I Just Wish You'd Love Me
Drunk Dean ahead. I chose this writing style for this one shot, due to the fact that it's a bizarre situation, and that's why it's absurd...
Unrequited love is a difficult thing to understand, as much as it is to go through. Sam has it hard. Harder than anyone has because it's his brother, Dean. His brother practically raised him all on his own from such a young age, due to their father not being there most of the time. He has a lot of appreciation for the man. That isn't why he loves him and it isn't why he dreams about him every night.
He loves Dean because the man would do anything for him.
Literally anything.
Which is why what's happening right now is happening.
Dean bites Sam's lip, forcing the younger's mouth to open. He explores the familiar surroundings, the taste of alcohol heavy on his tongue. Sam didn't mind. Whatever Dean had to do to participate in this is fine. Sam gets what he wants from Dean, and the blond gets a fuck.
It's a good deal, right?
Sam moans into Dean's mouth. The older man's shoulders sag and his brow creases. He pushes the brunet away. "Don't fuckin' do that! I tell you every time to keep your mouth shut or I can't go through with it!" Dean rages, downing the rest of his can of beer. He crushes it in his hand and orders Sam to get on his hands and knees on the bed.
Drunk is an understatement for Dean right now. He's been drinking since three in the afternoon to prepare himself for this. He hates it so much. It's vile and disgusting, but it makes his brother happy, and that's why he does it.
The worst part is that he can't even pretend it's a woman anymore. It's happened so many times that it's hard to block out the image before him of Sam's sweat covered face and expression of pure bliss as he pounds him into orgasm.
He doesn't understand why Sam wants this from him—why he asks for this at least three times a week. Sometimes he'll promise that he'll never ask again. But the second the blond starts chatting up a hot girl, those puppy dog eyes are bringing him to bed again.
The act itself felt good physically. Tight heat around his dick is always going to be pleasurable. It's the emotional side to this whole affair that drives him nuts and makes him feel sick to his stomach.
Also, the fact that they're brothers.
It's so wrong.
It's so disgusting.
It's abhorrent.
Dean goes through with it, however. He loves Sam. Not in the way the brunet would kill for him to, but in the way that Sam is his brother and he'll do whatever he can to make the man happy.
Logic and reason didn't come into play.
"Ass up," he commands.
Once Sam does as he's told, Dean jerks his cock a few times before sliding into the lubricated hole. It's lubricated because this is the third time tonight. Sam became a complete cock slut when he has competition. Dean's gone more rounds before, so he can keep up—he hates doing this.
Twisting the cap open on his beer, Dean starts gulping it down as he thrusts in and out of the brunet, drowning out the slapping noises and muffled sounds of pleasure coming from his younger brother.
Sam feels incredible. He'll admit that. The pressure against his cock made him see white, and he didn't need Viagra to keep it up for Sam, or even to get it up. Dean's dick is all for fucking Sam's brains out because it has no morals.
Dean does, though. It may feel great—sick is all it will ever be.
Stifling a curse into the sheets, Sam pushes back against Dean's cock, locating it to his prostate. Dean knows where it is. He's done this enough times. Sam's impatient. Dean rocks into the same spot, throwing his beer bottle at the wall.
It shatters into bits, some landing by his feet. He picks a shard up and runs the tip down Sam's back, following a recent scar. Sam's back arches at the pressure and the warmth of the blood running down his skin.
Dean smears it all over his back, continuing to piston drastically fast. Sam is certain if there were people in the next room over, they could hear the sound of Dean's balls slapping against his ass from the shower, with the pressure on full.
They never talk. They don't exchange words, looks. Sam tries to lock eyes with Dean, but his brother is never there. He's lost in a world of pleasure—completely ignoring the truth of the matter.
Sam attempted to hold the blonds hands once. It ended terribly. Dean had pulled out immediately and declared that he couldn't do this right now. Honestly, Sam felt it weird that Dean's fine with kissing, however handholding is too much for the older man.
Dean grips Sam's hips tightly, slamming in from behind with the force of a fire-hose.
Openly, Sam admitted he loves pain. Dean takes advantage of that, always squeezing the younger's bollocks until the testicles are pushing against the skin, or dripping hot candle wax on the man's butt-cheeks. Something that will make Sam cry out in pain, and not pleasure.
Something that will show Sam physically that he is not happy with this, and he is not enjoying it the way Sam would love him to.
Sam's aware of this. He doesn't care. He's a glutton for punishment. If he gave Dean the choice to never have to go through this again, he knows Dean would take it in a heartbeat.
So he never gives him that choice.
Dean picks his brother up, demanding that he hold on.
He's carried to the kitchen, where Dean props him on the counter and returns to fucking him, using the undersides of the counter as leverage to add power to his thrusts. Sam's impressed with the new position, spreading his legs wider.
Dean keeps his focus on his cock going into a tight hole. He relishes the strict walls clenching around his member, notifying him Sam would be coming soon and this would hopefully be over for the night.
Sam's teeth sink into his bottom lip. If he made one noise now, Dean would stop this whole thing right before he came.
He's so close—about to reach his limit.
To speed things up, Dean wraps his hand around Sam's cock, starting a staggered jerking motion barely in time with his thrusts. It's very rare he ever touches Sam's dick. He really wants this to be over.
He's tried, upset and miserable; not to mention drunk as fuck.
Sam shouts as he comes, coating his abs in the sticky substance. Dean's face lights up at the reveal,a deranged, yet grateful smirk on his face. He thrusts a few more times before he releases inside Sam.
He pulls out faster than Sam can thank him for doing this again. He doesn't even acknowledge Sam's words, too set on going to bed and praying to God that the brunet either never asks him to do this again, or gives him a long break from it.
First, he's going to shower, though.
And he does.
He cries, too, with the hot water hitting his body, failing to scratch any of the dirt off.
Sam listens to him outside the door, a pang of guilt bubbling in his chest.
"I don't wanna do this anymore… But I love him. He's my brother… I…"
The rest is just tears. Sam seldom hears Dean cry about anything. His brother likes to be strong for everyone.
Right now, Dean's crying like he got raped or something…
"I'll do anything to make him happy…"
You do make me happy. I just wish you'd love me, Dean.