A/N: Originally written March, 2012.
Warnings for:Dubcon/noncon, incest, angst - lots and lots of it - and spoilers for seasons 5-6.
Sam isn't Sam. That's what Dean keeps reminding Sam. It's getting old though, real fast.
Dean doesn't trust Sam, and maybe he's right not to. Sam doesn't care about emotions or people or consequences; all he cares about is logic and self-preservation. And sex.
Sam abuses of Dean's weaknesses, knows he has a soft spot for Sammy, knows he'll do anything Sam says if it means his brother is okay in the end.
Sam tells Dean he wants something. Dean pretends he doesn't know what, stalls for time, swallowing down his words. Sam likes that. Sam says he's been a real good boy, and that, as much as he wanted to let Dean die back in the fire, he saved him. Didn't he deserve a reward?
Dean is pretending again, and this time it isn't amusing.
Sam says he wants to fuck Dean.
Dean is close to saying 'or what' until he remembers this isn't his Sammy. This is some freak who looks a lot like him, but would shoot you in the head without a moment's thought. Maybe that's his plan. Dean says it anyway.
"Or I will fuck you anyway, just without your permission", Sam answers.
Why does it have to be me, Dean thinks. There are so many gorgeous women in town falling all over Sam, wishing he would sneak into their bed at night. Dean thinks he probably doesn't want to know the answer, but he needs to know.
"Because, Dean, you've been trotting around me with that tight, little ass, those plump lips, those soft looks, and not letting me take," Sam hisses. "It's like having a pornstar within my grasp, one that is so damn willing to spread for me by the way, that stops me each time I'm about to blow my load."
Everything inside Dean is regurgitating, on the verge of spewing out. This isn't Sam. This man is nothing like Sam. No matter how close they'd been or how many curious glances they received, Sam and Dean would never cross that line.
"And don't give me that shit about me being your brother," Sam snaps. "You tell me every fuckin' day that I'm not. You make sure I know I'm not."
Dean sinks into his bed, holding his head. There were two ways to get out of this: Dean could try to escape, and if he failed he'd have to shoot Sam, or he could let Sam take what he needs and hope that if Sam gets his soul back he wouldn't remember any of this.
Hate me
Do it and do it again
Waste me
Rape me my friend
Sam pushes Dean back on the bed, unbuckling Dean's belt and reaching in. Dean can't think where he put his gun, not with Sam's fingers around his cock.
It's a year later and Dean is still bending over for Sam, taking his cock deep in his ass, but not enjoying it—never enjoying it. His finger is always on the trigger, aiming at Sam, but Dean can never squeeze it, can't go through with it. Dean still has hope.
Sam doesn't even warn Dean anymore. He just starts undressing, and expects Dean to follow his lead or have his clothes ripped off. Dean closes his eyes when Sam is on top of him, pounding him into the bed. He doesn't want to see Sam like this, not when he knows what they had, what they could still have in the future.
Sam doesn't shut up during sex which makes it ten times worse. He showers Dean with lewd praises. He says how perfect Dean's lips are around his cock, how tight his ass is, how perfect he looks when he's on all fours.
Dean hates Sam most when Sam ties him to the bed.
Sam toys with him, teases, purposely makes Dean beg for it to stop—for Sam's cock in other words—until Dean's so ashamed of himself he doesn't think he could ever face the real Sam if he returned.
Another year goes by, and Sam isn't bored with Dean, he gets more creative. And every time Sam strips out of his clothes, Dean picks up his gun, not sure whether it's to kill Sam or himself anymore. And every time, he puts it back down and just obeys Sam.
Maybe one day he could find Sam's soul. Maybe one day he could set Sam free from the cage. Maybe one day he could look himself in the mirror without having to wipe the come off his face.