(Another tumblr-inspired story.)
Taking his mouth off of Dean and licking at saliva about to escape from the corner of his mouth, Sam asked: "Not enough for you, Dean?"
Well, it's not enough now, Dean wanted to grit through his teeth. There was a warm mouth on his cock doing the good Lord's work, so close to being fully engulfed, and two digits still working at his used hole, so slick with lube and come that all he could feel the curl of his brother's fingers inside of him and none of that uncomfortable stretching, thrusting erratically. Dean had no time to catch up before Sam would change speed and pressure and angle.
But he was right. He wanted to feel fuller. Sam's fingers, while satisfying, miraculous even, wasn't enough for now. Conveying his desire without sounding like a caveman would be difficult. It was Sam's fault, leaving him high and dry like that. If he weren't tied down to the bed, he'd grab a handful of that long soft hair and guide him back down to where that mouth needed to be. All he could do at the moment was gape and rock his hips into Sam's fingers.
Withdrawing, Sam kissed Dean's hip before leaning over the side of the bed. It sounded like he was rummaging through his overnight bag. "It's your fault for feeling so good," he laughed. "And knowing it's just for me..." Retrieving what he wanted, Sam pushed himself back up, one of the variously shaped and sized vibrators they deemed fit for the road held in one hand. This one, while a little longer than Sammy, was about the same girth – details lost to Dean. He was empty, the spit on this dick was cooling, and was way too close to orgasm to have it denied like this. Sam needed to do his damn job.
The look of pure frustration must have been plastered all over Dean's face. "You got it that bad, huh?" The tube of lube used earlier was still on the bed, which Sam took advantage of. "Not that you need too much." And he prolonged it as much as he could, slow strokes mocking what could be happening right now if Sam stopped being such a fucking tease.
Sam switched it on to its lowest setting and dragged it lazily between Dean's entrance and perenium before pushing in the tip. If he didn't bite his lip the curses burning his tongue would be heard the next town over. This snail business was an abuse of power. Sam knew how close he was and still... If he protested, this sexual torture would be prolonged. Suffer now, revenge later.
He pushed in further, further, the vibration hardly registering. "Sam," he all but moaned out. It wasn't Sam, but the relief of feeling filled once again was one he couldn't contain. After pushing in as far as comfortable, Sam abruptly flicked the switch to high. Dean could feel to up to his belly, ripples of pleasure making his toes curl and trust his hips into empty air. Air that has to stop being empty already.
Sam left the vibrator to do its job inside Dean while he worked on the outside, positioning himself once again between his spread legs and all at once taking him into his mouth as far as he could. Unpredictable. A gift and a curse concurrently. Dean was past overstimulated: every whir of the motor; how much or how little pressure Sam put on him; hair sweeping against his skin. He swore he could feel Sam's taste buds. He couldn't even manage a "Yes" or a "Fuck." The only word in his vocabulary was "Sam," even if in his head it was followed by "you bastard."
With lips sealed around Dean like he would die if he let up, Sam slid up and down his length, down as far as he could before gagging and just the very tip remaining on his lips on the way up. And so slow, more for himself than Dean. He admitted to reveling in the feel of it, of his brother against his tongue, warm and smooth, and begging for release – the only time Dean would ever plead for anything from him. It was always Dean taking care of Sammy, Dean helping Sammy. For a few minutes, Sam took tended to Dean. He held the authority, he commanded when and how quickly Dean came. Big brother would be riding shotgun, and Sam wished it happened more often.
Dean's control must have been satisfactory as Sam quickened, his hand now pushing and pulling at the vibrator at the same time. So good, too good. He pulled at his binds because what could he do, really? "Sam" continued to tumble out of his mouth, and he had no control over what Sam was doing. Possibly breaking the headboard was about it.
Delirious. The bitch was making him delirious. Needed to fuck him harder, take him all the way down, past the point of gagging. Needed to come already.
Sam seemed to like the sound of his name, a whine of a mantra coming from Dean beneath him, and would reply in kind with a deep hum right when Sam took him in as far as he could, and would repeat every time Dean did also. Almost like Sam was saying his name. And Dean would think to when the roles were reversed, being between Sam's legs and slamming into him, Sam's vise-like hands biting into the flesh of his ass making sure Dean never pulled out too far, and his own name muttered against his lips. Dean was the only person in Sam's world then, and what they shared was all that mattered. No death, no battles or long drives and fast food. Just them together, the way it always should have been.
One more thrust of the vibrator and Dean finally peaked, still only able to say Sam's name and pretty sure he heard something snap above his head. Sam's mouth remained on him until he finished, pulling off with sealed lips, because the finishing touch was watching Sam swallow. Yeah, that's always a good way to end things. The vibrator was removed and switched off, placed on already damp sheets.
"You made such a mess."
Dean didn't have the energy to argue that Sam was the perpetrator. His come, the lubrication that he applied, the bed frame that would have to be replaced – all his fault. Just like a kid to think he can get away with everything.
A kiss on his neck made him forget about having to explain a damp mattress and ties knotted beyond removal to the manager, but only briefly.