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Dean
It’s not that he’s ashamed of it, he’s not.
It is honest work. It pays well. And he’s good at it.
He still prefers hustling, and it’s still his main source of income. But they are leaving town tomorrow, Dean’s already hustled pool at three bars in town, two of which have threatened to have his ass thrown in jail if he returns and his ass is too fine to be thrown in jail. But the bar he's headed to now asked him to come back, practically begged him in fact. It’s nice to be wanted.
Dean’s got what he needs in his car. He’s showered and shaved and he’s ready for the night ahead. Before he grabs his car keys, he looks over at Sam.
Sam’s hunched over the computer, looking for their next hunt.
Dean’s heart does that idiotic lurch thing it does whenever he looks at his brother. It’s been two years since he got Sam from Stanford, and it’s still hard to believe that Sam is here, actually here with him. Doesn’t mean he’ll stay though; Dean reminds himself for the three-zillionth time. Might go back to college. Might find himself a nice girl and settle down. Might just get tired of Dean.
Fuck, he’s got to quit pining over Sam like some love-sick teenager. Sam is here now, and that’s good enough. It has to be.
And maybe he should stop staring at his brother like some kind of creep.
“I’m going out,” Dean says, picking up his car keys.
Sam looks up, he looks a bit startled like he forgot Dean was there. Sam puts the laptop down on the bed, stands, and stretches. His shirt rides up, just a little, and Dean’s gaze goes to that little sliver of skin like a heat-seeking missile.
The shirt settles. Sam’s wearing a dark pin t-shirt that clings to him in all the right places. Dean’s suddenly, painfully, aware that Sam has filled out quite a lot in the last few years.
Dean so needs to get laid, if for no other reason that maybe he’ll stop perving on his little brother. Not that it ever works for long…
“I could go with.”
It’s Dean’s turn to be startled. He almost drops his keys but manages to wrap his fingers around them at the last second.
“You hate hustling,” Dean points out.
Sam shrugs. “Could be fun, we make a great team back in Atlanta. And I’m tired of staring at a computer screen anyway.”
Fuck.
“I made plans to meet with that waitress from the diner, the one with the freakishly long nails.”
Sam's face falls. Like literally falls. Like someone kicked his puppy or something. That someone being Dean.
“I just thought we could—never mind, I’ll just stick around here, maybe find something on television.”
Dean thinks about canceling his plans. But they need the money, and more than that, Dean needs to release some of the nervous energy that is thrumming through his body. Before he does something stupid, like walk over to Sam and kiss him until Sam’s cheeks are as pink as his lips and that sad look in Sam’s eyes is gone.
“I won’t be too late,” Dean says instead. He tears his eyes away from his brother and looks ahead at the door. “I can bring back a six-pack, we can find a lame late-night movie to watch.”
“Sure,” Sam says. He doesn’t sound sure. He still sounds hurt, which makes Dean’s heart hurt and none of this makes any sense. A few hours apart can’t hurt either one of them.
“Great,” Dean says and he walks out the door. As soon as the door shuts behind him, he leans against it for a moment and closes his eyes. He’s spent more years than he’ll ever admit even to himself wanting what he can never have, you’d think he’d be used to the ache by now. Dean blows out a breath and heads to his car.
Sam
Dean is acting strange, no doubt about it. Usually Dean’s eyes light up like a kid at Christmas time when Sam agrees to go hustling with him, which makes Sam feel doubly guilty all the times he turns Dean down. It’s not that Sam has anything against hustling, not really, though it makes a convenient excuse not to go.
It’s just seeing Dean hustling—confident, cocky, in his element—makes Sam want things from Dean that a person should never want from his brother.
It’s safer to stay at home.
Except, now and then, Dean looks at him with such a hunger in those beautiful green eyes that it makes Sam think (hope) that Dean wants something from him too.
And a few nights ago, when Dean was in the shower, Sam could have sworn it was his name that Dean was moaning as he jerked off.
Not that Sam was eavesdropping exactly, but Dean is kinda loud, has always been loud, a fact that Sam has never told Dean because listening to Dean jerk off in the shower is all kinds of hot.
Okay, Sam might be a bit messed up.
But maybe his brother is too.
Sam has been thinking, maybe he could take Dean to a bar, get a few drinks into him, and maybe casually lean over and tell Dean all the things he’s been wanting to do to and with Dean since he was a scrawny awkward sixteen-year-old.
Except, now Dean is off on a date with a waitress and Sam is no longer so sure that Dean really does want him and everything is such a fucking mess.
Sam needs to get out of this motel room, needs to think of something else besides the sound of Dean groaning his name as he jerks off in the shower. There’s a tacky bar about a mile from the motel, a huge sign in front of it advertising male strippers. Four nights ago, Sam had gone to the bar looking for a bartender named Diane who had first reported the glowing eyes of the creature they came here to hunt. The creature turned out not to be a creature at all, but a souped-up witch hell-bent on revenge. That night Sam had been on his own, Dean having gone off to supposedly chase down a lead. Dean had come home late that night with no information and a lot of money that he had gotten from hustling pool.
It was also the night that Dean had jerked off in the shower…nope, not thinking about that.
Anyway, while he was there, a man had been walking off the stage that reminded him of Dean so vividly that for a second Sam had almost called Dean’s name, before realizing that of course, it wasn’t. It used to happen to Sam all the time in college, that he’d see someone across campus and think that it was Dean but of course, it never was.
If Sam can’t have the real thing, maybe he can make do with the stripper with the beautiful ass that reminds Sam so strongly of Dean. It wouldn’t be the first time. Before Sam had met Jessica, he had a series of one-night stands with pretty-boys who flirted as easily as they breathed. Who didn’t have Dean’s smirk or his freckles or even his bow-legs, but with Sam’s eyes closed they had been close enough.
Maybe if the guy is willing, Sam can get this want out of his system. And then he can just be Dean’s brother for a while again. And maybe have enough self-preservation skills to go for a walk the next time Dean takes a shower.
Sam grabs the hotel room key and steps out into the darkness. It’s a cool night and Sam wraps his jacket around him tighter as he makes his way to the bar.
It’s late when he gets there, the parking lot is full of cars. Sam makes his way through them, not really paying attention to them or anything else. He’s still thinking about Dean, about the way Dean was looking at him when he left, about what Dean would think of Sam if he knew that Sam was at this bar, looking for a Dean-lookalike.
The bar is full of mostly women, including a very large group of women right by the stage who have apparently drunk their weight in alcohol judging by all the noise they are making. Sam’s not the only guy here though, and he takes a seat at a corner table near the back, where he will be mostly hidden by the shadows. He orders a whiskey and half-watches the stripper on stage who definitely looks nothing like Dean as he scans the crowd because that’s what he’s been trained always to do.
By the time Sam’s whiskey arrives, the stripper is picking up his money and exiting the stage. A few strippers are working the crowd, but none of them are the one that looked like Dean from the back.
“And now, here for his final performance, let’s give it up for JR Cash!”
Sam rolls his eyes at the name. Probably most of the women giggling and waving dollar bills have no idea who Johnny Cash was, must less what his friends called him. Sam figures the guy thinks he’s clever, using a name like Cash as his stripper name.
The song starts, there is loud clapping and cheering, all eyes are on the stage.
Baby, take off your coat
Real slow
A man practically struts onto the stage. He’s got a cowboy hat hanging low over his face, but it’s his fringed chaps-covered-legs that Sam’s eyes are drawn to.
They are unmistakably bow-legged.
Sam thinks back to the other night, was that stripper’s legs bow-legged? Was that why he was reminded so much of Dean?
The guy walks around the pole, trailing his fingers over it but not really using it to dance. There is something achingly familiar about the way he moves.
It can’t be.
Dean would never.
The guy leans his back against the pole and thrusts his hips out. The women scream, money is already being tossed on the stage even though the man hasn’t done hardly anything. The man is barefoot, which makes Sam hope they thoroughly clean the stage often. The guy is wearing a plaid shirt—and Sam realizes with a start that it looks just like the one he wore two days ago. It’s two different colors of blue and it hangs loosely on the man, hangs down to his mid-thigh. The man runs his hands underneath the shirt, running his fingers over his stomach, the fabric of the shirt shifting with the movement of his hands.
The song reaches the chorus.
You can leave your hat on
The guy slides around the pole, until he’s facing the audience. He tips his hat back, and Sam can’t breathe, he can’t think, can’t begin to process what he’s seeing, who he’s seeing.
The man steps away from the pole and moves his body in a way that screams sensuality, he’s all cocky confidence as he lazily swirls his hips, his hands running down his trim body.
His hands travel back up his body, his hips still moving in that sensuous, slow way that has Sam’s jeans feeling two sizes too small. He reaches for the buttons of the shirt and begins unbuttoning them, one by one. He moves leisurely like he’s got all the time in the world. He turns around at one point and raises his arm, his ass swaying to the music. His movements lift the shirt higher, high enough that Sam gets a barely there peek of the man’s ass. He's not wearing anything under those chaps.
When Dean turns around—and Sam’s shocked-to-slush brain has finally accepted it’s Dean—his shirt is all the way open, exposing his broad chest, his pink nipples. Dean runs his hands up to his chest, his fingers caressing his nipples. He's wearing something underneath the front of his chaps, some kind of fabric that covers his crotch.
The chaps are leather, and fringed, and look like they were glued on. And when did Dean acquire chaps and more importantly how did he hide them from Sam?
Dean leans over the front of the stage and it’s clear he’s flirting with the women sitting there and Sam has to force himself not to rush the stage, not to yank those grabby-women by their hair and pull them away from what is his.
Raise your arms up in the air
And now shake ‘em
Dean straightens up and shrugs Sam’s shirt off his shoulders and it slides off of him to softly land on the floor. Sam is getting all kinds of hard thinking about Dean picking out his shirt to wear, thinking about how loose that shirt was on Dean, thinking about how that shirt hasn’t been washed so now Dean smells like him…
He has to shift in his chair. Sam is very glad the table is covering the evidence of how hard Dean is making him.
Dean turns back around, slowly circling his hips, his hands roaming over his backside and Sam wishes that it was his hands caressing Dean’s ass.
Dean struts around the stage like he owns the damn thing. He walks around the pole again, running his hands over it like it was a lover, and then he takes one spin around on it, lifting far enough off the ground that Sam is equal parts startled, impressed, and turned on.
Now give me a reason to live
Dean shimmies his hands down his chaps, acts like he might take them off, but instead just circles his hands around his cloth-covered crotch. There are a lot of shouts to take it off, but Dean ignores them. He is still moving his hips, his body, looking like sex personified. His confidence is sexy as hell, the way that he knows all eyes are on him. He tips the hat back more and lifts his head and his arms toward the ceiling as his body moves to the music. His beautiful strong body is on display, his broad chest, his dusty pink nipples, and his trim taut stomach. Dean’s not asking if anyone likes what they see, he knows that they do.
Suspicious minds are talkin’
They’re tryna tear us apart
They don’t know what love is
Dean spins around the pole again, using his powerful muscles to lift himself halfway up the pole. Dean’s not bulky like Sam, but he's still packing some serious muscles built by years of training. When he finishes the spin, Dean’s back is to the audience. The chaps frame his ass beautifully and somehow make his bow legs look even more so.
Heaven is the reason to live
(You can leave your hat on)
Dean turns back around. He swivels his hips again, his hands reaching down toward his crotch. He’s grinning so big, Sam can see it clear as day from where he’s sitting, a big shit-eating grin that says he knows what he’s got and he knows everybody wants it.
As the last of the music fades away, Dean pulls the bit of material away, giving a glimpse of his long thick pretty-as-he-is cock, before taking off his hat and covering his crotch with it. There is a chorus of groans and boos and Dean just grins bigger and turns back around so people can get another glimpse of his ass, because of course he would, it’s Dean.
Sam’s frozen, doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want Dean to see him, but perversely he also kinda does.
Song over, Dean reaches down and picks up the shirt, tying it around his waist. He picks up the money from the stage, and it seems like a lot of it, as he banters with the women in front of him. His words are not loud enough for Sam to hear them which is probably a good thing or he might really have to pull all those women’s hair out.
Dean jumps down off the stage as another stripper is announced.
Sam stands up, ready to slip out of the bar. He watches Dean as he quickly downs his forgotten drink and throws some money on the table.
Dean moves closer to him, close enough that Sam’s heart is beginning to beat rapidly.
“Hey, JR,” a woman’s voice calls out. “Any chance of a lap dance?”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean replies. “But the only lap dance I’m giving tonight is saved for my Sam.”
“Aw…”
Sam slips away, quickly exiting the bar.
He’s got plans to make.
Dean
Dean steps into the motel room, a six-pack dangling from his fingers and still riding the high from his performance. He’s got enough money to last a while, received enough adoration and praise to swell his head a bit, and now he gets to spend the rest of the night with Sam.
The room is dark.
Dean’s mood deflates like it’s been pricked with a pin. Sam’s already asleep.
But then there is a soft click and the music starts.
Baby, take off your coat
Dean stands at the door, frozen. There is no way, no fucking way that Sam knows. There can’t be.
Dean reaches over and flips on the light.
Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed, naked except for a pair of black underwear with the word Saxx written in red letters over the waistband and a trucker’s cap on top of his head.
Dean sets the six-pack down on the other bed and walks a few steps toward his brother. “What the hell, Sam?”
“I know, it’s not a cowboy hat. Not a hat at all really, but I had to make do. I picked this up at the corner convenience store on the way back to the motel,” Sam says.
“I wasn’t talking about the cap,” Dean replies.
“I know.”
You can leave your hat on
Sam’s got the music playing low, a barely there growl of words that somehow makes everything feel more intense.
“Sam, I don’t know what this is,” Dean says.
“I was there tonight, Dean,” Sam replies. “I saw you; you were freaking beautiful up there on the stage. And I was jealous of every pair of eyes that got to watch you dance.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks, and damn, the thought of Sam being jealous does things to Dean.
Dean stares at Sam, trying to decide what his next move should be. Sam bites his lower lip, looking up at Dean with such hope in his blue-green-whatever eyes and Dean’s done agonizing about this. It's what he always wanted and he's not about to turn down the boy who has owned his heart since the moment Dean first laid eyes on him.
“What do you want, Sammy? Tell me what you want, and if you are very good, I might let you have it.”
He steps closer to Sam.
Come over here
Stand on the chair
“I want that lap dance, the one you were saving for me,” Sam replies. He looks Dean in the eyes and it’s a challenge. In Dean’s entire life, he’s never backed down from a challenge.
But still…
“Be sure, Sam. Once we cross this bridge, there is no going back.”
“I’ve never been surer of anything. I’ve never wanted anything more. And if this is something you want too, this is the time, Dean.”
Now give me a reason to live
You give me a reason to live
Dean reaches over and shuts Sam’s laptop, stopping the music. Sam looks at him and then starts to stand. “I’m sorry, I thought…”
Dean pushes him back down. He straddles Sam’s lap and licks one of Sam’s nipples. Sam’s nipple gets hard immediately and turns into a pretty pink nub, and now that Dean has had a taste he wants to lick and bite every inch of Sam’s skin because Sam is his and has always been his.
Dean’s no Bob Seger, but he whispers the words to Sam as he circles his ass, putting pressure on Sam’s rapidly hardening cock.
Sweet darling
You can leave your hat on, baby
Underneath him, Sam shivers. Dean holds on to Sam’s impressive shoulders, lifting himself up and down, swiveling his hips, grazing Sam’s crotch over and over again.
Dean’s own cock is hard in his jeans, but he can’t care about that right now. All he cares about is coaxing those sexy throaty moans from Sam. Dean mouths the side of Sam’s neck slides his body down to Sam’s thighs and then back up again to softly tease Sam’s cock. It’s not a lap dance, not anywhere close, but the way that Sam’s cock is twitching underneath Dean, Sam doesn’t appear to care much.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam whispers, and he sounds desperate and needy and Dean just wants to take him apart.
“We’ll get to that,” Dean promises.
Dean slides his body back down to Sam’s thighs, leaving kisses on Sam’s chest, and down his stomach. He slips down further and Sam opens his legs and makes room for him. He lavishes attention on Sam’s belly button, tonguing the dip there. He sucks on Sam’s hip and by the way Sam is restlessly shifting, Sam is sensitive everywhere. That’s going to make things so fun for Dean. Dean rests his hands on Sam’s thighs and when he looks up at his brother Sam’s face is a pretty flushed pink and he’s biting his lip again.
Dean surges back up and claims those lips. Sam’s arms wrap around him, strong like a vise, and Dean can’t breathe and he doesn’t care. Sam’s mouth is practically devouring his as if Sam is starving for him. He knew kissing Sam would be hot but if he had known that it would feel like this, scorching heat and like he was drowning and soaring both, he never would have been able to resist for so long.
Dean keeps moving even with Sam holding on to him so tightly. He lifts himself up slightly and pushes back down as hard as he can like he’s riding Sam’s cock except Sam’s cock is frustratingly still in his boxers. Even through his blue jeans and Sam’s Saxx underwear, he can feel how hard Sam is, can feel Sam’s cock pressing against his ass and just the thought of Sam pushing that fucking huge cock of his inside of him…
“Sam, I gotta,” Dean says because he needs more.
Sam loosens his grip on him, just a bit, but keeps kissing him, hard and hungry and hot and demanding. Dean fumbles with his belt buckle and his zipper and somehow manages to pull his pants past his ass. He’s gone commando, so now it’s his bare ass pressing against Sam’s crotch. He still can’t move much, not with the way his jeans and Sam’s arms are restricting his movement.
Sam’s boxers are damp, Sam must be dripping precome like a faucet, Dean can feel the way his ass slides on the fabric. Dean’s cock is hard too, squeezed between his body and Sam’s rock-hard lower stomach.
Dean grabs Sam’s hair, pulling Sam’s pretty hair back so he can look at his brother. He’s never seen Sam like this, lips swollen, pupils blown, making desperate noises in the back of his throat. He doesn’t seem to mind Dean pulling his hair. In fact, judging by the way Sam’s cock is twitching underneath him, Sam kinda likes it. Dean files the knowledge away for future further study. Right now, he needs Sam to come.
He sings to Sam one more time, his own voice sounding rough and wrecked.
They don’t know what love is
Yeah, I know what love is
He presses down on Sam’s crotch as hard as he can and swivels his hips. Sam’s desperate groans go straight to Dean’s dick and now he’s leaking precome too.
Sam reaches underneath Dean, lifting Dean as if he weighs nothing, and he pulls apart Dean’s ass cheeks. A long finger presses against Dean’s hole and fuck, Dean’s hole is as dry as a bone but damn if he doesn’t want that finger inside of him.
With Sam holding him up that way, which turns Dean on in ways he’s not quite ready to think about, Dean is able to blindly grab Sam’s boxers and yank them down, freeing Sam’s cock. He strokes it a few times, even though the angle is awkward. Sam grips Dean’s ass so tightly that there is no doubt that Dean is going to be wearing Sam-finger-shaped bruises on his ass and he’s more than okay with that.
He leans forward as he works Sam’s cock, sucking on Sam’s neck because he needs to leave a mark too.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” Dean says to Sam. “Been dreaming of this forever, little brother.”
Dean lets go of Sam’s cock and pulls Sam’s hands off his ass. He presses down on Sam’s cock, the wet tip of it pressing against his hole, right where Sam’s finger had been rubbing. Everything is heat, and Dean’s whole body is on fire. Dean kisses Sam as his ass slides over Sam’s cock, and after a brief fight for dominance, Dean nobly relinquishes control of the kiss to Sam.
Sam’s hands are on his hips now and Sam’s lifting him up and down. The head of Sam’s cock is pressing so close to Dean’s hole that Dean can feel his hole clench like it’s trying to grab hold.
Dean reaches between them, stroking his own cock rough and hard, as Sam’s cock presses into his crack, leaving trails of precome against his hole.
Dean’s riding a crest of pleasure so intense it is threatening to pull him under. Sam’s lips crushing his, Sam’s long thick cock pressing against his hole. Sam finally and completely becoming his.
“Come for me, Dean. I need you to,” Sam whispers against his lips and that’s all it takes. Dean’s orgasm is so intense it’s almost pain, he comes with Sam’s name on his lips like the most sacred of prayers.
Sam wraps his hands around Dean’s waist, anchoring him. Dean presses down on Sam’s cock as hard as he can, slides his ass down the length of it.
“Your turn, Sammy,” Dean says. “I want to see you come. Want to see you fall apart for me.”
He slides down Sam’s body until he’s kneeling on the carpet. Sam’s cock is hard, and just the thought that it’s hard just for Dean is so fucking hot. Dean grabs Sam’s cock with one hand and fondles one of Sam’s heavy balls with the other. Sam’s copious precome is enough to ease the way as Dean starts stroking the long length of Sam’s cock. He watches Sam carefully to see what his brother likes. He's wanted Sam’s cock in his hands for what feels forever, it's hard to believe he can have this now, can have Sam’s cock other ways too. When he thumbs Sam’s slit, Sam gasps. Dean presses his thumbnail against the slit as he strokes Sam’s cock a couple more times. Sam curses and then his whole body seizes as Sam’s orgasm slams through him. Most of Sam’s come lands on Dean’s chest, a stream of it that seems to be unending. Murmuring words of praise, Dean continues to stroke Sam’s cock as the stream becomes a trickle and finally stops.
Dean climbs back up on Sam’s lap and kisses his brother again, and if he rubs some of Sam’s come into Sam’s chest, oh well. Sharing is caring.
Sam’s hands are around him again, pulling him close and Dean is safe and sated and sore where Sam’s hands gripped him so tight and happier than he can ever remember being.
Sam laughs, his body shaking with the force of it, jostling Dean from his sex stupor.
“What?” Dean asks. If he wasn’t so high on pleasure and on Sam, he might be ticked that Sam is even capable of laughing after what they just did.
“I left my hat on,” Sam says, still laughing.
“You are such a nerd,” Dean replies.
“Next time I want you to wear those chaps,” Sam says.
“Uh uh,” Dean replies. “You've seen my ass in them, it's my turn to see yours. I might let you do some riding of your own. There might be ropes involved.”
“I might like that,” Sam replies.
There's a pause where Dean tries to absorb the fact that his brother might be into kinky shit. Oh, the possibilities…
“So, we’re good, right?” Sam asks.
“No. But after we take a shower, lie our naked asses on the bed and you let me do all the things I’ve been wanting to do to you for so long, we might be.”
“Sure, big brother,” Sam says. He stands up still holding on to Dean. Dean most definitely did not squeal but he might have yelped as he hurriedly wraps his arms and legs around Sam. “Then it’s my turn.”
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