Work Text:
“Okay, if I put you down, you gonna be a man about it?”
Dean can feel his brother watching him as he paces around the motel room while carrying “Bobby-John” in his arms, rocking the tiny thing to sleep in a clumsy but seemingly effective manner.
Dean chooses to ignore the way Sam's eyes glue themselves to his body and instead tries to concentrate on the baby's face, his eyes fluttering closed and his tiny fists going limp by his sides as he slides out of reality and onto dream land. He gently lays the boy down in his makeshift crib.
There were two nearby motels that offered cribs, but they scurried out of the first when the receptionist offered them a seat instead of keys and picked up the phone, clearly going for security. Apparently two grown men with a baby that clearly did not belong to them was too shady for her.
Therefore, the minute they arrived at the second baby friendly motel, according to Sam’s smartphone, he whispered to Dean to “go with it” and pulled him close by the waist, lifting Bobby-John to his chest like a real dad. Dean swallowed down the churn in his stomach at the proximity and tried to ignore the thrilled look on the receptionist's face as Sam sweet-talked her into believing they were a gay couple just back from the baby adopting factory. Dean's brain had frankly switched off (something that occurred naturally in reaction to his brother being in charge), and he hoped standing there like a stick wouldn't ruin the act.
“Huh.” Dean turns at the sound of Sam, who was giving him an amused look.
“What?”
“You're just, uh, actually, not awful at that.” Sam shrugs, and Dean notices how his body is completely tilted towards where he’s standing.
“Dude, I'm barely keeping that thing alive.” Dean says, leaning against the king-sized bed. He could easily sit across from Sam on the table, but something was telling him to keep his distance from his brother, just for now.
Dean isn’t going to lie to himself this time. He knows how heated things could get between them when one of them was back from the dead, or in any case in which they were absent from each other for a while. Their abnormally strained and passionate feelings for each other resulted in a pattern of “love making” as a reunion celebration one too many times.
They both knew it was wrong, fucked up, but that didn't stop them anytime before. So Dean has to rely on himself to stay Sam-sober this time around. He has a beautiful woman and a boy—that was suspiciously as old as a hook-up with said beautiful woman—waiting for him back in a white fenced house.
It’s a strange, strange situation. On one hand, Dean is more than happy to have Sam back in the picture; it’s like he woke up from a long dream, but on the other, he feels as if Sam caught him playing pretend, and it was embarrassing. Two sides of his life clashed so suddenly, and Dean knows that his younger brother returning into his life shouldn't be a cause of conflict in his romantic relationship, but Lisa knew; she saw through his bullshit a long time ago, when he was newly grieve-stricken and out of his mind. Hence, he has to get his shit together.
Sam isn’t helping though; the second they laid their arms on each other back in the cabin, he’s been eyeing him in that way and keeping his gaze locked on him even after Dean catches him staring. Not only that, this time around he’s been leaving fleeting touches here and there. It makes Dean question whether Sam realizes he was in an actual relationship with Lisa.
Sam stands, closing his laptop. "No, no, you've got that whole vibe about you. You're like father material.” He says, lips upturned, approaching Dean, who tenses up.
Something is different about him, but Dean can’t quite put a finger on it. He doesn’t know if it was the cage, especially that Sam didn’t spend all that much in there, or if it was the year they were apart, or if it was Samuel’s effect. All he knows is that it gives him a chill when their eyes meet for too long.
“Well, y'know, sink or swim.” He chuckles awkwardly as Sam leans on the bed's edge near him; his body turns to him again. It feels calculated, and it makes Dean's skin prickle.
“You mean Ben?” Sam asks, his arm resting on his own knee. But Dean feels that it won’t stay there very long.
“Uhh, yeah.”
“How's that going for you, then?”
Dean gives him a puzzled look, and Sam continues. "Well, you know, white picket fence, a woman, kid. You've got the whole package.” He’s looking right at Dean without so much as a blink, his face unreadable. Dean doesn’t understand whether he’s upset that Dean had “moved on” or if he’s trying to have a different conversation.
“It’s.. like you said, family.” Dean stutters, eyes shifting to the crib. He finds himself hoping Bobby-John will burst into tears right then, giving him an excuse to avoid addressing this tension between him and Sam. It’s so much easier to deal with when they have their hands busy with something.
“And Lisa? She's been good to you?” Sam asks calmly, giving Dean his best impression of a caring look, but it only makes his brother more confused.
“Yeah, I've put on some, haven’t I?” Dean fakes a laugh, patting his stomach and hoping it'd work.
Just as Dean predicted, Sam's hand moves to pat his leg and stays there. His grip is firm, his long fingers splayed across the expanse of Dean's thigh. “Yeah, you look great. But I meant something else.”
“I don't—what do you mean?” Dean's voice comes out breathy and wrong.
“I think you know what I mean.” Sam smirks a little, his hand traveling a little up towards Dean's crotch. His clothed dick already begins to twitch in reaction to Sam's voice, his warm touch, and his now blatantly lustful gaze.
Dean huffs. “That's—” He stares between Sam and the crib, as if to remind Sam they were a few feet from a baby. That doesn't seem to hinder his younger brother's attempts to bed him, though.
Sam raises his eyebrows. “Don't worry, he won't wake up if you're quiet.” He shifts closer to Dean. “You can do that, right?” He whispers in a seductive tone, creasing his brother's thigh shamelessly.
Dean flashes red and refuses to meet his eyes, but feels himself burn under them. Sam lusting after him like this does things to his body that he doesn't want to admit. Unfortunately for him, his body does not care about his thoughts, and his dick starts springing to life under the familiar touch.
“Sam, I can't—” His weak protest is cut off by Sam leaving a kiss at his temple, rendering him speechless with the gentleness of it. Dean's eyes fall closed, and he feels another kiss at his cheek, then his jaw, then at the edge of his lips.
He doesn’t want to melt against his brother's lips, but alas...
Sam continues peppering butterfly kisses to his face, and his hand moves to rub over his clothed hard-on, making Dean shudder.
“Oh God,” Dean's voice cracks, and he lets all control go as Sam pulls him closer by the waist and buries his face in the juncture of his neck and starts leaving hungry kisses there. Dean tilts his head to the side to give his brother better access, a tingly feeling growing in the bit of his stomach each time Sam's lips press against his sensitive skin. Sam was very experienced with what Dean likes, and his mouth was heavenly.
Sam leaves a trail of wet kisses up to Dean’s neck, then licks a long strip of skin and starts leaving a hickey right behind Dean's ear where it felt the best, all while keeping his hand busy between Dean’s legs.
Dean's jaw falls open as pleasure accumulates. He moans and twitches under Sam's skilled hands and mouth.
By the time Sam's lips leave his now colored skin with a pop, Dean is half out of it. He’s gasping shakily; his jeans feel too damn tight, and his ass clenches around nothing, asking for more.
Unfortunately for him, Sam's hand suddenly leaves his crotch—right when Dean’s mentally preparing himself to cream his pants where he sat, like a hormonal teenager—and leaves him with a whine on his rosy lips and a look of betrayal on his face.
“I'm not done with you yet." Sam whispers huskily in his ear. Dean can only nod in response. Sam smirks, knowing he has Dean exactly where he wants him.
Sam gets up and begins unbuttoning his plaid shirt, ridding himself of it and standing shirtless, flexing his perfect washboard abs to a star-struck Dean. He intended to make him forget why he even tried resisting this, and it seems to work.
Dean is next; he discards his button-up and pulls his black flannel over his head in a second. His build is much softer than Sam's, but you can see his hard work in the lines of his stomach and his arms.
Sam smirks down at him, almost predatory, as he lays Dean down onto the soft bed with a hand to his chest and follows him, positioning himself on top with support of his strong arms.
Dean's breath hitches as Sam leaned down; their bare chests meet, and Sam's lips hover just above Dean's, sending a shiver down his spine.
“Please." Dean simply says, and Sam finally kisses him.
When their lips meet, both of them moan, and then there’s an explosion of desire. Their hands travel all over each other's bodies in a hurry; their mouths slot together like storm waves. Sam may have been back a short while, but it feels as if the tension has been building up for too long between them.
Dean doesn’t know why he wasted all those hours when he could've been like this instead, half-naked under Sam, feeling the heat of their bodies pressed together while they practically ate each other's faces.
Dean parts his thighs, and Sam slides between them, pressing their crotches together. Dean’s pleased to know that Sam is as excited as he is, feeling his bulging boner right against his own crotch.
Sam starts grinding against him, and Dean arches his back wantonly. He moans into his brother's mouth and feels Sam smile against him, sliding big hands under his hips and tugging him closer by the ass, desperate for more as well.
Dean feels another orgasm creep up on him, his body tenses with anticipation, dick leaking inside his boxers and probably staining the whole thing. Dean can’t care less; he doesn’t even know where he is anymore. He goes crazy for Sam when he’s like this, taking control and making him feel good.
Dean breaks the heated kiss to gasp but keeps Sam close by the neck. He pants heavily as he prepares for his climax to hit.
Sam pushes their foreheads together; strands of his soft hair fall between them, and he continues grinding just the way that drove Dean to the edge. He watches closely as his older brother's expression contorts with bliss; Dean pats his eyelashes, looking up at him with awe in his eyes, his pretty and puffed lips part with a silent moan, his jaw and neck strain. His body arches, and he finally bursts, letting a loud gasping cry escape his lips and his head fall back against the mattress with a soft thud as he comes, dick twitching helplessly and ejaculating in his pants.
Sam watches intently, forgetting to chase his own pleasure for the award of seeing Dean unravel beneath him.
“God, you're amazing, Dean." He nearly growls, pushing their faces together again and capturing Dean's lips with his own. Dean whines against the kiss, his body wiggling under Sam's as he’s short of breath.
Sam allows him to breathe a moment later, pulling off of him with a pop, his own expression of utmost pleasure, as if Dean cumming was enough for him. Dean stares at him lovingly, coming down from his high. He loved the way Sam dominated him, making him feel wanted.
“Love you," The words come out in a breathy sigh before he can stop them, not that he wanted to. Sam's eyebrows twitched up in response; he’s still smiling, but he doesn't say anything back; he just looks at Dean.
The man quickly turns beet red in embarrassment. Those kinds of confessions weren't rare to make between them, but they’re never really said using the L word. They both always find different ways to express that emotion than outright.
In silent reassurance, Sam gently squeezes Dean's ass, still cupped in his hands, and presses their lips together in a sloppy, slow, and wet kiss. Dean is overtaken by the gesture, and the wave of panic that hit him quickly dissolves as he melts again.
Dean can still feel Sam's hard-on against his thigh and begins considering ways he could get him off as well. But before he can act on numerous thoughts involving his hands and his mouth, Sam suddenly pulls away and, with a swift motion, flips Dean over so that he’s lying on his stomach.
Dean yelps in surprise, even more so when he feels Sam tug on his jeans and underwear, pulling them down his legs to pool at his feet and revealing his ass and thighs. The sensation of his own half-dried cum shifting between his crotch and the fabric is unpleasant, to say the least.
He goes to question what his brother was up to, but Sam hushes him. He traces a finger along his naked back and makes Dean shiver with anticipation.
“Lift your hips for me and be quiet." Sam whispers against his neck, and Dean complies, his ears perking up at the sound of Sam's belt buckle being undone.
Thrill courses through him as he thinks of Sam fucking his thighs until he comes between them. The first time his brother suggested it, Dean was opposed to it as he thought it would bruise his thighs or worse, cause chafing; plus, the idea of stickiness between his legs just didn't seem appealing. That was until he allowed Sam to do it once; he was pleasantly surprised by how smooth Sam made it feel. The faint yet delicious feeling of indirect friction, hearing Sam's heavy breathing and moans in his ear, eventually made Dean cave and touch himself until he reached a blinding climax alongside his brother.
Dean's ears perk up once again at the sound of a packet being ripped; his heart speeds up, and he inches his hips up in anticipation. Then he feels his brother's hand spread him open, and a cold liquid greets his hole.
Dean flinches, hips fluttering as he realizes Sam was planning on going in a different direction with no preparation ahead.
“Wait, we're..?" Dean questions, turning to Sam. When their eyes meet, a shiver goes down his spine, and not the good kind. Sam is glaring at him with an intensity that went beyond his usual bitch-face.
“Turn around and be quiet." He orders.
“I'm just not-" Dean protests rather weakly. Sam cuts him off with a hand to his neck; he buries his face into the sheets to silence him.
“W-wait," Dean tries to speak, but his voice is muffled. He tries to reach Sam with his arms, but his brother evades his escape attempts rather easily.
Dean feels the head of Sam's dick at his entrance, and his breath picks up, his face going hot with a mix of fear and desire. Sam pushes into him. It’s huge, sudden, and overwhelming. Dean is unsure whether he should resist or surrender. He tries to shift away, but Sam's other hand engulfs most of his waist, and he pulls his ass into him with ease.
Dean's body gives an involuntary jerk, and he hopes that Sam will take a hint that he didn’t quite expect this and to perhaps slow down, but instead he feels his heavy, crushing weight pressing down on top of his own, stifling all options for movement.
Sam continues digging into his insides, and Dean can’t help the cry that’s ripped out of his throat and into the mattress. He holds onto the sheets for mercy, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his backside. Usually, Sam will take his time preparing Dean, fingering him open and asking repeatedly if he was all right, unintentionally edging him until he falls apart in his arms.
To think that it used to frustrate him makes tears prick at his eyes.
Dean shakes to the feeling of Sam's dick jabbing inside of him; it’s getting harder to breathe with his face against the mattress. He lets out a frantic whine and twitches under Sam, who finally receives the message and takes his claws off of his older brother's flaming neck.
Dean's head whips up quickly, and he pants, trying to catch his breath and recover from the intense struggle. Instead, he’s met with Sam holding him back by his waist and immediately pounding into him, like nothing else mattered.
“Wait!" Dean cries again, unable to believe this is happening. It’s animalistic, primal, the way Sam is taking him without any regard for his well-being. Dean's heart and mind race as he tries coming up with a way to escape his brother's vicious grip, but he draws a blank.
On top of the continuous pain, Dean feels as if he were suffocating with the proximity. Hips to ass, chest to back, arms now around his middle. The skin-to-skin that once brought Dean comfort and pleasure now feels like grinding stones together to make fire. And Dean fears this fire would consume everything Sam and him once built together.
His broken sobbing echoes in the room, matching the tempo of Sam's merciless thrusts as he continues to overpower his older brother.
Dean hears a whimper coming from the crib behind them and slams a hand over his mouth. He’s so consumed by Sam that he forgot where they were.
“Told you to be quiet." Dean can practically hear Sam's smirk near his ear, and it sends another shiver down his spine.
The possibility that something had possessed Sam crossed his mind at that moment, and he sobs into his hand. Is he truly that desperate for his brother's affection, his touch, that he surrendered his body to something that looks like Sam?
Sam rocks his hips at a different angle, and suddenly stars blind Dean's vision, and an intense stab of pleasure from the bit of his stomach wards off his thoughts. He moans inside his mouth and feels his dick, hanging between him and the mattress, twitch back to life.
'No, no, no,' Dean thinks, control slipping through his fingers as his body decides to betray him. Getting violated was nothing new, but at Sam's hands?
Dean feels hot and heavy breaths against his neck, a sign that Sam is about to come undone, and with his increasing pace, most likely inside of him. The thought makes Dean shudder in a mix of disgust and fear.
Despite what he thinks, his body responds to the familiarity, as if it memorized what it needs to do. His dick begins leaking pre-cum, and his ass tightens around his brother, who reacts with a grunt of approval.
Dean moans in response, teeth digging in his bottom lip as he tries to delay his own climax. But it was fruitless; he yearns so badly for Sam that no matter how wrong or painful this is, he will always give way for him.
Sam fucks him steadily; the pleasure is building up to an overwhelming degree. Dean's eyes squeeze shut, and he finally surrenders to the feeling, seeking comfort from the humiliation in whichever way his brother—his assaulter—will provide.
Sam hugs Dean closer to his burning body, and the intimacy makes Dean's hips involuntarily push back against him. Noises of skin slapping and ragged breathing increase; the scent of sex surrounds them. And as sickening as it was, it reminds Dean of home.
Sam whispers filth to him, one hand going to cup his jaw, the other still gripping his hip possessively. Dean feels his guts boiling, then there’s white behind his eyes again, and he comes together with his brother.
Hot fluid oozes out of him and spills inside of him all at once, and Dean is blinded by the intensity. His body strains, and he feels a flash of hot pain rip through him. He cries out at Sam's final brutal thrusts, then his muscles turn to goo, and he flops against the bed like a slab of meat on a kitchen counter.
Everything is blurry afterwards. Sam says something snarky, and the sting in Dean's ass, followed by the breeze of the room against his bare body, tells him that he already pulled out of him and simply left the bed.
Usually, Sam would cuddle him until the orgasm wore off, at which point they either hit the shower or roll away from reality and into dreamland together, filthy and full of love. This time, however, Dean is left in his position. His ass feels empty and weird, and his jeans are still hanging off his ankles. He uses what little energy he has left to shimmy out of them and lay on his back, an arm going to cover his face.
He just wants to lie there and feel nothing for a little while longer, even if it means blatantly ignoring the cum seeping out of his ass.
He hears Bobby-John's far-off chirping and babbling as Sam leans over his crib to quickly check on him before disappearing into the bathroom. When he catches Sam from the corner of his eye a few minutes later, his brother is damp-haired and clothed again, sporting a post-sex glow and walking around as if nothing was the matter.
Dean notes how he hasn’t met his eyes yet and can’t tell if it’s caused by shame or a lack of it.
Before the thought settles, the awaited shrill cry finally sounds from the crib. Dean sits up, but he only watches from red rimmed eyes as Sam crosses the room with an annoyed expression and pulls the baby awkwardly into his huge hands, trying to rock him midair in hopes that it would shut him up. Bobby-John’s wails only grow louder.
“Uhh, little help here?” Sam looks at Dean expectantly, and reality comes crashing down on him like a bucket of ice; Sam really just used him like a fleshlight then moved on.
Dean stands to his feet, knees buckling, and rushes past Sam to the bathroom. He locks the door behind him and leans against it, the baby's crying and Sam's muffled words a background noise for the hundred thoughts that cross Dean's mind just then. He just cheated on Lisa with his brother in a motel room with a stranger's baby a few feet apart, and it stopped feeling mutual halfway through and Dean couldn't stop it. He couldn't overpower Sam, or even refuse his advances. There’s something wrong with Sam, there’s something wrong with him , and he doesn’t know how to confront, much fix, any of it.
The string of devastating thoughts is cut short once Dean is in the shower with cold water running down his body, he decides that everything will be alright; it's not like he and Sam haven’t gotten rough with each other before; all of this can easily be caused by mixed signals. On the other hand, what Lisa doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Dean can keep everything under control by simply ignoring it. This won’t make anything magically disappear, but it will keep his feelings where they belong, inside of him and nowhere near other people.
By the time Dean is dressed and dry again, Sam has taken his previous seat on the table to resume his research with Bobby-John bouncing on one of his legs. The baby has calmed down, seemingly taking a liking to being in Sam's lap.
Everything seems normal again, and the only evidence of the earlier 'incident' are the sheets bundled in the corner of the room.
Dean stands by the window and watches them. He can’t stop the fleeting warmth in his stomach. He knows that no person in their right mind can look at someone who had just caused them pain and humiliation and feel this way, but nothing in Dean's life has ever been synonymous with normalcy anyway.
“Crap. I can't believe I missed this.” clutching one of the files in his hand, Sam cuts into the cloud of silent tension.
“What?” Dean replies.
“This house on Elm. The mother was killed, baby was grabbed, but daddy wasn't living in the house at the time so he's still alive.” Sam rambles then finally looks at Dean. Their eyes meet, but Dean finds nothing in Sam's.
“What do you say we go and have a chat?” Sam resumes, unaware of his brother's heart splitting into a million pieces in his chest.
“You go.” Dean says shakily, approaching his brother with careful steps. "Unless you've got a badge for Bobby John, of course." He lifts the baby from Sam's leg and to his chest.
“You sure?” Sam asks, but he’s already leaving the table and heading towards the door. Dean nods, cradling the tiny body closer to him. It’s strange to admit, but it brings him some comfort.
Dean watches the door shut behind Sam and releases a breath he didn't know he’s holding. Bobby-John doesn’t allow him a long moment of peace, though, and begins to fuzz in his arms. Dean glares at the baby, then dips his finger in his forgotten whiskey cup and holds it out to his mouth. The baby babbles against his finger, then goes quiet at the taste of warm alcohol. A small smile tugs at the corner of Dean's lips.
“It's good, isn't it?”