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Dean has been drinking steadily all night. Sam watches him over the top of his computer, seeing his flushed face and lazy sprawl.
He thinks about the day Dean saw him, the hug, the way Dean clung to him, pressing his entire body against Sam's, his dick filling. Sam spreads his legs a little to make it more comfortable.
He knows that he wants to fuck Dean. Sam shifts a little, drawing Dean's attention over to him.
He spreads his legs a little wider, feels Dean's gaze go straight to his hard dick. Sam watches as Dean licks his lips and squirms, turned on and probably only half aware of the movement.
Sam is up and on the bed before Dean has time to move away, even if he wanted to. He doesn't protest or stop him as Sam hovers above him and leans down for a kiss. He doesn't feel the need to bother with kissing as much anymore, it's just foreplay when Sam is only interested in sex itself, but he knows from the past that Dean is a slut for kissing. Nothing seems to make him spread his legs faster than a few minutes of kissing.
They hooked up off and on, before, but they haven't done anything since he came back. Regardless of Dean's feelings about how Sam is now, he still has the same body, and losing his soul surely has done nothing to lessen Dean's lust.
"Sammy," Dean mutters, eyes glazed over from alcohol and want, legs parting to make room for Sam between them.
Like the Red Sea, Sam thinks, amused for a second until the word Dean uttered registers. Dean doesn't call him that anymore. It's just one more thing reserved for the 'real' Sam, along with all his trust and devotion, his soft, longing looks when he thinks Sam isn't paying attention. Sammy, the name that only Dean gets to call him.
That's what Dean wants, what he's wanted all along. Not Sam. That other...other one. His Sammy.
He's suddenly vicious, kissing Dean roughly, gripping his thighs hard enough that his nails almost tear through the denim of Dean's jeans. If Dean wants to try and pretend that he's someone else, let him. See if he can when Sam has him split open and moaning for his cock.
Dean cranes his head up, kissing sluggishly back. He's probably too drunk for this, but Sam is beyond caring. He wants Dean, and he's going to have him. He yanks at Dean's clothes for a moment, angry enough and turned on enough that he doesn't even care if he rips them trying to get them off.
"Wait, wait." Dean is breathless and fumbling, in as much of a rush as Sam to get him naked. He brushes Sam's hands away and pulls his shirt off, unfastening his jeans and starting to push them off.
Impatient, Sam grabs them and takes them the rest of the way off himself. Dean's not wearing any underwear. Figures a slut like him would always be ready to get fucked.
He reaches for the lube, slicks himself up. Dean doesn't need any prep. He's loose enough from the alcohol relaxing his body. And if he's not, well, at least it will feel good for Sam.
"Sam," Dean mumbles his name as Sam pushes Dean's legs up and apart, lining himself up. He snaps tense, gasping, when Sam pushes in. "F-fuck!"
He starts up quick right away, fucking Dean hard and fast. He doesn't remember what it feels like to love Dean, but he does know that there's never been anyone who feels as good as Dean. Dean is almost chokingly tight around him, burning hot and squirming underneath Sam as he's fucked.
Dean throws his head back and grunts after a particularly hard thrust, then twists and drags himself partially up the mattress, halfway off Sam's dick. It's almost like he wants to get away.
"Fuck's sake, hold still," Sam growls, annoyed. Dean won't stop moving, twisting and writhing like he's on a mission to get away. Sam rolls his eyes and pulls out, rolling Dean onto his belly, pushing straight back in. It's easier to hold him down like this, one hand on the middle of his back and the other on his hip.
Dean twists and squirms some more, at last giving up, breathing harshly underneath Sam.
It sends a jolt of lust through him, Dean giving up and giving it up, going limp and just letting Sam use him. He hauls Dean bodily back onto his cock, shoving him up onto his knees to make it easier for Sam to fuck him.
"Sammy never fucked you like this, did he?" Sam rolls his hips, grinding in deep and filthy. He's rubbing himself all over Dean's insides, making space for himself. He fucking owns Dean, and nothing proves it quite the way this does, the way he can push him down, fill him with cock, make him fucking love it. "Never fucked you the way I do. The way you know you want it."
He's better. Unlike the other Sam, he won't stop just because Dean's unsure, or because it's a little uncomfortable for him. Sam wants to get off, and anyway, Dean's not actually telling him to stop. He must like it if he's not saying anything to the contrary.
"Fuck you like he never did." Sam pants from the exertion of fucking Dean as hard as he is, almost brutally, shoving in and out in a way that's going to have him coming in no time.
He pulls out again, turning Dean onto his back once more. He wants to see how he looks when he gets pumped full of come. Dean groans and jerks against him as he's filled again, hands clutching weakly at the sheet. His eyes slipped closed and, pained, he whispers, "Sam."
He doesn't know at this point if Dean is trying to pretend he's the other Sam, or if he's just saying his name. Doesn't care. Not even a little. It doesn't matter if Dean wants to keep his eyes shut and tell himself it's Sammy, that other guy is in Hell and Sam is here, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do to change that even if they wanted to.
Sam growls as he comes, slamming hard into Dean. He pulls out as soon as he's done, watching dispassionately as come starts to slip from Dean's sore hole.
Dean's breathing heavily, his dick only half hard. Sam glances at it, wonders if he should bother getting Dean off. If he does Dean would probably be more inclined to let him fuck him again later. But is there much point to it now? When he's fucking him, Dean would tighten in orgasm...but now that Sam himself is done...
He only has a minute to think about it. Dean pushes himself up, giving Sam a disgusted look before walking stiffly into the bathroom. The shower cranks on a minute later.
Dean's turned into a little bitch. He completely passed up the possibility of Sam getting him off. His loss.
Dean's probably the best fuck Sam's ever had, but he's still baffling. Shaking his head, Sam sits there for just a moment longer before getting up to go back to searching for cases.
*
He doesn't say a word, just gives Sam a firm look, eyes blazing, then gets into the car and waits.
It's pretty clear Dean's ass is off limits. Fuck it, Sam thinks, he's not worth the effort. Dean might be the best fuck he's had, but he's not worth jumping through whatever hoops it would take to make Dean spread for him again. If he acted like Dean's Sam, played it up and was nice and considerate, it would be enough to get Dean, lonely and missing his Sam, to give it up...
Sam just doesn't feel like putting forth that kind of effort. Sex is sex, and even if others aren't quite as good as Dean, they'll suffice.
So Sam tells himself. He almost believes it, right up until a woman takes him home with her and he's got her on his lap. She's hot, eager for it, riding him hard and fast. Physically, it's fine. It feels amazing. It's somehow not enough, it's not Dean, and Sam leaves as soon as he's finished.
That night, he gets roofies from a guy in the corner of a shithole of a bar. "Your girl will be yours for the taking," the man promises.
Sam thinks that Dean had better be, and doesn't smile back.
He slips it into Dean's beer the next night. Sam waits until his brother his done hustling to put it in. They get the money and he gets Dean, it's a double win. Dean comes back grinning in satisfaction, pocket full of cash, and swigs his beer. He still trusts Sam, even now. At least to an extent.
He doesn't suspect a thing. Sam smirks against his own drink, watches as Dean's breathing slows down and he starts to sag in his seat. When he's nearly passed out, Sam stands up and smiles at Dean. He deliberately makes it Sammy's smile, the false sweetness feeling cloying to him, but Dean buys it.
"S'mmy," he slurs, leaning into Sam trustingly when he pulls Dean to his feet. "Missed you."
He'd do anything Sam wanted him to right now. Not that it matters. He's going to have his way with Dean whether his brother likes it or not.
Dean gets grabby when Sam urges him into the car and then tries to go around to the driver's side. He clings, muttering, "Stay, stay," but lets go when Sam pulls away hard enough.
He's barely awake when they get back to the motel. Dean is silent and limp as Sam half drags him into the room and lays him out on the nearest bed. By the time he turns back from getting the lube, Dean is already completely out.
Sam can't help his smile as he crawls onto the bed, hovering over Dean. Looking at his still, slack body... Sam licks his lips. There could be a fucked up comparison to an angel, if Sam were that type of person.
He's not.
He strokes a thumb over Dean's lips, pushes it in, pulling his mouth open. Sam is almost overwhelmed with possibilities for a moment. He can do whatever he wants to Dean. Use him however he wants.
He wants that mouth first.
Sam opens his jeans, draws his cock out. He's hard already just from thinking about how it'll feel, Dean's lips around him. Not as good as if he was awake, Sam knows Dean's a whore, he's had practice with letting men fuck his mouth. Still good.
That's the thing about Dean, he doesn't even have to actively participate to be the best fuck Sam's ever had. If Dean has any god given talent, it's being a good lay.
He keeps pressure at the edges of Dean's mouth, squeezing to encourage him to keep it open. When he guides the head of his dick into Dean's mouth, he sighs and lets his head drop back.
Dean's so out of it he doesn't make a single sound as Sam slides deeper, half his dick in Dean's unresponsive mouth. Fuck, it's hot. He knows he doesn't have to be considerate, doesn't have to try not to hurt Dean.
Sam can do anything and everything, and blame it on some mysterious, nonexistent hook up of Dean's tomorrow. The thought that he's not even expected to reciprocate has his hips twitching forward, deeper into Dean's mouth.
It's not necessary to keep ahold of Dean's jaw, but Sam does anyway. He tightens his grip, wanting to see the bloom of finger print shaped bruises smudged across Dean's skin. Marks that Dean can't hide under his layers of clothing.
His dick hits the back of Dean's throat, and Dean...he's under so deep he doesn't struggle, doesn't fight, just lays there as Sam slides in and out, fucking his mouth. He's effectively just a hole for Sam to fuck, and the thought is so hot that Sam has to stop and take a deep breath to stop himself from losing it right away.
He wants Dean to struggle to talk tomorrow. He wants every word to hurt. Dean won't know it was Sam's doing, but Sam will. He'll know. Dean limping, Dean rubbing his sore throat, he'll fucking know.
There's no restraint after that. Once Sam has imagined Dean waking up and aching, he lets himself go and starts fucking into Dean's mouth as hard as he wants. Despite there not being any participation from Dean, the feeling, soft and warm and wet is enough for Sam. It's going to be enough to get him off, though not enough to satisfy him for the night.
No, he has plans. And they don't end with Dean's mouth, pretty though it may be.
He pulls out the instant his climax hits to come all over Dean's face. Dean's freckles and long lashes look even more sinful covered in his come.
Sam knows he'll have to clean that up before the night is over, Dean wouldn't come home from a hookup covered in come, but for now, he's going to leave it. Dean looks good wearing his mark.
Bruises are starting to form on Dean's jaw already. Sam bends down to lick over one for no other reason than that he can.
It's going to take some time before he's ready to go again. He's curious as to whether he can get Dean off while he's passed out like this. He wants to try.
He strips Dean out of his clothes, revealing Dean's dick, soft and vulnerable looking between his thighs. He doesn't stir at all when Sam slides his mouth onto his dick, sucks gently on it.
It takes a few minutes, but at last Dean starts to harden between Sam's lips. He finally shows signs of life, twitching and moaning softly.
Sam thinks he would laugh if his mouth was free. As it is, he just goes down farther, sucking on Dean harder. Dean gets more vocal, louder moans and now whimpers, breathing harder. Having Dean entirely at his mercy, not able to stop Sam from doing whatever he wants, it makes him feel powerful.
By the time he has Dean moaning and moving sluggishly, close to coming, Sam is hard and ready to go again. He sucks on two fingers just enough to get them wet, savoring Dean's wordless whine when he pushes them into him.
The minimal prep is mostly for his own benefit. He gets Dean a little wet and open so there won't be any chafing, using spit to slick his dick, too. Sam had been about to get Dean off, but his own need comes first. Dean can wait.
He pushes Dean's legs open, lines himself up, and shoves home. Every time, it's almost like the first, his eyes almost rolling back with how it feels. This is one of the only ways he feels anything, and it's a rush of pure, animalistic pleasure like nothing else.
Dean whimpers, unhappy with being split open with so little prep, but he can't do a thing to stop it. Sam could fuck him all night, until he could never walk straight again, and Dean...
He slams into Dean hard enough there must be bruises from his hipbones left behind on the soft skin of Dean's ass. Dean is going to be black and blue tomorrow, and he'll never know why.
Sam's come once already, and Dean is so tight around him it's just this side of comfortable. He's not going to last very long, and he finds he doesn't mind that much. He has the rest of the night to play with Dean, after all.
If Dean was just a little tighter, he'd have Sam coming faster. Struck with sudden inspiration, he leans farther over Dean, bracing himself against the bed with one hand. His other hand goes to Dean's throat, squeezes lightly as a test.
The reaction is intantaneous. Dean twitches violently and clenches tight around Sam's cock. Moaning, Sam does it again, cutting off Dean's air for longer, feeling Dean's pulse flutter frantically against his hand.
He's not even fucking Dean anymore. Sam just stays with his dick as far in Dean as he can get, squeeze, release. He doesn't do it for too long, lets Dean drag in a frantic breath every now and then. Dean is useless to Sam dead.
His inner walls contract around Sam, he's doing all the work. Sam tightens his grip, Dean coming to life under him, bucking and thrashing, trying to make noises but unable to. He's desperate, not even aware of what he's doing but trying so hard to get Sam off of him, to get some air.
One final squeeze, to Dean's neck and then to Sam's cock has him losing it, hips working shallowly as he pumps Dean full of come.
Sam wraps his hand around Dean's dick, quick, efficient strokes. He presses down again on Dean's neck, snatching his hand away just as his hand slides all the way down to the base, nudging one finger against Dean's balls.
Dean sucks in air and groans hoarsely as he comes all over himself, chest heaving, breaths sounding painful. There's a mark on his neck now, too. Sam smirks as he pulls out of Dean and leans up to get his mouth on one of Dean's tight nipples. He wants every inch of Dean to hurt in the morning.
After he fucks Dean a few more times, he might even be able to put his whole hand in him. Sam's blood thrums in anticipation.
*
The second Dean's eyes open, he's up and bolting into the bathroom. Sam hears him throwing up and snorts. That's a nasty side effect of the drugs. At least Sam got his money's worth out of them last night.
"S-son of a bitch," Dean says weakly in between bouts of vomiting. "Fuck, everything hurts."
Sam leans into the bathroom. "You look disgusting." It's true; however sinful Dean looked last night, Sam probably wouldn't touch him this morning even if someone paid him to.
"What the fuck happened last night? My ass is killing me." Dean rests a hand over his denim clad ass, rubbing tentatively, then hisses and snatches it away. He looks up at Sam, worried and almost vulnerable. It's like he's looking at Sammy for that instant.
"You went out last night." Dean probably doesn't even remember Sam being there at the bar with him. "Got pissed. Came staggering back here at about four in the morning. You probably got your ass stuffed full of cock. Maybe two."
Dean flinches, looks horrified. Pale and sweating, he pushes off the floor and totters to the counter, leaning on it as he stares into the mirror. "Fuck!"
Sam really did mark almost every inch of Dean. With his shirt on, he can only see the marks on his jaw and neck, but they're all over the rest of his body. His hips, his chest, every part of him. He'll be feeling it for a while, feeling what Sam did to him...even if he doesn't know it was Sam.
"You must've went out looking for a good fucking. For someone to put you in their place." He meets Dean's eyes in the mirror. "I think they did."
Dean opens his mouth as if to argue then dives for the toilet again. Shaking his head, Sam leaves him to it. He might as well go for coffee anyway. Dean is going to be otherwise occupied for a while.
*
He's not stupid. He doesn't do it the next night. Dean would definitely find it suspicious if it happened two nights in a row, no memory of the night before and a complete mess the next day.
So Sam waits, waits while the marks fade from Dean's body and he walks without wincing, waits while he goes right back to being the cocky asshole that he is. Sam itches every moment to do it, to just knock him the fuck out and take him in every possible position.
Anyone who ever said he had no patience is a goddamn liar.
The second time is a month later. The third time just a few weeks after that. Shorter and shorter intervals each time, it's fast becoming an addiction.
It's inevitable that Dean would catch him eventually. Every morning after, when he's throwing up and wincing with every movement, he's giving Sam increasingly suspicious looks.
It's the fourth time that Dean catches him. Sam doesn't even wait until they've gone to a bar. He slips it into Dean's beer in the motel room while he's in the bathroom, turns back to the TV and keeps turned that way while Dean lifts the bottle to his lips (lips that are going to be around his cock before long, Sam's going to fuck his mouth until they're bruised and split), swallows.
His fingers twitch on his knee impatiently. Five minutes. Ten. At last, Dean starts to droop in his chair, sagging forward. His head almost hits the bottle and knocks it over. Sam moves it out of the way just as Dean keels over completely, forehead landing on the table.
He's out cold. Sam almost drags him out of the chair and onto the bed.
He's got Dean's jeans unfasted and halfway to unzipped before he registers that Dean's eyes are open. There's a hand on his wrist a second later, gripping tight enough to grind the bones together.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Dean's eyes and tone are as cold as he's ever seen them.
Sam doesn't bother dignifying that with a response. Dean doesn't actually want an answer. Either it's a rhetorical question, or Dean is stupider than Sam thought.
Dean shoves his hips up sharply, bucking Sam right off of him, then sits up and punches him square in the jaw. He rocks backwards slightly from the force. Dean hits him again and then again, rapid fire, before Sam gets in gear and snatches Dean's wrist as his brother goes to hit him a fourth time, then his other hand, holding his arms tightly as Dean struggles.
"You son of a fucking bitch." Dean tries to free himself from Sam's grip, fails, then kicks Sam hard.
He really falters then, the force behind it unexpected. Dean gets free, goes to hit Sam again, and it morphs into a full on fight. They roll right off the bed, neither of them even really noticing even when they hit the floor, too busy trying to beat the shit out of each other.
Dean's a dirty fighter when he's angry. Sam feels the sting of Dean's teeth in his shoulder, backhands him in retaliation. He was never like this with Sammy. Even that time when Dean called him a monster, Dean was pulling his punches. He'd never have the heart to hurt Sammy like this.
This is different. He doesn't give a damn about hurting Sam, and why the fuck not, it's not like Sam cares whether Dean is beat up.
As long as it's something Dean'll heal up from in time for their next hunt, Sam doesn't give a damn.
Sam pins his arms at his sides, rolls him onto his belly and puts all his weight on Dean.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Dean thrashes madly under him, tossing his head back and bucking up in an effort to dislodge Sam. "Fucking...kill you!"
He laughs harshly, squeezing Dean's wrists until he lets out his breath in a pained whoosh. "Yeah, right. You're really gonna damage this body? Kill me? What are you gonna bring Sammy's soul back to then?"
The way Dean squirms futilely under him is intoxicating. Grinning, Sam grinds against Dean's ass. "You're not going to do anything to me. And you don't really want to get away, do you?"
Dean is sweating and swearing, still fighting to get free, but powerless in the position he's pinned in.
"You're going to stay right there while I fuck you." Sam makes the words a dark promise into the back of Dean's neck.
When he seizes Dean's hips and pulls him onto his knees to get his jeans down, Dean lurches forward like he's going to try to make a break for it. Sam wraps an arm around his waist and hauls Dean back against his body, holds him there, panting and fidgeting.
When Sam slides his other hand down Dean's body, he seems to panic and struggle more. Sam has an idea already of what he'll find, confirmation when he feels Dean is hard. Dean shifts, gasps, pushes instinctively into the touch.
He squeezes the bulge of Dean's hard dick through his boxers, savoring his reluctant moan. Dean rolls his hips again, rocking against Sam's hand. He hunches forward when Sam's hand slides up his chest, teasing at a nipple through his shirt. He's trying to hide his face, the fact that he wants it.
Sam takes his hand off Dean's body, arm around his waist tightening. Gripping Dean's chin, Sam pulls his head back until he can see Dean's eyes, see how they're dark with lust.
"You fucking want this." Sam pushes Dean away from him roughly, sending him sprawling flat on the ground.
Dean growls, but there's not much he can do in the position he's back in. His movement is restricted by his jeans tight down around his thighs, and Sam wastes no time in pulling Dean's shirt up over his head and back, tangling it around his arms and restraining those, too.
He wiggles and squirms but he's not going anywhere.
Sam laughs meanly and sets his teeth in Dean's shoulder, bites almost hard enough to break the skin. "Don't even need any prep, do you? You'll take me dry like the dirty fuckin' whore you are."
He doesn't say it loudly, but Dean flinches as though he'd shouted. Sam backs away just to spread Dean's ass and spit directly onto his hole. Dean squirms, apparently finding it gross, and Sam laughs again.
"You're going to get my cock in a minute, don't know why you're concerned with a little spit."
Dean's hips jerk against the ground. He hisses as his dick is rubbed against the carpet. He's not going to get offf like that. Sam finds satisfaction in that even as he pushes into his brother.
This is almost more like fighting than fucking. Dean doesn't make it easy; he never stops moving, growling curses under his breath and shoving himself onto Sam's cock as much as he can from his restrained position.
It wouldn't be half as sweet as it is getting Dean pinned and at his mercy if Dean just lay back and submitted.
He fucks into Dean almost brutally, knowing how Dean is going to be hurting the next day, relishing the thought. He can't wait to see Dean wincing and limping the next day, after having taken Sam almost dry.
Sam digs his fingers into Dean's hips and presses him harder against the floor when he comes, feeling tugging against the shirt, trying to get a hand under himself to jack off. He pulls out, drags Dean upright, and holds him there.
"You want me to get you off? Let you fuck my fist? Tell me how much you get off on this. I want to hear how hot it gets you to be thrown around and treated like a slut."
"Doesn't fuckin'...go fuck yourself," Dean snaps back, writhing against him in an effort to get free.
"You can lie, but your body can't." Sam grips Dean's dick, loose enough so that there's no danger in him coming before Sam wants to let him. "Tell me, or I'll leave you like this." He's prepared to walk out of the room entirely, leave Dean to work himself out of the clothes and get himself off.
"Fuck you, fuck you." Dean drags in a ragged breath. It sounds almost like a sob. "Don't want this. Don't want you. I've never wanted you."
It's all true, Sam knows. It's the body, not him, that Dean is hard for. All he wants is his precious Sammy. He considers walking out after all for a brief moment.
"Are you sure you don't want me?" Sam jacks him with quick, efficient strokes, getting Dean there in under a minute. "Doesn't matter that I'm not your little brother, I can still get you off faster and better than he ever did." The last part is whispered directly into Dean's ear as he moans and comes all over Sam's fingers.
He pushes Dean away from him. Unable to catch himself, Dean lands flat on his belly again.
"Even if you ever do get his soul out of there, do you really think he's ever going to look at you the same way again? He'll remember this, remember the way you spread for me and let me fuck you, even though I'm not him. Think he's ever going to forgive you for that?" Sam wipes his hand on the blanket of the nearest bed, straightening his clothes and standing.
He leaves Dean there, fucked up and fucked out, still tangled in his own clothing. Regardless of the truth, Dean's self loathing will have him convinced in no time that Sammy would be disgusted by what Dean probably perceives as a betrayal.
Sam can picture how Dean will be in the morning, all bowlegged limp and big, wounded eyes. The thought has him thinking he could almost go again.
Dean's probably going to be pissed off, too. Sam will find them a hunt, distract him. Evil things that require killing always did stop Dean from being a pissy little bitch.