"If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared." Niccolo Machiavelli


"Prove it, how?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Suck me off," Dean suggested flatly.

An eerie silence engulfed the brothers, dropping the temperature of the room several degrees. "What?" Sam croaked, eyes wide with shock.

"Are you daft or deaf?" Dean snapped at him.

"I- Dean... I don't think this is a good idea," Sam rationalized, cowering into himself.

Sam looked so young right then, he reminded Dean that lanky boy from four years ago... the one that had ripped Dean's heart off of his chest, threw it onto the mud and then spat and stepped on it.

"I don't give a fuck what you think," Dean informed his brother. "You said you wanted me," he challenged, "Get on the floor and prove it."

"I..." Sam's eyebrows knitted together, as if he was contemplating on Dean's proposition, and, maybe, if he had refused, Dean would have relented.

"O-okay," Sam stuttered. Taking a deep breath, Sam visibly forced himself forward and stepped in front of Dean so they were inches away but not touching. Dean could feel his brother's breath on his face as Sam tried to lean in to brush his lips against Dean's.

Dean's hands grasped Sam's face, gently but firmly, stopping his lips from reaching their intended destination, as he asserted, "No kissing. You don't deserve my kisses yet, Sam. You'll have to earn them. You got that?"

"Yes," Sam ducked his head resigned and Dean almost felt guilty. Almost.

Dean left Sam standing uneasily beside the bed, looking uncertain of what to do, as he aprroached the window and pulled the heavy curtains closed. Satisfied when the room got so dark he could hardly see, Dean walked back, sitting himself at the edge of his bed.

He took his time, unzipping his jeans, lowering them around his thighs and then he freed his cock out of his boxers. He strocked himself to erection, enjoying the way Sam's gaze kept shifting around the confined space, pointently avoiding looking at his older brother's actions.

"Get on your knees," Dean unkindly asked Sam, as his hand reached out to turn on the lamp on top of the nightstand.

Sam gave him an inexpressibly complicated, furious look; by now he knew he couldn't do anything but obey, if he hoped for Dean to forgive him.

Sam positioned himself between Dean's parted legs and fell easily onto his knees in front of him. After that, though, he did nothing; simply stared anxiously at the hard cock in front of his face and breathed, chest moving with the thin, sharp panting.

"Well?" Dean inquired sharply.

Sam flinched, leaning forward. He shut his eyes, then pressed a few reluctant kisses against the head of Dean's dick, apparently working up his nerve.

The sight of Sam's mouth hovering above his cock, and the feeling of those unwilling, humiliated kisses, hardened Dean to full extension. He wondered if Sam could taste his pre-cum yet.

Sam started to lightly press his tongue down Dean's shaft. Then he took a deep breath, and sucked the tip of Dean's cock into his mouth. He clearly had no idea what he was doing; Dean guessed Jessica had done this for Sam a few times. Or maybe random girls all around America while they were growing up had... Dean skittered swiftly away from such unpleasant thoughts and focussed on the feeling on Sam's hot mouth and tongue around him, the sudden flicks of the moist muscle across his shaft.

Dean gasped, blood roaring in his ears at the unexpectedly, unbelievably erotic sight of his brother on his knees before him, Sam's cheeks hollowing now around his cock. The pale, set face, with it's shut eyes looked almost like a reluctant worshipper.

"You like that, Sam? You like the feel of my cock hitting the back of your throat?" Dean asked, gently pressing Sam's head down when the younger man tried to withdraw, probably to answer.

"I used to have dreams about this, you know," Dean laughed, chocking back a small sob, as memories danced behind his closed eyelids. It had never been like this; in his dreams, Sammy was lovingly lapping at his member and Dean would slowly roll his hips thrusting inside that beautiful mouth passionately but not forcefully.

"But you took that away from me, didn't ya Sam?" he accused, hips snapping forward harshly.

He was getting closer now, and Sam looked far too comfortable. Dean held his head, calloused fingers winding themselves roughly in soft brown hair as he began thrusting up hard.

Sam shifted, as if readjusting himself, and Dean bend a little forward, hungry eyes searching Sam's crotch. "You're getting hard," Dean smirked with dark amusement, noticing his brother's prominent bulge. "I bet you're gonna cream your pants the moment I cum in your mouth, Sam," he teased.

Sam made a sound of protest at the back of his throat, that almost tossed Dean's control out the window, and made a movement as if to pull away.

"Oh no, you don't," Dean scolded, gripping Sam's head tightly, effectively holding him in place. He began to thrust harder at the sight of Sam's tearing eyes, the sound of his desperate breaths as he strove to breathe around Dean's thick cock.

"You're gonna swallow like a good little slut for me," Dean instructed, the feeling of Sam's throat clenching around him as he fucked his brother's mouth becoming almost too much. "You said you wanted me, Sam," he reminded him.

Dean shut his eyes, his body stiffening as he kept fucking into Sam's mouth.

Resentment filled his gut; for himself, for Sam, for what he was currently doing to the only person he had ever loved in his life.

Suddenly Dean was cuming, and it was just too much. He didn't want to see it; he didn't want to know. He reached out and turned the lamp on the nightstand off.

But the darkness didn't help. Dean couldn't bear it. Sam's tears were falling onto his thighs, his own tears were running down his face and Dean couldn't turn off his body's nerves in order to not feel any of it.

"Oh, yeah, take it. Take it, you little bitch," he rasped anyway, way too deep into his own game to stop, even though all he wanted was to apologise. Sam didn't deserve to be treated like this. He wanted to raise Sam off the floor, kiss his knees -they had to be sore by now- and make sweet love to him until Dean would feel redempted -if possible.

When Dean finally pulled his now flaccid cock out of Sam's warm cavity, body still fizzing with disgust and pleasure, Sam was swallowing convulsively.

Dean wanted to hold him so badly. He wanted to hug Sam and promise him that everything was going to be okay.

"That was the worst blowjob I've ever had," he barked at Sam instead, both wincing and cheering internally when Sam's shoulders hunched in defeat.

Dean knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't help it. All those years he had spent, pinning after Sam, while his brother had turned his back on him so easily... It had snapped something inside of him. Something he wasn't sure it was going to be mended soon; if ever.

Unable to be in the same room with Sam anymore, Dean tucked himself into his boxers, pulling up his jeans as he stood from the bed. He needed a drive with his Chevy, in order to clear his head.

Looking down, Dean saw that Sam had his hands against his face. He realized the younger man was crying just before Sam spoke.

"Don't leave me," Sam choked out.

"Funny, Sam. That's what I had said," Dean responded cruelly, as he trailed out of the room.