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My Body Aches To Breathe Your Breath

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How did they end up in these situations? Sam wondered, not for the first time, as he gripped the headboard of the bed, knuckles white with the strain. Right: They hunted monsters for a so-called living.

He bit back a low groan as Dean’s teeth caught the back of his shoulder, biting down lightly. He was impaled on his older brother’s dick, had been for the past few minutes. It was unexpected, it was awkward (or would have been, if Dean was coherent enough to think clearly), and it was .. not quite as painful anymore, now that he was adjusting to having something inside him.

They had stumbled upon a trap meant for someone else two nights ago, involving some kind of faerie magic, while investigating several murders. Dean had been hit with it – Sam had been in the next room – and the fever had come on fast. A bit of research had revealed that it was a damned lust spell which made the victim lust after the first person he or she touched – in this case it had been Sam. The brothers had tried to ignore it, then Dean had tried picking up someone at one of the local bars. He had realized quickly that it wasn’t going to work – not only did he not want that person, he couldn’t get hard with that person. He had realized equally fast that one look at Sam had sent him straight into hard-on territory. It had been rather awkward and disconcerting and a few other words.

Dean had refused, of course, to act on it. That was until the fever and the lust made him so incoherent, sexually aggressive and, well, grabby, that Sam had been afraid he was going to have to tie his brother down. More research had shown that the spell was likely to kill him if he didn’t satisfy his urges, and Sam was not going to let that happen.

It hadn’t been an easy decision and it probably wasn’t at all consensual, especially given Dean’s frame of mind. Still, if it would save his brother, Sam was going to do it. Seeing Dean coughing up blood during a violent coughing fit, brought on by fever and magic, had been the clincher.

Now, here they were.

Sam winced as two things happened: Dean pressed in deeper, and the door of their motel room suddenly swung open. He looked over his shoulder, startled eyes on the door, as Bobby rushed into the room. The man was in mid-sentence – “Got your call, why aren’t you idjits answering your phone, I –“ – when his eyes fell on the Winchester brothers and their current position. He faltered, froze for several seconds, before his brows furrowed.

“What the hell?” Bobby moved toward the bed, fight written all over his face.

“No!”

Bobby and Dean both froze at Sam’s out-cry.

“You have to let him, Bobby,” Sam ignored the burning of his cheeks (hell, his entire body), the humiliation at being caught like this, doing this, “If – if you don’t, he’s going to die.”

“Sam – “ Bobby started to protest, eyes shifting away as his own face flushed in embarrassment.

“No, we tried,” Sam gasped out as Dean shifted against him, inside him, “Dean, be still, damnit.” His brother complied, if only for the moment, and he continued, “We tried, didn’t work. The fever is too strong, he can’t – he has to do this. Not going to let him die over this, Bobby.”

Bobby ran a hand over his mouth, understanding and helplessness etching the lines of his face. He avoided looking at them as he said gruffly, “Shit, Sam, I – don’t even know what to say. I can’t let this happen!”

“Not your choice,” he returned, biting his bottom lip as Dean shifted against him again, “Mine. It’s happening already.” He bit back a moan, his face flushing again – Bobby’s was a bright red, as well – as the older Winchester snapped his hips against him suddenly and growled, “So tight, Sammy.”

“Dean, wait. Wait. Made my decision, Bobby, going to see it through. I don’t – don’t know how long he can – I would rather you not see this –“

The older man nodded and turned to leave the room. “It – shit. Call me if you need me. I’ll be in the car.” He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Sam glanced over his shoulder as Dean let out a low whine. “Okay,” he whispered, voice breathless as the head of Dean’s cock brushed his prostrate, “Okay, Dean.”

His brother growled and gripped his hips; Sam couldn’t hold back his soft cry of pleasure as Dean shoved deeper, ramming against his prostrate over and over.

He wasn’t certain how they ended up in these situations like this but, as his brother drove into him, sending pleasure shooting through his entire body, he found that, at the moment, he didn’t really care.

Sam knew the moment the curse was broken. His brother had just gotten off (after stroking Sam off and making him cum), filling him with his hot seed, and was lying next to him, catching his breath. Sam glanced over at him, met the other man’s green gaze, and Dean gave him a blissful smile. The smile vanished several seconds later, and Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion and then disbelief.

“Sam?” the man sat up, eyes flicking over first him and then himself. He blinked and his face flushed, and he shoved himself out of the bed, nearly stumbling away from it.

“What the hell?” Dean grabbed the jeans he had discarded a short while ago from the floor and started to yank them on. His eyes flicked back to Sam and he repeated, “What the hell, Sam?!”

Sam swallowed hard and tugged the sheet over his bare form. “It – you were under a spell, or cursed, or --,” he started, apprehension running through him as he saw the emotions – anger being the primary one – crossing his brother’s face. “We – we tried.. It was the only way to save you, Dean.”

 

Dean stared at his little brother for a moment – the younger man looked thoroughly fucked-out, in spite of the nervous apprehension on his face. The thought made Dean sick to his stomach: his brother looked fucked-out because he was, and by Dean.

Anger rose hard and fast, and he turned away from Sam. “Put some fuckin clothes on, will you?” his voice was harsh, revealing the turmoil burning within him. He heard the mattress creak and assumed his brother was moving to comply. It wasn’t like he was about to turn around and check.

“Fuck,” the elder Winchester breathed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. He closed his eyes as images of the last little bit surfaced, unbidden, in his head, “Fuck! Did you think it was okay, Sam? Doing –? Letting me – Damnit!”

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was behind him, soft and lost, “I – I’m sorry..”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He jerked away from the bigger man as he turned to face him.
“Did you even have to think twice, Sam? Or was that spell just an opportunity for you?’

“What?”

Sam stared at him in bewilderment, and he continued his rant, “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me? After I get out of the shower or when you’re patching me up after a hunt?”

His brother flushed and started, “It wasn’t like that -- “

Dean scoffed, and Sam repeated, voice a cross between angry and shamed, “It wasn’t, Dean! I couldn’t let you – what was I supposed to do?”

“Something other than crawling on my cock at the first chance you had!”

His brother flinched and turned his head away. Shame filled his eyes and lined his features as he whispered, “I tried everything else. We tried reversing the spell. You tried picking up someone and – “ He swallowed, eyes on the far wall, “Nothing worked. What was I supposed to do?”

He knew that, he remembered. It was lingering within his brain, just like the images of his brother, spread out and naked in front of him. He shook his head, anger rising to the surface again.

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

Dean ignored the plea in the other’s voice as he shot angrily, “I wasn’t in my right mind, Sam! What you did was pretty much the same as rape!”

Sam froze at the words, face going pale. The look on his face screamed that he was aware of it, that the same thoughts had crossed his mind. Shame and guilt and grief flicked across his features. “I –“ his voice was a grief-stricken whisper, “I didn’t mean to – I’m – I’m sorry –“

Warning bells went off in Dean’s head as his brother backed toward the door. In spite of his anger, his humiliation, he knew deep down that Sam hadn’t done what he did as an opportunity: he had done it to save Dean’s life. He knew also that, while he was furious with his brother, he was also furious with himself. He remembered everything, including how badly he had wanted the other man, and exactly how much he had enjoyed fucking him. None of it had been exactly consensual, even though he had wanted Sam, because of the spell cast on him. His brother had been the reasonable one and had decided to follow through, but he had done it to save Dean. Dean knew he probably would have done the same, in similar circumstances. He wouldn’t have let Sam die if there was any way in the world to prevent it, including that. The older Winchester was aware of that, even as the feelings of humiliation and violation coursed through him.

His brother reached the door, fumbled blindly behind him for the knob.
“Sam, wait – “ he started. It was too late: his brother was running out the door and across the parking lot.

Dean moved to the doorway of the motel room a minute later, eyes searching the parking lot for his brother. He rubbed a hand over his mouth as his search came up empty. The sound of a car door shutting caught his attention, and he glanced over to see Bobby approaching.

Somewhere in his head danced the memory of Bobby rushing into the room, a short while ago. Shit. The man had caught them doing – Dean rubbed at his eyes with his palm, hoping that this was all a bad dream and he could wake himself up.

“Back to yourself?”

The gruff question had him raising his head; Bobby was standing several feet away. He frowned and muttered, “Yeah, think so,” as he moved into the room to retrieve a shirt.

“Freaked out on your brother when you came to?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Dean threw a hard look at the man, and Bobby shrugged and nodded in agreement.

“Probably,” the man replied, “You know he did it to – “

“To save me,” he rubbed his face again, “I know. Doesn’t make it any better.”

“I imagine not,” the older man agreed with a sigh, “You should know, Dean.. He tried for two nights to find another way. You were pretty far gone last time he called me, which is why I came down to try to help. It – “ Bobby sighed again, “Doesn’t make it any better, I don’t reckon.”

“No,” Dean agreed quietly as he grabbed a change of clothing from his duffel bag, “It doesn’t. I need a fucking shower.”

It took everything in him to not slam the bathroom door behind him.

 

“Damnit, Sam.” Dean shut the flip phone and tossed it on the table with a clatter. It was the fourth call his brother hadn’t answered; the other man had been gone for hours now. He was pissed at the younger man, sure, but he didn’t want him running off and doing anything stupid. Or running off and not coming back at all. He scowled at that thought and threw himself down on the couch. He laid his head back against the couch, eyes slipping closed, and an image of Sam, removing his clothes with a shy, uncertain look on his face, popped into his head.

Dean opened his eyes again to stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to throw up or hit something (or someone, if his brother ever returned). He heard a knock on the door and looked in that direction as it opened; Bobby entered the room a moment later with a bag of take-out in hand.

“Got you some dinner,” the man told him, crossing the room to place the bag and a cup of coffee on the table “so eat up.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean muttered. He realized as the scent of the food hit him that he was rather hungry; the last time he remembered eating was before he had been hit with the spell.

Sam still hadn’t returned by morning, and Dean was an odd combination of worried, angry and almost relieved. He wasn’t ready to deal with the aftermath of what had happened between he and his brother; it was going to be rather awkward, to say the very least. Still, concern won out, as it always did regarding Sam, and he and Bobby, whom had brought him breakfast this morning, were preparing to go out and search for the younger man.

Dean opened the motel door and stepped outside, Bobby behind him. He paused just outside the door as he spotted his brother, sitting on the ground, back against the building’s brick wall a short distance away. Even from here, he could see that Sam, wearing only a thin t-shirt and jeans, was shivering in the morning chill. He scowled as he realized that Sam hadn’t even been wearing shoes when he ran off last night.

His eyes shifted to Bobby as the man moved past him and headed for Sam.

Dean watched from his spot by the door as Bobby halted in front of his brother. He couldn’t hear the entirety of their conversation, though bits and pieces carried to him:

“Where.. shoes..coat.. idjit?”
A shrug from Sam, but he couldn’t hear the response.
Bobby’s gruff voice,“..talk to him..”,
followed by Sam’s quiet one, “..hates me...would hate me, too.”

He frowned upon hearing those words from his brother’s lips. After a moment, he went back into the room. When he exited again a minute later, he was holding Sam’s jacket. He moved to join the other two men and offered his brother the jacket without looking at him. Sam took it after a long moment, whispering, “Thanks.”

“Get in there and warm up,” Bobby suggested as he nodded toward the motel room. Sam glanced at the man, before dropping his gaze to the ground. His voice was quiet as he said, “I just.. just came to get my stuff.”

“Get in there and warm up,” the older man repeated. His tone brooked little room for argument and, after a moment of hesitation, Sam obeyed and moved past Dean to go into the motel room.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed that was his, hands clasped between his knees and eyes on the floor, when Dean stepped into the room’s doorway. Older brother stared at younger for a long moment; Dean frowned and moved further into the room as Bobby gave him a light shove from behind. He glanced over his shoulder as Bobby reached in and closed the door.. putting him on the outside and Dean inside with Sam.

Real subtle way of telling him to talk to his brother.

Dean huffed an annoyed breath before turning to look at his brother again. Sam’s eyes were on him, but shifted away the moment he looked at the younger man.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, and he scowled and crossed to the small table in the corner. He took a seat in one of the wooden chairs, eyes on the wall adjoining the bathroom, and in the opposite direction of Sam.

Dean heard the other man stand and move through the room. A glance from the corner of his eye revealed that his brother had tossed his duffel on the bed. He watched as Sam pulled on his boots without bothering to lace them, before shoving some clothing and his gun into his bag.

“Going some place?” he nearly had to force the words out, not really wanting to break the uncomfortable silence. The awkward tension was making him jumpy and uneasy.

“I.. yeah, maybe,” Sam responded quietly, eyes flicking from Dean back to his clothes.

“That’s how it is, huh? A quickie and then you’re off first thing in the morning?” It was an attempt at a joke, but it failed miserably, and he knew it. There was too much anger in his voice, too much tension in his posture. Sam went pale, fist clenching around the strap of his duffel and eyes on the mattress. Dean muttered a quiet ‘fuck’ beneath his breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly, “I’ll – I’ll go with Bobby, or.. I’ll be out of your way soon. I’m sorry.”

“Is that what you want? To leave?“ Dean asked. Sam shrugged a shoulder, hand on the strap of his duffel bag and eyes on the floor, but remained silent. The older Winchester took in his brother’s features: guilt and grief still rode Sam’s face, and the other man wouldn’t look at him.

“I don’t want you to leave, Sam. I’m pissed, yeah. I want to punch you in the balls for what you did, yeah. I don’t want you to leave, though.”

Hazel eyes flicked to him before shifting to stare at the floor again. “Okay,” his brother’s voice was barely more than a whisper when he finally replied to Dean’s statement.

Dean nodded, then muttered, “Going to talk to Bobby,” before leaving the room.

 

The three of them went to a local burger joint for lunch a short while later. Dean and Bobby discussed the case which had brought them to this wretched town in the first place – several murders had taken place in the same house over the last two months. The house was empty, its former occupant having died six months prior, and the boys suspected a haunting.

As frequently as he liked to pretend the opposite, Dean was ever aware of Sam. It had been ingrained in him when he was little - Watch out for Sam,’ and ’Protect Sam’- and it wasn’t something that was going to go away anytime soon. Or ever. So Dean wasn’t oblivious to the fact that his brother spoke very little while they were going over known facts and even more unknown elements of their case. (They hadn’t exactly had the chance to explore the house in depth before Dean had walked into the faerie spell that first night.) Nor was he oblivious to the fact that Sam didn’t touch his food. Dean and Bobby hadn’t even finished eating when Sam said suddenly, “I’ll be in the car,” and stood; Dean stared after him as he crossed the restaurant to exit through the front entrance.

Bobby left for home later that evening, after a brief round of hugs and “be careful”. He was climbing in his car when he paused and glanced at Dean, whom was standing near the driver’s fender. “Look,” the older man said, eyes meeting his, “I know what happened between you and Sam isn’t going to be easy to get over. Just – don’t let it break you two, Dean. Take care of each other, alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, hands shoved in his pockets, “We will. Bye, Bobby.”

Once Bobby had pulled out of the lot and was out of sight, Dean turned back toward the room. He stared at the door for a moment, before changing his mind and going to the Impala. He unlocked the car and climbed in, starting the engine. He couldn’t face his brother right now; he needed some breathing room and a good strong shot of whiskey or three.

 

It was after midnight when Dean returned to the room he was sharing with his brother. He had spent a couple of hours in a local bar, drinking down some cold beers and shooting a few games of pool.

He entered the room, automatically stepping over the salt lines Sam had put down, and closed the door softly behind him. He locked it and turned to view the room as he shed his jacket. He tossed it over a chair, eyes flicking to Sam’s bed – his brother was in bed, back to him – and pulled his gun from where it was tucked in the back of his jeans. He double-checked the safety and moved to place it on the nightstand between the beds. His eyes shifted to Sam’s still form again as he sat down on his bed to remove his boots.

Dean stood and started to undo the buckle of his belt, but paused. He frowned, eyes shifting to Sam’s bed again, and continued undoing his belt. He shed his jeans and kicked them out of the way before climbing in bed in his boxers and t-shirt.

“You asleep?”
His voice seemed far too loud in the quiet of the room. There was silence for a long moment, then Sam’s soft-spoken response,
“No.”

Dean lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling for several long moments. Finally, he spoke again, voice rough from alcohol and weariness,
“I know you did what you did because you had to. It doesn’t make it any better, not really, but – “ He paused for a moment, scowling at the ceiling above him, “- I’m sorry I accused you of – of using it as an opportunity to.. you know.”

“S’okay,” Sam murmured, back to Dean still.
Dean glanced in the other’s direction – he frowned as anger and sadness rose up in him suddenly. “Just might need a while to get over it, Sam.”
“Okay,” came the quiet response, “I’m sorry, Dean.”
“I know.” Dean shot a last glance at his brother’s back before rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.

 

“Vanessa was a sweet girl,” one Mrs. Sanders was telling Dean the next morning, “It’s a shame she passed on so early in life. More tea?”

“No, thank you,” Dean shot the elderly woman a smile, and she beamed at him.
Her brown eyes moved to Sam as the younger Winchester asked, “Did she pass away of natural causes?”
“Poor girl was born with a heart defect,” Mrs. Sanders shook her head, “Her parents tried to convince her to have surgery, but she always said she would go when her time came, and even surgery wouldn’t stop that. She was so sweet and so helpful to everyone. Used to come over in the mornings and help me weed my garden, bless her. She was only 20 when her poor heart just finally gave out.”

Dean glanced at the notepad in his hand, “Her parents moved after she passed away?”

Mrs. Sanders nodded yes, “Her mama fell apart for a while there. She couldn’t take living here anymore, without her daughter. They moved down South, closer to her sister. They did love that girl so very much. So sad.”

“Thank you for speaking with us, Mrs. Sanders,” Sam shot the woman a warm smile, which she returned as she clasped his hand, “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Anything for such polite FBI agents,” she beamed.

Dean was trying to politely decline a plate of sugar cookies so he could follow his brother out the front door, when he saw Mrs. Sanders staring after the bigger man. He glanced in his brother’s direction, then back at the elderly woman as she giggled suddenly. “Now that is a fine specimen of agent,” she shot him a conspiratorial wink – Dean couldn’t help the smile which touched his mouth at her words – “You keep your eye on that one, or someone might snatch him away. You two are a couple, aren’t you?”

Dean felt the flush touch his cheeks but, before he could deny that statement, the woman continued speaking, “I’m sure you don’t want to discuss your love life with an old woman. You go and solve your case, and smack that big fella right on the rear for me!” She was still giggling as she waved Dean out the door, and Dean’s face was still red.

As he made his way to the car, the thought that Sam did look good in that suit leaped into his head. It was immediately followed by a sudden memory of Sam without clothing, the night he had broken Dean’s curse, and the thought that his brother would look even better out of his suit.

Dean cursed profusely beneath his breath as he climbed into the car. What the hell?

 

The brothers were sitting in a local diner later that evening, eating dinner and discussing the information they had on their ghost girl. They had interviewed another neighbor after Mrs. Sanders, whom had told them the same thing: Vanessa Arvin had been a complete sweetheart when she was alive. She had, they learned from the second interview, also been cremated.

“So we need to find what’s keeping her here. If she was such a sweet, happy person when she was alive,” Dean contemplated aloud, “why is she killing people now?”

“Dunno,” Sam shrugged, picking at his fries but not eating them, “We’re missing something.”

“Guess we should go see that kid Mrs. Sanders mentioned,” Dean mumbled around a mouthful of burger, “Reggie something. She thinks you have a nice butt, by the way.”

“What?” Sam raised his head – and his brows – to stare at Dean.

“Mrs. Sanders,” he smirked at the younger man, “She was staring at your butt when you left today. Said you were a fine specimen.” He chuckled as Sam’s face flushed red and the bigger man dropped his head. In spite of the awkward tension that lingered between them, and the mixed emotions that threatened to suffocate him still, he did enjoy teasing his brother.

Their next potential interview, Reggie Stapletop, wasn’t home when they knocked on his door. They killed a few hours at the local library, researching the town’s history. When the sun was down and they had the cover of night, their next stop was 125 West Street – the house where several towns-people had turned up dead over the past few months.

Dean parked the Impala across the street, then climbed out and went around to the trunk. He glanced around to make certain they didn’t have spectators, then picked up an empty duffel bag. He shoved two sawed-off shotguns and some salt-laced shells into the bag, along with several fireplace pokers made of iron. Several flashlights and a can of lighter fluid went into the bag next; he had a lighter and two packs of matches in his pocket.

He glanced at Sam, whom was standing next to him, as he tossed a few more shells into the bag. He was about to ask his brother if he was ready, but paused as he found Sam staring at his hands. He raised a brow as the younger man glanced up at him; Sam flushed and averted his gaze to stare at the house they were about to enter. Dean scowled and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder before slamming the trunk shut.

“Let’s go,” he barked, leading the way across the street.

They ignored the yellow police tape ribboning the steps and front porch of the house, and went around to the back door. A six-foot fence sheltered the yard and back door from view; Dean had the locked picked and the door open in seconds. He handed Sam one of the flashlights from the duffel and entered the house.

Dean glanced around the kitchen as he dropped the duffel bag on the kitchen table. He pulled out the shotguns – one was handed to Sam, along with a handful of shells. Sam was reaching into the bag for the iron pokers when he froze suddenly. “Hear that?” he asked, dropping a hand on Dean’s arm.

An image so vivid that it nearly stole his breath leapt into Dean’s head the moment his brother’s hand landed on his arm: Sam, naked in front of him, large hands brushing down his bare chest and stomach; wrapping around his cock to stroke him as the younger man whispered, “I’ve got you, Dean.” That fucking night in that motel room. He couldn’t seem to shake the memories of it.

Dean jerked away from his brother’s touch, hissing, “Don’t fucking touch me.” Sam stared at him, wide-eyed; the other man swallowed hard and stepped back from him, averting his gaze. “Heard something upstairs,” the younger man mumbled, double-checking that his shotgun was loaded. He snatched up one of the iron rods and strode out of the kitchen, into the next room.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face in frustration and followed.

Sam was standing in the house’s living room when Dean joined him. He glanced at his brother as the bigger man said quietly, “Careful. That’s where you – the spell—“ He swallowed and nodded toward a spot just in front of the fireplace: Dean could see a faint line of ash on the floor – remnants of the trap or spell or whatever the hell he had walked into that night - in the shape of a circle. He gave that area a wide berth and moved into the next room.

They had finished their sweep of the house with no sign of the ghost fifteen minutes later. They met up in the living room again, and Dean huffed an annoyed breath, “Guess Casper isn’t home tonight.” His eyes shifted to Sam as he heard his brother’s low-pitched voice, “Dean..” He followed Sam’s gaze; at the far end of the room was their ghost. The brothers raised their shotguns in unison, eyes locked on the apparition.

“Let me go!”
There was pain lacing the once-pretty girl’s words, sadness etched in her shimmering face.
“Why won’t you let me go? Your love is hurting me.”

The expected attack didn’t happen: instead, the girl turned and faded through the wall. They heard a sob as she disappeared, and again the words, “Let me go.”
They waited, but she didn’t return.

“What the hell?” Dean lowered his shotgun after several minutes. He glanced at Sam as his brother murmured, “She’s in pain.” Hazel eyes met his own for a split second before Sam averted his gaze.

Dean frowned and shook his head. “Without knowing what’s holding her here, we can’t free her,” he reminded as he turned to leave the room, “Let’s just burn the house.” He could practically hear his brother’s eye-roll as Sam followed him out of the room, muttering,
“We’re not burning the house.”

 

Xxx

Dean was in need of copious amounts of coffee when he woke the following morning. His night had been filled with dreams he didn’t want to think about, when he hadn’t been tossing and turning. He woke irritable, and angry again, and snapped at Sam every time the other man spoke to him.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. His brother wasn’t saying much; he wasn’t eating much, either. Dean was drinking his coffee, watching as Sam chopped a pancake up into tiny bits, when his brother raised his eyes and met his gaze.

Dean held the other’s gaze for a long moment, saw the movement of his brother’s throat as Sam swallowed. Something was clawing at his chest suddenly, some dark feeling, trying to fight its way out of him – He wasn’t certain what was showing on his face in that moment, but he saw Sam’s eyes widen slightly before the other dropped his gaze to look at the table. He couldn’t put a precise name on the feeling that was tugging at him, but it felt a whole lot like he felt when he was in hunter-mode, in pursuit of something.

He stood suddenly and snatched up the check. “I’ll be in the car when you’re ready,” he told his brother as he walked away from the table.

They made a stop by the supermarket where Reggie Stapletop worked after lunch, but it turned out to be a bust: the man had the day off. Dean was ready to hit something when they walked out of the market: he wanted to finish this case and get the hell out of this town.

Dean pulled into a parking space, across the street from a local coffee shop, on their way to interview Reggie that afternoon. He was about to open the door when Sam told him, “I’ll get it.” His brother climbed out of the car and went into the shop.

Sam exited the shop several minutes later, two cups of coffee in hand. Dean watched his brother through the open passenger window as Sam crossed the street toward the car. His eyes flickered over the tall, tall length of the other man, taking in the broad shoulders, firm muscles beneath his thin t-shirt, the long legs. He swallowed hard, hand clenching on the steering wheel and eyes shifting to stare at the front window. Had he seriously just been checking out his brother?

That spell had obviously fucked his head up. Damnit.

His eyes shifted back to Sam as the other man reached the car. A smirk touched his mouth as Sam reached for the door’s handle, and he shifted the car in gear and stepped on the gas, causing the Impala to lurch forward. It startled his brother, and the cups of coffee, balanced in one large hand, were sent off-balance as he jerked. Dean winced as the lid of one cup popped off and hot coffee poured down his brother’s front, soaking his shirt and the front of his jeans. His brother let out a vicious curse before raising his eyes to the car and demanding, “What the hell, Dean?”

“You alright?”

Sam was silent for a moment before answering, “Yeah. Just soaked now. Thanks for that.” Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief – he had only been playing around, he hadn’t intended to cause his brother to spill hot coffee on himself, and had feared for a moment that Sam had been burned. The big man reached for the door handle again, but paused as Dean said suddenly,
“Uh uh. Hell no. You’re not getting in my car like that. Bad for the upholstery.”

“Your – Are you freaking kidding me right now?”

“Motel is a ten minute walk from here,” Dean shot him a smirk, “Exercise is good for you, right? You can walk. I’ll go interview our suspect while you’re changing clothes, princess.” It was cold out and Sam wasn’t wearing a jacket, but his brother was fit and had run far longer than ten minutes during drills over the years. Ten minutes wouldn’t hurt him.

“Fuck you, Dean,” his brother snapped, raising a hand to flip him off. He watched as Sam crossed in front of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, then started walking in the direction of their motel. He pulled the car away from the curb and drove down the street, honking the horn at Sam as he passed him.

It was dark out when Dean finished interviewing one Reggie Stapletop (and was that his real name? Come on..) an hour later, and exited his house. The young man was weird, that was for certain. Dean shook his head and climbed into the Impala. He started her up, smiling at the familiar rumbling of the engine, and pulled out onto the street.

He was headed for the motel room, contemplating picking up some take-out on the way, when a neon sign caught his eye. He hesitated only a moment before pulling into the parking lot of the town bar: Sam probably could use a break from him for a few more hours, right?

Dean spent the first hour in the bar just nursing a couple of beers. His thoughts kept going back to his brother, in spite of how he tried to avoid it. Every damn time he closed his eyes any more, an image of Sam on that damn motel bed popped into his head. Sam brushing fingers through his hair and telling him he was going to help him. Sam naked, on his knees in front of him, hands gripping the bed rail. Sam moaning as Dean pushed into him.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and muttered a quiet, “fuck”, before taking a long drink of his beer. He placed the empty bottle on the bar and glanced over, to find a curvy blonde watching him. He shot her a smile and a wink; she giggled and smiled back, batting her eyelashes.

Maybe this was what he needed. Maybe this would distract him from thoughts he didn’t want to be having about his brother. A hot woman beneath him, sinking into her warmth. Mind made up, Dean ordered two beers from the bartender and moved down the bar to introduce himself.

Half an hour later, he and the blonde – Sheila, she claimed was her name – exited the bar. He had had a couple more beers (though had avoided the whiskey, as he was driving), and the night air was frigid, but felt good after the almost-stifling heat of the building behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Sheila as she followed him toward the car, and ignored the fact that it felt forced.

They had just reached the Impala when Dean’s phone began to buzz in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen, to see Sam’s name lighting it.

“Give me a sec, sweetheart,” he told the woman next to him, “Gotta take this real quick.”
Dean bit back a growl of annoyance as the blonde agreed, “Sure!” and tapped her nails on the Impala’s hood. Sam would never risk scratching Baby like that..

His brow furrowed slightly at that thought and he walked away from her to answer the call, “Yeah?”
His brother’s voice came through the line a moment later, “I'm locked out of the room.”
“What? Where the hell is your key?”
“In the car, in my coat pocket,” Sam was trying to sound annoyed, but Dean could hear the apprehension tracing his brother’s voice, “Are you - are you coming back tonight? It's.. it’s kind of cold out here.”

Kind of cold? That was an understatement. It was freezing out here.

“Yes, Sam, I’ll be back. I'm not going to leave you outside in the cold. What kind of asshole do you think I am?”

There was silence at the other end of the line, and Dean rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of annoyance. “I'll be there in ten,” he barked. He hit the button to end the call before Sam could respond.

Dean moved back to the car, where the blonde (whom he had forgotten about while talking with Sam) was waiting.
“Are we going to do this?” she asked, giving him a syrupy smile that suddenly grated on his already too-raw nerves.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he shot her a tight smile as he unlocked the Impala, “The wife needs me.”

When he pulled into the parking space in front of their shared motel room eight minutes later, he spotted his brother immediately. Sam was leaning against the wall next to the room’s door, rubbing his hands over his arms.
“How long have you been standing out here?” he asked upon reaching his brother, though he was certain he knew the answer already.

Sam shrugged a broad shoulder and muttered through chattering teeth, “C – couple hours.”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me before now, Sam?” he unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow his brother to enter the warm room. He scowled at the other’s quiet answer of “D-didn’t want to b-bother y-you.”

Dean watched the younger man cross the his duffel bag and grab a change of clothing: it was then he realised that Sam’s clothes were still damp from earlier’s coffee incident. His brother went into the bathroom, and Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, shaking his head.

The older man raised his head a few minutes later as Sam exited the small bathroom. The other was wearing jogging pants and a hoodie; he moved to his own bed and grabbed the blanket off it to wrap it around himself.

“You should have called me right away, damnit.”

Sam shrugged a shoulder as he sat on his bed and huddled into his blanket. He was still shivering, teeth still chattering, and Dean shook his head and stood. He grabbed the blanket off his own bed and crossed to the other man to wrap it around him.

“Thanks,” Sam whispered, eyes raising for a moment to meet his own. The grateful look in them sent an ache through Dean’s chest, and he nodded sharply and moved away.

 

Dean shifted restlessly in his bed two hours later, eyes on the shadowed ceiling above him. Sleep was refusing to come to him tonight, which sucked because he was exhausted. He knew Sam was awake, also; he could tell by the other’s breathing.

Dean closed his eyes to attempt, again, to sleep. He muttered a curse beneath his breath as an image popped into his head suddenly: Sam, gripping the headboard of the bed in this very motel room, while he pounded into him. He opened his eyes again, trying to both shake the thought away and to ignore his cock, which was hardening against his will. A memory of that evening chased the image that he was trying to vanquish: the feel of Sam around him, hot and tight and..

Damnit! Dean held back a groan as his cock swelled to full hardness. He bit his bottom lip as he slid his hand down his stomach, beneath the blanket, and toward his hard-on. He bit back another groan as he traced his fingers over his erection; a moment later, he was slipping his hand into his boxers.

He stroked himself several times, shivering in pleasure as he did, before glancing over at Sam’s bed. His brother was lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling much as Dean’s had been moments before. Dean tore his gaze away, a shudder running through him as he brushed his thumb over the head of his dick.

He couldn’t quite hold back his low, throaty groan as he continued stroking, thumb grazing his cockhead every few strokes. He heard his brother shift in his bed, heard the catch in Sam’s breathing as the other man realised what he was doing. Dean stroked himself for a minute longer before turning his eyes to the other bed. Sam was lying on his side, staring at him. His brother swallowed audibly and averted his gaze; he glanced back at Dean as the older man chuckled hoarsely. His voice was low, breathy, as he asked,

“S’wrong, Sam? Never seen a guy jerk off before?”

The other man blinked at him but remained silent, eyes taking him in.

Dean gave his shaft a squeeze, bit his lip and arched into his hand as shivers of pleasure coursed through him. He glanced over at Sam, saw the fascination painting his brother’s features in the street lights shining through the window blinds. A smirk touched his mouth and he licked his lips as he gave himself another squeeze.

“Wanna watch, Sam?”
He hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud; it was supposed to have stayed in his head. Too late though, it was out. His brother stared at him, wide-eyed, for several seconds, and Dean smirked again.

The older man shoved the bed cover off, revealing most of his body, and he heard Sam swallow again, throat making a dry click. He closed his eyes and pushed his boxers down off his hips, to reveal his hard dick and the hand which was stroking it.

“This what you want to see?” he asked, opening his eyes to look at his brother, “Hmm? You want to watch me jerk off?”

Sam nodded yes, shifting his position to raise himself up on one elbow. His eyes were riveted to Dean’s stroking hand, lips parted and breathing rapid.

Dean had to admit that it made an enticing image.

He cursed beneath his breath at the thought – what the hell was he doing, here? He opened his eyes as he heard the other bed shift and met Sam’s gaze. He bit his lip as he pressed his thumb against his slit, low growl of pleasure escaping his throat.

“Come here.”

Sam flinched, startled, at his low growl; after a moment’s hesitation, the other climbed out of his bed and crossed to Dean’s. Dean ran his eyes over the length of him before the elder Winchester shifted to sit up, hand still wrapped around his dick. Moments later, he was on his knees on the mattress.

“On the bed,” he instructed, voice lust-rough and low, “Hands and knees.”

The not-quite-repressed moan which escaped Sam’s throat caused his cock to twitch.
“Now, Sam,” he growled, reaching down to squeeze the base of his dick hard.

Sam obeyed after several seconds, uncertainy on his face. He climbed onto the bed on his knees; after a moment, he moved to place his palms on the mattress, also.

“You always this fuckin’ obedient?” Dean had to give his dick another hard squeeze; he nearly lost it anyway when Sam answered, voice a whisper,
“No.”

“Just with me, huh?”
Sam nodded yes, and Dean growled, “Good, I like that,” as he moved to position himself behind his brother. Sam shot him a wary glance over his shoulder; A shudder ran through the younger man as Dean reached out to brush a hand down his back, fingers caressing through his t-shirt. Moments later, he was gripping his brother’s hip.

Sam jerked, startled, as Dean shifted forward to press his aching dick against the younger man’s pajama-covered ass. He pulled his brother back tight against him, and Sam moaned, head dropping slightly and breathing erratic.

A breathless “fuck” escaped Dean as his brother began to rock back against him, and he tightened his grip on his hip. He reached around with his free hand to brush his fingers against Sam’s cock, which was hard beneath his pajama pants. The other cried out softly at his touch, and something was trying to crawl out of Dean, something which wanted to claim his brother in every way possible, fuck him through the damn bed, make the other man scream his name and his name alone. Mark him as his own.

Dean growled and thrust his dick against the younger man’s ass, lust crashing over him like a tidal wave. Sam moaned, dropping down to his elbows, ass in the air, as he slipped his hand into the other’s pants to grip his dick and stroke it. The sound of it was completely wrecked, and it was the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard.

Fuck. He wasn’t certain if this was him or if he was still cursed. He couldn’t think clearly. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew that. It was wrong, Sam was his brother, it was wrong.

The way the other arched beneath him, though, rocked back against him and thrust into his hand .. it was too much. He couldn’t stop, not now, not when he was so close to coming, not when Sam was moaning like that and whispering his name like a prayer.

When Sam rocked back again to grind his perfect ass against Dean’s throbbing cock, Dean’s grip on his control slipped. He thrust hard against Sam, leaning forward to clamp his teeth down on the back of the other’s shoulder, and began to come.

Streaks of his hot cum covered his brother’s still-clothed ass and back; Sam’s own cum was covering Dean’s hand, his stomach, the mattress beneath him.

“Fuck,” Dean growled as he stroked Sam through his orgasm, “So fucking good.”

He collapsed on top of his brother as Sam finished emptying his load, grinding down against the bigger man until his cock was too sensitive. Sam shivered beneath him as he licked the bite mark on the back of his shoulder, mouth moving to lick and nip at the side of his neck.

He pulled his hand off Sam’s spent dick and sat up; his brother watched, breath catching in his throat, as Dean licked his hand clean. When he was finished, his green gaze met the other’s hazel one, and a slow smirk touched his lips.

Sam swallowed, eyes roaming his face, and started in a whisper, “Dean –“

“Didn’t happen,” he said suddenly, pushing himself off the bed and jerking off his soiled boxers. He moved to his duffle, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, and jerked a pair of pajama pants out of it.

“W – what?” Sam’s voice was bewildered, and Dean pulled on the pajama pants before turning to look at him.

“This,” he made a motion with his hand, motioning toward Sam and then himself, “What we just did. Pretend it was a dream, Sam.”

“I – Dean – “

“Just –“ Dean paused, closed his eyes. Regret was swallowing him whole right now, especially when he met his brother’s gaze and saw the look in them. He swallowed hard and repeated, “Just pretend it was a dream.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, and Dean braced himself for a fight, or at least anger (which he expected and deserved); to his surprise, his brother simply nodded and climbed off the bed. He watched as Sam crossed to his own duffel bag and pulled out a change of clothing, then went into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him.

Dean stared at the bathroom door for a moment, uneasiness creeping through him. With a frown, he moved to jerk the soiled bed covers from his bed and toss them into the corner.

He was lying in his bed again, a blanket tossed over the bare mattress and a sheet pulled over himself, when Sam exited the bathroom. He watched as his brother climbed into his own bed; it had occurred to him seconds after it had happened that he had just used his brother for his own needs. His own sexual needs. And Sam wasn’t going to raise hell about it? He was going to remain quiet about it?

Something was very, very off about that. He shifted his eyes to Sam’s bed, and found the other man’s back to him.

“Sam, I –“

“It’s fine,” the other man interrupted softly, “We’re fine.” Dean cringed inwardly as, after a moment, the younger man finished, “Like you said, it was only a dream. I deserve that. It’s fine, Dean.”

He didn’t sleep very much at all that night, and he suspected Sam didn’t, either.

 

When Dean entered the motel room the following morning with coffees and donuts from a coffee shop down the street, Sam was still in bed. “Rise and shine, Samantha,” he called as he entered the room, kicking the door closed behind him. It slammed shut with a loud bang; he smirked as Sam jerked the blanket over his head.

“Gonna sleep all day?” Dean placed the donuts and Sam’s coffee on the table across the room, then sipped his own. “Coffee’s getting cold, lazy bones. Get up!” He thought about crossing the room and jerking the blanket off his brother, but last night was still too fresh in his mind.

“Fuck off, Dean,” he heard his brother’s muffled response from beneath the blanket.

“Come on, Sam! We have to go talk to that weird kid about his ghost girlfriend, so we can finish this damn job and get the hell out of this damn town.”

‘I think I’m going crazy here’, he wanted to add but didn’t. Obviously he was losing his mind: why else would he have done what he did last night?

He watched as Sam finally sat up in the bed, blanket wrapped around him. The bigger man stood and, muttering beneath his breath, grabbed some clothing from his duffel bag. He shuffled toward the bathroom a minute later; he didn’t drop the blanket until he reached the bathroom door, and he didn’t look at Dean.

Dean was sitting on the edge of his mattress when Sam exited the bathroom fifteen minutes later, hair damp from his shower. The younger man looked more alert; he watched as Sam crossed to the table and picked up the coffee Dean had brought him. Sam’s back was to him, and Dean let his eyes roam the other’s toned back and down. The feel of his brother’s firm ass against his dick the previous night popped into his head, and his cock twitched in his jeans. Dean swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face.

Sam was sitting at the table, sipping at his coffee, several minutes later. Dean was checking over his weapons, mostly as a distraction, when his brother started, “Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Last night..”
He glanced over as his brother paused for a long moment, dread and nervousness rising within him. How the fuck could he explain what happened last night, and why? He couldn’t; he didn’t know, himself.
Instead of pursuing the conversation, however, Sam shook his head and muttered, “Nevermind.”

Good. They could let it go. Precisely what he wanted.
So why was he dropping his gun on the bed and crossing the room toward his brother?

He placed his hands on the wooden back of Sam’s chair and, leaning slightly over his brother’s shoulder, asked near his ear, “Something you wanted to ask me, Sammy?”
His brother glanced at him, eyes widening, and shook his head no. The younger man swallowed audibly as he leaned closer and breathed against the other’s ear,
“You sure?”

Sam’s gaze flicked to his mouth – Dean licked his lips, and his brother inhaled sharply – before raising to meet his eyes again.

“I’m – “ his brother’s voice was almost a whisper, “I’m sure.”

“Mm,” Dean brushed his fingers against the back of Sam’s neck, and felt the other man shiver at the touch, “Alright, then.” He turned and moved toward the bed and his weapons again, reaching down to adjust himself as he did.

That moment of teasing his brother – no, Sam’s reaction - had him half-hard. Damnit. This could be a problem.

 

They were sitting in a diner a short while later, having breakfast. Sam was staring at his food more than eating it, and Dean shot his brother a scowl. “You gonna eat that?” he nodded toward the food on Sam’s plate, “Or are you trying to watch your figure, princess?”

His brother rolled his eyes, causing Dean to smirk. The other’s gaze met his own briefly; Dean was the one to look away first, this time. His eyes lifted to the pretty waitress who approached their table, coffee pot in hand.

“Fill you up, sweetie?” she purred, leaning over to fill Dean’s coffee cup. She shot him a playful, coy smile before leaning in close to whisper near his ear, “Or maybe you wanna fill me up?” She pulled back and, he found a napkin with a phone number written on it next to his plate. He ran his eyes over her, licking his lips and giving her a wink. She giggled as she leaned over to fill Sam’s coffee cup; she shot Dean another flirty smile before moving away to check on her next table.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to watch her walk away, before turning back around with a satisfied smirk on his mouth. He raised his eyes and found himself staring into Sam’s hazel gaze; the other was watching him, head tilted slightly and an unreadable expression on his face. Dean bit down his sudden urge to wink at him; instead he averted his gaze and concentrated on finishing his meal.

 

The brothers had been in Reggie Stapletop’s house for all of ten minutes – Sam had asked him only two questions – when the man began to confess.

“I did it. I did it. I – I trapped her. Vanessa. I wanted to keep her here with me, I couldn’t lose her again. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt, I didn’t know anyone would get hurt.”

The Winchesters stared at him for a moment, slightly stunned by the unexpected confession. “How – “ Sam cleared his throat, “What did you do, Reggie? You used a spell? What was it?”

“I don’t know,” the young man confessed miserably, “It was – I looked it up on the internet. It was a couple of spells, I got them mixed up when I was trying to write them down. It – I used some faerie dust that I found on eBay and tried to set a love trap. I just – I wanted Vanessa to remember how much we loved each other when she was still alive.”

“eBay?” Sam blinked and shook his head, “You found faerie dust on -?” He rubbed a hand across his face, then processed the rest, “A love trap.” His eyes shifted to Dean, whom rubbed a hand over his mouth.

A love trap: the trap spell he had walked into himself, which had resulted in – Dean shook his head before turning his eyes back to Reggie. He stared at the young man for a moment and asked incredulously, “You had to know that trying to trap a ghost wouldn’t end well?”

“I know,” Reggie nodded, his gaze on the floor, “I was – am – in love with her, though. I wasn’t – wasn’t thinking clearly. I thought if I could make her remember how she loved me, the way I love her, I could—“ He paused before finishing miserably, “I could keep her with me. I didn’t want to lose her forever.”

The young man’s eyes shifted to Sam as Sam said softly, “Reggie, you need to tell us what’s holding her here so we can free her. She’s lost and afraid and she’s losing herself. That’s why she’s becoming so violent and hurting people. I know you don’t want her to hurt like that.”

“No,” Reggie agreed, eyes meeting Sam’s, “I don’t. I don’t want her to hurt anymore and I don’t want her to hurt people. I’m sorry, I never should have – I just love her so much.”

Dean watched as his brother reached out and laid a hand on Reggie’s knee. “I know,” the younger Winchester said softly, “I know you do. Sometimes, though, even when we do things out of love, it causes harm to others. Even when the intentions are good, it sometimes come with a huge cost.”

Dean swallowed as he watched his brother comfort the young man, listened to Sam’s words.

“I know,” Reggie whispered, “I – can you help her? Can you free her from what I’ve done to her? I never wanted to hurt her.” Tears slipped down his face, “I – the teddy bear on the fireplace mantle. In her house. It’s what I used, I put a lock of her hair in it, and – can you free her?”

“We’ll free her,” Sam promised gently, “Thank you.”

His brother stood, and Dean nodded and started to lead the way toward the door. He paused as he heard Reggie call,

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

The young man stared at Sam for a moment before asking softly, “What did it cost you?”

His brother swallowed hard before answering quietly, “I don’t know yet. I’m still paying.”

Dean turned away, brows furrowed at the words; he had to get out of this house, away from the pain on Sam’s face. He exited through the front door and went out to the Impala to wait for his brother.

He was agitated still, when Sam climbed into the car. That pain on Sam’s face has struck him right in the heart, as it always did when his brother was hurting. He was agitated and angry and he just wanted to be away from this town and this nightmare.

“A damn love spell,” he muttered, pulling the Impala away from the curb, “A love trap. What the hell?”

“He was upset,” Sam reminded quietly, “Love does weird things to people.”

“Least someone got what they wanted out of this mess.” The words left his mouth before his brain filtered them; he saw his brother wince and look away.

“You think I wanted that? You think I – I wanted – like that? That I wanted you to hate me?” Sam ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in his agitation, “Didn’t want that. I didn’t. Not.. not like that, not ever like that, Dean. I couldn’t – “ Tears filled the younger man’s eyes, and Dean swallowed hard, “I couldn’t let you just die. Not when I could prevent it.”

Hazel eyes, shining with tears, met his gaze briefly.
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered miserably, “I’m – I understand why you can’t stand to look at me now, and I’m sorry for what I did. But I couldn’t let you die, Dean. I couldn’t.”

Dean was silent for a long minute. Finally he spoke, voice gruff, “I’m – it’s not that I can’t stand to look at you, Sam. It – “ He shook his head, “Nothing, nevermind.”

For once, his brother didn’t pursue it.
Instead of feeling relieved, it sparked his concern.

They planned on hitting the Arvin house that evening but, upon driving by it to do a precursory check, discovered that the neighbors directly across the street were having a house-warming party of some description. Several minutes of discussion had them both agreeing that they didn’t want to attract the attention of the neighbors or the house full of party-goers who were there already, so they decided to tackle the Arvin house the following evening.

They found themselves instead in the local bar, having a couple of beers.

An hour after their arrival, Dean found himself watching some guy (some yahoo, his brain supplied rudely) hit on his brother. He swallowed as he watched his brother talk up the guy; Sam grinned at something he said, before leaning down to whisper near his ear. Something dark was clawing at his chest as he watched the stranger nod and, a moment later, his brother lead the man out of the bar.

He barely realized he was on his feet and following after them until he reached the exit. He hesitated a moment before shoving the door open and stepping out onto the graveled parking lot.

Dean glanced around the parking lot, eyes searching the shadowed areas between the street lamps for his brother. They found him a moment later, when he heard a sound and glanced to his left. He scowled as he spotted Sam and the stranger; Sam was pressed up against the building and the stranger was pressed up against him.

The elder Winchester scowled and crossed the lot toward the Impala.

Dean was listening to the radio when Sam opened the passenger door and climbed into the passenger side half an hour later.

“Thought you left,” the bigger man commented, glancing over at him.

“You suck that guy off?” he asked abruptly. It was not the response he had been going for, not at all, and he felt the heat rise to his face. He was just glad it was dark in the car, save for the dim glow from the radio and the soft light of a street lamp several dozen feet away.

“That –“ Sam paused, seemed to be searching for an answer, “That’s not really your business, is it?”

“I’m making it my business,” he shot back, glancing over at the other man, “Did you?”

Sam was silent for a long moment before answering, “No.”

“He suck you off?”

“I – yeah.”

Dean’s hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. His skin felt like it was crawling, but he didn’t know if it was the recent tension between them or Sam’s answer to a question he shouldn’t have asked. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot without another look at his brother. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, though, and that dark feeling which had been clawing at his chest in the bar rose to the surface again.

His hand jerked on the wheel, causing the car to swerve slightly, as he realized what that feeling was: Jealousy.

When they entered the motel room ten minutes later, Dean grabbed clean clothing and went straight for the shower. Never mind the fact that he had showered earlier: he needed some space right now, and he was half-afraid that if he went back to the bar, he would find Sam’s hook-up and rearrange his face.

 

When he exited the bathroom a short while later, clad only in jeans, Sam was standing by his bed, searching for something in his duffel bag. Dean went to the mini fridge across the room and grabbed a beer from it, and popped it open. He drank half of it before placing it on the table and wiping a hand across his mouth.

The man turned, shirt in hand, and caught Sam’s eyes on him. His brother averted his gaze immediately, and the reasonable part of his brain told him to let it go. A larger, angrier part, however, was flooding suddenly with irrational anger.

“Enjoying the show?” he snapped, stretching his arms out in a parody of putting himself on display. His brother stared at the floor, guilt crossing his features, and that irrational anger increased.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” he shot, sarcasm tracing his words, “You can crawl on my cock and ride it under the pretense of a curse but you can’t look me in the face?”

The younger man’s face flushed and his brows furrowed, but he didn’t raise his gaze. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised a thumbnail to his mouth to chew it.
Before fully realizing what he was doing, Dean stalked across the room and crowded into Sam’s space. “Come on, Sam,” he challenged, “Look at me.” His brain was screaming for him to back off, let this go now, but he was having a hard time listening. His brother cast him a side glance before looking away, and Dean lost his tenuous grip on his temper. He shoved his brother, sending him stumbling backward several steps. Sam didn’t raise his head, didn’t put up any resistance. Dean shoved him again, pushing him back against the wall, and still Sam didn’t fight him.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” he asked again, voice low-pitched, harsh and angry, “Afraid you’ll want to fuck me if you look at me? No, you like to be fucked, don’t you?” He saw the other man wince at the words, but couldn’t make himself stop, “You’ll let a stranger suck you off, hell, you’ll ride your own brother’s goddamn cock, but can’t look me in the face? Why is that? Are you hoping I’ll decide I liked fucking you and do it again?”

“Dean – “
Sam’s voice was a whisper; he heard the pain tracing it but it didn’t stop his harsh words,
“Say it, Sam.” He pressed closer to his brother, close enough that his chest was brushing Sam’s, “Tell me you want me to fuck you. Who knows, maybe I’ll lose what’s left of my fucking mind and actually do it.” He ran his eyes over the bigger man, taking him in; he didn’t miss the slight bulge in his brother’s jeans.

“This making you hard, little brother?” He leaned in close again, whispered in Sam’s ear, “You fucking like hearing me say this shit to you. That’s sick, Sam. Fucking sick, you know that?”

“Please stop,” the younger man’s voice was shaky, the words barely more than a whisper.

“Why?” Dean shifted closer, taunting now, “Isn’t this what you wanted? Huh? You want me to fuck you, right? You imagine me shoving my cock in your tight hole, maybe holding you by your hair while I do it?” He pressed against his brother to whisper in his ear, “Is that the sick shit you imagine, Sam? Me pounding you into the mattress? Filling you up with my cock?” He felt the shudder run through the bigger man, saw the flush which touched Sam’s cheekbones. He needed to stop, he knew that. He was only going to cause more damage this way. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t make himself stop, not when he saw the way it affected his brother, not when he realized that he had this kind of power over the other. It was heady, it was vindictive, it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop.

His voice dropped an octave as he murmured against Sam’s ear, “Beg me real pretty, Sammy, and I might give in and fuck you again.”

“Dean,” the plea was practically a moan. His brother was pressed back against the wall, eyes closed, lips parted and breathing uneven. He pressed forward, slipping his knee between Sam’s slightly-spread thighs and against his crotch.

“Oh god,” his brother couldn’t hold back the low, soft moan, “Please, please.”

“Please what?” Dean pressed his knee against his brother’s clothed erection, “What do you want?”

The bigger man made a sound very similar to a soft whine as he pressed his hips forward, against Dean’s knee.

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice was low-pitched, rough, his lips millimeters from the other’s ear, “I thought so. Is this what you think about when you’re jerking off? Are you thinking about your big brother, pinning you and taking what you’re so willing to give? Hmm?” He raised a hand and slipped it to the back of Sam’s head, fingers catching in the silky strands of chestnut hair. “Tell me,” his voice was a growl now, “that you want my cock inside you.”

Sam bit his bottom lip hard but remained silent, eyes flicking to Dean, away, back to Dean. The younger man’s pupils were blown wide, spots of color painting his cheekbones.

“Tell me!”

The harsh instruction drew a low, throaty moan from Sam, and the bigger man whispered, “I – Dean, please ..

Dean allowed his lips to brush his brother’s ear – the shudder he felt run through the other man gave him a strange sense of satisfaction – and he murmured, “Tell me, Sammy.”

“Yes,” Sam whispered on a sharp exhale, “Oh god, Dean, I want your cock inside me.”
“Gotta do better than that, Sam.”
“Please,” the big man arched against Dean’s knee, breathing erratic, “Want you to fuck me. Please, Dean.”

“And what do I get out of this, if I do? Hmm?”

“Anything,” there was desperation in Sam’s voice, “Anything you want. Anything, Dean.”

He realized that he was half-hard, and it both pissed him off and urged him to continue.

“Such a fuckin slut,” he tugged hard at his brother’s hair, pulling his head back, and brushed his lips against the spot just below Sam’s ear, barely grazing flesh, “Begging your own brother to fuck you. Sick whore.”

When his teeth grazed Sam’s skin, tracing along his throat, the bigger man moaned and rocked against his thigh. Dean cursed beneath his breath as he realized he was fully hard now, his own dick leaking and twitching against the confining denim of his jeans. He nipped hard at Sam’s throat before whispering, “That’s it, whore. Ride me like it’s my dick. Show me how badly you want to be my bitch.” His brother hesitated, uncertain gaze shifting to him, and Dean trailed his tongue along his jawline. Sam moaned again and arched forward, riding the knee pressed against his groin.

“Bet you would love to feel my dick filling you up, wouldn’t you? Hmm? Wanna feel me pounding into you, Sam?”

Sam’s almost frantic nod drew a low chuckle from Dean, and he twisted his hand tighter in Sam’s hair. The other gasped and arched hard against his knee, shifting to spread his legs wider.

The action, the vulnerability and fear and lust on Sam’s face, made his own cock twitch. Dean growled and bit down hard on Sam’s throat, and his brother cried out softly and ground hard against his knee.

“Tell me what a slut you are,” he instructed, lips pressed against Sam’s ear now, “Tell me what you would do to get me inside you.”

“I’m a – a slut,” the shaky whisper sent another stab of heat through him, “Anything, I’ll do anything you want, Dean. Please, need you..”

“You just need a cock to fill your whore hole,” he shot back harshly, rocking forward to grind his knee against his brother’s rock-hard dick, “You were a tight fuck though, maybe I’ll give you what you’re begging for and fuck you again.”

He told himself again that he needed to stop this, but he was too caught up in his little brother’s needy, desperate reactions. In breaking the other man down, feeling him come undone in front of him.

He pulled his hand free from Sam’s hair and growled, “Get on your knees, bitch.” Sam hesitated only a fraction of a second before he obeyed, dropping to his knees on the cheap motel carpet. Hazel eyes locked on his hands as Dean reached down and undid the button and zip of his jeans. When he pulled his hard dick free, a low moan escaped his brother’s throat.

“You wanna suck me, Sammy? Want me to fuck your filthy, whore mouth?”

His brother nodded frantically, and a low chuckle escaped him. “Bet that fucking mouth is hot and wet,” he murmured, stroking fingers over his hard dick, “Look at you, just waiting to be face-fucked.” Dean began stroking himself faster, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Sam’s hair and jerk his head closer.

He slapped his hard shaft against Sam’s cheek, leaving a shining smear of pre-cum, when the other leaned in and tried to lick him. “Bad slut,” he growled hoarsely, shivers running through him as he stroked his dick, “Didn’t say you could put your filthy mouth on me.”

When Sam whispered, “Please,” hazel eyes locked on his dick, Dean realized just how much he did want to fuck his brother’s mouth. He rubbed the head of his cock against Sam’s lips; a sharp stab of lust raced through him as he watched his brother lick them clean.

“Open,” he growled; his dick twitched against the other’s mouth as his brother obeyed immediately. Dean jerked Sam’s head close to push his dick past the younger man’s full lips. He groaned as he shoved into the other’s mouth, felt the hot, wet heat enveloping him.

“Fuck!” Dean couldn’t hold back his surprised, pleasured cry as Sam suddenly leaned in closer, swallowing down half his dick. “Fuck yeah, take it bitch.” He pressed deeper, felt his brother gag slightly around him, and pulled out to shove back in again. He set up a steady, almost-brutal rhythm, hands gripping Sam by the hair as he began to thrust into his mouth. His brother was moaning around him, sending vibrations through his shaft, and Dean clung hard to his control.

His brother palmed himself through his jeans as he sucked and licked at Dean’s shaft, and the older Winchester growled and fucked harder into the heat of his mouth. He felt that familiar tingling building at the base of his spine. “Yeah, take it,” he muttered, face-fucking the younger man, “Take it, bitch. You want my cum, you filthy fucking slut? That what you want?”

When his brother moaned again around his dick, Dean lost his grip on his control and began to shoot his load. Shudders of pleasure wracked his body as he felt Sam swallowing down what he could; he jerked out of the other’s mouth suddenly, to finish shooting on his face.

Sam was licking his dick clean, soft sounds of need and pleasure escaping him, when Dean regained his senses. He ignored the soft protest as he pulled away from his brother, slipping his hands free from Sam’s hair. He tucked himself back into his jeans and did them up, his eyes on the bigger man, whom was still on his knees.

Sam had streaks of cum across his face and chest and his lips were red and swollen. His breathing was unsteady, and he had a wet spot soaking the front of his jeans. Dean smirked down at him as he realized his brother had gotten off in his jeans.

He reached down and traced a finger through a streak of cum on his brother’s face, and Sam shivered a bit. “Fucking slut,” Dean stepped back from him, “On your knees, covered in cum, is a good look for you.” He turned and crossed the room then, to go into the bathroom.

Dean shut the bathroom door behind him and leaned against the sink’s small counter, a curse escaping him. What the hell was that? What the hell had he just done? He ran a hand over his face, silently cursing himself.

When he had pulled himself together and exited the bathroom several minutes later, he saw that Sam was still kneeling on the floor, exactly as Dean had left him. Covered in cooling, drying cum, head bowed and eyes closed. He moved closer, on the pretense of grabbing the shirt he had discarded earlier: his eyes shifted to Sam again, and he frowned as he saw that the younger man was shivering almost violently.

Sam had entered some type of subspace while Dean was using him, and now he was in fucking sub drop.

He had done this. Yes, his brother had gotten off on it, but he had done this.
He stared at his brother for a moment, taking in his shivering form; after a moment, he spoke the other’s name.

“Sam.”

He didn’t miss the way the other jerked as he spoke his name, nor the panicked look in Sam’s eyes when his brother opened them to look at him.

“Come here.”

Sam hesitated before he started to push to his feet. He froze as Dean instructed, “No. Stay on your knees. Crawl.” The younger man hesitated again, eyes on the floor: moments later, he was crawling on his hands and knees, coming to a halt next to him.

Dean reached down and tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair, pulling the other’s head against his thigh. He felt the shudder that ran through the young man, and it tugged at his ever-prevalent need to look after and protect his brother.

“Good boy,” he murmured, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair, “Did good, Sam.”

The soft sob caught him off guard, and had him dropping to his knees in front of the big man. He pulled his brother into his arms – Sam clung to him as if he was going to disappear if he let go – and stroked a hand over his head. “Did good, baby. Took it so well. My good boy.”

“Dean..” the name was a soft plea from Sam’s lips, and Dean leaned in to kiss him on the forehead.

“Ssh, come on,” the older Winchester stood, tugging Sam to his feet with him, and led him toward the bathroom and the shower, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dean waited outside the bathroom door as his brother showered. When Sam exited the bathroom twenty minutes later, clad in jogging pants and a t-shirt, he placed a hand on the younger man’s back and guided him toward the bed.

“Get some sleep,” he suggested, giving the other a light push, indicating he should get into bed, “Big day tomorrow, ghost-hunting and all.” His brother shot him an uncertain glance but obeyed and crawled beneath the blanket.

Dean could feel the other’s eyes on him as he moved back to the table to prepare more salt-shells for their encounter with their ghost tomorrow night. When he glanced at his little brother a short while later, however, Sam was asleep.

They didn’t talk about it the next morning.
They had breakfast, had coffee - Dean watched Sam a little more than usual, almost unable to keep his eyes off his brother – but they didn’t talk about it.

The following afternoon found Dean going to a local grocery for more salt. He had just returned from his little adventure (seriously, why couldn’t the people in this damned town just put the salt where it belonged? Why the hell would it be shelved next to cake mix, for fuck’s sake?) and entered their shared room; he paused inside the doorway as he spotted Sam sitting on the room’s old couch, drinking from a pint of whiskey and watching something on television.

“Ready for a little ghost-hunting?” he asked as he crossed to set the bag with the boxes of salt on the room’s small table.
“Ready whenever you are,” the other answered.
His gaze shifted to the weapons Sam had readied in his absence, and he did a quick mental checklist in his head. He nodded in approval and added several boxes of salt to one of the duffel bags.

He turned, his brother’s name on his lips, but paused as his eyes fell on the other. Sam was sitting on the couch, head resting back against it, pint of whiskey in one hand. The younger man’s legs were spread slightly and his shirt was rucked up a bit, revealing a strip of stomach. Dean had a sudden, strong urge to move between those spread legs and straddle the other’s hips so he could tangle his fingers in Sam’s hair and –

He shook his head and turned away from his sibling, rubbing a hand over his face as he did.

“Let’s finish this job and get the hell out of this town,” he muttered, grabbing up a duffel bag and swinging it over his shoulder. He heard Sam rise from the couch as he was heading for the door.

The hunt, as it were, turned out to be both easier than anticipated but, at the same time, more frightening. The ghost woman came at them only once when they were in the house, and it was straight at Sam.

Dean expected his brother to raise his shotgun and blast her full of buckshot and salt, but Sam didn’t even lift the weapon. Dean’s eyes widened as, instead, the gun dropped from his brother’s fingers and clattered across the floor.

The ghost woman hit him hard enough to throw him back against the wall, cracking his head against the doorframe. She turned from him at Dean’s shout of, “No! Sammy!”, and headed in his direction: her aetheral form scattered as he raised his own shotgun and pulled off a quick round.

“Sam!” Dean knelt next to his brother, whom was slumped against the wall. He breathed a sigh of relief when the other man raised pained eyes to him, wincing and rubbing his head. His focus returned to Vanessa Arvin’s ghost, which was forming again at the other end of the room.

Dean leapt to his feet, shotgun at the ready, and moved across the living room. He avoided the area where the faerie dust trap had caught hold of him during their very first visit here, skirting around it to reach the mantle.

The ghost, Vanessa, stopped her advance as he jerked the old, stuffed teddy bear off the mantle.

“Let me go,” the woman raised her hands, palms up, in a pleading gesture, “It hurts and it makes me hurt others. Please, set me free.”

Dean didn’t hesitate as he jerked a lighter from his pocket and flicked it, drawing out a flame. He held it to the bear; a moment later, the fur caught fire. Once it was burning steadily, he tossed it to the floor. Dean’s eyes shifted to Vanessa as the ghost flared bright with light; a moment later, she was gone.

He turned to his brother as Sam walked up behind him; the other man was still rubbing the back of his head.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean demanded angrily.
“What?” the other shot him a puzzled look; it sent a line of fury straight through him.
“What? You threw down your fucking gun, that’s what!” he shot as he crossed the room to pick up Sam’s shotgun, which was still lying on the floor nearby.

“I didn’t!” Sam started, “I dropped it..” The younger man’s voice trailed off as Dean glared at him, and he fell silent beneath his brother’s anger.

“Do you want to clue me in on why the fuck you would do that?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder, looking away; that anger was trying to claw its way up Dean’s ribs and into his chest again, and he growled, “Go get in the car.”

There was a heavy silence during the brief trip back to their motel room, broken only by the windshield wipers throwing the rain off the windshield. It carried out of the car, through the rain and into the motel room.

It wasn’t until they were inside the motel room, and Dean had thrown his jacket in the direction of the couch and his gun on the table with a loud clatter, that the man turned to look at Sam.

“Why’d you let me fuck you, Sam?”
The other raised startled eyes to him, caught off-guard by his question, and started, “What -?”
“When I was under that spell,” he clarified, “why did you let me fuck you?”
Sam swallowed hard before answering, “To – to save you.”

“To save me,” he repeated his brother’s words as he paced the room in front of the other man. His brother nodded, and he demanded, “What the hell makes you think it’s okay for you to throw down your fucking weapon when we’re under attack? What the hell makes you think it’s okay for you to decide you’re going to let some fucking thing take you out? Do you think I want you dead any more than you wanted me dead when I was under that fucking spell?”

Sam swallowed again and whispered, “I – no.”

“Then what the fuck are you thinking?” he ran a shaking hand through his hair, the last hour catching up with him. He was far too sober for this, he realized. His brother was silent, and Dean lost both his patience and the very shaky rein he had on his temper. He found himself across the room, in Sam’s face, almost before he realized it. His brother backed against the wall, wide-eyed, and it only increased his anger.

“Answer me, damnit!” he shouted, fist striking the wall next to Sam’s head.

The younger man flinched, eyes on the floor, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry? You could have gotten yourself killed, Sam!”

Dean drew a long, sharp breath and stepped back from his brother. His fists were shaking at his sides, and he half-feared his next strike, should it come, would connect with Sam’s face. His voice was low, harsh, as he spoke, “What you did is not okay. Letting something harm you like that is not okay. You will never do that again. Ever. Are we clear?”

The younger man stared at him, and Dean repeated angrily, voice rising, “Are we clear?”
“Yes,” Sam whispered, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his gaze to the floor, “I’m – I’m sorry, Dean. Thought – thought it might be better, for you, if – “ The other’s voice trailed off.

Dean stared at his brother, tears flooding his eyes unexpectedly. The other thought he would be better off if Sam was -- He shook his head, rubbing a shaking hand over his mouth, and backed away from the taller man. “Better off?” his voice was an incredulous, disbelieving whisper, “You think I would – I would fucking shoot myself in the head, Sam. That’s how much better I would be if I lost you.”

“Dean, no,” his brother took a step toward him, eyes wide; he halted as Dean shook his head. The older Winchester grabbed his gun off the nearby table and shoved it in the waistband of his jeans as he headed for the door.

He drove around for two hours, windows down and music up, trying to wrap his head around what had happened tonight. Hell, all that had happened since setting foot in this god-forsaken town. He thought about hitting the local bar, but realized he didn’t want other people around him. He didn’t want company from anyone except his brother, and he was so upset with his brother right now that he could barely breathe for it.

He didn’t know how to fix any of this.

Half an hour later, he found himself entering the motel room again. He paused just inside the doorway, eyes searching the room, and found Sam sitting at the table. The younger man’s eyes were on him, open half-pint of whiskey raised half-way to his mouth. Sam finished the motion, took a long drink from the bottle, before placing it on the table in front of him.

Dean’s eyes never left his brother as he closed and locked the door behind him and moved further into the room.

He had watched Sam spiral since this whole curse thing, watched him withdraw and sink into self-doubt and misery and guilt. Then tonight, with the dropped gun and the ghost..

It was like a light bulb going off above Dean’s head as he watched the other take another gulp of whiskey and try to hold himself together; it was suddenly so clear to him what his brother needed. What he wanted to give the other man.

He moved across the room and Sam, seeing him approach, set the whiskey bottle on the table and pushed himself to his feet. The younger man watched him, uncertainty etching his features and hands rubbing against the thighs of his jeans in nervousness.

Sam backed away from him, swallowing audibly, as Dean advanced, and an almost predatory smile touched the older Winchester’s mouth. Sam backed up against the wall behind him, and he moved forward, into his space, to press up against him. The bigger man gasped softly as Dean slipped a hand beneath his shirt to brush it up his stomach.

“Gotta stop letting me do this to you, Sam,” he warned, fingers catching and tugging at Sam’s nipple, drawing another soft sound from the other man. He leaned in closer, brushing his mouth against the line of his brother’s jaw. A low moan escaped Sam’s throat as he nipped at a spot just below the other’s ear, and he chuckled, low and rough.

He felt the shudder that ran through the other man as he lightly scraped a thumbnail over his nipple, and a smirk touched his mouth. “What do you want, Sam? Hmm?” His fingers closed over the sensitive nub, pinching lightly, and Sam arched away from the wall, toward him. “What me to stop?”

“No,” the other man’s voice was a rough whisper, “Don’t stop.”

“You should tell me to stop, Sammy,” Dean felt another shudder run through his brother as he scraped his teeth lightly along his earlobe, “Should tell me to get my fucking hands off you and stop doing this to you.” His voice dropped another octave as he murmured, “Shouldn’t let me have this kind of power over you, baby boy.”

“Dean, please..” Sam moaned softly, body pressing forward against his, eyes closed and lips parted.

“Please what, baby? Tell me what you want.”

“You,” the younger man whispered, opening his eyes to look at him, “Just want you.”

“Sam,” he sucked lightly on his brother’s earlobe, drawing a soft whine from the other, “Sammy. Can’t, not like you want.”

“Please, Dean,” Sam turned his head to look at him, leaned in to brush a hesitant kiss against his mouth, “You can – can have me however you like. Just.. please..”

There was so much more than what he was saying written on Sam’s face, in his eyes, in the tone of his voice. Dean recognized it immediately, and it tugged hard at something inside him. He studied the other’s face (so beautiful, the thought leapt into his head, unbidden), before shaking his head slightly.

“Sam..” he leaned in to brush his mouth against his brother’s, “Sweetheart.. I don’t know that I can give you want you want from me.”

“Then use me,” the plea was almost a whisper, “if that’s what you want. It can just be.. be just sex. Please, Dean, please.”

“Use you?” he practically growled the words as he pressed up against his brother, pinning him back against the wall again, “Fuck you when I want? Hmm? Use your mouth when I want? Treat you like my toy? That what you want, baby?”

“Fuck. Yes! Yes, please. Please. I’ll – yes, if that’s all I can have, yes.”

Dean met the other’s hungry, desperate gaze, and was struck hard with a realisation: He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t simply use his brother for sex, couldn’t risk the other man walking away from him and, potentially, into the arms of someone else. Not that their hunter lifestyle gave them time or safety for that, but still --. Even the thought of his brother hooking up with someone else in the future, just for a bit of quick fun, had him seething with anger.

“No,” his voice was hard as he shoved Sam back against the wall. His brother slid down the wall a bit as Dean grabbed his wrists, pinned them above his head. “No. You – “ The older man struggled for the words that wanted to run from his tongue, “You’re mine. Mine.” Anger and possessiveness was crashing through him, trying to crawl out of him to wrap around his brother. “Noone else touches you, ever. Noone.

Sam’s eyes widened and the younger man nodded silently, staring at his face; Dean growled at the hopeful yearning on the other’s features and leaned in to crash their mouths together.

“Mine,” he muttered, over and over, as he pressed his mouth to Sam’s, kissed up along his jawline, down his throat, “Mine mine mine.” His brother was nodding, eyes closed and body pressed hard against Dean’s. When the older man scraped teeth along his throat before biting down, hard enough to mark the younger, Sam moaned and went rigid, shudders wracking his large frame.

It wasn’t until he had released his brother’s throat and raised his head that he realised Sam had just gotten off in his jeans. Dean made a sound that was close to a low purr in approval and leaned in to lick a path up the younger man’s throat. “Good boy,” he murmured, licking over the red bite mark he had made seconds before, “My good, good boy.” Sam shivered noticably at the praise, and Dean leaned in to brush his mouth against Sam’s, teasing and tasting, before slipping his tongue between the other’s parted lips. The kiss was long, slow, thorough; Dean explored every inch of his brother’s mouth, staking his claim on the other. Sam was gasping for breath by the time they parted, and Dean smiled and released one wrist. He kept his hold on the other as he pulled Sam away from the wall and, ignoring his own still-hard cock, led the other to one of the beds.

He released Sam’s wrist and tugged the t-shirt off the other, tossing it aside. He undid the snap of his jeans, taking a moment to brush his fingers over the wetness soaking the front of them, before shoving them off his brother’s hips. Sam kicked them off completely, kicking them aside with his foot. The wet, sticky boxers went next, and Dean gently shoved his brother down on the bed.

“Dean, I can.. can get you off..”

“Ssh,” he brushed his fingers over the other’s cheek, “S’okay, baby. Gonna take care of you.” He pulled back long enough to pull off his own clothes and toss them aside, before climbing onto the bed next to the other.

Dean pressed the bigger man down on his back before leaning over him and capturing his mouth again. The sound of pleasure the other made sent heat through Dean’s entire body; he loved drawing those soft little noises out of his brother. It was rather surprising how much he loved it. “Mine,” he whispered against Sam’s mouth as he nipped gently at the other man’s bottom lip. He licked at the spot for a moment before kissing his way down his throat. When his lips moved lower, reached a nipple to nip and suck at it, Sam moaned softly and arched his body toward him.

“Dean, please..”

He raised his eyes to look at his brother and hummed, “Hmm?” around the nipple he was lightly sucking. His hard cock, pressed between Sam’s hip and his own stomach, twitched as Sam pleaded, “Want to feel you inside me.”

Dean growled softly and released the other’s nipple to press light kisses along his collar bone. He kissed and licked his way down the toned chest and stomach, taking the time to nibble at any spot that caught his attention. By the time he had kissed his way down Sam’s stomach, to his groin, his brother was hard again. Dean licked his lips as he raised his head to take in the hard shaft in front of him; it was with a hungry groan that he swooped down suddenly, taking his brother’s dick in his mouth and pulling a low cry of pleasure from the other.

“Dean!”

Hearing his brother cry out his name in that wrecked voice was almost enough to drive him over the edge himself. He growled, thrusting his cock against Sam’s thigh as he sucked and licked his brother into a trembling, incoherent mess. He pulled off to shift himself down the length of the bed, shoving Sam’s thighs further apart as he did.

His gaze was predatory as he raised his eyes to meet his brother’s – Sam let out a soft moan at the look in them – and murmured, “Gonna open you up with my tongue before I fuck you, sweetheart.”

“Oh god, Dean..”

Dean let out a low chuckle as he lowered his head; a moment later, he was swiping his tongue from Sam’s balls, down to his hole. He caught hold of his brother’s thighs, pinning him to the bed, as Sam bucked beneath him.

It occurred to him as he was licking his brother open with his tongue that this had gone far beyond power games and control. His brother had become an addiction since this had all started, since that curse had driven Sam to let Dean have sex with him to save him. He had fought against it like mad, in the beginning, but he had to admit: he couldn’t get enough of the other man. Sam was his, had always been his, would always be his.

Dean’s train of thought was broken as he slipped a finger into his brother while still tongue-fucking him, and Sam arched beneath him. His own cock twitched hard, and he slipped in a second finger and began to scissor the other open.

He had just pressed a third finger in when Sam rocked back hard against him. “Please, fuck, please please please,” the other man babbled, hands clutching at the sheets and body shaking with need, “Please Dean, fuck me, please..”

Dean breathed a soft ‘fuck’ of his own and reached down to grasp the base of his dick hard, to stop himself from coming, as the other man continued to beg him. He moved to his knees, fist clenched around his cock: seconds later, he was rubbing the pre-cum-slicked head against Sam’s hole.

He pressed in slowly, trying to allow the other time to adjust, but Sam pressed back hard against him, taking him deeper. “Fuck, Sammy,” he muttered, gripping the younger man’s hip with one hand, “So fuckin’ tight, baby.”

Sam moaned his name, and it took every bit of his self-control to not come just from the sound of it. He growled and pushed in as Sam clenched tight around him, and the other cursed in pain-pleasure. Dean bit down on his bottom lip hard as he shoved into his brother, pressing deep until he was fully seated inside the other.

He groaned and gripped Sam’s hips hard enough to bruise as his brother encouraged, “Fuck, yes, Dean, yes, fuck me, fuck me please, hard.”

“Killing me here, Sammy,” he growled, eyes locked on his little brother’s face. The pleasure he saw there, the adoration in Sam’s hazel gaze when the other opened his eyes, sent his heart skittering along his ribs; he felt like his breath was being stolen from him.

“Fuck!” Dean couldn’t hold back any longer, and began shifting his hips, thrusting into the other man. Sam hooked a leg around his hip, pulling him closer, and Dean gave him what he wanted: he set up a steady, hard pace, pounding into him.

Dean was close, so close, to losing his remaining control and shooting his load. He wanted to fill the other with his come, lay ownership on him with fluids and teeth and by sucking on that pretty mouth.

“Mine,” he growled, slamming into his brother as Sam gasped out “more, Dean.” Hazel eyes met his green gaze as Sam nodded yes, whispered, “Yours, Dean, only ever yours.” He leaned down to catch his brother’s mouth with his own as he drove hard into him; moments later, he was coming, filling his brother as he fucked into him. He grasped Sam’s dick in his fist, stroked it twice as he sucked on the other’s tongue, and Sam let out a muffled cry against his mouth and began shooting in his hand.

When he had emptied himself inside the other, and Sam’s fluids were coating his hand and the other’s stomach and chest, Dean collapsed on the other man as he tried to even out his breathing.

He felt the other’s arms start to slip around him, but stop as Sam hesitated. “S’okay, baby,” he murmured against his brother’s skin, wincing slightly as he pulled his softening dick out of the other man. Sam’s arms slipped around him, and Dean smiled and pressed a soft kiss against his chest. He could feel his brother trembling beneath him, and stroked his hand up and down the big man’s side in a soothing gesture. “My good boy.”

“Dean..”

Dean raised his eyes to meet Sam’s – he pushed himself up on an elbow as he saw the trepidition on the younger man’s face.

“Did you -?” Sam hesitated, biting at his bottom lip for a brief moment, “I’m – yours?”

“Oh hell yeah,” he leaned in to brush his mouth against his brother’s, “You’re mine.”

“What .. what does that mean?”

He shifted off his brother – Sam frowned slightly as he did – and stretched out next to him, reaching down to trail a finger through the cooling cum on Sam’s stomach. The other man watched, lips parting as he drew in a sharp breath, as Dean stuck his finger in his mouth to suck his brother’s cum off it.

“Means you belong to me,” he answered, resting his hand on Sam’s chest so he could feel the younger man’s heart beating, “Means I don’t share. With anyone.” He lowered his head to nip at the corner of the other man’s mouth, “Means if anyone else lays a finger on you, I’m going to make ‘em regret it.”

Sam swallowed and nodded, eyes locked with his, and whispered, “Okay.”
Dean could see the unspoken questions in the other’s eyes, and he brushed his mouth across Sam’s again.
“Means I’m yours, Sammy,” he assured the other, sliding his hand up to cup Sam’s cheek, “Only yours. Not going to be with anyone else.”

“Even if – if you come across some pretty girl in some bar or on a case?”

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his smile as Dean smirked and told him, “You’re the only pretty girl for me, Sammy.”