Tricia (juxtaposefantsy) wrote,

"My Brother's Keeper" -- finished!

Holy moly, this is nothing but a smut-fest. It's reeaallly porn-y and I apologize for that. I wanted more story but having only seen two episodes, I'm kind of limited. But, I did what I could. This part is double the size of the previous chapter which means you'll be tortured with smut for a long time, lol.

Anyway, thanks to everyone for making my first excursion into Supernatural a fun one!

Title: My Brother's Keeper part3
Author: Tricia
Pairing: Sam/Dean in this part, baby
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: spoilers for 'Skin'. Dirty incest smut, ack! spanking, knifeplay, D/s, etc.

part 3


The next morning when Sam awoke -- or more accurately when he decided to give up trying to sleep -- Dean was still in bed, face buried in the pillow. The sheet was bunched around his hips, allowing the weak morning sunlight to spill over the contours of his back and pool in the curve just above his hips. He looked peaceful and content.

And hot.

Sam rose up onto an elbow. He couldn't see Dean's face, so he presumed Dean couldn't see him. Last night's tossing and turning seemed stupid in the light of day. Sam firmed his jaw and gave himself permission to look. He let his eyes roam over Dean's naked back with an interest that was beyond idle curiosity, beyond that of best friend -- beyond that of brothers. Or of a young man who'd previously considered himself straight.

Getting over the straight part was easier than the rest. Sam had spent time in college. He had an open mind, although admittedly he never thought he'd need to apply it to his own orientation. But he could deal with it. Maybe he was just bi. Bi was okay. It didn't close any doors prematurely.

It was the other that had Sam's heart thudding against his ribs. The brother part. Things like this weren't supposed to happen between brothers. Not between him and Dean, anyway. They had enough on their plates to have to deal with this, too. Being incestuous on top of everything else seemed a bit superfluous.

But Sam couldn't deny his interest in his brother. He admired the lean musculature in Dean's shoulders. He visually traced the dip of Dean's spine as it led down beneath the sheets at his hips. Sam stared at the V of his brother's back and imagined himself looking down at it as he eased himself between Dean's legs . . .

Sam's cock throbbed, wanting. Needing. I know this is wrong. But I can't stop it.

Unease drove him out of bed and into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower and pushed his face beneath the spray, half-hoping he could drown himself, half-hoping he could wash these incestuous thoughts out of his mind.

The water tickled his nipples and drizzled off the tip of his hardened cock. He leaned back out of the spray and closed his eyes. He wrapped his hand around his cock. He stroked it. He heard Dean's moans in his ears; he saw Dean's face against his eyelids. It was Dean's name on his lips when he came. Sam opened his eyes again and he was shaken. But not as much as he should have been.


When he woke, Dean played the too-drunk-to-remember card.

"I hope she was hot, whoever she was," he groaned theatrically before stumbling to the bathroom without a single glance at Sam.

Sam told himself to be thankful. Even though technically nothing had happened last night, things could still be weird between them. He now had knowledge about Dean that shouldn't matter, but somehow did. Sam had taken that knowledge and used it to fuel a fantasy that had no business being in his head.

But he could be practical about it. He could have all the taboo fantasies he wanted, as long as they remained fantasies. Dean would never have to know what kind of a pervert his younger brother was. And Dean would never need to be nervous and anxious when they were together the way Sam was.

Nor as inexplicably excited.

Once they were both dressed, they checked out and headed for a nearby pancake house. It was small and warm. The smells wafting from the kitchen made Sam's stomach growl as they slid into a booth. After giving them a few minutes to look over the menu a waitress sidled up to their table, pad in hand.

"What can I get you guys?"

Sam pointed to the laminated menu. "I'll take the Cowboy Omelette."

Their waitress, a very young girl who looked like she might be a senior in high school smiled and nodded. "That's a good one." She turned to Dean. "What about you?"

"Assuming this is all that's on the menu," Dean said with a wink at her, "I'll take the short stack of pancakes. Blueberry syrup, please. Oh, and coffee."

The girl blushed. "I'll be right back with that."

Dean leaned his elbows on the table. He groaned as he massaged his temples. "God, my head hurts. Sammy, don't ever let me drink tequila again. You gotta look out for me. Your brother can be a stupid, stupid man."

"She's not your type," Sam said quietly.

"Doesn't matter. It was a one-night stand."

"Not her," Sam said impatiently. "The waitress."

Dean groaned and continued to rub his head. "She's cute, how can she not be my type? I'm an equal opportunity kind of guy."

Sam stared hard at him, his hands curling into fists beneath the table. "I mean it. She's not your type."

Dean chuckled, his head still bowed. "Sammy, any girl who's hot is --"

"She won't hold you down and fuck you the way you want to be fucked."

Sam's heart stopped.

A spoon clattered somewhere at the counter. The cook slapped the bell as he slid another order into the window. Every sound in the restaurant seemed amplified, including Sam's shallow breaths as they forced themselves past the sudden constriction of his throat.

Dean slowly lowered his hands from his head. His eyes slanted up warily, as if he had just come face to face with the Boogeyman. "What did you just say?"

Sam swallowed. He saw a path unfolding in his mind. He'd come to a fork. Which road are you gonna take, Sam?

He took the chickenshit one.

"I-I was there, remember? Both times. You like to be with dominating women."

Dean's eyes held steady. "Okay. I admit I got a kink there. But the way you said --"

"Our waitress isn't the type to do that," Sam interrupted hurriedly. He threw a fake grin at his brother. "I'm just trying to save you some time, man."

It was the lamest excuse ever, and he could tell that Dean didn't buy it for a second.

A blur of yellow came up to the table, carrying with it the smell of strong coffee. "I forgot to ask -- what kind of toast did you guys want?" The waitress filled the coffee cups already on the table.

Her reappearance made Dean drop his eyes. Freed from that intense gaze, Sam leaned back in the booth. "Wheat, please."

"I'll take white," Dean muttered, picking up his butter knife and studying it as if it were engraved with the directions to their father's hiding spot.

"Okay. Your food'll be right up."

Sam ignored her as she left. His eyes were for Dean. Words crept to the tip of his tongue. He tried to swallow them down, but they slipped out before he could stop them: "What did you think I meant?"

A dull flush rose to Dean's cheeks. Sam was caught aback, not by the fact Dean was blushing, which was a rarity, but by how much Sam liked seeing it. Dean was always confident in everything he did. To see him flustered over something Sam had said made Sam lean forward, an unexpected aggression pumping through his veins.

"What do you think I meant?" he repeated doggedly.

"I thought you --" Dean looked up, his gaze briefly touching Sam's and then darting away, "-- I thought you meant I liked to get fucked." He hesitated, a muscle in his jaw rippling. "By a man."


Dean had said it. He'd gone and said it. Now that it was out in the open instead of hiding in Sam's brain, Sam experienced a dirty sort of thrill like when he accidentally got a peek at a woman's breasts or saw up her skirt. His jeans tightened. His balls drew up. He fought for the words, tried to say, "Well, do you?" But he couldn't bring himself to say it; he couldn't push himself that last step that would tear away the veil.

"Why would I say something like that?" he asked instead, impressed by how calm his voice sounded.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it. He picked up the knife again and appeared to be looking at himself in its reflection. "I don't know why you would say that. It's crazy, right? You'd never say -- or think -- something like that about me." He looked up again, that weird intensity in his eyes again. "You'd never think I wanted that. That I wanted a man to do what those women did to me."

The waitress showed up again. "Here you go, guys. Enjoy."

Steaming plates of food were set in front of them. The omelet smelled really good, fresh and savory. But Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from Dean to look at it.

"No," he said carefully, studying Dean suspiciously. "I'd never think you wanted that."


At their second stop for gas they learned through the newspaper of a series of gruesome murders which sounded like the work of a shapeshifter. Dean declared they would go and investigate and Sam, his mind preoccupied with other things, let him make that decision.

It turned out to be an ugly, messy affair. It was a shapeshifter, alright, and once again he and Dean found themselves tromping through dark, watery tunnels. But unlike the last time, neither of them were caught and tied up, although it was at the back of Sam's mind as he raced with Dean through the darkness.

When they cornered the thing, Sam had to resort to the shotgun. The resulting explosion was disgusting, to say the least, but thankfully Dean ended up wearing the majority of it.

"Fuck, thanks again," Dean groused as they sloshed back through the tunnels in the direction of the Impala. He wrung his hands of slimy shapeshifter guts. "If I didn't like my pancakes so much I'd puke them up. This is totally gross, Sam."

"You knew I only had the shotgun. I don't know why you chose to stand so close to the thing."

"I didn't think you were gonna shoot while I was standing right there! You could've hit me!"

Sam smirked. "Lucky for you I hit what I aim for."

They finally emerged into twilight and relocated their car, parked in a culvert. "Alright fine," Dean conceded reluctantly. "It was a good shot. And I kinda liked that you went all Rambo when you yelled like that."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I got carried away, didn't I? I just really wanted it dead."

"Nah, it was cool. Like I said, I liked it. Macho tough guy is a good look on you."

Sam swiveled his head in surprise. Dean smirked at him. "Assuming it wasn't a one-time thing, of course. You gonna turn back into my nerdy little brother?" Dean's eyes drifted from Sam's face to his hands. He cocked an eyebrow.

Sam followed his gaze and realized he was unconsciously stroking the barrels of the shotgun he held. Flushing, he lowered the weapon. "Don't underestimate the power of nerds," he joked nervously. "Just like Clark Kent, you think you know me, but you really don't."

Dean snorted dismissively. "Riight. Sorry to break it to you, Sammy, but you're an open book. If you had a secret I'd be the first to know."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, inexplicably pissed by the remark, but knowing he'd be stupid to argue it.

At the Impala they opened the trunk and tossed in the gun. Dean peeled off his jacket with a grimace and flung it in with the weapons.

"I need a shower." Dean shook his head like a dog's, flinging bits of shapeshifter in an arc. He laughed as Sam cursed and ducked behind the cover of the car. "Come on, Sammy. Let's get a room so I can wash this stuff off." As he opened the driver's door he added casually, "We can grab some chips and beer and watch some porn."

Sam fumbled with the door handle on his side. "No hot date tonight?"

Dean didn't look at him. "Why bother? I've already got myself a Rambo."


Sam listened to the water running. He could hear the difference when the water hit the side of the shower and when it hit Dean's body. Every time it hit his brother's body, Sam grew harder.

He had an opened bag of Frito's in his lap, using it to conceal the bulge in his boxers. It had been Dean's suggestion that they strip down for bed even though it was still early in the evening: "A coupla brothers sitting around in their underwear watching porn," Dean had cajoled. "It'll be the bonding experience we never had."

Sam chugged more beer, hoping it would help. The television was on ESPN for now since Dean had demanded they wait to watch the porn until he was clean and in his bed with his own beer and chips. A part of Sam hoped the rebroadcast of a really good game would come on the TV and they'd watch that instead.

The other part of him couldn't wait until Dean got out of the shower.

The faucet squeaked and the water shut off. Sam listened to the screech of the shower rings as Dean pushed the curtain aside. Dean wouldn't take long. Maybe three minutes at the most. Between Sam's thighs, his cock pulsed hard and heavy with anticipation.

He put the beer bottle to his lips again when the bathroom door opened and Dean stepped out, a towel clutched low around his lips. From over the top of the amber bottle Sam watched his brother walk to the foot of the second bed where a pair of briefs was laid out. He watched, wanting to see what Dean did, wanting to confirm something in his mind.

After a short hesitance, Dean turned his back modestly on Sam and dropped the towel. He tugged the briefs up his hips and over the taut curves of his ass.

"Why so shy?" Sam asked conversationally. "Did you take a cold shower and now your dick is an inch long?"

Sam's own dick was rigid because he knew. He knew.

Dean chuckled, the sound awkward. "It's more like I didn't want to make you feel bad that you got the short end of the stick in our family."

Sam set his beer on the nightstand. "Okay. As long as it's that. I was afraid you were just flashing your ass at me, hoping I'd bite."

Dean shrugged stiffly before climbing up the bed. He kept his eyes averted. "You wish, dude."

Sam only smiled and narrowed eyes.

Dean quickly brought his knees up to his chest as he leaned back against the headboard. He grabbed the beer Sam had set out for him and drank half of it in one toss of the head.

"Ahh," he gasped appreciatively, smacking his lips. He grabbed the remote from Sam's side of the nightstand. "Now for the ladies."

The basketball game was abruptly replaced with two young women with fake breasts and a hairy older man with a huge gut.

"Yuck," Sam protested immediately.

"Yeah, not my scene, either," Dean muttered. He clicked the channel. "There we go."

Sam's eyes fixed on the screen. Two young jocks were in a locker room setting, doubling up on a brunette cheerleader who was straddling a bench and blowing each of them. Sam's stomach somersaulted as he noticed the men were standing shoulder to shoulder, so close they could reach across and stroke each other. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Better."

They watched the scene unfold on the screen without another word to each other. There was enough moaning and dirty talk coming from the trio on TV, anyway. Sam discreetly pushed the bag of chips against his groin, seeking relief as the cheerleader rolled over onto her stomach on the bench. One jock took the front of her while the other took her back end.

"Oh, man," he heard Dean mutter as the jocks slid into her at the same time. "That's hot."

Sam gulped and just nodded. He was finding the action arousing, definitely, but he was also having trouble deciding on whom he should focus. He wanted to concentrate on the woman because that's where he was supposed to be looking, but his eyes kept straying to the guys, studying their bodies and cocks. They both had great bodies and boasted the impressive equipment that was necessary in the porn industry. But Sam wasn't as interested in them as he thought he should be, considering the direction his thoughts had taken these last few days.

When the guy receiving a blowjob from the cheerleader suddenly fisted his hand in her hair and ordered, "Suck it. Suck it hard", Dean moaned softly. Sam's cock went completely rigid. The chips bag would no longer balance in his lap.

He glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye. Dean had a hand between his legs. Sam's mouth went dry. Blood roared in his ears. He raised his eyes --

-- and met Dean's.

A thousand reasons why he shouldn't do what he was about to do screamed through Sam's mind. But funny how not a single one of them was enough to stop him.

He slid out of bed, the chips bag dropping to the carpet, forgotten. Dean immediately moved his hand from his groin. "What's up, Sam?"

Holding his breath, Sam walked to the end of his brother's bed and then stopped at the foot of it. He watched Dean's eyes flick uncertainly from his face to the imposing tent in his boxers.

"That's some wood you're sporting there, Sammy." Dean's words were teasing, but his expression didn't hold amusement. He looked nervous and scared and oddly calculating.


"It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Dean licked his lips anxiously. "What do you mean?"

"You wanted to turn me on, wanted to push me." Sam looked meaningfully down at his own erection. "That's what you've been doing, isn't it, Dean? Pushing and pushing, hoping I'd finally break and give you what you want."

Dean shook his head, sudden awareness flooding his features. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sam understood what his brother was going through. It was one thing to entertain the idea in their minds. But to be on the brink of having it come true . . .

"How long, Dean?" Sam kept his voice low. Intimate. He found satisfaction in the shiver that traveled up his brother's body. "How long have you wanted this from me?"

"Sammy . . ." Dean's voice cracked as he turned his face to the side. "Sammy, I'm so sorry. So sorry . . ."

Sam could barely hear him for the thunder in his own ears. "How long have you wanted it, Dean?" His voice ended in a whisper. "How long have you wanted to be fucked by your brother?"

Dean groaned and shut his eyes. "Ever since I found you again."

His distress over what he'd set in motion, oddly enough, eased Sam's own discomfort. Having Dean be the one to lose it made Sam feel stronger and more certain of his own motives. Everything was brought into sharp, crystalline clarity.

Slowly and deliberately, Sam hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down. The elastic caught on his erection before his sex sprang free, hard and throbbing. He stepped out of his boxers and placed one knee on the bed.

"But you want more than that, don't you?" he asked. "More than to be fucked?"

He felt dirty and maybe even a little bit evil to be talking this way to Dean and yet it made Sam's whole body break out in goose bumps of excitement. This was so wrong.

He'd never done anything hotter.

He grabbed Dean's ankles and pulled them down and apart in one smooth move. Dean gasped and whipped his head around, looking shocked to find Sam naked and on the bed with him. There was a wet spot on the front of his briefs.

Sam could feel the tip of his own cock brushing his abdomen as he began to crawl up the mattress between Dean's legs. He was so nervous his stomach flip-flopped wildly and his breath rushed quickly in and out of his lungs. But he felt alive, so damned alive, and Sam could not think of another thing in this world that he'd rather be doing.

He laid his palms on Dean’s shins and slowly slid them up his brother's legs as he moved upwards. Golden hairs tangled around his fingers as he dragged his fingertips up the inside of Dean's thighs, tickling and teasing like he would a girl.

Dean made a soft sound. His hands fell to the mattress where he grabbed fistfuls of the sheets. Sam held Dean's gaze as he crawled up as far as he could between his brother's legs. He leaned forward and smiled slightly when Dean closed his eyes and turned his face away again. Sam breathed hotly over the flushed pink cheeks of his brother.

"Beg me," Sam whispered. Beneath him Dean shivered violently. "Beg me for what you want, Dean. Maybe if you're good . . . I might give it to you."

"Fuck," Dean moaned. "Sammy . . ."

Sam brought his lips to Dean's cheek. "That's a start," he breathed. "Now tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell me everything."

Dean's hips lifted. The wet spot on his briefs grew larger. "Touch me."

Sam gathered his courage and then cupped Dean between the legs.

"F-Fuck!" Dean gasped, arching and pushing himself up into Sam's palm. "Oh, Sam -- oh, Sammy --"

"Yeah," Sam choked out, his own cheeks suddenly flaming with arousal. "That feels good, doesn't it?" He squeezed the hard tube he felt beneath the cloth and was rewarded with another gasp from Dean. The rush of power Sam felt was heady. He began to massage his brother's cock with increasing hunger. "Let me hear you, Dean. Tell me how it feels to have your brother touch you like this."

Dean panted. "So good -- so good, Sammy."

Sam looked down to watch what his hand was doing. He couldn't believe he was groping his brother's cock but more than that he was amazed that he wasn't sickened by it or turned off. In fact he was harder than he could remember being and they hadn't done that much.

That needed to change, he decided.

On the nightstand was one of their knives. Sam picked it up. The sound of its hilt scraping briefly across the laminate top made Dean open his eyes. They widened when they saw Sam holding the weapon.

"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at the blade.

Something in his voice made Sam pause, reconsidering. Keeping his eyes on Dean's face, Sam leaned back and brought the blade of the weapon to Dean's waist. He slipped his finger beneath the waistband of Dean's briefs and then used the knife to saw through the material until it gave way with a soft snap. Still watching Dean, Sam lightly dragged the tip of the knife across the mound of Dean's erection. "You like this?" he asked as he traced the plump head of Dean's cock through the cotton and then stroked the shaft with the sharp side of the blade.

"Oh . . . god." Dean tensed, his eyes locked on the progress of the blade. They both watched as his cock lengthened and finally shrugged off the mantle of his underwear like a chick breaking out of an egg.

"You're a real pervert, aren't you?" Sam asked, his voice free of malice. If anything he was utterly fascinated by Dean's secret kinks. He'd never had a girlfriend who was kinky, so to learn that Dean was turned-on by all of this . . . Excited, he slowly moved the blade to Dean's opposite hip and cut away the rest of the waistband. He grabbed the freed material and yanked it up and off of Dean, causing him to hiss as the cotton caught beneath his scrotum.

But Dean didn't tell him to be careful. Or to stop.

Instead, Dean lay panting harshly beneath him, pupils dilated and cock twitching as it hugged his abdomen. "Touch me, Sam. Please."

Touch. Touch bare skin. Touch Dean where a brother wasn't supposed to. Touch Dean.

Considering all the crazy things they'd been through together, this didn't seem that bad.

Sam lightly wrapped his fingers around Dean's erection. It was hot and smooth and felt, unsurprisingly, like his own. Breathing a little easier, he tugged once, drawing his fist from the dark brown pubes to the smooth, red head. Just to see what the reaction would be.

It was everything he wanted it to be. Dean cried out, his shoulders arching off the headboard, fingers clenching in the sheets. Encouraged, Sam repeated the motion downwards and then back up again. He was startled when his fingers encountered wetness at the tip. But he liked it.

"Is this what you want?" he rasped as he began to stroke Dean with slow, tight strokes intended to fuel the burn rather than put it out. A beaded pink nipple caught Sam's eye and without thinking about it he bent his head and sealed his lips around it. He suckled and laved it, moaning when Dean stabbed a hand through his hair and clutched him close. "This what you want?" he asked again, panting against Dean's spit-slicked nipple. "Tell me, Dean." He caught the nub between his teeth and pulled it away from Dean's chest.

"Yes, yes," Dean panted as he squirmed beneath Sam. "Oh, shit, Sammy, I can't believe . . ."

"Believe it," Sam growled in a voice he'd never heard himself make. "Tonight you're mine."

Dean moaned.

Sam fumbled blindly for one of Dean's hands. He pried it from the sheets and shoved it at his own cock. "Feel me, Dean," he ordered roughly as he began to stroke Dean faster and harder.

Sam groaned against Dean's chest as firm, masculine fingers curled around him. "Oh, god, yeah. That's -- that's going inside you, Dean. Jesus, tell me that's what you want." Please!

"I want it," Dean replied with passion while he fisted Sam's cock. "I want every inch, little brother." He laughed breathlessly. "Or make that, not-so-little." His fingers fluttered teasingly over the head of Sam's cock.

"Shit!" Sam shut his eyes, desperately holding off orgasm. His balls were tight and drawn up all the way against his body. Having Dean like this -- it was so unbelievable the thought alone was nearly enough to set him off.

He managed to control himself, though. He wanted more than a hand-job from Dean. Oh, yes, he did.

He pulled back from where he'd been chewing on Dean's nipples. He was pleased to see them red and swollen and wet from his mouth. Still smiling, Sam slid the knife he held up to Dean's throat.

Dean stiffened and stopped stroking him. "What're you doing?"

"Have you ever had a man force a blowjob on you?" Sam asked softly, but his voice held a dark edge.

The spots of color on Dean's cheeks bloomed brighter. "No." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing dangerously close to the blade. "Are you going to force one on me, Sammy?"

"Don't move."

He pressed the knife to Dean's throat and bent down. Dean's cock stared back at him, smooth, wet and pulsing in his hand. For the first time, Sam was grateful for that one experiment with Eric Waters in junior high. Thanks to that, he knew this wouldn't be so bad.

Dean made a garbled sound as Sam sucked him into the hot cavern of his mouth. Dean grabbed at Sam's hair to ride the bobbing of his head but beyond that Dean didn't move. He couldn't, with the knife at his throat, and Sam could tell by the steady leaking across his tongue that Dean was getting off on being held motionless while Sam did this to him.

Sam closed his eyes and savored this. This was Dean, his big brother. Dean, who'd taken care of him when their father had been too obsessed to remember to do the domestic things like changing a diaper or making dinner. Dean, the beautiful man Sam had tried not to notice, yet had been acutely aware of since the minute he found Dean in his place, asking for help.

He hollowed his cheeks and sucked the way he used to tell Jess to suck him. He let spit fill his mouth and he used that to lubricate his way down to Dean's groin and then back up again where he massaged the tip with his tongue. He could taste Dean, salty and bitter. He could smell Dean, too -- musky, hot and sweaty like a man got. Sam breathed deeply of him and shuddered as arousal tried to get the best of him again.

He moved his free hand up between Dean's legs. His fingers slid through the saliva and precome that slicked Dean's cock, gathering up the moisture on his fingertips. Sam lifted his head, letting the hard organ pop free.

"Do you deserve to be fucked, Dean? Tell me."

Dean arched his neck, pressing himself into the blade until a single bead of blood welled and spilled down his throat. "I do," he gasped. "I deserve to be fucked hard, Sammy. Teach me a lesson. Teach your big brother not to fuck with you. Fuck my ass, Sammy. Do it!"

Holy shit. The stream of dirty talk shocked Sam for a split second but he quickly got over it because, hell, he loved dirty talk.

"Is that right, Dean? Do you need to be taught a lesson?" Sam pushed his spit-slick finger against the furled ring of Dean's ass, holding it there without penetrating it. "Do you need something up your ass to come, Dean? Something bigger than what all those women could give you? You want my big cock?"

"Please," Dean keened, trying to push himself into the finger without decapitating himself in the process. "Put it in me, Sam. I need it."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, his eyes roaming covetously over every inch of Dean's sweating, heaving body. "But not this way." He rose to his knees and tossed the knife to the other bed. "I want you face down. I can get deeper that way."

By the way Dean's eyes almost rolled up into his head, Sam feared his brother would come right there. Fortunately Dean resisted, his wet cock still straining upwards and now drooling into his navel.

"On your face," Sam ordered in a low voice he only used during sex. "Ass up, Dean. I want to see what I'm getting."

Dean groaned and rolled over with an eagerness he usually reserved for chasing demons and spirits. Obediently he pushed his face into the pillow and thrust his ass up, legs spread.

It was a scene from a porn, and Sam's body responded appropriately. He stroked himself slowly as he admired the spread globes of Dean's ass. They looked tight and pale and the puckered hole between them --

Sam extended his hand and ran his slick fingers down the crease to finger the pink hole. Dean's breath hitched. His back arched, opening him further.

"Have you done this before?" Sam asked him.

Dean's guilty silence made Sam suddenly sick with jealousy. "Who?" he demanded, grabbing Dean's hip with his other hand and digging his fingers in. "How many?

"Just one," Dean admitted in his deep voice. "I was trying to pick up this girl in Cincinnati. When it was just me and Dad. She shot me down and this older guy bought me a sympathy drink. I'd never done anything like that before. Honest, Sammy. But he pressured me and --"

Sam's stomach churned. "Did he rape you?"

"No," Dean quickly assured him. "No, I wanted it. It was . . . intense."

Sam released his breath, relieved beyond belief. Most of his anger drained away with his anxiety. "So this won't hurt you, then."

Dean rotated his hips. "Only in a good way, Sammy." He hesitated, and then pointed to his jeans draped over the chair by the window. "I've got lube."

The quiet, almost shamed announcement made Sam grip the base of his cock tightly. "You were expecting this?"

"Not expecting. Hoping."

Sam wanted to laugh. All this time he'd been played and he'd had no idea. He drew his hand back and slapped Dean on the ass before leaning over his back and murmuring into his ear, "Good think you're such a Boy Scout, Dean, because I was going to take you with just my spit."

He laughed inwardly as Dean seemed to weigh how badly that would hurt. "Forget it, Dean. We're using lube." He leaned over the side of the bed and snagged Dean's jeans. He found a small travel-sized packet of K-Y and tore it open with his teeth.

"No condom," Sam announced as he slicked up his cock. "I'm filling you with my come and you're gonna like it."

"Shit, yes." Dean spread his legs wider. "Hurry."

Sam spanked him again. "Don't tell me to hurry. You're lucky if you get me, Dean. You've been tricking me this entire time." And the impact of that -- that Dean had wanted this and had been trying to coax him into giving in -- made Sam feel ten feet tall and fully in control of his brother.

He studied the handprint he'd left on Dean's ass and then spanked his other cheek. Dean groaned and shifted restlessly. Sam guessed his cock was as hard as a rock beneath him.

"What a pervert you turned out to be," Sam murmured, almost to himself. So this was what happened to a young boy who dedicated his life to helping his father fight the supernatural. Who would've guessed?

He spanked Dean again just for kicks -- and because he liked how Dean's skin pinkened -- before sliding his forefinger back and forth over his brother's entrance again. Stomping down his nervousness, Sam poked the tip of his finger against the wrinkled skin and exerted pressure.

Dean hissed as his finger slid in smoothly. Feeling more confident, Sam pulled it mostly out and then pushed in again.

"Fuck me," Dean breathed. The skin of his back was sheeted with a light film of sweat. "Just do it, Sammy. I want to feel it."

"I know you need to be stretched more." Sam added a second finger, stretching the ring as best he could because no matter how much Dean wanted it he wasn't going to hurt Dean that way. "It's going to be tight --"

"I want it that way," Dean groaned against the pillow. "Just fuck me already, or does your big brother need to show you how to do it?

Sam glared at the back of his head. "You want to be fucked like a bitch, Dean?" He withdrew his fingers and grabbed Dean by the hips. He placed the head of his cock against the gaping ring. "Try not to scream," he growled.

He flexed his hips and pushed inside, boring forward, unrelenting, holding Dean still when he tried to pull away with a stifled cry. Sam knew it was hurting Dean and a part of him hated having that knowledge. But he also knew Dean wanted it this way. Maybe it was penance Dean thought he deserved for instigating this situation. Whatever it was, Sam was willing to give it to him.

He clamped one hand on Dean's trim hip and the other on his shoulder, pulling him back while Sam forced his way inside him. By the time his pubes came up against Dean's ass they were both breathing heavily and Dean was shaking all over, his back muscles trembling beneath the skin like the ripple of a river.

Sam took a moment to catch his breath and then leaned over Dean's sweating back, instantly plastering them together. He moved his hands to beside Dean's head as he found Dean's ear and whispered, "How does it feel to finally have my cock up your ass? Can you feel me?" Sam flexed his cock, making Dean jerk and whimper. "Is it everything you wanted, Dean? Is this your fantasy?"

"Yes," Dean moaned, curling his fingers on the mattress. "Oh, god, Sammy, I can feel you in my ass . . . so big."

"Now you're going to feel me in your ass fucking you the way you've been asking for it." Keeping his intimate, restraining position over Dean, Sam drew back his hips. Dean moaned as he withdrew but then he all but screamed when Sam slammed back inside to the hilt. "Yeah," Sam groaned, slightly dizzy from the intense squeeze on his cock that was like nothing he could remember, "take my cock, Dean. You're my bitch tonight, aren't you?"

When Dean just gasped, Sam thrust into him again, rocking them both forward. "Say it," he demanded. "Admit you're my bitch, Dean. Say it!"

Dean cried out at the thrust. "I'm your bitch! I'm your bitch, Sammy. Oh, god, just keep fu-ucking me."

"I'm not gonna stop," Sam rasped. He grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and shoved his brother's face into the pillows while he fucked him even harder.

Dean cried out or moaned with every thrust, his voice muffled by the pillow. Sam reached for Dean's cock to make sure his brother was truly into the rough treatment. The hard, dripping shaft he found between Dean's legs was all the proof he needed.

"You love this," he gasped, ridiculously pleased. "You love it, Dean."


The headboard slammed against the wall. It was too late to shove a pair of socks back there, and really, Sam liked it. The rhythmic thudding made him even more aroused, as if each heavy bang was testament to how completely he was dominating Dean. Loving that thought, he smothered Dean with his body, rubbing himself all over Dean both inside and out. He'd found Dean's prostate on the third stroke and after that Sam was like a squatter on a gold mine -- he never left that spot, making Dean writhe and squirm in desperation beneath him.

"This is how it's going to be . . . from now on," he panted into Dean's ear. Sam pushed himself in to the root and held himself there, rotating his hips to move his cock around Dean's insides like he was churning butter. Dean sobbed beneath him, his interior muscles clutching Sam spasmodically. "I'm fucking you every night, Dean. There's no turning back. . . You're mine."


The sudden, violent constriction around Sam's cock made him gasp in surprise. The pleasure was so intense it made his entire body convulse. He couldn't stop it then: he threw back his head and shouted as he climaxed inside Dean. The muscles around his cock continued to milk him. Dean must be coming, too. It made Sam so happy to know he'd given that to Dean that he collapsed onto his brother's back and held him closely as they rode out their orgasms together.

When it was over, when they could breathe again, Sam waited for the disgust to roll in. He'd just had dirty, nasty sex with his brother. He'd just thoroughly dominated and fucked his brother stupid. He had to be disgusted. What other option was there? To be ecstatic? To want to do it again?

Yes, and yes, because that's exactly what Sam felt as he carefully slipped out of Dean and dropped to the mattress beside him.

He gently pushed the pillow from Dean's face. "Hey. Are you okay? I didn't -- I didn't hurt you, did I?"

A slow, quiet chuckle was his answer. One of Dean's eyes cracked open. "Sammy, I didn't know you had it in you. Or that you'd put it in me," he said with a smirk. "Damn, dude. If fucking were an Olympic sport you'd get the gold."

Sam released his breath. He lightly punched Dean's shoulder. "Yeah? Well, if being a horny bitch was a sport you'd be the number one draft pick." He laughed with Dean and eventually sobered, though the smile didn't leave his face. "So all this time, you were just fucking with my mind, huh? You knew what I was going through."

"Yeah," Dean said softly. "I didn't mean to cause you any stress, but, well, yeah, I wanted you and I couldn't just come right out and ask you, you know?"

Sam nodded. He fiddled with the sheets. "So, uh, do you have any other secrets I should know about? I mean, we may as well get 'em all out in the open now."

Dean smirked. "I have a few. What about you?"

Sam grinned. "Remember when you said I was an open book? Well, you were wrong. I'm not a book, I'm a magazine. A porn magazine."

Dean rose up on his elbows, sharing his grin. "Do, tell, Sammy. Do tell."

Sam licked his lips. "You're gonna love the centerfold . . ."

The End
Tags: fanfiction, supernatural
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