Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.
season 4
Sam/Dean
established relationship
PWP / BDSM / kink
WARNING-These characters are trained 'professionals'. Do not try this at home. You may do yourself a mischief! :)
Sam smiled to himself as he wrapped the towel low on his hips. Making one final check in the mirror, he took a deep breath steadying himself before opening the door. He was excited but anxious too. He was convinced he would not be getting to sleep any time soon. He could tell from the way Dean had just sat there and mumbled a distracted, "Sure, Dude," as he had announced he was going for a shower. Dean was planning something.
He had expected to hear the bathroom door open and the shower curtain move, but as he stood unmolested under the hot spray, he ignored his disappointment, then took extra care with his grooming.
He hoped for romance but did not realistically expect it.
Opening the door, he schooled his expression and entered the main room, his eyes immediately searching out his brother. He froze then burst out laughing, "You can not be serious?" he demanded aghast. All he got in reply was a sharp, "Phweeet" as Dean blew on the whistle clasped between his teeth and lips.
Sam wanted to cry, half in humour, half in despair, at the ludicrous sight before him. The bastard had managed to keep that particular outfit under wraps. Where the hell had he managed to keep these things hidden?
Another "Phweet" and Sam moved into the room, arms folded across his chest, showing his exasperation, he asked again, "Dean? Seriously?"
But his brother just stood there. Legs braced apart, hands on his hips, dressed in that red and white P.E. Instructor's outfit from weeks ago. Sam was undecided as to which was worse, the knee socks, the head band or the nut and crack hugging shorts.
Dean stood his ground, face 'serious,' and slowly, deliberately making a show of it, reached to remove the whistle, holding it just before his mouth to command, "Winchester. Drop and give me ten!"
Sam raised an eyebrow at him.
"Now!"
Sam stared.
"Make that fifteen!"
Sam did not move. Dean was not joking. Now he was too horrified to move.
"Phwoooot!"
"Alright! Alright." But he knew he was going to regret this. Fixing Dean with an expression that promised reprisal, he knelt down in the space at the bottom of the beds.
"Phewt! You don't know what's on that carpet, Winchester!" in that tone of voice that had had the High School class so terrified. "Lay a towel down."
Pushing back to his feet, Sam just sighed, keeping the swearing inside his head. He would have known which towel his brother meant even if he was not stood there like an old fashioned recruitment poster, arm straight out pointing at his hips.
A look of enduring pain covered his face, but one more angry blast on that damn whistle and Sam pulled the terry fabric from around his hips and laid it out on the floor. Before he received another blast, he got onto hands and knees then stretched out into position, his hands and feet extending way over the ends of the towel.
"One," Dean commanded as he took a couple of steps forwards to stand close enough for his brother's dark haired head to move inches from his planted feet.
"Two," as he watched the muscles play on his brother's so damn broad shoulders.
"Three," and his eyes travelled all along the spine to that so, tight, ass.
"Four." He continued to count off the press-ups, slowly walking around the exercising figure, who was continuing to do the stated pushes, surprisingly without further comment.
"Eight, and hold." He instructed as he stopped by his brother's feet. He studied the tension in the shoulders, the biceps bulging, the tautness of that perfect ass, the tensed thighs. This was going to be a hell of a lot harder than he had thought.
The damn shorts were killing him. They had been 'figure hugging', to say the least, to be begin with but with the sight of that magnificent body slowly pushing up and down, muscles straining, bulging, flexing to his command, now, his prick was being crushed.
"Feet apart…further. Good. Now. Nine." He stared entranced, watching Sam's butt, looking at his 'final destination' openly presented to him now. Watching the ball sack rise up then drop to skim the towel, then up once more. He was far too turned on to grin, he could barely breath as he heard Sam's prick softly slap against his belly with each motion.
His brother may bitch and moan about these 'fantasies' that Dean sometimes indulged in but he always got off on them.
Sam stopped and waited for further instruction. He breathed deeply, trying to relax whilst still held up on straight arms. Fifteen press ups were nothing but slow lunges, with his legs wide, doing his best to be 'sexy' and having his balls and prick 'flapping in the wind' was making his pulse rate quicken. He could 'feel' Dean's regard behind him. Could almost hear him breathing. It was the waiting that was getting to him now. He closed his eyes, flexing his muscles to stop cramps and half expected to be 'assaulted'.
"And, relax" Dean told him as he moved around to stand with pumps just touching Sam's splayed fingers.
Sam pushed himself back to kneeling and heard a soft, "Good. Straighter." And Sam looked up at his ridiculously clothed brother but could not laugh, not at the expression he saw there. Lust, passion, possession and a hint of barely contained, violence. His prick stood to complete attention as he knelt back on his heels, straight backed.
Dean used the rubber toe of his pump to tap the inside of each of Sam's knees in turn. "Wider," he instructed. The sight of his beautiful brother now kneeling there with his knees wide, his chest and shoulders rising and falling as he waited on him, made his prick throb.
"I sense you do not approve of my apparel. You find it funny. Is that true, Winchester?"
Sam swallowed, unsure what he was supposed to reply, the truth or act the scared High School kid. He plumped for a combination. "Yes, Sir."
"Oh? And just which piece do you derive such amusement from?"
Where to start? But Sam's eyes, purposely ignoring the very evident bulge before him, were drawn to the headband. It was truly fowl.
"I see. And would you wish me to remove it?" fixing his brother with a fierce expression.
"Only if you want to, Sir."
"No, Winchester. Do you want me to remove it?"
Sam gulped. He was in trouble whichever way he answered. Dean defiantly had a plan.
"Kneel up." Dean instructed as his hand reached up to remove the offending red stretch fabric headband.
Sam watched his brother's every move as he knelt higher, toes pushing into the towel, finding his balance as that older brother swung the headband around his index finger, moving behind him.
"Eyes front, Winchester." Standing behind the younger, larger man, he ran fingers up his nape into the dark longer lengths then down along a shoulder. Continuing, he ran them over onto the arm, lax at Sam's side and, bending forwards, ran down to gently take hold of his wrist. Pulling, he instructed, having to control the tremor in his voice, "Behind your back...Now the other one." Bending the arms at the elbows, he soon had Sam's arms bent up, his hand between his shoulder blades and he used the headband to surround them, twisting once and anchoring the wrists together. It was not tight, the fabric would not stretch for another circuit but he was confident that Sam would behave as if he was truly incapacitated.
"Sir? What are you doing, Sir?" Dean could hear the arousal in the voiced question. He crouched down, his knees either side of Sam and breathed into his ear. He licked at his neck feeling his 'pupil' shiver. He stood up again and moved around to stand directly before him.
Sam looked up at Dean as he stood there with the whistle dangling on it's string from a hand, moving side to side like a pendulum. His eyes dragging up the clothed body, his mouth open, his eyes dark with both lust and uncertainty, he asked breathlessly, "Sir?"
"Do you approve of my shorts? The truth now."
"No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." He hated the fucking things.
Dean pretended to think. "If you make me soil them, I would consider throwing them out." And just stood still with hands back on hips, the whistle still swinging slightly and his prick hurting like a son of a bitch confined in the tight fabric.
Sam licked his lips, slowly, casting his eyes down. "I don't know what you mean, Sir," flexing his shoulders as if trying to break free from the bonds.
"Oh, I'm sure you do. A pretty thing like you? With your pretty little cocksucking mouth? You can't fool me with this 'so innocent' act."
"But, Sir?" all hurt innocence seeing Dean becoming impatient, seeing that threat of possible violence. He ducked his eyes, "I don't know how."
"Phweeeeet! Learn!"
So pretending reluctance, Sam leant forwards and pushed his face to the fastening covering Dean's obvious hard-on. He rubbed his cheek, his chin, his nose over the mound, repeating the action as if he was a cat rubbing at an 'owner's' hand, wanting to be petted.
Dean's lips were pressed together firmly as he held back, wanting to free his prick and just grab that head between his hands so he could force his way inside, down his brother's throat. 'Not this time', he told himself, although he remembered how Sam had cum so hard without being touched while he had 'fucked his face' the week before. No. Now he wanted to tease, not just Sam, but himself also.
His brother was obviously not falling for it, so Sam knew he had to work on him through the fabric. He was always up for the challenge. He was pretty sure it would not be that difficult, Dean was impressively swollen behind the red poly-cotton and he smirked thinking it could not be that comfortable. He opened his mouth and... so... slowly, spread his jaw wide and, twisting his head, closed his teeth over the top end of the bulge.
Dean's eyes shot wide and his fingers dug into the flesh of his own hips as Sam's teeth closed, biting at him softly. Then they opened and his head moved down to close on him again, biting with just enough pressure to cause Dean to turn his lips inwards, pressing down to hold in the whimper he would be damned if he would let his brother hear.
Sam worked his way down the 'package' then back up, this time slower and, as his mouth enclosed the largest part, he added a little more pressure, then began to suck, hard. Finally he got a reaction as one of Dean's hands latched onto the crown of his head, fingers pushing into his hair and held on tight.
Dean growled out a warning and Sam seriously went to work on him. Biting, sucking, mauling the mound, the fabric becoming darker as it soaked up both his saliva and Dean's pre-cum. Back to pushing his face up beside the thing, his breath panting as he, too, felt it, the growing tension, the expectation. His own cock left wanting and unattended, he groaned as he sunk lower, forcing his face even more to the side, his neck stretching invitingly.
Hips beginning to push against Sam's face, his mouth, Dean's free hand reached to scratch at the expanse of neck. Sam knew him well, well enough to please him. The stretched neck was so vulnerable and it always sent a thrill through Dean that Sam would give himself up to possible pain, knowing that Dean sometimes craved inflicting it more than Sam craved receiving.
But now Dean was the one almost in pain. He leant his head forwards taking in the whole image of his brother on his knees, arms tied behind his back, working on him, doing everything he could under the current rules to bring Dean off.
Sam straightened his head, his chin pushing into the lower portion of the bulge, his mouth and face squashing against the rest and he pushed and pushed, his rhythm quickening. Opening his mouth, grinding his face against his brother, he heard the near angry moaning, so opened his mouth wider and completely surrounded Dean's prick, biting hard and sucking all at once.
Dean grasped Sam's head and hair tightly, pulled him off then, pushing him back, slapped the face staring up at him hard and came inside the tight red shorts as he watched Sam shrink back onto his heals away from him, his head turned as if afraid to look at him.
Fuck that hurt. Sam closed his eyes and stayed bent to the side. Breathing deeply, he got his emotions under control. He always had to remember that he allowed this because Dean occasionally got off on it. He held in his anger as there was no place for it here. He would have his revenge. It was hidden in a brown paper bag under the back seat of the Impala.
"Winchester!"
And Sam swung around to the front and 'fearfully' looked up at the 'Instructor' from under his long dishevelled fringe.
"I suppose you want your reward now?" Damn! He loved it when Sam looked at him like that, all fearful and anxious. Even more so as he knew his brother was quite capable of wiping the floor with him.
"That would be nice, Sir."
Undoing the belt, popping the button on the shorts, he finally unzipped, desperately keeping silent, the sigh of relief only sounding in his mind. Pulling the opening apart, exposing his somewhat tender prick he said, "Clean me."
Kneeling up high once more, Sam looked at Dean, then at his 'reward' and licked his lips, no pretence this time. No matter his often seeming reluctance, no matter his sudden flashes of anger and resentment, Sam loved it when Dean was like this.
Because Dean could not get enough of him. Dean could pretend he was in control all the time but Sam knew very well that in these type of games, it was always the submissive that was in control. At the moment, Dean needed this way more than Sam and that was what turned Sam on so much, his brother's dependence on him, his need. Dean was not the only one that needed to be needed.
His mouth was watering before his lips even made contact to give a soft kiss to Dean's lax but still slightly swollen shaft. He took his time, this was his reward after all. He licked, tasted, suckled, running his tongue over, under, around the cock, taking in Dean's cum, swallowing all he could find. Constantly having to lick his lips and chin as he became covered in juices, Dean's and his own spit.
Dean was moaning softly, swaying backwards and forwards, a hand resting, cradling the back of his brother's head. His eyes closed as he repeatedly pushed his hips forwards, gently against the mouth doing such a job on him. He was almost trembling and felt himself responding again, slowly, almost painfully.
He wanted Sam to remove his clothes but did not want to let him loose. He half opened his eyes peering at the bed and knew, he definitely did not want Sam's hand free. Sam's mouth was talented but he did not think his teeth would be up to the challenge of getting these shorts off. He grasped his brother's hair again, this time gently and encouraged his head back.
Sam let out a groan of complaint but watched eagerly as Dean stepped back and, crossing his arms, caught the edge of his polo shirt and pulled it up and off over his head. Dropping it by his feet, he then tucked thumbs into the waistband of the butt hugging shorts, undeniably soiled now, and pushed them down swiftly. He swallowed hard. His brother's body was beautiful at the best of times but as he knelt here, his own hard-on practically yelling at him, Sam knew his eyes shined with adoration. The vision stood before him was perfection. Apart from the knee socks and pumps of course.
Considering the amount of attention he received, Dean should never have a moment of doubt, his ego pumped up practically every time a woman, attractive or not, eyed him up. But it was the look in his brother's eyes that made him feel that way, that he was beautiful and more, that he was worthy to be loved by someone as fantastically hot as his brother. Sam was knelt before him practically in supplication and his offering was wonderful to behold.
Crouching down before his brother, Dean placed a hand underneath Sam's ball sack and gently weighed it in his hand. His face close, he stared deep into the lust blown hazel eyes as he very deliberately tightened his grip watching his brother bite his lips and his eyes widen then close. "Don't you want to say anything to me?" he breathed out onto the tooth caught lips.
'Yes', Sam thought. 'Stop teasing and fuck me, you bastard!' But he just shook his head, letting out a small whimper. Dean pushed his fingertips up behind his balls into that, so sensitive area, causing Sam to suck in his breath, rising high onto his knees. He did not pull away but fell forwards onto Dean, burying his face in his neck. "Please," he begged.
Pushing his left hand up into that rich brown hair, Dean held Sam's face to his neck as he, none to gently, wrapped his fist around the straining cock and began to jerk his brother off. Sam was soon thrusting into the tight hold, his mouth open on Dean's neck, his breath warm and rapid.
It was over quickly. Sam only just managed to get into a rhythm complimenting Dean's hand and he came, crying out against the lightly stubble coated skin. Dean held onto his hair, keeping him close as he shuddered. Fuck, but it felt good. Dean had kept him on the edge for what felt like hours and it was worth every second but he knew the evening was not over. Not with Dean's own prick beginning to grow once more against Sam's belly.
Standing, bringing his brother, with some effort with him, Dean latched his mouth onto Sam's, kissing what little breath he had out of him. He devoured him, both hands pushed into the dark locks, pulling his head down to where he could get at it.
Sam tried to wrap his arms around him but he was still bound and his struggles against the headband caused Dean to end the kiss and turn him towards the bed. "No..." he said plaintively but Dean just pushed him down over the end of the bed, face first on the bedspread, his ass in the air.
Moving to stand between his brother's legs, Dean grabbed hold of his thighs and pulled them apart and back, forcing Sam to reposition just as Dean wanted him, legs bent, kneeling once more but with his body flush to the bed, knees wide, his feet and arse hanging over the edge. He ran his hands over the lower back, up his sides and over the bound arms and wrists. He knew the little 'no' had not really meant he should stop. If Sam wanted him to stop he would use their 'safe' word. He could not actually remember what it was, neither having ever used it, but was sure he would recognise it if he heard it.
Reaching around the strong thighs, Dean spread his hands holding them fast and placed his cum covered prick at the waiting hole. Using his brother's own cum as lube, he pushed his crown against the puckering and eased forwards.
Sam forced his face to the side so he would not suffocate as, legs forced wide and hands still bound behind his back, he felt the fingers digging into the flesh on his inner thighs and gasped as Dean's prick burst through his ring to jamb into him. Not far, but far enough for him to grit his teeth and fight, trying to pull away from the shaft that always felt so fucking huge when Dean did not bother to prepare him. He would have appreciated a finger fuck first, before the slamming, he knew from this position, he was in for.
Once he was safely inside, Dean released his harsh grip on the fleshy inner thighs and ran his hands in circles over the ass cheeks he was trapped between. He watched, savouring the sight of his prick disappearing into that tightness and the almost strangled sobs escaping his brother. He continued to caress the plump mounds, pulling them apart to watch as his prick slid further and further inside as Sam's rapid clenching relaxed to allow him ingress.
Half encased in the tight channel, Dean leant backwards, throwing his head back as he savoured the constriction and the soft whimpering he knew Sam was trying to conceal but was failing at. He recognized that this must be uncomfortable for his brother, if not a little painful. He forced the butt higher as Dean balanced his knees against the bed. Sammy would feel the burn for hours, if not longer. He grinned.
Hands fisting within the red stretchy fabric, Sam considered just pulling them free. But then Dean pushed all the way into him and he felt like he was being rent apart. The friction was almost grating, what little lube, if it was lube at all, was barely sufficient for the job. The angle gave Dean one of deepest penetrations they could get and, having his ass pulled up as Dean stood straighter, just put pressure on his chest and opened him up to the hard advancing prick even more.
At the slightest relaxation around him, Dean leant forwards and saw Sam trying to shift his arms as his legs also moved, trying to find a more comfortable position. Letting go of the thighs completely, he bent over and began to massage the shoulders, then the arms which must be aching by now. "Winchester. Do you like that? Does that make it better?"
"Yes, Sir. Thankyou, Sir."
"Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better, Winchester?"
"I don't know, Sir. What would you recommend, Sir?"
"Perhaps you should exercise your thighs."
"Would that help, Sir?"
"Oh, I'm sure it would."
So, slowly, Sam began to flex his thighs and legs, making himself move forwards slightly then push back. Damn, it was fucking hard to do. Not only the position making it difficult without the use of his arms to pull himself forwards, but even that little movement made sensations coarse up from his taut, invaded anus, all through his body. It was torture, a torture that he repeated over and over, each time desperately trying to move further, to be able to push himself back further onto that prick inside him. It was painful, it was making him moan and gasp, and he wanted nothing more at this moment than for Dean to tell him how good it felt for him.
Yet again Dean thanked Sam in his head for being so damn strong, for being able to do what he was doing, for being willing to do what he was doing. It could have felt humiliating, it could have been impossible. He himself doubted he could do this, at least for so long, without screaming and begging for it to end.
He ran his fingers over the arse cheeks again marvelling at the sight, that arse sliding forwards and back along his buried shaft. Only slightly, barely even an inch but, oh, the feeling was intense. All the better for hearing the strain in his brother's grunts, knowing he was willing to do this for him. "Beautiful," he told him softly, resting a gentle hand in the hollow of Sam's back unknowingly giving him the validation he was craving.
"That's so much better isn't it?"
"Y…Yes,…Sir….But, Sir? It …arrhh…it would be so….urnnh…so much …..better if…y…you ….could help…..me, Sir. Please…help me, Sir."
"Okay. But only because you asked me so nicely." And hearing a soft suspicious groan, he asked, narrowing his eyes, "What was that, Winchester?"
"Thankyou, Sir." And he groaned louder, one of desire and frustration, not a repeat of derision that had slipped out. Sam prepared himself for the onslaught.
Smoothing his palms over those buttocks onto the thighs, Dean once more reached forwards and around to grasp at the inner thighs. Spreading his fingers, ensuring a sure grip, he shifted his legs slightly then lifted Sam, pulling him backwards fully onto himself then stilled, eyes closed and breath held. He did not want to hurt his brother but, damn!
The bed swallowed the almost scream forced from Sam's mouth as he bit at the sheets, that first deep powerful thrust, although expected, still shocked. The fingers digging into his flesh harshly as he was pulled onto Dean as Dean thrust into him just the safe side of savagely. His toes curling, his feet could find no purchase hanging over the end of the bed and his arms clenched and flexed along with his fists which he so wanted free to also grab at the bed.
He twisted himself, his face to the left, the side of his head taking the brunt as his hair ground into the sheet with each rapid forwards movement preventing friction burns on his face. Dean's prick was stretching a long grove inside him, rubbing continually over the same, quickly inflamed spot. The sound of Dean's balls slapping his flesh, his own tightening, drawing up as the movement forced his own prick to fuck at the, thankfully, smooth fabric of the bedspread. Gasping, chocking, sobbing, his head pushing deep into the mattress, Sam came, tears adding to the dampness from his open mouth on the sheet.
Dean revealed in the spasms around his prick, Sam's whole body convulsing before him, around him. He continued his near violent thrusts, the hot tender flesh silken against the hood of his prick as it continued to push into the wall of Sam's arse. The constriction as the channel pulsed made him grind his teeth as he felt his own balls let him know they were ready.
He did not want this to end but Sam was practically sobbing and, looking at his red, tear stained, pleading face made Dean shudder, a shiver shooting down his spine to end as if exploding inside of his brother as his cum shot deep into Sam's body.
He dropped the thighs to the bed without releasing his grip and bent forwards, crowding over the trembling sweat shimmering body and, relaxing his shoulders, just breathed as his prick gave a final slight convulsion then lay still, hot swollen and nicely sore, feeling Sam's still rapid heartbeat in the pulse against the side of his exhausted shaft.
As he slowly regained some semblance of sanity, Dean slowly and carefully slid from Sam, causing his brother to utter that whimper he loved so much, full of relief but also regret as Dean left him. He collapsed to his knees, his cheek coming to rest on Sam's right buttock.
Closing his eyes, licking his lips, he savoured the moment while both of them just lay, sated, silent save for small gasps and heavy breaths. Neither spoke, just felt. His fingers relaxed their torturous grip on Sam's inner thighs, allowing the blood to flow back, to begin creating the dark bruises he knew he had painted there.
Tomorrow, or the next time his brother allowed him anywhere near him, Dean would spend hours just caressing those marks, kissing, soothing over the abused skin. Touching, licking all of Sam's savaged flesh and most intimate parts. He would make his brother come apart over and over again. Dean knew just how to send the younger man into multiple spasms of ecstasy just by his mouth, the one that could not help but smile now as he rested.
He let his hands slide up over Sam's still bent legs, massaging slightly as he inhaled those smells that were pure sex. He could faintly smell the lube but more, he smelt his own cum and that musk, Sam's most private scent. It was strong and rich, lush and dirty. Rude dirty, not unclean. The kind of sex deep, I can't believe you let me do this, but thank fuck you did, kind of dirty. The kind that now had Dean kneeling up and placing an open mouthed, hot wet kiss, sucking up the skin on the buttock that had just been his pillow.
If it was not for all the damn aches and pains, the screaming burn in his ass, Sam thought he would be in a coma now. He groaned as Dean's touch left him completely. Then smiled as he felt a kiss on his butt. He slowly began to twist, wanting up from the bed but found he could not move. If he had pulled a muscle in his groin, or top of his thigh, again, Dean was going to be in a world of misery.
Standing up and stretching, Dean saw his brother's failed attempt to move and immediately went to him.
Untying Sam's wrists Dean spent time massaging them, then his arms all the way up to the shoulders. Sam had been in the extreme position for a fair while and Dean rubbed and pummelled his skin and muscles. Once he had finished with the arms he moved onto the legs. Standing back off the bed he gently caught hold of Sam's left leg and helped him straighten it out, then onto the right.
With his arms now lifeless over his head, Sam just enjoyed the sure touch and felt the blood begin to circulate and bring slight pins and needles which Dean's firm massaging quickly repelled. He ended kneeling over the bed and those hands travelled up his back, circling out onto his shoulders and down his sides to linger on his buttocks and thighs. A smile twitched at his lips. Dean was ensuring that Sam was okay but he was enjoying himself too.
Sam could have gone to sleep kneeling there over the end of the bed, satisfied and feeling well 'used'. But Dean's hands were gaining pressure and exploring now much more than massaging. Obviously there was to be more to this fantasy, especially as he could feel that damn whistle dragging along his skin with his brother's movements as it now dangled from the thin rope around his brother's neck.
Dean stood back and just stared at that fabulous ass presented before him. Would he never be able to get enough of fucking his brother, making him whimper and squirm beneath him? He wanted to take him again, now. He took a breath instead. It was not that often that they, or rather, he went at Sam so hard. Sam was much more romantically inclined and, although Dean was sure his brother would not turn him down, or away, he knew that this had to be an equal relationship. In the sex department at least.
He was the older brother after all and, therefore, naturally that gave him inalienable rights over his younger sibling. But not in this. But still he wanted to play. He glanced down and saw the whistle and grinning, taking another step back, looked at Sam's closed eyes and, picking the silver whistle up took a breath and, "Pheweeettt!"
Sam practically leapt up off the bed. His eyes closed, he had been pleasantly drifting, thinking about the meal he was going to make Dean take him out for, and then dancing, a real date for putting up with this. "Winchester!" he heard. "No slacking. Stand to attention when I'm addressing you."
Rolling his eyes, confident his brother could not see, he bit his tongue on the comment he was thinking about the army and the fact he was not in it. Not the official U.S. one at any rate. He stood, almost painfully pushing himself up from the floor, and turned to face Dean and waited. Damn, he ached. His arse was pleasantly burning but his thighs were killing him. Not literally, but he could do without anymore 'stretching games.'
Dean, stood once more with his fists on his hips, looked the figure up and down. His eyes ran up to the other's dark hazel ones then back down to his brother's prick. Making sure his brother was paying full attention to his face, he pointed to the offending prick. "Looking a little slack there, Winchester."
Erm, just what was he supposed to say to that? Give him chance. He may be a little 'slack' but that was because he had cum smeared up his stomach from less than twenty minutes ago, "Sorry? Sir?" with a shy ducking of the head, wondering where this was going next.
"I think you need some motivation. Do you agree, Winchester?"
"Erm…Yes, Sir." And he looked at Dean in a way he had cultivated years before, first to get the odd candy bar or the last of the cereal and more recently, to get Dean to do just what he did next.
Dean could not take that expression on his brother's face a moment more. Stepping forwards, he grabbed Sam's face, pulling it down to be kissed. He kissed him with passion, strong lips thrusting, tongue tasting, finding every part of the welcoming mouth.
As Dean showed no signs of ending the kiss or even releasing his face as he was furiously 'devoured', Sam's hands came up to grasp at Dean's waist. He thrust his tongue into his brother's mouth only to have the hands on his face move upwards to grab a painful hold on his hair as his tongue was repulsed and forced back into his own mouth.
Once Dean had won that 'battle', he coaxed Sam into duelling with him then he caught Sam's tongue, closing his jaw slightly and his lips hard. He sucked, he sucked on Sam's tongue and did not give up his hold, either on the tongue or the hair until Sam's cock was pressing hard between them, pressing against his own.
Sam's hands had moved up, clutching at Dean's back as his knees began to weaken at the sensation of Dean sucking on his tongue, hard, as if the man was trying to swallow him. Then suddenly, nothing, and he was tipping backwards, the edge of the bed digging in behind his knees and he stared up in shocked surprise.
"Grab the headboard, Winchester. Arms over your head." And Dean knelt on the end of the bed between Sam's legs, creeping up as his brother crawled backwards until his head hit the aforementioned headboard and he reached back grabbing hold.
Dean, in turn, grabbed hold of those thighs again and pulled, sliding Sam down the bed closer to him, lifting his legs, letting them bend slightly at the knees. His arms wrapping around the outsides of the tensing legs, his fingers dug into the flesh on Sam's inner thighs once more, spreading them apart as he shuffled closer on his knees preparing to sink into him, lifting his butt onto his lap.
"Please, Sir. Not again. Please. Can we do something else? Please?" and he looked up into the blazing green eyes, begging that Dean would not fuck him again.
Dean looked down into the pleading eyes of his brother. His fingers tightened their grip, no doubt hurting the bruises already forming on Sam's thighs that would be livid come morning. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to ignore the plea and sheave himself again. Sam would be hot, still loosened from the previous onslaught, he could call it nothing else. He had fucked his brother hard and now Sam's asshole would be reddened, sore, swollen and hot. He stared into those eyes as Sam did not speak, did not ask again.
Burning up himself, but with lust, Dean did not realise for a moment the sudden grip on his heart he felt watching his brother laying before him, waiting on him. Sam did not want him to enter him again but he would not stop him. If Dean was set on 'taking' him for a second time, he would not put up a fight, he would grit his teeth, continue to hold onto the headboard as instructed and bear it.
Barely containing the rush of emotion he felt, the love, he asked, his voice strained and husky, "And what would you suggest, Winchester?"
'Thank fuck for that.' Sam thought to himself, letting out a sigh in relief and relaxed just a little. Licking his lips, he said, "I don't know, Sir. Maybe I could, you know, take you in my mouth?"
"Would you like that?"
"Oh yes"
Dean seemed to consider. Looking down at Sam's prick, which appeared to have lost much of its interest in the proceedings, he came to a decision. "Winchester? Have you ever had sex with a male before."
'Just what did he think they had been doing for the last hour and a half, and nine years?' he decided to act coy but honest. Dropping his eyes as if unable to look at him as he answered, Sam said. "Yes, Sir. A few times, Sir."
"But have you ever done it with a real man!" said with a cocky grin and massive ego.
Sam turned to look blatantly into Dean's eyes and with a slight smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, stated, "No. I haven't"
Dean just stared him out. "Bitch," he added.
"If you say so, Sir."
"Fine. But I think you'll need to be 'stronger' than you are. Maybe you should do something about that." Nodding at his prick, dropping Sam off his knees as he slid from under him and off the bed.
Letting go of the headboard and propping himself up on elbows, Sam watched Dean leave the bed wondering if he had pissed him off. But Dean was soon back, stood at the bottom of the bed, hands back on hips. Sam was getting tired of it now. The whistle was pressed between his brother's lips again.
Slowly, deliberately, keeping eye contact, Sam lay back down, his right hand almost languidly running the back of his fingers up his side and onto his chest. Dean was stood staring intently, the silver coloured piece falling from his lips as he watched mesmerised. Sam's long digits circled lazily on his stomach them began to slid down the centre grove of his muscles to circle around his navel then continue on to rub lightly up and down in the short hairs on his belly.
As soon as Dean had knelt back on the bed, knee either side of Sam's legs, he let his hand descend and wrapped his fingers loosely around his shaft. On all fours Dean crowded over Sam, the whistle dangling to lightly bump against Sam's hand as it travelled up and down, curling around then back on his growing shaft.
Sam's left hand reached back and grabbed hold of the headboard so as to not grab at Dean's head as he ducked down to lick at the tip of Sam's prick. He did not move his hands, or take the prick into his mouth. He just kept licking at the end, nipping at it as he could when Sam's hand descended and left him room.
His hips beginning to twist from side to side, Dean had enough of playing. He reached and grabbing hold of Sam's wrist, forced it away from his prick and walking on his knees moved up his brother's long body and pushed his hand to join the other over his head. Sam lay there stretched out beneath him, arms over his head, mouth open and panting slightly as Dean settled himself on the tensing belly, the prick hard between his butt cheeks. He had to swallow in case he began to literally dribble.
"You are so fucking beautiful, Sammy." And as he ran his hand over his brother's chest, that brother knew the fantasy was over, this was Dean, his brother Dean, that was caressing his nipple, that was leaning down to kiss him.
Sitting back, Dean smiled at his brother as he reached to the side and picked up the bottle of lube. Sam smiled back, his fingers idly twisting on the bar on the headboard as he watched his brother. He longed for those smiles, the genuine smiles. Not the grins or the smirks, the 'I'm gonna fuck you' smiles or the 'don't even think about it' ones. No, just the genuine, 'I'm smiling because you make me want to' smile. It was the rarest but truest smile he ever got to see on that face, so beautiful to him too.
His thoughts stuttered and his whole body arched up as a hand slick with lube grabbed his prick and pumped it vigorously as Dean lifted up off him and, moving his hips, guided Sam's prick to rub over his asshole then Sam bit his lips, his knuckles turning white as he fought not to cum there and then as he felt his prick push against, then push past Dean's still tight ring. "Stop!" he yelled, head throwing back.
Dean barely heard him over the pounding of blood in his own ears. Fuck! That had hurt a hell of a lot more than he was expecting. He had slicked Sam up well and he was so ready to get fucked now, so damn ready. He had figured he had not fingered Sammy open, so he should be just as tight and constricting for him. It was only fair. His thighs quivered as he held himself still, fighting the urge to pull off. "I'm okay," but sounded anything but and forced himself down a little further, glad that Sam had his eyes shut and could not see his face.
Sam was more than panting, he sounded like he was in an antenatal class. "Stop… fucking... moving!" his whole body arched up off the bed, his hips thrusting up into Dean despite his words. His prick wanted what his mind knew it should wait for. It was a damn good job Dean had already forced him to cum twice or he would have shot it there and then.
Dean put his hands on Sam's chest as he tipped forwards. He berated himself. He never fucking thought these things through. Stretching his neck, he looked up and saw Sam's hands twisting on the headboard, his fingers and not just his knuckles white from gripping so tightly. He let out his breath and, leaning his head, tucking it under Sam's chin, he forced himself to relax. Concentrating on the feel of his brother's skin beneath his hands, his breath ruffling his hair, he shifted his attention from the cramping pain in his arsehole and basically gave Sam the 'full cowgirl.'
"Dean? Are you okay?" concern in Sam's voice as Dean did not move. He brought his hands down, one to cradle the back of his brother's head, thumb massaging, the other to stroke along a leg bent next to him. Dean pushed himself up, looking into Sam's face. He nodded and slowly sat back causing Sam to hiss.
Oh, but that was so much better this time. He continued to gaze down into his brother's concerned eyes and gently shifted from side to side, seeing the light in Sam's eyes change to renewed lust as the prick inside him fully hardened once more. He smiled softly and began to move forwards and back then circling his hips, teasing them both.
Whatever had been wrong with his brother was obviously forgotten now as Dean continued to grind on him. Sam's hands travelled up and down Dean's thighs and, looking up at the concentration on his brother's face, he bit his lips and, hands smoothing up, grasping hold of Dean's waist firmly, sat up. Taking Dean by surprise, he managed quite easily to flip him onto his back, but slipped from him in the process.
What the..? Dean was now looking up at Sam towering over him, head hanging, his eyes in shadow. He said nothing as his legs were positioned one at a time, lifted up to rest on his brother's shoulders and then his butt was grasped and pulled up onto Sam's lap as he knelt back. It was not lost on him that Sam now 'took' him in the same position he had intended. He threw his arms over his head to hold onto the wooden bar of the headboard and arched up as Sam's, not inconsiderable prick pushed back into him, sliding in unimpeded and welcome this time.
Kneeling up, pushing deep inside, Sam ran his hands up Dean's right leg, now bent slightly. His fingers caressed behind his knee as rolling with the slow but powerful thrust, lifting Dean with him, he rubbed his face against the leg, his skin against the cotton of those damned knee socks his brother still had on. He laughed lightly and decided to continue to indulge the man in his fantasy. But the pumps had to go and were quickly pulled off and thrown to the far side of the room, hitting the wall, and he laughed loudly in pure delight at the sudden disgruntled expression on his brother's face.
But this was going to be a long, slow ride for them both, rampant passion spent, this was the time to truly experience the joining of their bodies and to take their time. Sam turned his face to begin nipping at the socked leg, with his teeth pinching just hard enough for Dean to notice.
Dean's other leg fell back loosely enough for his ankle to rest on Sam's shoulder and he watched as, with eyes closed, Sam also made love to his leg. The thrusts into him now were gentle but thorough, lifting him, rocking him back onto his shoulders with each one. He smiled in wonder as Sam rubbed his face onto the sole of his foot, then holding it with one hand, opened his mouth and closed it over Dean's toes.
He dragged in a breath, at not only the feel of that damn mouth over his toes, now sucking through the sock, but the sight of Sam's face, now a superior porn movie all in itself. Dean's mind went into sensory overload as Sam's 'spare' hand enclosed around his prick and began to lazily caress and pump in time to the actions on his foot. "Fuck!... Sam," he breathed out.
Sam smiled around the digits in his mouth. He too was watching his brother's face. Seeing the pleasure evident, he continued on, but left hold of Dean's prick and cradled the gloriously rounded buttock which seemed to fit perfectly in his large hand. Holding tighter, Sam strengthened all his action, mauling, sucking at the foot harder, pulling Dean onto him more as he thrust a little harder, a little faster. He watched Dean intently.
Dean groaned, his head rolling back onto the bed, his hands dropping down, losing their hold as his whole body pushed onto that prick sliding so intensely along the front of his rectum. He did not know what to do with his hands, his breaths coming louder as Sam intensified his pace.
"Awe, Shit. Sammy!...I….Sam…Fuck."
And that was what Sam had been watching for, for Dean to begin to loose coherence. He surged up, thrusting deep into Dean as he threw the left ankle off his shoulder and hands surrounding, grasping Dean's right leg, pulled it to him causing fingertip bruises of his own as he began to fuck into the body helpless and practically suspended from his own.
Dean's hands scrambled for purchase against the bed, his left leg useless as he was pulled onto Sam just as Sam was fucking into him. Helpless and gasping, he grabbed hold of the headboard again and closed his eyes as he fought to remember every detail, every sensation he was experiencing. His prick almost painfully slapping, first his belly, then onto Sam's.
Sam pulled on the thigh harder, his head rubbing still against the cotton sock. His hips snapping back and forth, he truly fucked Dean, faster and faster, short sharp thrusts ensuring he never left the hot, still tight, cocooning silk.
He could not keep this up, so his movements slowed but lengthened then he shifted, his right arm encircling Dean's hips and back and, still with the leg tight to his body, he knelt back on his heals pulling his brother with him, stretching his whole body out as Dean refused to give up his hold of the headboard.
Still Sam moved within him, his thrusts slowing but the head of his prick repeatedly pushing, rubbing against the same spot over and over, knowing it would 'do it' for Dean. He left off holding the leg that had no where else to go and rubbed his hand over the muscles on Dean's torso, prominent now, and caught up a nipple between his fingertips. He rolled the nub, feeling it tighten and Dean let out a sharp gasp. He squeezed again, hard.
"Fucker!" Dean could not help but curse through clenched teeth and Sam suddenly surged forwards onto him causing his grip to slip and him to collapse down with a whoosh of breath just before his mouth was captured and his brother sucked the rest of the breath out of him.
Sam fucked Dean's mouth with his tongue as he began to fuck into his body once more. The new position gave him greater leverage but would be a killer on his brother's leg, still wrapped in Sam's arm, bent almost back to his body, cotton sock waving in the air with each thrust. He forced his free hand between them to grab and torture Dean's other nipple just for good measure and to make up for that damned whistle trapped between them, digging into both equally. He was used to feeling the small hard lump of his brother's pendent but that damn whistle was 'not long for this life'.
Dean could not take anymore provocation and, as his nipple was cruelly twisted, the muscles in his buttock at ripping point and Sam's prick wearing a grove inside him, he came, panting into the mouth that still would not release him. His body tried to arch but had no where to go, pushing up against the weight trapping him. He ripped his mouth away, forcing to the side, and dragged in air as if he was drowning.
The orgasm surging through the body beneath him was almost violent in the convulsions it caused in his brother. Deprived of his mouth, Sam's latched onto Dean's neck stretched invitingly. His jaw wide, his tongue pushing at the pulse he could feel, he bit down, hearing Dean groan either in pain or pleasure. He did not know which and cared even less as Sam sucked the blood to the surface, marking his brother for all to see and came also, snapping his hips forwards as hard as he could and sank down, hurting Dean, just as he knew the man relished, although not nearly as much as he relished hurting Sam.
He lifted his head and looked at Dean. He let go of the man's leg and it landed on the bed with a thump as if felled. Slowly Dean turned to look back at Sam, his arms lying loosely over his head. He saw the worry in the hazel eyes and he smiled up at him. Sam, now smiling too, relaxed and bent to lick at the angry 'love bite' he had left on Dean's neck. He was going to kill him when he saw that. Licking his lips, Sam tasted copper. Crap! Dean was going to go postal. He had promised him he would never do that to him again. And Dean did not even know about the other blood. Shit!
But that was for later. Right now, he smiled again gazing directly into the happy green eyes and slid out of Dean feeling the short gasp his brother gave against his wet lips. Sam rolled and collapsed onto his back, side by side, lifting up as Dean pushed him to get his bent leg back. Staring up at the ceiling, he too dropped his arms over his head.
It was a damned good job that they had no where to go, or anything to do. Sam did not believe he would be able to move 'till a week on Monday'. His whole body felt like he had been racked, his limbs pulled to snapping point, his arsehole pleasantly burning still. He did not even have the energy to get under the covers of the bed. They were trashed anyway. He smiled to himself.
Dean's feet tapped together as he rocked them from side to side, away then back together, as he watched the cotton socks. It was the only movement he could manage. Letting even his feet flop, he stared up at the ceiling then turned his head to look at his brother. Sam was smiling, gazing upwards. Dean grinned. If he felt anything like he himself did, he should smile. He got a twinkle in his eye.
Sam did not notice at first, he thought he was imagining it but no, it was real, quiet but real.
"Phewt... phewt... phewt...
Phewt... Phewt...Phe...wtt
Pheeeewt... Phewt ... Pheeeewt
Phewt... Phe..wt... Phee...eewt ...Phee.. eewt... Pheeeeewt!"
Sam even thought he recognised the song. He turned to look at Dean. "Seriously. That whistle has got to go!"
"Phuuweeett?"
"Dean, I swear. If you blow that fucking thing one more time, the next time you hear it, will be when you fart!"
Dean raised his brows at Sam, the whistle still clamped between his teeth. He grinned, took in a breath and...
-=end=-
A/N... and the first person to mail me with the correct title of the song...I will write a story for you.