It was rare when Sam decided he wanted to play the leading role. Even when he was allowed that pleasure, it was his muted version of dominance; the thirst of his want and need wrapped up in a pretty, delicate package. Soft touches that were mingled with sharp nips and commands delivered in sweet whispers. The good with a bit of the bad. The angel with the devil's horns.
But this time was different. His Sammy was hopped up on fucking demon blood.
And while his brother was riding high on its thrilling power trip, Sam's lust became red-hot and demanded immediate satisfaction. When Sam had those sudden urges seemingly brought on by Hell itself, he didn't take no for an answer. No circumstance mattered. It didn't matter where they were, if they were on a job, or if it was an inconvenience. So when his beloved Sammy pulled him into the police station's storeroom and threw him against the wall, Dean wasn't surprised nor did he really give a shit. He was seduced by his brother's sudden need for him, by the urgent search of rough hands all over his body as if Dean was the only thing that could calm this beast. Nothing else in the world mattered.
Sam came at him like a starved animal, pressing soft lips hard and forceful against his, the rushing sensation of it sending a direct signal down the length of his body to his cock. Dean was hard before Sam pressed his own erection against his thigh, the kiss shared between them reaching a desperate level that was so hot and right in all the wrong ways. Even if he wanted to, Dean didn't even have a chance to complain. Any attempts of 'Sam, we have a job to do' were crushed into non-existence under the heavy weight of his own moaning. Fuck the job. After everything that had happened recently, Dean needed this. They both did.
It was easy, too easy, for Dean to surrender and become slave to Sam's quick hands, letting him rip to shreds the police uniform that clung tight to his well-toned frame. Sam worked at him like he was charting old, familiar territory, gliding hands over curves and swells that he seemed to own, like he knew every inch of it. And he did. Sam knew where to touch, where to bite and suck, to make hard muscle turn to liquid under his masterful hands. He used them now, brushing fingertips across the gentle line of Dean's back, bringing to bear nails that marked skin with heat, passion and pain. The way his brother touched him teased the loose groan in his throat, a strangled sound that threatened its premature birth before anything serious had truly happened. But that's what Sam did to Dean. Excited him to no end with minimal effort. Their desires and needs now were set to a frantic pace and hands groped while mouths searched, respectively trying to find sweet spots that shattered senses and rendered them begging for more. And as each one hit pointedly and precisely, rich and deep groans fell free from throats hot with lust.
In rapid succession, articles of clothing were removed and tossed aside, some left in better condition than others. Tatters of white shirt still hung from Dean's sun-kissed shoulders while Sam's nimble fingers began moving south, tripping over themselves in a rush. Fumbling with it, Sam quickly and impatiently unhooked the belt around Dean's narrow hips and unzipped his pants' fly just as hurriedly to expose underwear briefs. Dean could feel the head of his cock press at the hem, begging to be released, and the glimpse of the promise land threw Sam into a frenzy. The result was a magnificent press of hips against one another, grinding deep and hard, and sending Dean into a head-spin.
"Holy fuck, Sammy." Dean whispered hoarsely.
Sam didn't respond, couldn't, undoubtedly too sex-crazed and focused to talk. Still reeling from it all, he barely registered the low growl in Sam's throat as he parted from Dean's heat to strip down to nothing but bare skin. The sound had been made out of frustration, out of primal need, created from desire that wanted to be sated now but hadn't been yet. The minor details of undressing proved to be inconvenient obstacles to a demon-blood junkie.
Dean didn't have enough time to marvel at Sam's perfect physique, tight coils of muscle glistening with a soft sheen of perspiration—Sam came in again too fast, ripping away the opportunity to pause, appreciate, or even breathe. Having missed his brother's warmth, Dean was thankful for its immediate and hungry return, the burning press of bodies so intoxicating and complete that Dean considered it his version of Heaven. Sam's expression was soft and determined, set on its course, while the contrast was in his actions and lustful assault; hard, precision-quick and practiced over a lifetime.
Dean leaned his head forward, finding repose against Sam's, while a wave of absolute bliss enveloped him and a groan punched out of his mouth. It was brought about by the way Sam swung his hips forward, pivoting just so to create an incredible amount of friction between their bodies. Desperate for even more, Dean grabbed at Sam's neck to pull him closer, open-mouthed kiss deep with tongues yearning for the taste of each other. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's body to fan fingers against shoulder blades, using them to pull even closer while hips leaned in toward one another with no sign of relenting.
It felt incredible; how they both tried to occupy each other's space, trying to bleed into the other's existence as if the world threatened to end around them in that moment. While chaos ensued, they always found comfort in each other's arms and this time was no different. Except it was more heated and driven with 'now, now, now' and the silent 'I need you and I can't live without you' echoed between them.
Dean felt Sam's fingernails biting into his back, hands breaking hold to slide down and knead at hips so briefly that it left Dean needing and wanting more. And then it happened. That sudden, deviant sparkle in Sam's eyes told Dean that he'd no longer have a choice. In what, Dean didn't know. Not until Sam's hand gripped the handcuffs that were dangling on the pants' belt loop in quiet promise. It took Sam a matter of seconds to bend low, sliding down and off Dean's pants and underwear that had somehow survived the rending of clothes. When Sam surfaced, pressing feather-light kisses all the way up on skin, he held those handcuffs and the smile on his face told Dean everything he needed to know.
"Sammy… what are you doi—"
"Shut up." Sam quickly returned, opening and closing the handcuffs around Dean's wrists.
Dean's bound hands were jerked roughly up and over his own head and pressed against the wall. With that insatiable carnal appetite, Sam inched their bodies closer with a forward thrust and kissed him, nipping and sucking at Dean's lower lip. Dean couldn't help but groan again, pleasure written all over his face in reaction to how their cocks came together. The heat surged up and through him, sending head back and throat exposed with yet another guttural note of euphoria.
Suddenly, as if he were weightless, Dean's body was hoisted up and slammed against the wall. The new positioning forced Dean to send his handcuffed hands looping around Sam's neck. He found leverage there, a way to hold on as Sam took control again, pressing their bodies and lips together. The kiss lasted only seconds and Sam's fingers found their way into Dean's mouth, one by one sucked down and slickened with saliva. Dean mimicked the way he'd suck Sam's cock if he had the chance, but knew he never would. That fact had been made clear when Sam worked methodically to open him up, fingers scissoring and twisting at his entrance. Sam never asked for permission and simply took what he wanted—and nothing had ever been more arousing.
Dean pressed his head against the wall and groaned, squirming and doing everything he could to enhance the sensation of the finger-fucking. That too didn't last long. Sam spit and applied as much of it as he could to his cock and Dean knew then that it wouldn't be enough. Dean tried to open his mouth to complain, but then he was entirely filled with Sam's girth, felt his muscles clamp at the intrusion and then stretch. Dean cried out—holy fuck, that hurt!—and didn't receive any response from Sam. Dean didn't want to stop him either because he liked it when it hurt; it made him feel alive. Eventually, the painful, uncomfortable sensation gave way to pleasure as Sam pumped hard and fast, sending sparks along Dean's body with every forceful thrust. Each time the head of Sam's cock hit that sweet spot, Dean couldn't help but call out, deep and raw shouts dying out to a breathless whisper of his brother's name. Dean used what he could of his hands to pull Sam closer, ghosting kisses over lips that shared and panted the same air, while Sam took the rough approach in slamming into him over and over. The slick and hot slide of wet skin on skin sent Dean's head into a dizzying stupor and he could feel the white-hot pulse of his mounting orgasm welling in his gut. It was so close, yet still too far away.
"H—harder, Sammy." Dean whispered brokenly. "Oh, God!"
On command, Sam sped up the tempo, rock-hard body like a piston with its long draw-back and quick snap-forward, paying no heed to any pain, or even pleasure, that it was causing with its devastation. Dean's body couldn't take much more of this without coming—it had been far too long since the last time. As expected, Dean felt the oncoming onslaught of his ecstasy, leaned in to press his head against Sam's, mouth slightly agape and shooting out hot puffs of air every time Sam rocked in to him. And then he felt it, so quickly crashing into him and enveloping him, causing him to kick his head back and nearly scream out. His body's release was powerful and amazing, ripping him apart and leaving him flooded with a warming sensation that felt all too comforting. Dean's only choice was to ride out the last moments of Sam's sanity, his teeth nipping and tongue licking at the shell of an ear. Sam groaned and snapped his hips forward, turning his thrusts particularly rough and sending Dean's back against the wall over and over. It was enough to send Sam over the edge, for him to growl and cry out, for his body to tremble under the weight of his orgasm. Dean felt a filthy warmth in him, on him, everywhere, but couldn't care less. Sam was there, collapsed against him, holding onto him and panting as he came down from several highs. Without struggle, Dean held onto him, dusting kisses over his temple. And he reveled in this moment until the world felt the need to interrupt them.