Disclaimer: I do not own, again. A.N. So, right now I started worrying that I should make chapters length more uniform. Then Dean glared at me and dared me to interrupt anyone in the middle of this. Message received. You get what you get, please forgive me. XD
He takes the stairs two or three at a time, and he's relieved to find the bedroom door's open, so he doesn't have to go snooping through every other room in search of Sammy. His brother is still lying on the bed, panting harshly, and a ring of fresh bruises explains why he came so quietly. But fucking hell, she couldn't have known that he was into breathplay, so what the fuck? Dean's old hookup was passionate, sure, but everyone walked away very happy afterwards.
"Dee?" Sam croaks. Of course he knows his steps.
"I'm here, baby boy," he assures, a hand going to Sam's chest, almost instinctively.
"Kill her." Sharp and angry and demanding, and Dean truly would love nothing better, but...tomorrow.
"Sorry, Sammy. I fucked up. Not a Vetala," he mumbles.
"A monster," his brother retorts.
"Yeah, of course. And I'll kill her, as soon as I'm sure how. Promise," he whispers, caressing Sam's hair. Silver is lethal to many monsters, but not all. Stabbing one at random and then finding out she's only vulnerable to a specific type of wood or something? Awkward. They know her nest. The boy (forever his) will see his point.
Sam pouts, but he nods, leaning into Dean's touch. "My clothes, then."
"On it." He finds them, tossed everywhere, and passes them on. Except the boxers - they're so torn it's just not worth it. Sam can handle going commando for half an hour.
If he keeps a hand on the small of his puppy's back, all the way to the Impala...He's possessive. And yes, he's helping guide him, but nobody is going to assume an actual need for it. Not the Amazon, who smiles at them - closer to a sneer, really - and very pointedly locks the door behind them. Not any neighbor who might be peeking at the walk of shame, whether with outrage or envy.
Sam slumps across the passenger seat, head lolling on Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he breathes around another sob. "Dee, I tried -"
"I know, I know, puppy. I'm not angry. Hell, you should be, Sammy. I messed up. Things could have gone so much worse. " Dean knew exactly what he was doing, every second. And that's exactly why Sam should be murderously furious with him. But he's not confessing to that. Not yet.
"But they didn't. Monsters are confusing, sometimes. But I-"
"If she'd let me, I'd have given you the go ahead, Sammy. Got you out of there, didn't it?"
Dean isn't thinking - not really - when his right hand leaves the wheel to drop on Sam's jeans. He opens them and brushes against his spent cock, a nail barelly dipping in his slit, eager to feel how wet he is. Sam keens, and he makes to snatch his hand back to the wheel, but Sam's own giant paw stops him. "Don't stop."
He doesn't want to punish his puppy. But if Sam wants to pay for what he's done, maybe he should indulge him. Sometimes, they just won't accept forgiveness. But they are always happy to earn it. If it makes Sam feel better afterwards...
"You sure? I still think I'm the one in need of a swift kick, but if you beg for it... fair warning, Sammy. I'm going all-out." He hates himself, but not enough to stop. This is all on him, but damn, he realizes it'll be easy - so fucking easy - to make Sam pay for it. If Sam were as smart as they both think, he'd recognize Dean for the monster he is and run.
Instead, his baby brother whimpers, "Please."
"Why you even upset, hm?" His hand settles back inside Sam's jeans, holding his puppy's soft, sore cock too tight and tugging, harshly. There's no way the poor thing can become erect again so soon, but the strangled groan that leaves his brother's lips makes Dean throb even harder than being the unknown third during his seduction did. "Wanted to be hard for me? Hoping I'd fuck you all wet, on her bed maybe?"
"Dee." Sam shudders against him, sounding already wrecked.
"Or is it something else bothering you? I didn't give you that condom, puppy, Did you want to fuck some sweet monster cunt? Getting bored?" On his next pass, he let Sam's oversensitive cock feel his nails, biting into overwrought flesh.
"No, I...I..." Sam panted, tongue lolling out for a second like the dog he was. Amazons didn't really respect commitments. Dean should have made him wear his collar. "Need... Didn't wanna wait."
Dean laughs, sharp and mean. "My slut, huh? Should I believe you?"
"Yeah.." a wet breath of a word.
"Not sure I do." Hand abandoning his boy's cock, but before Sam could protest - about it, or his earnestness - he pinches his brother's frenulum.
Sam seizes, wailing, instinctively buries himself against the seat, trying to escape the white-hot agony, but Dean doesn't let up. Not for long seconds that undoubtedly feel like hours.
"You asked for it, puppy," he reminds him, stern, when he finally lets go. "Told you I wouldn't go easy."
"Sorry." A sob.
"What for?"
"For...for letting her have what's yours."
"Mine, are you?" His hand leaves Sam's pants to squeeze the back of his neck. He really misses the collar right now. His brother nods, winning himself a smile he can't see.
"Mine to hurt. Mine to pleasure. Mine for anything at all," he rumbles.
"Yeah." So soft it's barely an exhale.
"Pull back your foreskin." Not like he hasn't had to do it, a few times, but he'd rather avoid having to drive with his knees only. Especially given he's so blindingly hard. Besides, making Sam complicit in this is a rush like no other.
His brother obeys, not even thinking how exposed he is, and that they're moving, anyone could get an eyeful - not that there is much traffic now, but the point stands. Technically.
Dean slaps his boy's cockhead. Sudden, and hard. Sam moans, loud with agony, but doesn't move. So Dean does it again. And again.
He can't take it anymore. He, not Sam, who's still obeying, offering himself for whatever Dean feels like doling out. So he parks in the first spot he sees, and no, he has no idea where they are. He knows they were going in the right direction, but he can't say that he's really registered anything. Not since they left the Amazon's house. They're lucky he can drive practically subconsciously - or maybe Baby's just that good.
His own pants and boxers get tugged down just enough, in one practiced move, and then he's straddling Sammy, who huffs a little at the sudden change. Dean definitely needs two hands for this. His own near-purple, throbbing cock naturally aligns with Sam's still soft, abused one, and now it's Dean's turn to moan. He jerks the both of them together, his own precum the only thing easing this, already knowing he won't last long.
He doesn't, of course. Maybe two minutes (but he's probably overestimating) and he's coming all over himself - and Sam.
Sam who never stops surprising him, because - despite how soon it is, the unrelenting pain Dean put him through in the meantime - he's hardening against Dean's own softening cock.
Well, what's fair is fair, so Dean keeps jerking them off ferociously, not so much ignoring his own oversensitivity as revelling in it, because fuck him.
Sam shoots mercifully soon himself, with a sharp, "Dee!" and Dean doesn't even try to help himself. He kisses the word off his brother, pets a cheekbone and then gets back to driving. They really need to get to their room before anything else happens.
They are at their accomodation ten minutes later (nine too many, if you ask him) and Dean's never been happier that the place is one with separate bungalows, so they have a private access and more space than usual. Expecting to perform surgery inside, the usual cramped motel room just wouldn't have cut it, no matter how weirdly comforting they both might find those after a lifetime of moving from one to another.
No half-asleep clerk to judge them here. "Here we are, puppy," he announces. Even after their tryst, Sam remained half curled over him. Needier than ever, for contact, for the implicit reassurance that he is, indeed, forgiven.
They slip inside, holding hands. It's childish, and unnecessary, really, but who's going to judge if Sammy doesn't complain?
Dean knew, of course, but the stark light of the room still makes him remark, "God, you're filthy." He must be just as bad, but there's no mirror in here.
His brother flinches minutely, and tries to rush to the bathroom...only, Dean pins him against the wall. "Hey. Did I say it was a bad thing?"
Sam shakes his head, and Dean continues, "Right. I didn't. And I haven't forgotten what I owe you either, baby boy. We're going to take our time...and frankly, showering will be pointless for a good while. "
"Yeah?" Sam sounds eager, it's the only word for it, and with everything that happened today, Dean's ego swells just a little.
"Mmm-mmh." He's efficient in getting the both of them naked, soiled clothes tossed to pile in a corner. In the meantime, he kisses his brother, slow and gentle, just because he can. And because he needs to get the taste of her out of his mouth, too. So maybe things heat up swifter than he anticipated, because Sammy's sweet mouth has to be reclaimed. And if Dean bites the boy's lower lip, almost distractedly, well. He's here to swallow the instinctive moan that escapes his Sam.
He lets himself trail downwards, taking his time, examining every sign the fucking slut left on what wasn't hers, tasting sweat that has no business making him crave the way it does. It should be disgusting, honest, but - it's Sammy. That always fucks up any principle Dean seems to have. His brother's hands are...everywhere, really, hungry and possessive even while Dean slips through them to continue his trail downwards.
When he's finally kneeling in front of him, Sam's hands ending up on his nape and right shoulder, half holding half driving, he's satisfied to see his brother has something for him. A whole lot of something, because the boy's proportional.
If Dean keeps his slow pace, licking every inch before he lets that cock get anywhere inside his mouth...Ok, maybe it's half an impression with everything that happened since her house. But he wants him clean. Otherwise, he might be tempted to bite where he shouldn't. Not now.
When he's satisfied with the taste (Sammy's been leaking, and now there's nothing but pure Winchester on Dean's tongue) he finally gives into Sam's goading. He swallows as much as he can in one go, sucking hard, then keeps going, until Sam hits the back of his throat. His brother's wrecked moans pull answering ones from him. Dean pulls out all the stops, every trick he's learned in the decades they've been lovers. He grins around the prize in his mouth when he sees Sam tremble, like he'd fall (down, apart, everything) if Dean wasn't here to be his rock. And the chisel carving him asunder at the same time.
Love and pride and a possessive kind of hunger surge until he feels - too much, and it's good that his mouth is occupied, because who knows what might slip from him otherwise. A soft caress at his brother's drawn-up balls, and Sam explodes on his tongue, coming with a keen that's half his name. Dean doesn't let him go until that changes into a whimper, his puppy too sensitive for his still eager mouth.
Dean kisses him again, just because he can, sharing Sam's delicious taste with him. Lets his boy swallow a groan right out of his mouth. He leads them towards the bed, and when Sam tries to mention a shower, chides, "Told ya, I'm far from done with you..."
"Dee, I'm not sure..." His brother frowns a little.
"Of course you can, baby boy. I know you. Trust me?"
Sammy nods, and lets him lead. Follows him to the bed, and exhales a little in surprise when all Dean does is doodle on him with a single finger. Across his chest, down his stomach, lazy and sweet. He will get what he wants from Sam, eventually. But for now, he's willing to wait and enjoy.
He ignores the way he's throbbing (his brother's pleasure always turns him on), and keeps playing around, barely a hint of a nail here and there, before going back to a soft, gentle teasing. Sigils and his initials and 'mine' are traced along toned flesh. Sam's hands come to find him, too, skimming around a flank and seeking what he can feel digging against his thigh, but Dean's other hand catches his.
"Not yet, puppy. I don't mind waiting, but - together, okay?"
Sam hums his assent, and when he's freed, his hands slither upwards, pinching nipples, drawing his own initials in turn, following the tattoo they share - he might not see it, or be able to feel it, but he knows it, intimately. If that makes Dean groan a little louder...well. He's lost any shame about the depth of their relationship long ago.
They're just in love. Mellow, playful, and Dean's all for letting Sam recuperate in full this time. His plans won't allow anything less.
Self-control is the name of the game. And Dean has plenty of it. Always had, for all that it might seem the opposite. He waits, smiles right against Sam's skin, lets his brother tease and keep him shivering with arousal without ever getting close to anything that might tip Dean over. Sam doesn't even properly take him to the edge. He must want that together, just as much if not more than Dean, if he isn't trying to push his big brother too far, to make him tap out.
It takes time, with how wrung out Sam is, but finally he moans deeper, Dean's tantalizing touch stoking his arousal to the point his hard-on wakes up again. That's when he leaves his boy, ignoring the disappointed, confused groan with a "Hold that thought, baby boy, I'll be back soon."
He slips to the bathroom, prepares himself as thoroughly as he can stand (and if it's not as much as Sam would...well, his brother doesn't know what he deserves). He strides back in, announcing, "I've been thinking, puppy. Sure, I got some of what happened tonight, but - neither of us are happy with it. So lemme rewrite it, huh? You're going to give me the play by play of what happened. Every. Filthy. Detail. "
Sam's groan sounds shocked, and Dean tzks at him. "I know you know how it works, baby. You've been on the other end of this often enough." And somehow, it took them years to figure out that there might be something weird about that.
"I'm going to do everything she did. So, when you think back to tonight, it'll be me you remember. Not her. Every touch and kiss, any pleasure - mine."
"Christ." Fervent.
"Is that a yes?"
"Yeah yes please."
"Well baby, start talking."
Truth is, he wouldn't even need Sam's input for most of it. Besides the stark bruises on his baby boy's throat, there are plenty of marks left on him. More finger outlines, scratches, and Dean daydreams for a second about going back - together, when Sam is whole - and taking her apart slowly for it.
He couldn't know the order to follow, though, not on his own. Besides, he'd miss the way his puppy blushes oh-so-prettily when confessing, in a low, faltering whisper. Sam squirms, part of him wanting anything except to think back about his dalliance. He tries to simply guide him with his hands, tugging his brother where he wants him, but Dean resists.
Sammy's so unlike his own old boasting, shame still thick in his voice. The only thing that keeps him talking are how eager he is for Dean's touch to erase hers, he bets. Well, that and the feeling that he might die if his brother stops right now, and he knows it's a very real possibility, with how invested Dean gets in their little games.
Not that Dean thinks he would actually be able to, not this time. Not with how badly he aches for Sam himself. Not when he's riding him like there's no tomorrow, just like that monster who had him earlier. A man on a mission, and that mission is to make his puppy scream and come so hard he won't be able to move. If he's gonna play her, he's going to do it right.
Sam has stopped his tale, incapable of making sense. The only things that leave his lips are near-subsonic groans and desperate moans, and this time, when his hands lace with Dean's and bring them exactly where he needs him, his brother allows it, following his lead. It's not like he's using complete sentences either, loudly echoing him with equal desire.
When Sam finds his words again, it is to beg him to come, wrecked and needy. Dean - near out of his mind as he feels - doesn't even try to hold back. His orgasm drowns him, like a tsunami, and he's suddenly imperious, because he needs Sam with him - with him, now.
But Sam is serious about their recreation, shaking and gritting his teeth below him, holding on, holding back. Maybe part of it is proving to Dean that he can - that he's good, he won't, no matter how hard he's squeezed or how frantic he is, and if Dean'd just taken pity on him - saved him - they wouldn't be here. Or they would be - they definitely would be - but forging their own path, not retreading to soothe open wounds.
Dean knows what comes next. His hands cover fresh bruises, larger than the imprints undoubtedly sparking reawakened pain, and he orders, fierce and steely, "Come for me, puppy."
Sam obeys, mute, seizing under him, and Dean moans in delight at the feel of spunk coating his insides, even if his baby boy doesn't have much to offer anymore.
Slowly, he dismounts his favorite steed (so what if orgasms make him silly). Sam seems ready to pass out, so Dean lightly slaps his face. "Don't leave me yet, baby boy. I'm not done with you."
He really, really should be. But truth is, he knows that his brother will be furious tomorrow, when he figures things out. So he's greedy now. If Sam decides to ignore him for however long, or God forbid, leave... Dean needs as many memories as he can, to tide him over until he can crawl his way back into his boy's good graces.
Sam hums a little, struggling to listen. Wanting to be good for him. Dean feels drunk on it.
"Tell me you want more."
Sam should be begging him to be left alone, promising to make it up to him tomorrow. Instead, he mumbles, "More." And then, without prompting, "Always want you."
"Do you, huh?" Dean purrs. "Lucky you it's mutual, puppy." He manhandles Sam a bit, turning him around, and his boy hisses a little when sore flesh, pinched and scratched twice over, hits the mattress.
"Sorry," Dean says, not sounding sorry at all. He grabs the lube, and moments later he's teasing Sam's rim, insistent and smirking, until Sammy begs for it. Too soon for his own good, maybe, his finger that slips in works his way to his brother's prostate quicker than he should, drawing a whine from him. But who's Dean to deny him anything?
He tries to take his time, to make this soft and slow, but he can't. It's insane that he's so eager - that they both are - after such a night.
Maybe Sam's just eager to get this over with, willing to bear a little discomfort to be allowed to rest. But he keeps pleading between pants and whimpers, Dean's name breaking on his lips. And Dean - despite all the times he's come today, and how shortly ago, - is valiantly trying to chub up already, because he can never resist his baby boy.
So he keeps going, giving Sammy more every time he asks, until he's four fingers in and Sam wails. Too much or not enough, it doesn't matter, because his brother's hips still cant, just a little, and Dean won't wait. He's as hard as humanly possible again, and he gets inside Sammy, all soft and open now. This is his and his alone, Sam molded to him, breath driven out with every thrust, low mewls of overwhelmed pleasure every time Dean - instinctively, fiercely - finds his prostate.
His boy too exhausted to be as passionate as usual, just taking what Dean's giving him, his cock, the near-delirious words dripping from his mouth, "So good, baby, all mine, gorgeous, perfect," his hands holding him down as if Sam might be inclined to knock him off and run away.
Then they move to his beloved's newly hard cock, tight, jerking the way that always drives Sammy insane, and after a couple moments Dean grits out, "Together, this time, for real, come on, come for me."
The way Sam's squeezing him, vicious, whining something that might be half of his name, Dean knows he's been obeyed. So he lets himself plunge along, screaming his baby boy's name right back. It's not patently obvious, though...because Sam's cock stays painfully dry. Dean managed to wring everything out of him, and his brother still played along, with nothing to give - still wanted, if he hasn't lied. Dean would know if he did, wouldn't he? If he was just being a good puppy.
He's too lucky. Well, for tonight at least. Tomorrow he'll pay for sure.
For now, though, he knows what to do. Slowly, regretting it just a little, slip out of Sam. Second, take care of him - quick, gentle cleanup. Third, while Sammy finally passes out, clean himself up - just as quick, a little less softly, because he doesn't deserve it. He'd kick his own ass if he could, but he'd leave that pleasure to Sam.
Finally he slips back into bed, nestling against his brother. Tonight, he still has this. Part of him doesn't want to sleep, but they have an intense day tomorrow. He needs at least a handful of hours.