers shaking like crazy. Dean suddenly turns to lay on his back and nudges Sam’s ass, guiding him to sit right on his face, pushing Sam’s hips up and down using his hands, instructively, until little brother gets what Dean wants him to do.

“Fuck yes, Sammy, fuck yourself on my tongue, baby. Lemme fuck your sweet, tight ass. Straddle me, ride my fucking face, own it.” Dean's words vibrate right inside Sam’s flinching hole and he can’t control himself anymore bouncing his ass on Dean’s tense, straight as an arrow, tongue. The lewd sound of him being eaten out by his brother rings in his ears.

Sam whines and moans brokenly, feeling the steady reassuring hold of Dean’s palms on his waist, helping him to impale his hole as tight and steady as possible on Dean’s rude-firm muscle until he can’t take it anymore. His mind swims and swirls, and dizzy with being tongue-fucked, he comes in thick whitish spouts covering the headboard in front of him. Tensing and spasming his ring of muscles around Dean’s tongue who trembles all over brutally underneath him, his own orgasm overtakes him simultaneously with Sam’s.

They are both panting loudly, Sam tries to climb off Dean’s face but the latter refuses to let go of Sam’s ass. Keeps licking his abused puffy hole in assuasive circles, purring into it like a satisfied happy cat.

“We’re gonna have to work on your timing, Dean. A sex schedule, I’m gonna have to ban you from touching me for a while if this is the result. A nice way to wake up, never seen you that hard,” a heavy smirk finds its way onto Sam’s lips. He bites his lower lip feeling the vibration of a protest travelling into his insides from Dean’s mouth still latched to him.

“Promise to eat your tasty hole every day instead of breakfast if you burn the mere idea of this devilish calendar”, Dean delivers a final peck to Sam’s hole, claiming it.

Their soft brisk snicker reverberating against fogged from sex windows is the last to be heard in the stillness of the night.