Fic: Extra Incentive (Dean/Sam - Supernatural)
Fandom: Sipernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Weecest, graphic sex, rimming, spanking
Notes: Follows " Their Very Own Brand of Normal" in the Everyday Life series
Summary - Sammy's been a bad bad boy and he has to be punished, Wincest style!
Sam half-stumbled, half-flew through the front door and right into the living room wall courtesy of Dean's - maybe unnecessary - shove. He didn't even feel bad when Sammy's lanky, loose frame slid down the wall, cocking his head like he wasn't sure how he got there.
"Have you lost. Your. Mind?!" Dean's voice reverberated impressively off of their thin walls, door slamming shut behind him. If it had been anyone other than Sam sprawled on his ass, he would have been shaking at the threat rolling off of Dean, but his little brother knew too well that Dean would never really hurt him and the thought just crawled under the older Winchester's skin and pissed him off more. Of course, if it had been anybody else trying to get their bearings from the living room floor, eyelids blinking stupidly over blown pupils, Dean really wouldn't have given a shit.
This new rebellious streak of Sam's was just out of fucking hand. It was one thing to sulk around and bitch about the hunts - hell, Sam had done that since he'd hit puberty - it was a whole other mother fucking thing to go out with a bunch of kids he barely knew in the middle of the damn night and get stoned. Sammy was just lucky Dad wasn't there to deal with this mess - even though Dean knew deep down that if he had been, Dean would have busted his ass to make sure Dad didn't find out.
Still that didn't mean he could just stand there and let Sam get away with acting like, like a fucking teenager! Being out of his head, out of control, with no one but strangers to watch his ass? That was just asking for trouble, and it just wasn’t Sam.
Sam still hadn't answered the question, just kind of smiling up at Dean now like he thought something good was going to happen. What the hell had he been smoking?
After two fucking hours of driving, practically trembling with panic, - and Dean Winchester did not goddamn tremble - around every dirt road, and back woods spot this God forsaken town had to offer before finding Sam like this, Dean still had a nice hit of adrenaline roaring through him, on top of the slow burning rage that Sam had fucking snuck out in the first place! He'd almost called the damn cops! And that was the only reason - the absolute only one - it felt so good for Dean to reach down and wrap his fist in Sam's overshirt and haul the long pile of dead weight that was his little brother to his feet. It felt even better when he just shoved Sam back into the wall, the heels of Dean's hands digging in too hard under Sam's collar bone to keep him in place.
That hazy smile didn't even have the decency to waiver.
"What were you thinking?" Dean yelled again, right in his little brother's face. Sammy tried to shrug, but the pressure of Dean's hands made it impossible. The younger man looked accusingly at his shoulders, as if they had betrayed him by not performing the non-committal gesture.
"You know what's out there Sam! How many times have you seen a bunch of fucking kids picked off by something out in the dark!" An idea hit Dean suddenly and his hands were patting down Sammy's waistband before the question even formed on his tongue. "Did you have anything with you?"
He was sure he already knew the answer, even as his fingers slid across his brother's thighs to see if he'd at least had the sense to shove his butterfly knife in his pocket. Nothing.
Well, nothing except Sam's rock hard cock straining for Dean's touch.
And ok, there were some perks to having sex with a 16 year old - which was something Dean was never going to let himself think again because he suddenly felt like the world's biggest pedo. But still, perks. Like the fact that Sammy could be stone-stiff and moaning for Dean even though his older brother had gotten him off once before school and once after and then fucked him into the mattress before he'd gone to hustle some pool after dinner. While Dean couldn't pretend that the sight of Sam out of his head and begging didn't do absolute wonders for his own libido, that line of thought brought up a whole other issue that made his blood boil all over again.
Dean shoved his whole body flat to Sam's, pushing the younger man into the wall hard enough that his head cracked against it. Dean so didn't care.
"What'd you sneak out for anyway, Sammy? You hitting it with one of those girls? Got yourself a boyfriend, maybe?"
"What?" Sam actually seemed to sober up a bit at the low purr of Dean's accusation, "No! Dean, I swear. I woul-"
The bruising force of Dean's lips stopped whatever was coming next because somehow it might be that much worse to actually hear your little brother say he'd never date anyone else because he only wanted to fuck you than it was to really want him to say it. Still, the reassurance cooled the sick churning of Dean’s stomach, fueled a whole new kind of sickness that it made him so happy.
"Get your pants down," he growled, biting at Sam's lip while the order made its way trough Sam's fuzzy brain. As soon as it clicked, the younger Winchester was struggling with his seemingly too-complicated button and zipper.
The second the denim whumped to the ground, Dean had his hand clasped at the nape of Sam's neck again, moving aside to give him another hard shove forward. With the fabric caught around his feet, Sam only managed to stumble a step before catching himself on hands and knees. A grip-tug in the shaggy mop of Sam's hair urged him to crawl the extra two feet to the coffee table, then bend himself across it.
"Dean!" Sam whined, trying to lift up before Dean's hand slapped him back down to the wood finish.
That smooth ass that Dean spent way too much of his time thinking about was laid out for him like an offering; one he had every intention of taking. He ran one rough finger down the cleft of Sam's ass, stopping to feel the puckered opening give under his pressure, still a little loose from the pounding Dean had given it earlier. Sammy whimpered in the back of his throat and squirmed.
"Nobody touched me, Dean I swear," he promised desperately, maybe worried that Dean would mistake the reason his body opened so easily. "Nobody ever but you."
Dean had to press his head to the small of Sam's back to catch his breath from the overwhelming thrill that shot through him at the words. Hearing Sam say it, just say it like it was the most obvious think in the world, had all of the wrongsweetrightsick of it mixing up with imagined flashes of Sam bent over like this with somebody else's hands on him. Sam was still babbling promises nobody should ever want to hear from their baby brother's mouth and Dean needed him to stop it right the fuck then before his dick exploded from all of the blood in his body rushing into it at the same time.
He hadn't made a conscious decision to do it, just felt his arm move back on instinct the way it did when he drew a gun or threw a punch. Except this time, Dean was doing a whole different kind of damage when his hand whipped forward and smacked hard and loud against Sam's ass.
The world narrowed down to the sting of his hand and the warmth of Sam's skin, the red melting to the pale surface from the force of his blow and the absolute fucking silence as they both forgot how to breathe. Well, there was another thing to add to the list of 'shit that's way too wrong to feel that damn good'. Dean heard the click of wet muscles when his own throat swallowed convulsively.
Sam's hazel eyes looked back at Dean over his shoulder - he hadn't bothered to lift himself up or even tried to move - pupils still blown wide but whether it was from the drugs now or the fact that, if anything, the cock fighting gravity to curve up against his stomach had only gotten harder.
"Eye's front," Dean barked automatically, loving the kind of unquestioning compliance that he only got out of Sam when he was hard and desperate... or maybe high. That thought was enough to eat through the numb fog that unexpectedly spanking - actually spanking! - Sam had put him in and bring the heat roiling back in. Fearragelustneedterrorlove had been Dean's whole world since he'd pulled the Impala up to the apartment hours ago to find Sammy missing, and now his little brother was going to pay for it with the only currency Dean wanted from him.
"Got your attention now, Sammy? 'Cause after all of the bullshit you put me through tonight, I think you need to make it up to me. Think you need to be punished." Dean's fingers soothed over the burning redness of Sam's skin, "What do you thinks’ fair, huh? Say, ten for sneaking out in the middle of the night, trying to drive me out of my mind. Another ten for the drugs, 'cause you ought to know better. Ten more for not even carrying a fucking weapon" - and somehow Dean just couldn’t resist adding a second smack to the already bright mark on Sam’s backside - "to protect yourself. Sound fair, Sammy?"
Sam squirmed under Dean's gaze, trying to turn back again and see if his brother was serious. Dean laid a matching mark across the other cheek, and that got Sam faced front and still in less than a second. Jesus, he was really going to let Dean do this.
"That'd be thirty, in case you missed it, honor roll." Dean said, giving Sam another chance to tell Dean to knock it off and stop being a jerk. He really expected to hear the words, but all he got was the hitched sound of Sam’s breath. Well ok, then, if Sammy was alright with this - and by the angry color of his cock, he was more than alright with this - then Dean could roll with it. It was sure as hell going to make him feel a whole lot better.
He nudged Sam's thighs further apart to give him a perfect view of his favorite little hole and didn't even try to fight the possessive flush that flooded him.
"Count 'em off for me," he growled, letting his flattened palm whistle through the air again. Sam gasped loud but that was the only sound he made.
Dean leaned forward, pressing himself against Sam in one long line and purred right into his ear the way he'd learned could make Sam lose it just from the right choice of words.
"That's thirty from whenever you start counting, baby. I can do this all night," he lied, because he could already feel the tingling rush of blood to his hand and no matter how pissed he was, he really didn't want to bruise Sam up. Much.
Dean hauled himself off his brother's body, grinding his jeans clad erection against that sore ass just a little for emphasis. The next time the harsh slap of flesh on flesh wrent the air it was followed immediately by a harsh, "One" from Sam.
Dean, in his storied sexual career had had a bit of experience in this - once even on the receiving end - but he had never gotten off on it like this. Sam looked so damn good laid out, sweat starting to bead up along his spine by the time he'd reached "Ten!", just willing, wanting, to let Dean do this shit to him. The older Winchester took a second's break from laying handprints over Sam's ass and thighs to press a long, dirty lick up the length of Sam's back, starting where the red of his handiwork began at the dip of the spine and going right up until he met the matching flush of Sam's - embarrassment? lust? - as it spread from his neck.
By "Fifteen!" Sam was moaning more than gasping, hips canting back into every blow like it was the sweetest touch he'd ever felt. His ass was cherry red, the heat of the cheeks almost matching the heat Dean knew was inside, and it only made him want to lean down and sink his teeth in the meat of the flesh.
He was doing his best to vary the strength and speed of his slaps, noticing the way quick ones to the tops of the thighs made Sam's hands clench reflexively at the coffee table, while steady hard ones to the cheeks had his head tossing back and forth.
At the rasp of "Twenty two!" Dean reached around and let his burning fingers dance over the hard length of Sam's cock. His little brother groaned at the contact, hips jerking automatically to try and get more friction. Dean just eased off a little and let his fingertips sweep up to slide over the mess of precome dripping from the head. Sam's hand banged hard onto the surface of the table and Dean was grudgingly impressed at the younger man's control.
He'd known even before the first time they'd had sex that Sam could go off without his dick being touched - a fact that had brought Dean off like a rocket more times than he cared to remember - but even a little bit of rubbing was usually enough to have Sam squirming and shooting over his hand. It was a testament to how bad he had to want this that he hadn't already stained the carpet white.
Impossibly harder by the idea that Sam was fucking holding back for more of this, Dean pulled back and swiped the precome shining on his fingers across Sam's swelling flesh. Fuck, that was just so goddamn pretty.
"Twenty four!" was almost a sob and it had Sam pushing back far enough that there wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't open to Dean's hand. By "Twenty six!" he was trying to convince himself that pinking up Sam's hole would be a bad idea. By "Twenty eight!" he knew he was going to do it anyway. "Twenty nine!" was barely audible over the panting as his hand hit right at the tailbone. "Thirty" just came out as "Uhhhn!" when the tips of Dean's fingers hit with stinging precision right over Sam's opening.
Sam's body tried to curl in on itself, stopped by the table holding him up, so he only shot milky heat over his stomach and part of his chest and of course the table itself. That's what it got for getting in the way when Sammy came that hard; eyes rolled back in his head, jerking like Dean had hit him with a taser.
It was the hottest fucking thing Dean had ever seen and if his own cock weren't strangling itself to death inside his jeans, just getting his hand around it would have been all it would have taken for him to join Sam right over the edge in bliss.
Instead he used his aching hand to gentle Sam through the aftershocks, sliding it slowly up his side, then down over the front of his thigh without touching the crimson flesh of his ass. Yet.
Once Sam had collapsed into a boneless sprawl across the table, Dean decided it was time to get his. He didn't even have to lay his hands on the glowing red flesh to feel the heat coming off it in waves, but when he did, Sam just made another one of those perfect moans he did, like somehow this was still feeling really good to him. Dean knew without question that Sam was going to be tender for days and just thinking about it made him need to get his dick out immediately if not sooner.
Finally fisting his cock - sweetmotherfucker that felt good! - Dean let his cheek rest against the abused tissue of Sam's ass, earning himself a whimper that pooled right in the tight coil of his balls. It felt too good to flick his tongue out and let it slide over Sam's reddened opening to not do it again. And again, and again until he was tonguing it in a sharp, steady rhythm that had Sam's breath coming out thready and beautiful. He was going to come again for Dean, just like this, and the older Winchester had to grip a circle around the base of his cock to wait for it to happen.
Dean couldn't help how much he loved being able to fuck Sam into oblivion like this; the musky taste, the press of heat, the slickness of sweat under his hands were the only things that really mattered in his whole life most of the time, the only real way they'd ever had to show how much they needed each other.
Even though he'd just finished shooting his brain out of his dick, and even though that was the fourth fucking time Sam had come that day, it didn't take more than a few minutes to feel the shivering build up in his muscles again.
Dean slid one hand down to cups the tightness of his little brother's balls, humming his approval into Sam's hole while the hand still tingling from tearing up Sam's ass worked even harder over his cock. He could feel the heat build, spread low in his body, so fucking close to losing it that he wasn't even sure he was breathing anymore and couldn't fucking care less.
He sucked hard on puckered flesh and the muscles under his mouth, in his hand, spasmed. Sam was screaming out Dean's name like it was the only word he knew and Dean jerked back, hand working furiously as he painted his little brother's reddened skin white with ropey streams of come.
Dean gathered up the last barely-there pulse of fluid on his sore fingers and smeared it right into the mess on Sam's ass. Sammy didn't even bother to groan, a tiny flicker of muscle the only indication that he even felt Dean touching his tortured skin.
He did groan when Dean manhandled him off of the table, pulling them both sideways onto the carpet and ignoring the hiss when he spooned his spent groin up against Sam's backside. If he didn't manage to recover before they fell asleep like that, it was going to be a real bitch when they woke up glued together by Dean's seed. He just crooked his arm so they could both use it for a pillow and breathed in the scent of sex and sweat and Sam.
"Was this supposed to be incentive for me to NOT sneak out again?" Sam wondered sleepily after a minute.
"Back in the land of the living, Sammy?" Dean huffed a laugh into his brother's damp curls, "That was incentive to remember that no matter where you go, that ass is mine. And I intend to protect it." He let his fingers wander over too hot flesh in emphasis. Sam just ground back harder against him.
"You go out on your own all the time," Sam mumbled, and even through the exhausted, fucked-out haze, Dean caught the hint of accusation. So that's what this had all been about.
"Yeah well," he sighed, "Maybe this was a little incentive for me, too. Remind me what's worth staying home for." He let his hand press flat over Sam's slowly steadying heartbeat.
"If that's what it takes to get you to stay, I'm never going to be able to sit down again." Sam laughed for a minute, lazy and simple like he only ever was afterward. Then his hand - bigger than Dean's now, just like the rest of his body - found a home over Dean's on his chest and he half-whispered, "But I don't mind."
It was Dean's turn to laugh, more subdued than his brother's.
"You're a little twisted, you know that, kid?" Then he hmm'ed and nestled his lips against Sam's neck. "Love you, baby," he whispered, like he always did somewhere along the lines of their fucks.
Sam's murmured return wasn't even really words as sleep - and probably what was left of the drugs - overtook his system, but Dean knew what it meant. With that knowledge running warm through his veins, he let his breathing even out and joined his brother in sleep.
In the morning they were probably going to regret sleeping on the living room floor - on top of Sam not being able to sit down, and the hours it was going to take to get that mess out of the carpet - but neither of them would have had it any other way. Fucked up, and wrong, and more than a little painful - it was everything they were, and sometimes it was nice when the outsides matched what was within.
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Weecest, graphic sex, rimming, spanking
Notes: Follows " Their Very Own Brand of Normal" in the Everyday Life series
Summary - Sammy's been a bad bad boy and he has to be punished, Wincest style!
Sam half-stumbled, half-flew through the front door and right into the living room wall courtesy of Dean's - maybe unnecessary - shove. He didn't even feel bad when Sammy's lanky, loose frame slid down the wall, cocking his head like he wasn't sure how he got there.
"Have you lost. Your. Mind?!" Dean's voice reverberated impressively off of their thin walls, door slamming shut behind him. If it had been anyone other than Sam sprawled on his ass, he would have been shaking at the threat rolling off of Dean, but his little brother knew too well that Dean would never really hurt him and the thought just crawled under the older Winchester's skin and pissed him off more. Of course, if it had been anybody else trying to get their bearings from the living room floor, eyelids blinking stupidly over blown pupils, Dean really wouldn't have given a shit.
This new rebellious streak of Sam's was just out of fucking hand. It was one thing to sulk around and bitch about the hunts - hell, Sam had done that since he'd hit puberty - it was a whole other mother fucking thing to go out with a bunch of kids he barely knew in the middle of the damn night and get stoned. Sammy was just lucky Dad wasn't there to deal with this mess - even though Dean knew deep down that if he had been, Dean would have busted his ass to make sure Dad didn't find out.
Still that didn't mean he could just stand there and let Sam get away with acting like, like a fucking teenager! Being out of his head, out of control, with no one but strangers to watch his ass? That was just asking for trouble, and it just wasn’t Sam.
Sam still hadn't answered the question, just kind of smiling up at Dean now like he thought something good was going to happen. What the hell had he been smoking?
After two fucking hours of driving, practically trembling with panic, - and Dean Winchester did not goddamn tremble - around every dirt road, and back woods spot this God forsaken town had to offer before finding Sam like this, Dean still had a nice hit of adrenaline roaring through him, on top of the slow burning rage that Sam had fucking snuck out in the first place! He'd almost called the damn cops! And that was the only reason - the absolute only one - it felt so good for Dean to reach down and wrap his fist in Sam's overshirt and haul the long pile of dead weight that was his little brother to his feet. It felt even better when he just shoved Sam back into the wall, the heels of Dean's hands digging in too hard under Sam's collar bone to keep him in place.
That hazy smile didn't even have the decency to waiver.
"What were you thinking?" Dean yelled again, right in his little brother's face. Sammy tried to shrug, but the pressure of Dean's hands made it impossible. The younger man looked accusingly at his shoulders, as if they had betrayed him by not performing the non-committal gesture.
"You know what's out there Sam! How many times have you seen a bunch of fucking kids picked off by something out in the dark!" An idea hit Dean suddenly and his hands were patting down Sammy's waistband before the question even formed on his tongue. "Did you have anything with you?"
He was sure he already knew the answer, even as his fingers slid across his brother's thighs to see if he'd at least had the sense to shove his butterfly knife in his pocket. Nothing.
Well, nothing except Sam's rock hard cock straining for Dean's touch.
And ok, there were some perks to having sex with a 16 year old - which was something Dean was never going to let himself think again because he suddenly felt like the world's biggest pedo. But still, perks. Like the fact that Sammy could be stone-stiff and moaning for Dean even though his older brother had gotten him off once before school and once after and then fucked him into the mattress before he'd gone to hustle some pool after dinner. While Dean couldn't pretend that the sight of Sam out of his head and begging didn't do absolute wonders for his own libido, that line of thought brought up a whole other issue that made his blood boil all over again.
Dean shoved his whole body flat to Sam's, pushing the younger man into the wall hard enough that his head cracked against it. Dean so didn't care.
"What'd you sneak out for anyway, Sammy? You hitting it with one of those girls? Got yourself a boyfriend, maybe?"
"What?" Sam actually seemed to sober up a bit at the low purr of Dean's accusation, "No! Dean, I swear. I woul-"
The bruising force of Dean's lips stopped whatever was coming next because somehow it might be that much worse to actually hear your little brother say he'd never date anyone else because he only wanted to fuck you than it was to really want him to say it. Still, the reassurance cooled the sick churning of Dean’s stomach, fueled a whole new kind of sickness that it made him so happy.
"Get your pants down," he growled, biting at Sam's lip while the order made its way trough Sam's fuzzy brain. As soon as it clicked, the younger Winchester was struggling with his seemingly too-complicated button and zipper.
The second the denim whumped to the ground, Dean had his hand clasped at the nape of Sam's neck again, moving aside to give him another hard shove forward. With the fabric caught around his feet, Sam only managed to stumble a step before catching himself on hands and knees. A grip-tug in the shaggy mop of Sam's hair urged him to crawl the extra two feet to the coffee table, then bend himself across it.
"Dean!" Sam whined, trying to lift up before Dean's hand slapped him back down to the wood finish.
That smooth ass that Dean spent way too much of his time thinking about was laid out for him like an offering; one he had every intention of taking. He ran one rough finger down the cleft of Sam's ass, stopping to feel the puckered opening give under his pressure, still a little loose from the pounding Dean had given it earlier. Sammy whimpered in the back of his throat and squirmed.
"Nobody touched me, Dean I swear," he promised desperately, maybe worried that Dean would mistake the reason his body opened so easily. "Nobody ever but you."
Dean had to press his head to the small of Sam's back to catch his breath from the overwhelming thrill that shot through him at the words. Hearing Sam say it, just say it like it was the most obvious think in the world, had all of the wrongsweetrightsick of it mixing up with imagined flashes of Sam bent over like this with somebody else's hands on him. Sam was still babbling promises nobody should ever want to hear from their baby brother's mouth and Dean needed him to stop it right the fuck then before his dick exploded from all of the blood in his body rushing into it at the same time.
He hadn't made a conscious decision to do it, just felt his arm move back on instinct the way it did when he drew a gun or threw a punch. Except this time, Dean was doing a whole different kind of damage when his hand whipped forward and smacked hard and loud against Sam's ass.
The world narrowed down to the sting of his hand and the warmth of Sam's skin, the red melting to the pale surface from the force of his blow and the absolute fucking silence as they both forgot how to breathe. Well, there was another thing to add to the list of 'shit that's way too wrong to feel that damn good'. Dean heard the click of wet muscles when his own throat swallowed convulsively.
Sam's hazel eyes looked back at Dean over his shoulder - he hadn't bothered to lift himself up or even tried to move - pupils still blown wide but whether it was from the drugs now or the fact that, if anything, the cock fighting gravity to curve up against his stomach had only gotten harder.
"Eye's front," Dean barked automatically, loving the kind of unquestioning compliance that he only got out of Sam when he was hard and desperate... or maybe high. That thought was enough to eat through the numb fog that unexpectedly spanking - actually spanking! - Sam had put him in and bring the heat roiling back in. Fearragelustneedterrorlove had been Dean's whole world since he'd pulled the Impala up to the apartment hours ago to find Sammy missing, and now his little brother was going to pay for it with the only currency Dean wanted from him.
"Got your attention now, Sammy? 'Cause after all of the bullshit you put me through tonight, I think you need to make it up to me. Think you need to be punished." Dean's fingers soothed over the burning redness of Sam's skin, "What do you thinks’ fair, huh? Say, ten for sneaking out in the middle of the night, trying to drive me out of my mind. Another ten for the drugs, 'cause you ought to know better. Ten more for not even carrying a fucking weapon" - and somehow Dean just couldn’t resist adding a second smack to the already bright mark on Sam’s backside - "to protect yourself. Sound fair, Sammy?"
Sam squirmed under Dean's gaze, trying to turn back again and see if his brother was serious. Dean laid a matching mark across the other cheek, and that got Sam faced front and still in less than a second. Jesus, he was really going to let Dean do this.
"That'd be thirty, in case you missed it, honor roll." Dean said, giving Sam another chance to tell Dean to knock it off and stop being a jerk. He really expected to hear the words, but all he got was the hitched sound of Sam’s breath. Well ok, then, if Sammy was alright with this - and by the angry color of his cock, he was more than alright with this - then Dean could roll with it. It was sure as hell going to make him feel a whole lot better.
He nudged Sam's thighs further apart to give him a perfect view of his favorite little hole and didn't even try to fight the possessive flush that flooded him.
"Count 'em off for me," he growled, letting his flattened palm whistle through the air again. Sam gasped loud but that was the only sound he made.
Dean leaned forward, pressing himself against Sam in one long line and purred right into his ear the way he'd learned could make Sam lose it just from the right choice of words.
"That's thirty from whenever you start counting, baby. I can do this all night," he lied, because he could already feel the tingling rush of blood to his hand and no matter how pissed he was, he really didn't want to bruise Sam up. Much.
Dean hauled himself off his brother's body, grinding his jeans clad erection against that sore ass just a little for emphasis. The next time the harsh slap of flesh on flesh wrent the air it was followed immediately by a harsh, "One" from Sam.
Dean, in his storied sexual career had had a bit of experience in this - once even on the receiving end - but he had never gotten off on it like this. Sam looked so damn good laid out, sweat starting to bead up along his spine by the time he'd reached "Ten!", just willing, wanting, to let Dean do this shit to him. The older Winchester took a second's break from laying handprints over Sam's ass and thighs to press a long, dirty lick up the length of Sam's back, starting where the red of his handiwork began at the dip of the spine and going right up until he met the matching flush of Sam's - embarrassment? lust? - as it spread from his neck.
By "Fifteen!" Sam was moaning more than gasping, hips canting back into every blow like it was the sweetest touch he'd ever felt. His ass was cherry red, the heat of the cheeks almost matching the heat Dean knew was inside, and it only made him want to lean down and sink his teeth in the meat of the flesh.
He was doing his best to vary the strength and speed of his slaps, noticing the way quick ones to the tops of the thighs made Sam's hands clench reflexively at the coffee table, while steady hard ones to the cheeks had his head tossing back and forth.
At the rasp of "Twenty two!" Dean reached around and let his burning fingers dance over the hard length of Sam's cock. His little brother groaned at the contact, hips jerking automatically to try and get more friction. Dean just eased off a little and let his fingertips sweep up to slide over the mess of precome dripping from the head. Sam's hand banged hard onto the surface of the table and Dean was grudgingly impressed at the younger man's control.
He'd known even before the first time they'd had sex that Sam could go off without his dick being touched - a fact that had brought Dean off like a rocket more times than he cared to remember - but even a little bit of rubbing was usually enough to have Sam squirming and shooting over his hand. It was a testament to how bad he had to want this that he hadn't already stained the carpet white.
Impossibly harder by the idea that Sam was fucking holding back for more of this, Dean pulled back and swiped the precome shining on his fingers across Sam's swelling flesh. Fuck, that was just so goddamn pretty.
"Twenty four!" was almost a sob and it had Sam pushing back far enough that there wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't open to Dean's hand. By "Twenty six!" he was trying to convince himself that pinking up Sam's hole would be a bad idea. By "Twenty eight!" he knew he was going to do it anyway. "Twenty nine!" was barely audible over the panting as his hand hit right at the tailbone. "Thirty" just came out as "Uhhhn!" when the tips of Dean's fingers hit with stinging precision right over Sam's opening.
Sam's body tried to curl in on itself, stopped by the table holding him up, so he only shot milky heat over his stomach and part of his chest and of course the table itself. That's what it got for getting in the way when Sammy came that hard; eyes rolled back in his head, jerking like Dean had hit him with a taser.
It was the hottest fucking thing Dean had ever seen and if his own cock weren't strangling itself to death inside his jeans, just getting his hand around it would have been all it would have taken for him to join Sam right over the edge in bliss.
Instead he used his aching hand to gentle Sam through the aftershocks, sliding it slowly up his side, then down over the front of his thigh without touching the crimson flesh of his ass. Yet.
Once Sam had collapsed into a boneless sprawl across the table, Dean decided it was time to get his. He didn't even have to lay his hands on the glowing red flesh to feel the heat coming off it in waves, but when he did, Sam just made another one of those perfect moans he did, like somehow this was still feeling really good to him. Dean knew without question that Sam was going to be tender for days and just thinking about it made him need to get his dick out immediately if not sooner.
Finally fisting his cock - sweetmotherfucker that felt good! - Dean let his cheek rest against the abused tissue of Sam's ass, earning himself a whimper that pooled right in the tight coil of his balls. It felt too good to flick his tongue out and let it slide over Sam's reddened opening to not do it again. And again, and again until he was tonguing it in a sharp, steady rhythm that had Sam's breath coming out thready and beautiful. He was going to come again for Dean, just like this, and the older Winchester had to grip a circle around the base of his cock to wait for it to happen.
Dean couldn't help how much he loved being able to fuck Sam into oblivion like this; the musky taste, the press of heat, the slickness of sweat under his hands were the only things that really mattered in his whole life most of the time, the only real way they'd ever had to show how much they needed each other.
Even though he'd just finished shooting his brain out of his dick, and even though that was the fourth fucking time Sam had come that day, it didn't take more than a few minutes to feel the shivering build up in his muscles again.
Dean slid one hand down to cups the tightness of his little brother's balls, humming his approval into Sam's hole while the hand still tingling from tearing up Sam's ass worked even harder over his cock. He could feel the heat build, spread low in his body, so fucking close to losing it that he wasn't even sure he was breathing anymore and couldn't fucking care less.
He sucked hard on puckered flesh and the muscles under his mouth, in his hand, spasmed. Sam was screaming out Dean's name like it was the only word he knew and Dean jerked back, hand working furiously as he painted his little brother's reddened skin white with ropey streams of come.
Dean gathered up the last barely-there pulse of fluid on his sore fingers and smeared it right into the mess on Sam's ass. Sammy didn't even bother to groan, a tiny flicker of muscle the only indication that he even felt Dean touching his tortured skin.
He did groan when Dean manhandled him off of the table, pulling them both sideways onto the carpet and ignoring the hiss when he spooned his spent groin up against Sam's backside. If he didn't manage to recover before they fell asleep like that, it was going to be a real bitch when they woke up glued together by Dean's seed. He just crooked his arm so they could both use it for a pillow and breathed in the scent of sex and sweat and Sam.
"Was this supposed to be incentive for me to NOT sneak out again?" Sam wondered sleepily after a minute.
"Back in the land of the living, Sammy?" Dean huffed a laugh into his brother's damp curls, "That was incentive to remember that no matter where you go, that ass is mine. And I intend to protect it." He let his fingers wander over too hot flesh in emphasis. Sam just ground back harder against him.
"You go out on your own all the time," Sam mumbled, and even through the exhausted, fucked-out haze, Dean caught the hint of accusation. So that's what this had all been about.
"Yeah well," he sighed, "Maybe this was a little incentive for me, too. Remind me what's worth staying home for." He let his hand press flat over Sam's slowly steadying heartbeat.
"If that's what it takes to get you to stay, I'm never going to be able to sit down again." Sam laughed for a minute, lazy and simple like he only ever was afterward. Then his hand - bigger than Dean's now, just like the rest of his body - found a home over Dean's on his chest and he half-whispered, "But I don't mind."
It was Dean's turn to laugh, more subdued than his brother's.
"You're a little twisted, you know that, kid?" Then he hmm'ed and nestled his lips against Sam's neck. "Love you, baby," he whispered, like he always did somewhere along the lines of their fucks.
Sam's murmured return wasn't even really words as sleep - and probably what was left of the drugs - overtook his system, but Dean knew what it meant. With that knowledge running warm through his veins, he let his breathing even out and joined his brother in sleep.
In the morning they were probably going to regret sleeping on the living room floor - on top of Sam not being able to sit down, and the hours it was going to take to get that mess out of the carpet - but neither of them would have had it any other way. Fucked up, and wrong, and more than a little painful - it was everything they were, and sometimes it was nice when the outsides matched what was within.