Hello again all. I know many of you are wondering when I'll be updating More Than a Feeling, and I'm sorry that this isn't a new chapter. I was rereading Cursed (to be followed by More Than a Feeling) in order to get back into the writing groove when suddenly this idea popped into my head and the more I read, the more insistent the idea got until here we are with Crave, Dean's version of Cursed. If it seems repetitive, that's because it is. All of the dialogue and scenes from Cursed are present. Though I may include additional scenes, the current idea is just to give Dean's perspective on the events. For anyone who has not read Cursed, this may be read as a stand-alone fic. There is slightly more back-story on the witches in Cursed, but everything is explained in this version of the story. As with Cursed, there will be three chapters and an epilogue.

This fic is rated M for GRAPHIC brother sexing. Seriously, if you're not down with Wincest, don't read this fic.

Dean writhed on the floor, glaring at the brunette witch who had cursed him. She was casually sitting on one of the motel beds, buffing her nails. All he wanted was to get up and drive a knife through her heart, but he couldn't. Literally, he couldn't physically get up. From the moment they'd walked into the motel room, he'd been under her control. Goddamn witches. A few muttered words from her and we was boneless on the floor while she got around to casting some real magic – the curse he was currently suffering from. The very one that had his blood singing with unfulfilled lust and his whole body hurting right down to his bones. His cock throbbed from the confines of his jeans, begging for release.

As bad as he was feeling now, he wanted to stay at this part of the curse. The next part, as she had explained, involved his brother, Sam. He was the only one who could see him through the duration of the curse – which would apparently last for seventy-two hours. His own brother would have to get him off over and over again. His stomach roiled at the thought of it. If he could've talked, he would've actually begged her to stop this – no threats, nothing. If he could've, he'd have gotten on his knees and pleaded with her to at least leave Sammy out of it. But it wasn't possible. If he so much as tried to get vertical, she just slammed him back down against the floor. Couldn't even beg because she'd stolen his voice.

I'm going to enjoy killing you so fucking much.

She smiled blandly as she admired her nails. "This really is your own fault. If you and your brother had just minded your own business, you wouldn't be in this predicament, now would you?"

They stayed like that for almost two more hours. Dean could hardly think. It was like his brain was shorting out. Only a tiny fragment was working and it only had a single thought in it: sex. He felt like he was going to burst, like his bones were going to shatter apart, if he didn't get relief. He wanted to touch himself – even if the fucking witch was sitting right there – but the last shreds of his self control kept him from doing it. Not out of any kind of modesty; while they sat there, she had told him all the rules of her curse. One of those rules was that he wouldn't be able to get off without Sam, period. He'd only make things worse for himself if he tried to do it. Given how much pain he was in, he wasn't willing to risk testing the theory.

Finally she stood up and smoothed her skirt down. "Well, I think it's time for me to go. If I'm not mistaken, I think I hear your brother coming. You're nice and warmed up for him now, Deano." With a cackling laugh, she disappeared from the room.

Immediately, Dean felt lighter. No relief at all from the surging need inside him, but he at least didn't feel like a weight was physically pressing him into the ground. He moaned out loud as a wave of lust-pain shook him. Yep, voice was back. Now it was just him and his sex curse. He jerked to look at the door as it started to open.

Him, his sex curse…and his brother. Fuck.

Sam stepped through the door, hazel eyes instantly assessing the room. He frowned hard as he took in Dean on the floor.

God, it was like Dean could smell him. Leather from riding in the Impala, smoke and beer from the bar, musty book smell from research, something else that just resonated as Sammy in Dean's lust-addled brain. And he looked…appealing. Dean had never once had a sexual thought about a guy, but his dick throbbed at the sight of his enormous brother. Oh fuckity thanks, witch, a distant part of his mind said, you made me attracted to my baby brother.

He wasn't aware of Sam shutting the door, but his shout of "Dean!" did pull him out of his head. Dean cried out as Sam charged across the room. He rolled away, trying to get his body under his control. He had to get away from Sam. It was actually worse now with Sam there. The bathroom. He could lock himself in. Fuck the curse. He couldn't let Sam – They couldn't do that. They couldn't.

"No, Sam," he clenched out between his teeth. "Stay over there." If Sam touched him, it'd be game over, willpower gone.

"What's going on? Who did this?"

His body wasn't coordinated in the slightest. He'd been so tensed up for the last however many hours that his legs and arms didn't want to straighten out. "Fucking…witch!" It was hard to put words together. Everything hurt but at the same time every part of his body was screaming for sex. His brain wasn't handling the influx of mixed signals very well. He twisted around, trying to get himself under control and alleviate the pressure inside him.

"He was here?" Dean could only shake his head, too invested in the arduous task of getting into a crawling position to tell Sam about the witch. He started crawling towards the bathroom.

"Listen, this really isn't – " As Sam cut off, Dean realized he was on the phone now. He was only half paying attention, but he caught the words "hex bag" and figured the bitch must've decided to call and fill Sam in. Either because she expected Dean to be too reluctant to do it or too incoherent. He flushed with shame as he realized she was telling his brother how they would have to have sex with each other for days in order for him to survive this. "So, what? I'm just supposed to buy him half a dozen hookers to get him through this?" If only.

After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the bathroom door and threw it open. If he could just lock himself in – the half-formed thought cut off as Sam approached him. He looked up at him, his back against the doorframe. "No, Sammy." He would never ask this of Sam, not ever.

"It's alright, Dean."

The younger man took Dean's biceps in his hands to pull him up, but Deans hook his head hard. He strained away from Sam, but couldn't break away. "Can't let you do this, Sam. 'S wrong." It took so much effort to talk. Part of him just wanted to beg Sam to touch him. Even through his layers of shirts, his arms burned where Sam's hands touched, the pain in that area lowering to a simmer.

"Yeah, it is," Sam agreed. Dean had to think hard to remember what he was agreeing to. "But we're just going to have to get over that." Sam hauled him up and Dean could do little to resist as he was manhandled onto the bed. Lying back on it, the bulge in his jeans was blatantly obvious; even in his current state, he didn't fail to notice the flush that rose in Sam's cheeks. God, what was going to happen would honestly be easy for Dean, at least in the moment, but for the clear-headed Sam…this was going to be torture. And it was going to be easy to let Sam touch him. He flushed with shame as he realized how badly he craved Sam's big hands on him again. It was entirely fucked up, not something he'd have ever wanted without the curse, but there it was.

He looked up at Sam and caught his eyes trained on the tent in Dean's jeans with something that could definitely be described as disgusted horror. His face flamed – he'd never blushed like this in his entire life – but he was quickly distracted by a wave of pain that had him curling in on himself. He gritted his teeth. "Find some girl." The witch could be lying. Though the attraction he was feeling to his own brother suggested that wasn't the case.

"That won't work," Sam said in an infuriatingly reasonable voice. "It has to be me."

"She could be lying."

"She could be. But I'm not willing to chance it. You're in this much pain already. No telling what condition you'd be in when I actually found a girl for you to fuck." He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "This is…unpleasant, but it's the safest option. We don't know how long it could take for this thing to kill you if you're left alone."

Dean knew that that was all perfectly reasonable and, really, it would be a complete waste of time to find a girl and have sex with her anyway. And really, he was quickly losing the ability to care that it was wrong to seek relief from Sam. He hurt and there wasn't a word strong enough for how much his cock ached. He shifted and twisted on the bed while Sam puttered around the room doing fuck knows what. Wasn't he supposed to be getting Dean off? He wasn't sure if it was just time creeping by that was making it worse or if it was Sam's nearness. Either way, desperation was gnawing at him. Fuck the morals, the right and the wrong. He needed.

"Sam," he said hoarsely. He was almost ready to get for it.

The bed shifted as Sam sat down and Dean hissed softly as Sam's hand came to rest on his tense stomach. "It's okay, Dean." The hand traveled down to his jeans, eliciting a shudder of anticipation from Dean. "Just shut your eyes and pretend." Part of Dean wanted to tell Sam that it wasn't actually that bad for him – the fact that it was Sam, that is, not the being cursed part. That the curse actually made him want Sam to touch him. But he couldn't. He couldn't tell Sam how completely fucked his head was. He should be suffering through every touch Sam laid on him.

As Sam tugged his fly open, Dean's cock strained against his boxers that now had an obscene wet patch. Sam's hand pressed against him and Dean reacted almost violently, jerking and swearing harshly. More, he thought only semi-coherently. God, please touch me. He shifted his hips, actually feeling eager to help Sam get rid of his jeans and boxers. A frisson of lust-spiked apprehension slithered through him. Is he going to…? Did Dean want him to? Ordinarily it would be a screaming no but in this state, he knew he'd say yes to anything.

Sam reached out and wrapped his hand around Dean's cock. The touch was electric. Dean seemed to be able to feel it all over himself. "Oh, shit," he moaned, thrusting up into Sam's fist. He screwed his eyes shut, twisting his face away from Sam and tried to get his body under some kind of control. He couldn't let Sam see how good this felt.

The handjob was a new, special kind of Hell for Dean. It felt like the best thing that had ever happened to his cock; his body was veritably singing with delight as pleasure chased away pain. But he had to keep himself in lockdown. He didn't want Sam to see how seriously into this he was. Despite himself, he couldn't help but groan out, "Oh, God" and start thrusting into Sam's hand as his orgasm started to build. He shouted as the tension finally snapped and he hurtled into what felt like the best orgasm of his goddamn life.

All he could do was lay there in the aftermath. His body was completely lax. There was no pain, no consuming lust. He felt like himself. For a moment, he was utterly blissed out.

Then Sam spoke. "Here," he muttered. "Let's take this off. It's a mess."

Dean tensed and opened his eyes, looking down at himself. Naked from the waist down and his shirt now generously spotted with come. He nodded slowly and helped Sam pull his shirt off. Now that he felt more or less like himself, shame and recrimination washed over him full force. The things he'd been thinking when he'd been in the heat of it… God, he'd never live it down. He had wanted Sam, had been more than willing to do anything with him that his little brother wanted. And that feeling was going to come back, he realized with a sick twist in his gut. It was going to be like that every time for three days.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Dean almost laughed. Oh, I'm great, Sammy. I'm just losing my fucking mind is all. He pushed himself up to lean back against the headboard. "Yeah," he said, option to go with a strictly physical interpretation. "Once I…shit," he muttered. "Once I got off, everything kind of eased up. Doesn't hurt anymore." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Don't know how long it'll last, though. I can feel it already, the – the lust, building up." The lust and the pain which had no origin. It was a constant irritation everywhere; soon it would be a lot more than simply irritating.

Sam nodded, looking anywhere but at Dean. "She said you'd, ah, that you'd need pretty much constant stimulation."

"And lots of orgasms. Yeah, she told me all of it after she hexed me, but I couldn't think straight when you got here." Haha. Straight.

"Why didn't you call me as soon as it happened?"

Dean tried not to let his eyes stray to Sam, even though he couldn't see much in the red-tinted glow from the alarm clock anyway. Looking at him seemed to make the lust build faster. "She wouldn't let me. She stayed and kept me right where I was until she heard you coming." He thumped his head back against the wall, hating the way his face got warmer. "She said she wanted me warmed up for you."

"Christ, what a sick fuck."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Sammy, I'm so sorry. I should never have – "

Sam didn't let him finish. "Stop it. This isn't your fault. You've picked up girls in almost every town we've ever been in. If we'd known there was a second witch, we both would've been more vigilant, but all the signs pointed to the man. So save the blame game for another time. Although," he laughed with a dark edge, "I don't think you'll be looking for sex anytime soon."

Dean let out a humorless laugh and started to fidget on the bed. He was starting to feel tight all over, like he was standing in front of an oven, even though the ac was kicking. His dick was already back to full arousal, as if he hadn't just had an earth-shattering orgasm a few minutes ago.

"Lay back, Dean."

"No." He rubbed his hands over his thighs, trying to soothe himself to little avail. "We can wait longer. It's not that bad." This was a drop in the bucket compared to the state he'd been in when Sam arrived. He could take way more than this.

Sam let out a sigh that said, "Dean, you're being an idiot." "Come on, Dean, there's no need for you to suffer any excess pain from this."

He rolled his head against the wall, shaking it. "And there's no need for you to have to touch me more than absolutely necessary. Maybe if we hold off as long as possible, we won't have to do very much." The back of Dean's mind whispered, And it'll feel better if I'm further gone and not burdened by guilt. He shoved that voice away.

"And what?" Anger tinged Sam's voice. "You want me to just sit around and watch you suffer for hours until finally it hurts so bad you have to let me touch you?"

"Yes, damn it!" Dean glared at the younger man. "Sam, I hate that you have to do this. That we have to do this," he quickly corrected. "It's disgusting." He gritted his teeth, fisting his hands in the mucked up sheets, partially out of agitation and partly because of a wave of pain-pleasure that washed through him. He could feel it starting to affect him again, influence his thoughts. That verbal slip up was one indicator. He ought to feel physically disgusted by what they were doing and he really sort of did right after the orgasm. Now? He was practically looking forward to when Sam had his hand on his cock again.

"Well, that is just too fucking bad, because this is the hand we've been dealt. Now shut up, lie down, and let me jerk you off."

Sammy, you make me all tingly when you take control like that. No, no. That had not been hot.

"Sammy." He could wait longer. He could.

"Dean," Sam returned, sounding equally as stubborn.

Dean mulishly refused to move and let out a surprised curse when Sam wrapped a hand around one of his ankles and gave a yank, jerking him down onto the bed. He tried to sit up again, but fell still as one of Sam's large, warm hands came to rest on his thigh, suddenly completely pliant. A moment later Sam's other hand gripped his cock and the lust swelled, driving Dean's hips up and into the contact. "Just shut your eyes and turn on Casa Erotica."

Dean did shut his eyes, but only to block out Sam's red-tinted face.

Dean woke up to the relentless pain and burning lust that had become his nearly constant companion. He moaned softly and ground his sore and achy dick into the coarse motel sheets under him to try to relieve the pressure. "Sammy," he groaned in a hoarse growl, half trying to call his attention and half just because his name had become synonymous with the lust inside him.

He twisted around to look at the clock, squinting at the light that streamed through the window. It was nearly noon; he wasn't positive when the last session had ended, but he thought he might've gotten nearly forty minutes of shut eye. He'd been nodding off between sessions for a while now, but his had been the longest respite. Of course, the wake up was a real bitch.

Sam took his shoulder and eased him onto his back. A Styrofoam cup was shoved in his face. "Drink some water." Gratefully, he sucked the water down. He was about to go on and ask for a refill when Sam said, "Dean, I'm going to be honest. My arms are over-cooked spaghetti. They need a break."

Dean nodded and rested his head back against the mattress. "S'okay, Sam. I can hang a while." He hadn't thought ahead to this, but it made perfect sense. As a teenager, he'd had some marathon wank sessions on days when they were between hunts. It's something anybody with a dick has done. As you quickly learn, after a certain amount of time, your arm just does not want to cooperate anymore. Sam had been having quite the work out, even with alternating hands. It wasn't so bad yet, not even close to the fervor Sam had originally found him in. Dean could deal to give Sammy a break. If his cock said otherwise, well, Little Dean was just going to have to suck it up.

"So I'm going to do something else this time. Not going to use my hands."

Dean arched one brow sardonically but didn't crack his eyes open. He honestly tried to avoid looking directly at Sam whenever possible. "I'm not into feet." Maybe he'd be able to catch a few more winks while they were on break, though it was a slim chance.

Sam's weight came down on the bed. "Not using those either."

When a hand came to rest on Dean's thigh, he knew something was up. He opened his eyes just in time to see Sam leaning down with a bee-line for his cock. He let out a choked sound and grabbed Sam's hair in his fist. "Sam, you can't." Yes, yes you can, his cock disagreed, twitching with the need to come. "It's too much. Too far." It scared Dean just how much the thought of his brother's mouth on his swollen penis excited him. Now that the topic had been raised, every cell in his body pounded with the need to do it. Yes, fuck yes, suck me, Sammy, suck me good, sang the voice at the back of his mind.

Hazel eyes met his. "We have to do what we have to do, Dean. Whatever it takes to survive." He looked so determined but also so very apprehensive, a little lost. The part of Dean that still felt like himself wanted to shove Sam away and lock himself in the bathroom, escape what he knew was about to happen. That wasn't going to happen, though. He was weak. He wasn't even going to argue anymore. He wanted this to happen. God, what a sick fuck I am.

Extricating himself from Dean's hand, Sam leaned down and, after several heartbeats of hesitation, stroked his tongue over the angry red head of Dean's cock. Dean let out a strangled hiss, locking his hands in the bed sheets to keep them from tangling in Sam's curls. He squeezed his eyes shut, but killing the visual feed did nothing. In his mind, he could see with perfect clarity the way Sam was bent over his hips, tonguing him experimentally as he performed his first blowjob. His inexperienced tongue swiped at the head again before moving down his shaft. It was a teasing touch that wouldn't be firm enough to get him to orgasm. Dean bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed, channeling all his meager store of willpower into not thrusting, not begging Sam to suck him. Can't know I want it. Can't know what's in my head.

He moaned, tossing his head on the pillow. Sam seemed to spend an eternity laving over his cock, tracing the veins and playing with the slit – a move that had him involuntarily arching up for more, a half-wild sound tearing out of his throat. It was driving him out of his goddamn mind. A hairsbreadth from grabbing Sam's head and shoving his cock into his mouth, he gasped out, "Please." He didn't care anymore if he begged or Sam knew he liked it. The only thing he needed in the entire world was for Sam to suck him off right now.

As the head of his cock was finally enveloped in Sam's mouth, it took everything inside of Dean not to thrust and choke him. He nearly whimpered when Sam just stopped for an impossibly long moment, just sat there with his dick in his mouth. It might've been a funny situation of Dean didn't feel like every inch of him was going to explode. Finally – mercifully – Sam started to bob his head on him. It was probably the worst blowjob he'd ever gotten – too much teeth, not enough tongue – but it was also the best thing he'd ever felt in his goddamn life. His entire body was coiled, breaths leaving him on harsh gasps. His eyes peeled open as his hips snapped up, orgasm finally washing over him. There was no power on earth that could've stopped his shout of, "Sammy!"

Hard on the heels of relief came cold shame. He'd said Sam's name. He'd shouted his own brother's fucking name during his orgasm. He'd been trying so hard to let Sam think that his head was off in a whole other world when Sammy was doing stuff to him. And here he was, breaking the fragile illusion that Sam had built for himself.

He rolled away, curling in on himself. He was so royally fucked up. Hatred for the witch seethed inside him. Because of her, his relationship with his brother was gone. Completely ruined. There was no way Sam would be able to respect him or look at him the same way. He'd always wonder if Dean still wanted him after this.

"Dean?" Sam asked with concern. "Don't tell me it's already hurting again."

"It's fine," he said sharply, hoping fruitlessly that Sam would just drop it.

"Well, then, what is it?

Dean rubbed his face hard, remaining quiet for a while. "I – fuck," he started softly, "I'm sorry. I swear I wasn't really thinking of you. It just, you know, slipped out." It was a hollow excuse even to his more-than-slightly impaired brain.

"Well, Dean, I was sucking your dick. It's understandable that you'd blurt my name out. I know you'd rather it be anyone else." The calm, reasonable way he said that almost made Dean laugh.

He heaved a sigh. At this point, everything was so turned around that there was really no one else he'd rather have sex with. His logical brain knew that was only the curse talking, but it felt true. "Still. That just made things…weird."

Sam snorted softly. "Things are already pretty fucking weird, Dean."

True enough.

Dean shifted onto his back, propping his head up on a pillow. He watched from under his lashes as Sam went to one of their duffels and rummaged around. He needed to look away; looking at Sam was making the heat rise faster in him. He couldn't. It was like he was entranced by just the way Sam moved, by his huge frame. He had the inane thought that he wished Sam would lose the clothes already and it made him flush with shame. That thought should never be in his head. He pulled the motel blanket over his lap, suddenly at ill ease with his nudity in the face of Sam's lack of it. With the light from the window, he could see how tired Sam looked, too, which added another helping to his over-flowing well of guilt. He'd gotten at least a little rest, but it didn't look like Sam had let himself nap during any of those times that Dean had been out.

Sam approached the bed and offered him a sandwich. "Here. Eat. You need to keep your strength up."

Dean huffed at being ordered around but he took the sandwich and the water that Sam fetched when they were done eating. By that point, he was distinctly uncomfortable, shifting his hips on the bed, twisting his feet, rolling his neck on his shoulders. That tight feeling was back, like a guitar string ready to snap. He hit his head back against the wall in frustration. "Shit."

Sam said nothing, just cleared away their water cups, pulled the blanket away, and eased down onto the bed.