Work Text:
“You think–?” Sam cuts himself off and when Dean looks over it’s to see this contemplative look on his face, the rest of his question held back by grim doubt. Sam shifts in his seat and huffs, dissatisfied with whatever’s going through his head.
Dean throws him an indulgent smile, eyes flashing back to the road. “Out with it, Sammy, come on.” Any opportunity to rag on his brother, especially one that Sam brings on himself, is an opportunity Dean won’t waste.
“It’s just–” Sam starts again, shaking his head and starting over. “I want to find Dad just as bad as you, I do. But…” he trails off and it’s clear he’s struggling to get the next part out.
Dean turns down the radio until it’s nearly silent. It’s not often Sam brings John up on his own, and it’s even less often that he’s hesitant to speak his thoughts on the man. Dean knows it’s not for his sake, and his curiosity only grows. “But?” he prompts.
Sam’s fingers play with a fraying piece of his sleeve. He licks his lip and draws in a small breath of preparation. “What if he can’t forgive me, Dean?” He’s looking straight ahead, jaw set and expression tight. He’s trying not to let on how much he’s thought about this, how it’s probably eaten away at him for weeks.
It must say a lot that Dean’s first thought is, Why do you care? But, really, why does Sam care? It’s not like he seemed to mind all that much when he first left, knowing that John would never forget it and going anyway.
“What’s with the good son act? I mean, no offense Sam, but he was pretty fucking pissed when you took off.”
“So you don’t think he will either.” Sam stretches out in the seat, hands sliding down the length of his thighs. “Great.”
“I didn’t say that,” Dean responds with more force than needed. He tries to shake the weight of Sam’s admitted worry, along with some festering bitterness in himself. “It’s just, what? You aiming to be a daddy’s boy all of a sudden?” Except, it doesn’t come out at all like he’d intended. The words, uttered an octave too low and sounding entirely too deliberate even to his own ears, sit haltingly in the stillness of their wake.
Sam doesn’t offer anything in response for a long moment and Dean can’t understand why he’s working himself up so much over this. It’s not like he really meant it like– that. And anyway, there’s no way Sam caught onto anything amiss. Dean made a stupid comment, same as he always does, and it’s not like he’d been wrong to say it. Sam needed John’s approval now? When had he ever needed that? He hasn’t even apologized to Dean for ditching him, too. Did he just automatically assume he had Dean’s forgiveness?
Finally, Dean hears a scoff from beside him. When he can bear to glance over again Sam’s eyes are already on him, despondency wiped out with a gleaming look of challenge. “Why? Are you gonna be my daddy now or something?” He’s joking, there’s a shit eating grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and Dean knows he’s just fucking around to be a pain in his ass.
Dean tries in vain to ignore the gut twisting heat Sam’s words kick up. It’s a heady wave that washes over him, flashing images of Sam’s open mouth, his hands curling around Dean in an unforgiving grip, voice chanting the word over and over as Dean comes down on him. He thinks of Sam, desperate for Dean’s acceptance, laid out underneath him and pleading. Please, Daddy, I’ll be good. I can be good for you, I’m sorry.
And Dean would let him prove it. He’d make sure Sam knew who was worth being good for.
Right here, right now Sam still waits for a reply. Something snippy and smart, probably, Dean giving back as good as he got. Because Dean shouldn’t be thinking like this and comparing his spot in Sam’s life to John’s. He shouldn’t be wondering about what John’s done for Sam that Dean hasn’t done ten times over, and all the things only Dean has been able to do for Sam.
Dean can only manage to roll his eyes and refocus ahead of him, hand gripping the wheel tighter. “Look, just stop worrying about shit that doesn’t even matter until we find him. Okay?”
Neither of them bring it up again the rest of the drive.
–
It’s not bad, Dean’s telling himself while he helps Sam through the door. Sam doesn’t even need his help to walk, really, which should be another thing to tip off Dean’s nagging brain. But all he can seem to register is the blood soaking the side of Sam’s light washed shirt, like a flare going up and alerting every part of Dean to danger.
Sam takes his arm back from where it was thrown over Dean’s shoulders and winces as he’s settled down on the mattress closest to the door. His head tips back, eyes squeezing shut when a low, agonized groan rips through his throat. He’s trying to breathe through it while Dean rifles through their bags for the right supplies, and it’s the loudest sound in the room next to Dean’s own thrumming pulse in his ears.
When Dean turns back to Sam and sees the highlighted sheen of sickly sweat on his skin, it’s hard to remind himself that he’s done this more than dozens of times–skinned knees and elbows, sprained collarbones and wrists, black eyes and cut up lips. And as they got older and the cuts turned into gashes, the bruises into broken bones that never set completely right, Dean made sure to take care of those, too.
The first time John showed Dean how to stitch Sam up there had been more blood than he’d ever seen on his little brother, coming out of him, and he’d been so nervous that his hands shook. They shook no matter what John told him, that he’d leave a scar or hurt Sammy even more by messing it up, but nothing got through to Dean until big calloused hands reached for the thread, trying to take over. The thought that Dean couldn’t do as well as John, that Sam wouldn’t be able to rely on him, nearly sent him into a panic and he refused to give up. Sam hadn’t even protested when Dean’s inexperience kept him there an extra fifteen minutes.
Dean got better over time, always looking over his shoulder for a pair of intruding hands and forcing his own steady.
It’s kind of like that first time every time something happens to Sam, right now being no different. Dean watches him and wonders if he’ll be too shaky since there’s so much sticky red. He worries this is the time he might need John to cut in and take over, or that Sam will ask for the old man instead. The thought hardens some resolve in Dean and suddenly his hands are divine, the only things of flesh worthy enough to touch and mend Sam, to care for him and keep him breathing, moving, living.
“It’s not that bad,” Sam huffs weakly when he catches Dean staring. He must be an easy read, at least to Sam, considering the words should quell Dean’s exact nerves. He’s too pale and breathless to really back the statement up, but Dean’s not looking for his verbal reassurance.
Dean drags one of the room’s wooden chairs over, rolling his eyes when Sam tries to give him his bitchiest baby brother glare and fails spectacularly. “Shirt off,” Dean commands easily, already averting his eyes and reaching for the bottle of alcohol. He comes back to his spot and finds Sam struggling, pained sounds leaving him more and more frequently as he tries in vain to remove the piece of clothing.
Dean tsks and sets the bottle down on the chair’s seat. “Do I have to do everything for you, you giant baby?” Sam obligingly halts his attempts and lets Dean skim his hands under the hem of his shirt. Dean feels the tacky blood rubbing off on his fingertips and palm even when he keeps his touch light, just trying to peel the cotton away from skin before he can fully remove the material. Sam sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth at some of the touches, and Dean keeps his comments going. “You don’t take care of yourself well enough, Sammy.” He shakes his head almost chidingly, fingers grazing over the backside of Sam’s bloodied wound and humming in sympathy. “Okay, come on, let me do it.” He helps Sam get the arm on his injured side free from the shirt, smiling to himself when Sam automatically ducks a little to seamlessly aid Dean in getting it over his head, too.
Sam peers back up at him, shirt bunched up and halfway off his torso; his hair’s ruffled and Dean should be thinking more about his injury than he is about how dazed and vulnerable Sam looks, how he doesn’t even try to fight Dean on this in the state he’s in because he trusts Dean to do this right, for Sam. Dean can’t help it when he asks, “Will you let me take care of it?” Sam’s not breathing so raggedly because of Dean’s focus on him, and there’s just a hint of rosiness on his cheeks only because he worked up a bit of a sweat getting the shirt off, but with the way he’s watching Dean under a heavy lidded stare, mouth falling open around each labored pant, it’s easy to imagine how the words might affect him under different circumstances.
“I thought that was what I’ve been doing,” Sam responds smartly. It’s a good sign that he still has the energy for a quippy attitude, and it allows Dean to not feel as bad when he grabs the sloshing bottle of liquid and unscrews the cap.
Dean wastes almost no time before dousing Sam’s side with it, the clear liquor wetting Sam’s tacky skin again. Sam immediately recoils from the inescapable pain. “Gotta be nicer to me than that, Sammy.” Dean hands the open bottle over to Sam and waits for him to take a quick swig. “I could’ve just let you patch this up yourself, you know.” Dean finally takes his seat across from Sam in the stiff chair, silently delighting in the way Sam’s gone silent.
The silence doesn’t last for very long. Dean’s patting the gash dry and clean when Sam pipes up again, “Yeah, but you wouldn’t.” Instead of any verbal response, Dean offers his raised brow while reaching for what he needs to sew Sam together. Sam laughs weakly, wetting his bottom lip. “When’s the last time you let anyone else do this for me?” The question begs no serious answer, which is answer enough for the both of them.
Sam’s side doesn’t look nearly as bad as it did when he first got slashed, or as it did in the car while it bled seemingly profusely. Dean, not for the first time, wonders if he’d been seeing things in his agitated state of worry. It’ll still need stitches, but Dean’s warning radar has finally dimmed enough to let him focus on what he needs to do rather than Sam being in any kind of permanent danger.
He starts threading, knowing from experience the mix of stinging hurt and discomfort such a feeling as an open wound being pulled back together brings on. “Wouldn’t be an issue if you were using your head more while you’re out there.” He’s not looking for Sam’s reaction, too focused on keeping his hand confident in its movements.
“Are we really getting into a lecture? Right now?”
Dean jerks his head to the side debatingly, eyes narrowed and honed in on the marred skin under his touch. “You were reckless tonight, Sam. What were you thinking, charging in without my backup, huh? You couldn’t have waited five minutes?” He concludes his questioning with another gentle tug.
Sam huffs as best he can, the movement inflating his abdomen. “I’m a big boy, Dean. I can handle myself fine without you.”
“Clearly.” Dean’s almost halfway done with his task and snorts to emphasize his point. “Why don’t you just accept it?”
“What? That you’re my daddy now?” And it’s all tease, just like the last time they found themselves here at this crossroads, but Dean’s not so sure Sam’s completely oblivious in his intentions anymore. Just like before, the word, and the fact that yeah, maybe that’s what Dean is, rushes something uncomfortable and hot down the back of his neck, and it spreads through him like a wildfire–suffocating and all consuming.
Dean’s hands aren’t shaking, but it’s a close thing with how knocked on his ass he feels all of a sudden. “Well somebody’s gotta put you in place, right?” His face feels too warm, the cocky grin he’s trying to nonchalantly pull off as far away from him now as the other side of the country. If he glances up at Sam now it’ll be a mistake, but he does it anyway.
Of course Sam’s already staring at him, but his eyes move to where Dean’s been working on him and it’s this long moment of silence where they’re both watching on as Dean does what he’s always done best: looking out for Sam. And Sam doesn’t have to say anything to acknowledge it for Dean to understand that he does, that Dean’s right to be selfish about this because as much as he would never let someone come in and touch Sam like this, he realizes Sam wouldn’t rather anyone else either. It’s a sick thought that crosses his mind, running over the question as to whether Sam would let himself bleed out if he was without Dean, vehemently refusing any other hand.
Dean shouldn’t be turned on by any of this, but then Sam’s hand, jittery from blood loss and adrenaline comedown, offers Dean the pair of scissors he needs to snip the floss and finish the job. Dean’s half hard in his jeans from it all and Sam biting his lip as he wordlessly tells Dean everything he wants and needs to hear doesn’t help. His little brother’s blood dries on his hands and all Dean can think about is how they’d look pressing into him instead, how he’d run them over every bare inch of skin he could get to, and knowing Sam would let him because it’s Dean, and Dean’s always taken care of him better than anybody else.
His head feels wrapped up in a fog of heat, he can’t think straight or hope to focus on anything that isn’t Sam’s body curling into Dean’s pushing and stroking. Sam sits before him now, legs spread to allow Dean closer to his wound and, even though he’s nearly finished fixing Sam up, Dean feels this tingling at the back of his neck like he might look over to find somebody already waiting to take this away from him. It’s wrong, and it’s messed up, and Dean shouldn’t be allowed to continue longer than he already has, leaving his twisted mark on Sam.
Dean clears his throat too loudly. “Always stuck taking care of you, baby brother. You need to watch out for yourself more.”
Sam coaxes the scissors out from Dean’s tightly fisted hand. His position begs Dean to finally look up at him for more than two cowardly seconds, and what Dean sees only works to reignite the sick warmth licking at his lower belly. Sam’s whole demeanor is lazy, hair falling into his face and damp with sweat, but he’s still meeting Dean’s eyes when he speaks, “Yeah but, you know. You’re great at it, Dean.” He breaks contact just to look down at his newly sealed injury, hands already ghosting over the patchwork. “You watch out for me just like any good daddy would.”
Dean screws his head on as straight as he can and leans forward under the ruse of checking Sam out for anything else wrong with him in order to hide his crotch. “Yeah? You like it when I do, Sammy?” His fingers dance lightly on the outskirts of Sam’s injury, nearly bumping into Sam’s. Every inhale feels dizzying, like he’s getting punchdrunk off the moment.
Sam’s silence returns and then, all at once, he removes himself from the small bubble they’ve been wrapped up in. Dean scoots back numbly, reaching out for what he needs to bandage Sam. When he returns with the intention to place it against Sam’s skin, he’s stopped.
“I can, uh, do that myself.” He doesn’t leave any space for arguing as he grabs it from Dean’s slack hold. “Thanks. You can take first shower,” is all he mutters, chin tucked to his chest as he resolutely stares down at himself instead of at Dean.
After that, Sam gets himself cleaned up and doesn’t let Dean check on the wound at all until it’s completely healed a few weeks later.
–
Dean swallows hard as he crushes up a tablet and sprinkles the dust into a glass partway filled with a few shots of whiskey. He swirls the glass around and watches as the drugs dissolve in the liquid. The guy he’d bought these pills from, a shady dude he’d met up with in secret while Sam was sleeping, had told him that this was good shit, and that if Dean got a girl to consume the substance he’d be able to do whatever he wanted to her. The person Dean wants to drug isn’t a girl, but he hadn’t bothered correcting the man—he didn’t need to know any more about Dean than he had to, and he certainly didn’t need to know that the person Dean planned on drugging was his baby brother.
Dean scoffs as he thinks back on what the man had called the pills: “date rape drugs.” What he’s about to do isn’t rape, he thinks to himself. Sam wants this just as badly as he does, he’s sure of it. He’s only giving him this shit to make things go more smoothly. And, he admits to himself, he’s also giving it to him because he’s not sure he’d be able to go through with this if Sam was sober.
He sets the cup down on the nightstand between their beds as the bathroom door opens and Sam steps out, bottom half covered in a towel. Dean licks his lips involuntarily as he rakes his eyes over Sam’s bare chest, lingering for a second too long on his nipples. God, how he would love to take them into his mouth, to use his tongue to tease them to hardness, to—he’s getting ahead of himself. He can do all of that later, he just has to get Sam to down the contents of the glass first. “Hey Sammy,” he says, letting some of the darkness that’s filling him up inside drip into his voice.
“Hey, Dean,” Sam says hesitantly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Dean plays dumb, curious to hear what Sam will say. “Like what?”
“Like you’re hungry or something.” Sam doesn’t move, clearly sensing that something is going on, even if he doesn’t know what exactly that something is, yet.
Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up the glass and swirls it around, eyes never leaving Sam’s as he does so. “You wanna drink this for me, Sammy?”
Sam narrows his eyes as he looks down at the cup. “What’s in it?”
“Just something that’ll make you feel real good and relaxed. You won’t even taste it.” Dean wets his lips.
“D-Dean, are you trying to drug me?” A look of concern flickers across Sam’s face, and he takes a step back.
Dean smirks, no longer trying to hide his intentions. “You do trust me, right Sammy? Daddy will take care of you, won’t he? You trust daddy to do that?”
Sam’s cheeks flush red at the words and he inhales sharply. “De, you’re being crazy. You’re not my—”
“Not your daddy?” Dean scoffs. “Who’s taken care of you your whole life? Who watched over you while dad was gone for weeks at a time, who bandaged all your scraped knees, who takes care of you whenever you’re hurt? Who’s always been there for you, and never questioned his loyalty and love for you?” He stares at Sam intently. “Me, Sammy. If anyone’s your daddy, it’s me. And you know that better than anyone. Don’t pretend that you don’t.”
“B-but,” Sam begins to protest, but Dean cuts him off before he can get a full sentence out.
“C’mon, just drink it. Be a good boy and let daddy take what he wants, Sammy. You left me for Stanford, but you’re back now, and I know you won’t let me down again.” He’s being manipulative and he knows it, but he means every word that he says. Sam had left him for nearly four years, and he owes him this.
Sam bites his lip, then walks forward and sits on the bed beside Dean, keeping the towel wrapped firmly around his waist. Does he really think that a towel will protect him from his big brother? Dean nearly laughs at the mere concept. Silly Sammy. How naive. He really does need him to take care of him. “What are you gonna do after I drink it, De?” Sam asks hesitantly, staring at the glass in Dean’s hand.
“I’m gonna do whatever I want, and you’re gonna take it without question.” Dean’s eyes glint dangerously. “It’s gonna hurt a little Sammy, but this way you’ll be nice and loose for me. You’ll be exactly how daddy wants you. So drink up, Sammy, be a good boy for your daddy.”
Dean glances down and notices the bulge steadily growing underneath Sam’s towel. It’s undeniable at this point that Sam likes the idea of him being his daddy just as much as Dean does. He smirks as he reaches down to touch Sam. Sam whines as soon as his hand grazes his cock, and Dean takes encouragement in the sound, wrapping his hand around it over the towel. He jerks it slowly a few times, then lets his hand just rest on it, teasing Sam.
Wordlessly, Sam places his own hand on top of Dean’s and presses down, the tantalizing pressure on his dick dragging a high pitched moan out of him. It’s obvious that Sam’s desperate for it, and Dean fully intends to capitalize on that. “Aw, Sammy. I can feel you; how hard you are for me. It’s okay, just drink up for me, yeah? Then daddy can take care of that.” He speaks in a patronizing tone, making it clear that he’s in charge.
“But Daddy,” Sam whines, and the sound of Sam calling him that for the first time sends a jolt of arousal straight to Dean’s cock. “What if I want you to make me feel good, but I don’t wanna take the drugs? Can we just— Do I have to?”
Dean shakes his head, making sure his disappointment shows on his face. “I thought you wanted to be a good boy for me? I thought you wanted to make it up to me that you left me for four years?”
Guilt flashes across Sam’s face, and he bites his lip. “I do wanna make it up to you. I just—”
Dean interrupts before Sam can finish. “Daddy can’t take care of you ‘til you drink this down, Sammy. And you want me to take care of you, right? I can feel how badly you want me to.” He grinds the heel of his palm down against Sam’s cock, and Sam squirms underneath his touch.
Sam pauses for a minute, then speaks. “You…you know what’s best for me, right daddy? You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
“‘Course not, baby. I’ve always taken care of you this far, right? Why would I stop now?” Dean licks his lips and lowers his voice to a gravely rasp, knowing the effect that it’ll have on Sam. “If you swallow this all down for me, I might give you somethin’ else to swallow later. How’s that sound, baby brother?”
Sam hisses through his teeth and bucks his hips up against where his and Dean’s hands are still covering his cock. He stays quiet for a bit, and as Dean watches him, he can see hesitation and lust warring behind his eyes. After a few moments pass, Sam speaks again. “Okay. I’ll drink it. Give it to me.”
Grinning as mischievously as the Cheshire Cat himself, Dean raises the glass to Sam’s lips. “There you go, Sammy. Tilt your head back and just take it from me. Every drop like a good boy. Then you get your treat.” Sam opens his mouth and Dean coos, “There’s a good baby brother.” The words send shivers throughout Sam’s whole body. “Feels wrong for you to call me that, with what we’re about to do and all.” Before he can protest further, Dean tilts the glass and pours the contents steadily into Sam’s mouth, forcing him to swallow it all at once. Sam gulps it down, letting Dean feed him. He shudders at the burn of the whiskey going down his throat.
“Don’t worry baby,” Dean reassures him. “Once this stuff kicks in, you won’t even give shit like that a second thought.” He sets the now empty cup back down on the nightstand and tucks a strand of hair behind Sam’s ear.
“What do we do while we wait for it to work?” Sam asks.
Dean grins widely. “Why don’t you c’mere and we can kiss for a while? And when you start to feel it kick in, let me know. Then we can start having fun.”
“Why did I need to take this in order for us to have fun?” Sam asks, but he leans in towards Dean nonetheless.
Because I was (am) terrified that you won’t want this unless you have something in you to loosen you up; because I don’t know if I can go through with doing what I want to you unless you’re not fully aware of what’s happening; because I want to be your daddy more than anything else in the world and I want to make sure it all goes smoothly. These are all truthful answers to Sam’s question that swim around inside Dean’s head.
What he ends up saying is, “’Cause it’ll make you nice and pliant for me, easy for me to take care of without you second guessing stuff like you always do. I know it might seem bad, Sammy, I know, but I had to. And daddy’s gonna take real good care of you. You trust daddy to take care of you, baby brother?” He knows that he isn’t being fully honest, and he knows that some people might view what he’s doing as manipulation. But he wants Sam so bad that he can’t bring himself to care about any of that right now.
Sam nods. “Yeah, I trust you daddy.” And that’s all that Dean needs to hear.
Sam makes the first move, which thrills Dean down to the core of his being. As soon as Sam presses his lips against Dean’s, Dean bites his brother’s bottom lip so hard that it draws a yelp of pain out of Sam. They make out hungrily for what feels like hours but Dean knows logically is only half an hour or so, both of them already too turned on to care about the wanton noises that escape them both.
Eventually, Sam pulls away, silent for a moment as he catches his breath. He grins lopsidedly at Dean. “It’s definitely workin’,” he says, slurring his words a fair amount.
“How do you feel?” Dean asks as he stares at Sam intently, the look in his eyes bordering on predatory.
“Feels like I’m drunk? But the kind of drunk that makes you dizzy, y’know? And I feel so loose, my muscles feel like freakin’ jelly or somethin’,” Sam laughs. He’s still just wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, but he doesn’t seem to mind showing off his bare chest. It’s not like it’ll matter for long anyway; Dean plans on having him completely naked very soon.
“Feelin’ loose, huh baby? Hearing that makes daddy very happy.” Dean lets his eyes travel from Sam’s face down his chest and back up again, smiling when he meets Sam’s eyes. His cock strains painfully against the restriction of his jeans. “Take that towel off, Sammy. Daddy wants to see how hard you are for him.”
Sam pushes the towel down and lets it fall to the floor. His cock stands thick and flushed pink with arousal against his stomach, and Dean almost dies when he sees the bead of precum on his cockhead. “So hard for you already,” Sam says breathily as he reaches down to grab his cock and pump it a few times.
“There’s my special boy,” Dean says as he takes in the sight of Sam’s dick, unable to keep the wonder that he’s feeling out of his voice. He’s seen Sam down there before, of course he has; they’ve lived practically on top of each other for nearly their entire lives. He’s caught glimpses of it when Sam goes to shower and changes into his pajamas and stuff. But this is different. Sam’s cock is fully on display, and it’s all for him. He can do whatever he wants with it, and the thought makes him feel feral. “Poor little Sammy, it must hurt being that hard. You want daddy to take care of it? To make it all better?”
Sam’s eyelids are half shut, and Dean can see clearly just how fucked up on the roofies he is at this point. And yet he still manages to answer, eager to please. “Yeah, daddy. Take care of me like you always do.”
Dean growls at the words and quickly sheds his clothing. He takes off everything except for the Samulet; it feels wrong to do what he’s about to do without it. Fucking your own brother while he calls you daddy is pretty much as wrong as it gets, but doing it without the necklace that for years has represented Sam’s love for him feels even more wrong, somehow.
Sam’s too intoxicated to make himself move the way that he wants to, so Dean maneuvers his body until he’s satisfied with Sam’s position on the bed, his movements both forceful and careful at the same time. He stands and looks down at his handiwork. Sam looks so vulnerable like this that Dean’s cock pulses involuntarily at the sight. His little brother is laying on his back with his head propped up on a few pillows, and his legs are splayed wide open, revealing a glimpse of his tight pink hole. His cock, hard as ever, lies blush-pink and beautiful against the tan skin of his abs.
Sam raises a hand, slowly like the action takes a great deal of effort (which it probably does). He gestures towards Dean, beckoning him to come closer. “Do whatever you want to me daddy,” Sam slurs. “‘M yours. Your baby brother. Your good boy.”
“Damn right you are,” Dean growls as he climbs onto the bed, settling himself between his brother’s legs. There’s so much that he wants to do to Sam, but his first priority is to do what he’s been aching to do ever since that tense conversation in the car: be the best daddy he can be, certainly a better daddy than John’s ever been, and take care of his baby brother. “You’re gonna come for me a few times tonight, ‘kay, Sammy? Gonna be a good boy and take it, even if it gets overwhelming.”
Sam nods, but Dean isn’t 100% sure that he was paying attention to what he was saying; it’s equally as likely that he just wants Dean to get on with things already and will agree to anything he says. Which, quite honestly, is a concept that Dean can totally get on board with.
Dean grazes three of his fingers along Sam’s bottom lip, then sticks them into his mouth. “Get ‘em wet,” he instructs. Sam obeys, sucking on his brother’s fingers and lazily swirling his tongue around each one. Dean groans in an exquisite type of frustration; if the feeling of Sammy’s mouth around his fingers is this blissful, how is he going to last more than a few seconds when it’s his cock sunk deep inside this sweet velvety wetness instead?
Dean pulls his fingers out once they’re covered in spit, then slathers the mess all over both of their dicks. He lines up his and Sam’s cocks then wraps his hand around them, beginning to jack them off together. As soon as Dean hears the dirty-sweet sound of his hand sliding up and down their sensitive flesh, he knows that he isn’t getting into heaven. He’s okay with that. As long as he gets to have this, he’ll take whatever type of hell the afterlife throws at him with a smile on his face.
Dean rubs his thumb over the heads of their cocks and Sam lets out a high pitched moan as he bucks his hips up to chase the sensation. Reluctantly, Dean removes his hand. As heavenly as it feels, he can’t let himself come yet. He can’t let himself come until Sammy’s entirely satisfied, until he’s been a good daddy and made his boy see stars.
“More, daddy,” Sam whines shamelessly. The drugs have him too far gone to chase his own needs, and he’s fully relying on Dean for his release at this point.
Dean circles a finger around one of Sam’s nipples, quickly bringing it to a hardness. He flicks at it over and over, teasing Sam, fully aware of how much control he has over him. He leans down and swirls his tongue around Sam’s other nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. He scrapes his teeth along the erect bud as he lets it fall from his mouth, then licks his way up Sam’s chest and sucks and bites at the skin under Sam’s collarbone until he’s satisfied with the deepness of the blooming red bruise that he leaves behind.
“Markin’ you up,” he mumbles as he positions his mouth over the place where Sam’s neck meets the underside of his jaw. “Mine. You’re mine.” He leaves a bruise even darker than the other one, then bites at it until a small noise of pain bubbles up in the back of Sam’s throat, mingling with his groans of pleasure. When he pulls away, he grabs Sam’s chin between two fingers and stares down at him with a fierce intensity. “Open your eyes,” he says firmly. “I know your eyelids prolly feel heavy as all hell and it’s not easy to keep ‘em open, but just look at me for a sec, okay?”
Not without difficulty, Sam forces his eyes open and meets Dean’s gaze. “What is it, daddy?” he asks, voice thick with both his aching arousal and the drugs coursing through his system.
“Just wanna make sure you know that you’re gonna come more than once tonight,” Dean answers. “Part of taking care of my boy means that I’m gonna make him feel real good. You want daddy to make you feel good, right, baby brother?” Sam narrows his eyes slightly. “B-but, what if it hurts? What if it’s too much?”
“You don’t trust daddy?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows as he grips Sam’s face even tighter. “Answer me.”
“‘Course I trust you daddy, but—”
“Then there’s your answer. If I say you’re gonna come more than once, then that’s how it’s gonna be. I don’t care if it’s too much.” He releases his grip on Sam’s face and strokes his cheek lightly with the back of his hand. “Daddy would never hurt you. You know that, right, Sammy?”
Sam tilts his face to the side, leaning into Dean’s touch. “Yeah, I know.”
“If you feel like it’s too much, or like you’re overwhelmed with pleasure, just know that that’s just daddy showing his love for you. Daddy loves you so much that he wants to make you feel so good that it’s almost unbearable. Gonna take it for me, right Sammy? Gonna be my good boy?”
Sam nods lazily. “Daddy loves me ‘n I'm his good boy.”
“There’s a good baby brother,” Dean coos. He spits on his hand and wraps it around Sam’s cock, jerking him off skillfully (this isn’t exactly Dean’s first rodeo with another dude). “Tell me when you’re close,” he rasps as he lowers his head so he can suck yet another bruise into Sam’s skin. He pulls back and admires the contrast between the angry red-purple hue of the popped blood vessels and the light tone of Sam’s skin. He scrapes his teeth against Sam’s nipples, taking the wanton noises that he’s drawing from Sam as an encouragement.
“‘M close,” Sam mewls, the urgency and desperation that he’s feeling seeping through into his voice.
Dean grins, and if Sam was coherent enough to notice, he’d take in the dangerous glint in his brother’s eyes and the baring of his teeth and realize just how crucial this whole thing is to Dean; how much he needs this. But he isn’t coherent enough to notice that, so he just writhes and fucks up into Dean’s fist, chasing the orgasm that’s drawing closer and closer with every passing second.
Dean tightens his grip around Sam and speeds up his strokes, but that isn’t what sends Sam over the edge. What sends Sam over the edge is what Dean whispers as he jerks his dick: “Told you I’d take care of you, baby brother. Now come for me and show daddy how good he makes you feel.”
Sam wails in ecstasy as he comes, so loudly and desperately that Dean’s sure that the people in the rooms next to them know exactly what the two of them are doing. Good, he thinks to himself as Sam gushes all over his hand. He leans down and takes the head of Sam’s cock into his mouth, sealing his lips around it and sucking softly. “Daddy,” Sam gasps when Dean’s tongue coaxes another gush of come out of his cock, flooding his mouth. Dean’s never liked the taste of another guy’s jizz before, even though he always swallows anyway ‘cause it’s hot. But this? This is baby brother come. This is sacred. He gulps down everything that Sam gives him, then licks Sam’s cock until it’s clean and shiny with spit.
For a few moments after his orgasm, Sam just lays there with his eyes closed, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing slowly returns to normal. He finally opens his eyes and looks at Dean, a coy smile playing on his face. “My big brother just made me come,” he laughs softly. “I mean, how fucked up are we?”
Dean smirks. “You forgot to add the part where you called your brother ‘daddy’ the whole time.”
“And the part where you drugged me,” Sam adds, but there’s no malice or resentment behind his words. His eyelids fall closed once more. “‘S too much effort to keep ‘em open,” he explains, and Dean laughs.
“You also forgot the part where said big brother is about to sink his cock deep inside your ass.”
“God, yeah,” Sam moans at the thought. “You got lube?”
“‘Course I do, you think I’m an idiot? I had this shit all planned out, ‘course I made sure I had some lube and condoms.” He reaches over to the nightstand beside the bed and slides the drawer open, pulling out a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms. He sets the lube down on Sam’s stomach and starts tearing open the condom box.
“Don’t use a condom,” Sam says as he hears the sounds of Dean opening the box.
Dean pauses, shocked by Sam’s words. “Thought you’d wanna be careful, Sammy? You’re a sensible guy.”
“Don’t care,” Sam mumbles. “Wanna feel you inside me, daddy. Wanna feel all of you.”
“You sure?” Dean asks. As fucked up as this whole thing was, he’d still planned on using protection. “You’re really fuckin’ high, Sammy. I dunno if you’re really in the right headspace to be making that decision.”
“Shut up, De. Lemme make my own decisions.” A lopsided smile spreads across Sam’s lips. “You might be my daddy, but you’re not my dad.”
A current of anger ripples throughout Dean’s body. “Don’t talk about him. Not right now.”
“What, you jealous or somethin’?” Sam giggles.
Dean doesn’t answer. Instead he tosses the pack of condoms onto the floor and grabs the bottle of lube from off Sam’s stomach. Sam drops the topic for now; even through the haze of the drugs he’s taken, he can tell how much the mention of John had upset his brother. In an attempt to change the subject, he doubles back to his original argument. “I can make my own decisions.”
“Yeah, and what decision is that?” Dean asks as he pops open the lid and drizzles a substantial amount of the thick liquid onto his index and middle finger, then sets the bottle down on the bed beside Sam, not bothering to close it.
“You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.” “Yeah,” Dean says as he slicks his fingers up, getting them ready. “Yeah, I do. But I wanna hear you say it.” Normally Sam would protest, reluctant to let his brother win, but right now he’s simply too drugged to care. “Want you to fuck me raw,” he says simply.
“Yeah?” Dean growls, and he circles his index finger around Sam’s hole a few times before he slowly sinks it in, reveling in the groan that escapes his brother at the feeling. “Want me to forget about the condom ‘n fuck you bare?”
“Please,” Sam moans as Dean begins to finger-fuck him, slowly at first, then faster as he grows impatient. He wants to be inside his boy already. Dean slides a second finger alongside the first, marveling at just how tight and hot Sam is inside.
Dean scissors his fingers inside of his brother, stretching him out, getting him ready to take something bigger. He hits a spot inside Sam that makes him cry out, and he curls his fingers and rubs at the fleshy patch ruthlessly as he basks in the whimpers that Sam’s making. “You want me to fuck you raw? Then beg for it,” he says, pulling his fingers out of Sam entirely, leaving his hole empty.
“Fuck me raw, please, ohmygod, wanna feel your cock inside me, wouldn’t want anyone else to fuck me like that except for you, my big brother, my daddy, please,” Sam rambles as his hole flexes hungrily at its sudden emptiness. He can feel his cock begin to harden already; usually it takes a while for him to bounce back after an orgasm but this is Dean that he’s about to get fucked by; his big brother, his everything.
“You’re so pretty when you beg,” Dean praises. He lines himself up with Sam’s hole and says “Daddy’s gonna fuck you just the way you want it. After all, you’ve been such a good boy.” He moves so that he and Sam are now chest to chest, then slowly pushes in, groaning deeply as his cockhead slips past Sam’s rim. “Didn’t even know it was possible for someone to be this tight,” he says in awe. “But of course you would be. You’re my perfect boy, my perfect baby brother.” He sinks in a few inches deeper, then asks “Is this okay? Does it hurt?” No matter how good this feels, Sam’s comfort and happiness are top priority. Always.
Sam can’t even answer for a moment, too lost in the bliss of how full he feels already, and in the knowledge that there’s still more to come. He’s hard now, and the feeling of Dean deep in his guts only gets him harder. When he manages to form words, he chokes out, “Hurts, but keep goin’. Don’t you dare stop, daddy.”
Something inside Dean snaps at that moment, and he can’t hold himself back anymore. Not that he needs to—Sam’s begging for him to satiate his needs, to take care of him, to be his daddy, and it’s better than anything Dean could have ever imagined. He bottoms out inside Sam, taking a moment to appreciate just how amazing his asshole feels wrapped around his dick before he pulls back and thrusts in hard. He bites back a snarl when he notices the way that the Samulet dangles between their chests every time he fucks into him. “You say I’m not dad?” Dean grunts as he picks up his pace, balls slapping against Sam’s skin with every thrust of his hips. “You’re right. I’m not dad. But I’m your real daddy, and you know that. Tell me, Sam.”
“You’re,” Sam pants, breathless from how hard he’s being fucked, “You’re my real daddy. Always taken care of me better than he has, De, always been so good to me.” He hisses as Dean’s cock hits just the right spot inside of him, biting his lip so hard that he thinks his teeth might break skin.
“Damn right,” Dean moans. “You’ve been so good for me, Sammy. So good for your real daddy. ‘Cause you wouldn’t want dad knowing about this, would you? You wouldn’t want him to know about the way you spread your legs for me, so easy and willing.”
“That’s so wrong, De, that’s so…”
“But it turns you on, doesn’t it?” Dean asks, and he’s getting close already; he’s been hard ever since Sam first took the goddamn drugs, and the tightness of Sam’s hole around his cock is getting to be too much to bear. He wraps a hand around Sam’s dick and begins to jerk it in time with his thrusts, determined to make Sam come a second time before he himself gets his release.
“Don’t stop,” Sam whimpers, and Dean figures that that’s a ‘yes’, and that what he’s saying does turn him on.
“I’m your only daddy from now on, ‘cause you’ve tainted yourself. You’ve shown what a whore you are for me, your own fuckin’ brother.” He speeds up the strokes of his hand as he speaks, and the moans that are pouring out of Sam at this point are absolutely debauched. “You’re so filthy for this, Sammy. So ruined. Nobody will love you the way that I do, the way your daddy does, especially not dad. Not anymore.”
It’s only now that Dean notices the tears that are streaking down Sam’s cheeks. He’s about to apologize when he feels Sam’s cock pulsing in his grip, a gush of come spilling over his hand and making a mess of both their stomachs. Sam screams as his second orgasm courses through him, and the way that his hole clenches around Dean’s cock as he comes sends Dean toppling over the edge right after him, filling his brother with thick spurts of come as he buries himself deep inside of him. Dean Winchester loves sex, he really does, but no orgasm he’s ever had has even come close to this one.
“It really did it for you, thinkin’ ‘bout how I’m your only daddy now, huh, Sammy?” Dean smirks. He slowly pulls out of Sam, and his brother whimpers at the sudden emptiness.
“Hey, De?” Sam asks, peering up at him.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Are you only gonna be my daddy when ‘m fucked up?”
Dean doesn’t know what to say. The answer is that he wants to be Sam’s daddy always, that he wants to take care of him until the day that one or both of them dies (preferably they would die at the same time so that they’d never have to live without each other again, not after Stanford, never again). The answer is that he’d fuck Sam like this every day if he’d let him, that he only needed the drugs this one time, that he’d move hell and heaven and anything else that Sam asked him to if it just meant that he’d be his, all his, always and forever. But he’s a fucking coward, so he simply says, “I dunno, Sammy. You tell me.”
“I think you’ve been my daddy for a long time now,” Sam says softly. “And I think that I’d like it if it stayed that way.”
Dean can’t help but break out into a relieved smile. “Always gonna take care of you,” he replies. “My baby brother.”