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He's glad the spell wore off. Horrible timing of it, but hey. Now he can focus on more important things. Like Sam. Sam is a good thing to focus on any time, animal mind melding aside. Because, damn, if he couldn't get Sam out of his head to begin with, but the way his scent clung to everything had Dean salivating over his brother more than usual. He actually had to stop himself from humping the air around Sam so he could at least pass as semi-normal in public. Now that it's over though, now that they're tucked safely back in the bunker.... Well, Hell. No public here to raise eyebrows or gape.
Which is just fine with Dean, since there'd otherwise be some seriously offended gasping going on, what with how deep his dick is currently sliding into his brother's ass. But it's Sam gasping into the pillow, eyes scrunched tight, damp lock of hair stuck to his cheek, lips parted to let out the world's least insulted noises. Dean likes those sounds, wants more of them spilling out of Sam's mouth and washing down his spine until he fills Sam's ass so full of come that everybody will know just by the smell who fucked him first, last, and forever.
Dean groans at the thought of it, leans back on his knees to spread Sam's cheeks and rub at the slick stretched skin swallowing his cock.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Sam whimpers, lifting his ass for more, harder, deeper. And yeah, Dean can give him that, too.
He spreads his legs a little wider, balancing his weight for the long haul and gives it to Sam with all he has. Has to push the knowledge that he can give Sam what he needs so far down into him that he'll never doubt it or forget it. Pets his brother's stomach soothingly, teasingly, contrasting the harsh snap of his hips with the firm pressure of his other hand fisting his brother's dick. And it aches all over, it does, knowing that Sam might figure this one out on his own, might feel it hit him like an orgasm, that Dean needs him to know Sam could have anything, everything, if he just asks for it.
“Dean, please...”
And just like that, it's all over for Dean, body locked down around Sam, hips grinding against Sam's cheeks while he fills him up with creamy potential and promise. He stays like that for a while, smoothing the tight muscles of Sam's back with licking kisses.
“Are...Are you still coming?” Sam looks over his shoulder at Dean and that's when Dean realizes it: He is still coming. Their bodies are locked together and by god, it feels good. Sam is more than tight around him, he's tighter than he's been since.... Fuck, since the first time they did this. He's struck by the picture that makes, of a sixteen-year-old Sam bent over beneath him, his virgin hole stuffed full of Dean's thick cock. He humps and grinds against Sam's ass with a growl, and just keeps coming.
“Dean,” Sam groans, rocking his hips. “I don't think the spell's completely worn off.”
Dean doesn't really give a damn. Finally, chalk one up for the Winchesters.