Need to Need
Dean's life has never been normal. (He barely remembers those first four years, and frankly, he's not even sure how much they'd count.) But he quickly learned to snatch whatever pleasure is available, because you never know when you'll lose the chance. And still, he'd denied himself when all he had to do was reach out a hand, never too far (at least when his life, weird as it was, felt right.)
Denied himself until it was too late, four times over, for all he knew. Even if he broke the law as easy as breathing, some taboos are just too ingrained, and besides, he would never risk harming Sammy.
But then his brother was back. Partly at first, fine, not that he knew. He was too drunk on the heady feeling of having Sam again, when he'd thought there was no way. Everything weird, everything unsettling, was easy to chalk up to his baby brother's own hell tour, or just ignored. And then Sam – Sam, who used to refuse to pull more times than not, who needed to loosen up a little, and now seemed determined to make up for all the time he'd lost by fucking everything in sight – had come onto him.
As much of an expert as Dean is in holding back for Sam's sake, he's always had the hardest time denying his brother. Thankfully, he's learning.
Because Robo-Sam needed a leash, that much was obvious. And figuring out exactly what was the best way to control him didn't exactly require a rocket scientist. Or a lawyer. Of course, Sam had complained at first, even fought him. But after he'd tasted the result, when finally Dean had let him, he'd mellowed out.
It was a means to an end, Dean told himself. When Sam was supposed to forget everything about his little interlude...well, he hadn't even lost time regretting. Nothing lasted, and giving up that for a full-souled brother? The one who cared – too much, sometimes, really? It was a bargain.
And then the wall in Sam's brain had come down, because they could never catch a breath... and Sam had asked. Again. For a minute, Dean had wondered if he'd joined his brother in hallucination land.
He didn't say no, though. He couldn't have if he'd tried. Sure, it helps ground Sammy into the here and now of his body – pain isn't the only trick at their disposal – but it's also a high like Dean didn't know was possible before he took his baby brother in hand. Because for once in their damn lives, Sam listens to him, no bitching,not even a dream of leaving him, more or less sneakily, to follow his own plans. All Dean wants is to make sure Sam feels well and is cared for – that's pretty much all he's ever wanted – and finally, all Sam wants in return is to please Dean, to keep him happy and earn his praise. Dean's pretty sure these days will end up front and center in his heaven, when he's back up there. Maybe he should say if, but then again, the present is too delightful to lose time dreaming about the future.
At first it was a game. A challenge. His brother might have had no feelings back then, but he had his stubbornness, and the itch to prove he was better than Dean. Dean would edge him, once. Just once, then Sam had the choice between getting a great orgasm, or waiting a day. The day after, he'd be edged twice, And so on. Normally, day three was when his soulless brother demanded his due. A couple times he made it to five, and...well, he never slept, but these times, Dean thought he'd get him to. He surely looked ready to pass out afterwards.
But that was then. Now...Oh Christ, now. Today, they're on day ten. And as much as Dean would love to spend all day edging him, they also have a case to attend to.
As a compromise, they're breaking it up into chunks. He edges Sam twice as soon as they wake up. Morning wood is a bitch, and Dean really shouldn't like the sight of it, trapped by Sam's shiny, padlocked harness and attached cockring. But the contrast is just too pretty. If he wanted to make things easy for Sam, he'd just leave it on. But he loves being able to control his brother, with nothing more than his own hand and Sammy's willing compliance. He grabs the key and carefully undoes it all, leaving Sam free, hard and panting. The way his brother's breath hitches, half a whimper held in, not pleading even if he can't stay still, humping the air wildly when Dean takes his hands away... They're lucky that, by now, Dean doesn't need his brother to tell him to stop, too versed in reading Sam's cues. Otherwise, he's not sure Sammy would have had the sense or the breath to tell him.
He lets the boy – man, really, but he is and will always be Dean's baby boy – come down from the denial, gain some semblance of control...and then Dean is at it again. With the twist that punches a groan from somewhere deep inside his brother. Poor Sammy is leaking, like a faulty faucet, every muscle tense with trying not to go after his own pleasure. One more touch and he would have, anyway. Dean lets go. Sam whines, high in his throat.
"Get ready," he says, ignoring his dewy-eyed brother. "We don't have time for another. Gotta see the sheriff, remember?"
"Please. Just." Sam licks his lips. "I need." A soft shudder.
"If you make it quick."
The thud of his brother's knees hitting the floor seems loud in the room, and then he's pawing at Dean, eager, hungry. To keep his hands away from his own aching cock, Sam grabs at his. In a moment, his mouth is around Dean's lower head...and he knows his brother as well as he's known. It takes a handful of minutes, then Sam's talented tongue – and his needy throat – are Dean's undoing. He comes, hard, and Sam swallows, then lets a groan vibrate through him that makes Dean spurt again. Damn, he's jelly-kneed now, and they're busy, but what a way to start a morning. Sam lets him go, actually says, "Thanks,", in a wrecked voice, and then rises to steal first shower. In fifteen they'll both be out to breakfast.
Dean doesn't know what, exactly, makes Sam crave giving him an orgasm when he can't have one. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be half as eager. But it's like Sam settles through vicarious pleasure, and he's not mad enough to refuse.
The case is nothing hard – unlike the other situation. Just a salt and burn, but as ever, there's the research bit first. Authorities, hit the morgue, talk to the bereaved relatives – Sam's own specialty. Dean still hasn't figured out how his brother manages to make everyone open to him. Dean can charm anyone. But Sam – Sam will get their trust. It's different.
Just when Dean's about to ask if his brother wants lunch or if he thinks it's worth hitting the local library, if he feels confident to pin down the local ghost quickly enough to then have the whole afternoon for themselves – it's not like they can go desecrating a grave at 3 pm anyway – Sam grabs his arm and squeezes. "Please." Soft, so soft – but the way he's tense means he needs some grounding right fucking now. Oh well.
He's tempted to just take care of it on the spot, but they're a bit too much in public. They have a persona to maintain. Fucking around against a wall can't be contemplated. "Four minutes okay?" He asks.
He gets a frown but a careful nod, and – Dean might keep quiet about it, but he's good at his own kind of research, too. He knew that Sam could have needed it at anytime, and he's learned all the quiet spots that might be useful.
Four minutes later, they're in the underground parking of a mall which is due to be torn down. The work hasn't started yet – no concern of it falling on their heads – but nobody will come nosing in here, either.
"Sammy, " he murmurs, and his brother is already unzipping, shivering, and Dean wonders if it's from desire or from Lucifer being a little too insistent.
"Dee." Just as quiet, despite the fact that they're alone, but the edge of desperation is obvious anyway.
Dean goes for his prize, gentle but insistent, and it doesn't take long for Sam's cock to be hard enough it's gotta hurt. His brother stares at him, pants his name like a litany, and when Dean leaves him hanging – literally, dripping on his nice FBI trousers – he grabs his knees until his knuckles go white, trying to force himself not to finish. It'd be so, so easy...
Dean keeps his eyes on Sam, and as soon as he's left the edge – too soon, for his taste – he brings his brother right there again. More forceful this time, willing him to get out of his fevered brain and fully into his aching body. This time, it works. There are unshed tears in Sam's eyes, and his body arches, trying to get a casual brush – that'd be enough...Getting away from the edge takes him much longer, this time, and just to be sure, as soon as he's breathing normally again, Dean's hand is back. Not for long – Sam's too revved up, and Dean's proud of it. But his brother screams when he's abandoned, again, echoing in the empty place. He's a sight, drenched in sweat and dripping and yet, as soon as he can stand, he actually zips himself back in with a hoarse-throated and tender-eyed, "Thank you."
That's it. He's getting something to go and they're eating in, because there's no way Sam can enter any public establishment like that. That's it. He's getting something to go and they're eating in, because there's no way Sam can enter any public establishment like that.
...Or, they'll order in. Later. Sam's hand is insistent on his leg, not in the 'need grounding' way, but the plain desperation that edging leaves thrumming under his skin, and that lets Dean reap the best rewards. Dean doesn't time how long it takes them to get back to their room, but he manages before his brother's impatience makes him experiment if Dean can be pleasured and avoid wrecking the car at the same time. (Not lately, but with Robo-Sam there have been a couple of close calls.)
Once the door closes behind them, Dean does what he's been thinking about for minutes that seemed way too long. He pushes his brother down on the bed...and cleans the now messy FBI pants with his tongue. That earns him a strangled groan, but Dean only smirks at Sammy. "That doesn't count." Oh, his boy is hard again, no doubt..but not right on the brink.
"Go shower, you dirty boy."
Sam tugs him instead, but Dean frees himself. "I'll be along. Shower."
This time, Sam listens, clothes tossed haphazardly on the way to the bathroom.
Dean follows, as promised, and Sam squeezes against the wall to give him some room. Just barely, but they fit together. It's not like they really need space in between them, and if the shower stall stays open, well, they'll be off tomorrow morning (unless the research proves too complicated, but he trusts his genius brother). A few puddles won't be the worst this place has seen. But that's for later. No sense wasting water, right?
No, first Dean helps Sam soap up. He likes to, and he likes his baby boy's moans even more. If his hands end up insisting on sensitive spots, even more than sweaty ones...It's not like Sam's protesting. In fact, he's arching against Dean like a big cat, rubbing and teasing and -
"Stay still," Dean orders, when his brother is all stretched and slippery. Sam listens, again, and jeez, sometimes he thinks it'd be enough to make him come on its own. Oh, Sam wants – and Dean wants to give him anything, but there's an instinct saying he's not earned what he obviously is aiming for, not yet.
So Dean lets himself rub...just below his brother's frankly spectacular ass, against the back of slick, powerful thighs. Sam trembles, and almost slips, but there's really no room for him to – not with Dean bracketing him. Praise slips unbidden from Dean's lips, about how good Sammy is, how much pleasure he's giving him...and finally, Dean comes, splashing all over Sam's thigs, buttocks, and even a bit of his lower back.
Sam turns around, eyes burning, eager for the evidence of his success...and Dean collects just a little of his cum, on a finger, to feed him. Sam mewls around it, and finally Dean turns the water on, as hot as it'll go.
After all the playing around, they're actually efficient on the washing up. They wrap up in the towels (which aren't really tiny, the problem is that anything normal looks pocket size when trying to stretch around his giant baby brother) and order pizza. The library is probably closed right now, anyway. Besides. Dean needs a distraction if he's not supposed to eat Sammy up. And the boy deserves a rest. They have an intense night in front of them.
So yeah, for a while they just chill. No suits, just worn out, soft t-shirts and pants (by the time the pizza arrives), awesome food, and the silliest show that's on tv. And if Sam's a bit of an octopus...Dean's not complaining. There are worse options, and for once it's nice to have that because the boy is still - always - low-key wind-up, rather than because someone just skirted death – again.
Later on, the library welcomes them. and Dean can't help himself. He should help, too, but instead he just admires Sam and how much in his element he is. How thrilled he is, at having every detail suddenly make a kinder world, maybe, his brother would have been an academic. Or perhaps an investigative journalist. Somehow, Dean can't see him as an actual lawyer. And no, it's not bitterness because it was Sam's choice to run away from him. Them. Mostly dad, possibly, if you ask him, but it won't stop Dean's Freudian lapsus habit. Good thing he's not actually speaking aloud right now.
Anyway, after a couple hours and way too much old news leafed through (of course it's an old ghost this time, not one of someone dead after news were digitalized), Sam finally comes up with the right name.
Dean's, "Awesome!" is fully honest, and the smile that earns literally brilliant. If Dean kisses it right off Sam's face...well, the temptation is just too great. The way Sam melts immediately against him, letting Dean swallow soft moans should a librarian come along to scold them, has no right to be as hot as it is. "Want one?" he rumbles against Sam's ear.
"Please," his brother whines. Not like he has ever denied Dean since they started this game. In different circumstances, he'd snap at him to stop confusing porn and real life. Possibly even worry about the sanctity of the documents, never mind that Dean could bet they're the first ever, and very likely the last, to bother with the contents of this room, if not the whole library.
"Special treat because you've been so good, baby boy," he announces, and with an impish smile, goes to his knees.
Sam's legs open of their own accord, and his panting sounds loud in the empty room. His cock is already hard and red when Dean unveils it. He stares at the delicious spectacle for a couple seconds, until Sam begs, "Dee," glancing around. Not like being interrupted would change anything for him, but...
Dean takes him in his mouth, shivering at the needy sound it rips from his brother. He sucks, hard, then chases the flow of precum right into Sam's slit with his tongue. A look shows Sam biting his lips, desperate to control his sounds, to avoid attracting attention.
Dean actually loves Sam, heavy and so – big – and trembling all over to keep himself in check and not fuck Dean's mouth with abandon like he must be literally aching to. Loves not being able to get to the root of him – not yet, at least, but it's good to have goals – no matter what, and having to use his hands on much of him.
If he's so well-versed in his brother's body by now, it's even more obvious now that all Dean feels is restricted to Sam Sam Sam. When he lets go, avoiding Sam's hands unconsciously(if his subsequent apologetic look means anything) trying to bring him back to task, the wounded sound that leaves his brother's lips is loud enough that he knows he'll need to act.
He gets up, swivels the chair – with a breathless Sam on top – making sure that his brother's decency is protected. The librarian who marches forward is the exact opposite of Dean's lowkey sexy librarian kink – old and not even wearing glasses – and, above all, concerned. "Did you get hurt?"
"Sorry. Nothing serious. Got surprised, it's all. No idea paper cuts could be that vicious." His winning smile, and Sam's embarrassed one, make her turn around mumbling about boys these days, not even knowing what paper is.
"Have you behaved?" he purrs, when they're alone again. He knows, of course. But he wants to drive home how easily Sam could have brought himself off, under the table. Roles reversed, Dean probably would have, fuck still having some to go through and how unattractive their interloper was.
Sam nods, hands now on the table, curling and uncurling, a quivering running through his whole body. Dean pets his nape, soothing, but then Sam turns around, nuzzles his stomach, and well. If he wants to.
"Need," he mumbles against Dean, and slips out of the chair, liquid. His own cock is still half-hard, dripping on the floor, and Dean knows he could ruin their whole game with an accidental nudge, just leaning a little too much into Sam's space. He's not going to. This is too heady.
Instead, he lets his brother have at it, mouth warm and eyes hotter, seeking...approval? Acceptance? Damn, there's a reason he never wants to talk feelings. Not that there's going to be any talking, right now. He lets himself, once again, take what Sammy is so eager to offer. He really should take longer to spill down Sam's hungry throat, but he's accepted, by now, that his self -control is simply shot when baby brother is involved. It's impossible to feel bad about it, with the way Sam grins at him like the cat that got the cream (one Dean is the opposite of allergic to) and gets up, wide-eyed but now nearly in control.
Dean smiles back, and graciously accepts another kiss, tasting himself. If this is Sam's secret way to persuade him to change his diet, the boy has another think coming. In fact – as soon as they're both presentable again – Dean leads them out to the closest diner. Sammy can have all the green things he wants, the weirdo, Dean is sticking to what he likes. After all, they have a workout in front of them. Depending on point of view, maybe two.
He's actually happy that summer – and its late, late sunsets – are gone. Just a little more driving around, to be extra sure, and they're breaking into the cemetery. For once, things go smoothly. The body goes up in flames, the ghost too...another job well done. It's time for their own kind of reward.
Back in their room, first of all, another shower is in order. Separately, this time, because it's not the moment to play...yet. As used as they are to digging up graves, nobody likes smelling like barbecued corpse, or trailing dirt around. Besides unpleasant, it also sounds like the way to catch something nasty, and that's so not in either's wishlist.
But then they're both squeaky clean, barely covered in their towels, smelling only like soap, and loose-limbed after the warm water washed off the fatigue of the day. In other circumstances, they'd happily nod off. But Sam's hazel eyes are wide and needy, and Dean can't keep the slightly predatory grin off his own lips.
"On the bed," he says, and Sam looks only too happy to comply.
Dean follows him, on all fours, hovering over his boy like a tiger. Just his presence is enough to stir his brother's cock, pointing upwards, straining. When he touches it, Sam's hands, desperate for anything to steady them, end up grabbing his shoulders.
"Nice and easy, Sammy," he rumbles, without letting up. One hand still on Sam's cock, another softly brushing against his brother's swollen, heavy balls. He's barely rolled them around, marvelling at what the boy is allowing him to do – and doing to himself, in a way – when he has to let go or ruin everything.
Sam keens, shudders, but doesn't push him down, no matter how desperate for contact he must be. How close – tasting it, even...
"Good, baby boy," Dean praises, " so good." He can't stop himself, his own hands move to pet panting flanks, pinch dark nipples. He's not helping Sam regain enough control to be able to start again. Then again, if Sam manages to accidentally come from his tits being played with... Dean would regret ruining the game, sure, but damn. It'd be glorious.
When he's sure that Sam has left the knife-edge of orgasm enough to endure another round, it's time to up the ante. "You look delicious," is all the warning Sam gets before, once again, Dean swallows as much of him as he can manage, and sucks. Hard. In fact, he fully plans to be able to deep-throat his giant baby brother someday, preferably soon, so he pushes himself a little. Chokes on Sammy's monster cock a moment, now that no one can possibly come investigate. Laves the underside, and preens at the begging litany falling from his brother's lips. When he abandons it, to slap wetly against Sam's own stomach, his brother sobs.
"It'll be okay. You're amazing, baby boy. Perfect," His hands slip down tense thighs this time. then under them, teasing, tickling. They still have a way to go before they can start again, but unbidden giggles take Sam's mind off the torturous intensity of it.
"Please," Sam finally breathes, confirming he's good to go.
Dean mouths at him again, suckling the underside, lapping at one over-heavy ball and then another. His fingers come to gather some of the precum flowing heavily from his boy's cock, and then, his favorite combo. He swallows Sam down again, as much as he can, and then uses one slippery finger to penetrate Sam's snug, hot, pretty hole, zeroing on his prostate. The slightest pressure makes his brother scream, and in seconds Dean deprives him of all contact, despite the way Sam clenches, trying to keep him, to have just that little more that would finally, finally be his undoing.
"Almost there," he says, hoarse. "Just one more, baby. One more, and then you can ask. Have. Anything, I promise."
As much in earnest as Dean is, it doesn't mean that he's not hoping. Fucking that long-held orgasm out of Sammy sounds like heaven, and besides, while he's been winding Sam tighter and tighter, it's not like he's even glanced his own way. He's hard too, of course. Not nearly as desperate as Sam must be, by now, with all the times he's come today; but anyone who could play with his brother and not get hard himself would have to be completely incapable of it, if you ask him.
The lube cap sounds loud in the room, and his brother actually cants his hips, offering him better access. Dean is slow and careful, groaning at the velvet softness of his brother's insides, actually giving his prostate a miss more times than not, this time, to give himself time to stretch Sam properly. Just one finger teasing the boy's cock, maddening more than anything else, but this way he can manage to go from one finger, to two, to three, his brother panting and whining and mewling above him, little abortive movements chasing a stimulation that won't come.
When Dean's satisfied with it, he goes in for the kill. Three fingers rubbing Sam's prostate from the inside...and two putting pressure on it from the outside, cruel against his perineum. Only a few seconds, before leaving him empty and aching again. Sam screams again, helpless, rides the air, frenzied with need. Dean stares at him, not daring to touch him anywhere else, not even daring to breathe.
When Sam's lungs and body are somewhat under his control again, he whines, "I need...oh God, Dean, I need..."
"Just tell me, baby boy. Anything."
And then Dean actually has to pinch himself, because he hears, "My ring," but that can't be, can it?
He actually pets Sam's stomach, asking, "The ring? Cockring? You wanna keep going, Sammy? Sure?"
"Yes...yes, please, I...I can't without, and I need...I need..."
"If you say so." Far be from him to refuse, if Sam thinks he can hold on longer. He tucks away a note to self to actually mention milking tomorrow. If Sam wants to keep this up, it might be the way to go.
He shivers a little, snapping the shiny ring around Sam's deep red cock. His brother moan is deep and drawn-out. And then comes the sentence Dean had given up on hearing as soon as Sammy had renounced his own orgasm.
"Fuck me. Fuck me, Dee, please."
He doesn't double check, this time. He plunges inside Sam, and fucks him, hard and relentless. Drives against his prostate every time, laughs at the way his brother bites and scratches him, always so polite but a fucking caveman in bed. Keeps a hand on Sam's trapped cock, playing with it, gathering what he's copiously dribbling to masturbate him better, knowing there's nowhere for all that pleasure and need to go. Again. And tomorrow.
Dean comes harder that he's done all day. Makes himself get up anyway, because the least he can do is help Sam with the clean up.
His cum hits Sam's overfull balls, and his brother moans, helpless. Dean toys with the idea of buying a plug tomorrow. Skipping future cleaning sessions for the morning after,
When Sam is as clean as he'll be, oh so careful, Dean snaps the cockring off. Sam arches for a moment, desperate.
"You know how it goes. Can't have you like this all night. If you want to avoid accidents, you'll have to get yourself soft, for the harness." With another person, Dean might have considered helping it along with ice. But the last thing he wants is Sam to feel like Lucifer is grabbing him down there.
Sam nods, fever-eyed and meek, and sooner than Dean expected, he's flaccid and with that look that compels Dean to take care of him. He doesn't ask what in their nightmares' list Sam used to rein himself in. He just puts the harness on, mutters "Good night" and tucks Sammy in, before realizing what he's done. Oh well. It happens.