Supernatural - I'm Horny (All Night Long)
"So did it hurt?"
The woman looked evenly at Dean. She had the appearance of a more gothic type, with the dark makeup that accented her severe features. Her expression spoke of almost disbelief and a fraction of amusement amongst contempt.
"I'm almost afraid to ask what, because I've gone twenty-seven years never hearing anyone actually say that old chestnut about falling from heaven. But go ahead. Surprise me."
Dean opened his mouth before it sunk in. "Uh...well, usually sophisticated and intelligent ladies like you find it charming?" He tried the grin, the wink, and the slight lean forward. "I mean, of course I'm just using it...totally ironically..."
"So you're a hipster douchebag posing as a dick-motivated idiot. How novel." She sighed and turned back to her drink, some sort of scarlet blend, and tipped it to her lips.
"So...I could ask, are you tired?"
"If your next words are going to be 'because you've been running through my mind all night', I would proceed very carefully," she answered.
Dean closed his mouth without any more words. She knew all of them! It was like she was some sort of wizard.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
The woman turned to look Dean down and up again, and her eyes glimmered for a moment. She reached out and touched his chest, right in the centre, with a single finger.
Dean's mind immediately fogged, and he raised a hand to his forehead, shaking his head. When he looked up again, there was only an empty glass sitting on the bar. He glanced around him; the woman had vanished, as if she had never been. But that glass sat there, the only real proof he hadn't been speaking to thin air.
Working through the disorientation, he made his way back to the motel, where Sam sat at the table, typing on the laptop. He glanced up at his brother.
"Wow, you're early. That bad, huh?"
That was all Sam had any chance to say, before Dean was on him, grinding against his thigh with a tentpole poking through the denim. The two toppled to the floor, and Sam slowly shook off the shock.
"Dean! Get a hold of yourself!"
"Rather get a hold of you," Dean replied so smoothly, and then he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening.
Suddenly it became clear to Sam, and he simply sighed, pushing at his brother, trying to separate the two of them. "Dean. Dean, you screwed up tonight, didn't you." It turned out more of a statement. He knew the answer before the question even formed in his mind.
Dean's face was a mixture of horrifying embarrassment and uncontrollable arousal, much like the rest of him. He trembled, held at arm's length, as Sam got to his feet.
"Tell me...what happened, and we'll see what we can do about it."
It took Dean a moment, to breathe deeply and slowly sigh it out, and then again, then a third time. He forced himself to climb up and sit on the edge of the bed. It became clear he couldn't look directly at Sam, and he fidgeted with his fingers as he spoke. The story was brief enough to tell.
Sam sighed too, but for different reasons. "Great. So I'm guessing you got a curse put on you, and there's probably something you have to do to fulfill or break it."
Dean made the mistake of looking up, and slowly a grin spread across his lips. He straddled the chair where Sam sat and lowered himself down to sit in his brother's lap, rubbing his buttocks along the other man's thighs.
"Dean...!"
Sam didn't really know what to do. He leaned back as much into the cushion at the back of the chair as he could. But his brother had him backed into a corner, essentially; he couldn't really escape unless he overturned the chair.
Maybe he could wait it out, he thought. He waited, glancing tentatively down. He hoped it was that simple. But despite his brother's clear arousal and enthusiasm, nothing came of it...figuratively or literally. After several minutes of the grinding, Sam cleared his throat and placed his hands on Dean's shoulders.
It brought forth a moan from his brother, and a little stream of drool leaked from his lips.
That gave Sam a moment's pause. "Dean. Maybe that's it. Maybe you have to...uh, you know. Go to...you know."
Dean shivered bodily and panted as he leaned heavily against Sam's sturdy form. "I...can't," he whimpered. "It doesn't want to...to do..."
A few thoughts fluttered through Sam's mind. Then a few more, and he looked Dean over and pursed his lips, brow flattening. "Dean, I am not going to...I'm not even going to entertain the thought..."
"Sammy, I know it's...I mean, I..." Poor Dean. He couldn't come to terms with it so easily. He had banished it for so long with all of the one-night stands and casual lays. If only purely mechanically, all of the perfunctory liaisons kept him from acting on the persistent urges constantly recurring in his subconscious.
Sam firmly held Dean's shoulders in his hands and guided him to the bed, then he walked away, continuing into the bathroom. He casually shoved at the door, just pushing it to the jamb and crossing to the toilet. He didn't even manage to undo his jeans before Dean was grinding on his ass, as if he really meant business.
Sam winced. He could feel his brother really did mean it. Even through the thick denim, it was easy to tell exactly how aroused Dean was.
"Dean! Can you not leave me alone for five seconds?"
"All I need is like five minutes," Dean answered breathily.
"Dean!" Sam turned and shoved his brother out, slamming the door and turning the lock. He flopped down to sit on the toilet, face in his hands.
They could get through this. They had made it through worse.
"Just...pull yourself together," he said to Dean, before bed. It took an impressive thirty seconds after the lights were out before he was no longer alone in his own bed.
"I just...I need to be here, Sammy." Dean was clearly utterly ashamed of his urges, but at the same time he also obviously had no control whatsoever over them.
The night brought with it some uncomfortable rest, some uncertain sleep, but eventually Sam fell into unconsciousness and, when he woke, he found his arms around his brother, legs tangled, and spied Dean's face. So peaceful, so content. It made Sam smile a little.
Through breakfast at the diner, Dean actually behaved himself. He smiled a bit too much, Sam thought, but overall it seemed almost as if the business from the night before had perhaps been an effect of too much of some bad alcohol.
He slipped out of the booth and to his feet, and he noticed the waitress only too late. She danced out of the way, but the pepper shaker slipped from her fingers to the floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sam quickly bent to collect it and offer it back to her.
Dean's eyes immediately zeroed in on those bulbous buttocks, and despite himself he licked his lips. He slid up behind his brother and pressed right against him.
"Clumsy, Sammy," his voice rumbled, deep and sultry.
The waitress mirrored Sam's own expression of not really knowing where to look. It was starting to horrify Sam that he would never be able to go anywhere again, at least not with Dean, and avoid something like this happening. He hadn't even thought about it, before bending over.
Smoothly he pivoted and guided Dean back to sit at the booth, taking his own seat across from his brother, looking to his eyes and nowhere else intently. The meal went with barely a word passed between them, and then they returned to the motel again, to prepare for the real stuff of their day.
Sam didn't really want to shower, but he knew he had to, in order to actually pull off the disguise. As he had expected, Dean burst in the bathroom and, with the transparent excuse that they could "save water", pressed up against Sam and began to wash himself off.
And hump Sam's hip all the while, of course.
After the shower, Sam quickly dressed himself and tried to get out the door before Dean could get his clothes on. But he was too quick, and they really worked better as a pair.
"Are you sure you're...up for this?" Sam sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap. "Can you really keep a lid on it?"
"Totally. I'm a new man. Just check it out."
Sam had to admit, it impressed him that Dean managed to get them to their destination without running the car off the road. But as they spoke to the man, there was an increasing antsiness, a fidgeting that soon became clear was not something to be denied.
The moment Dean sidled behind him, Sam's stomach fell. He knew what would come next. "Hey!" He suddenly shouted out. "What's that?"
It worked to distract the man they were interviewing, fortunately, and in that instant Sam turned and gave a wide-eyed glare at Dean, who looked supremely apologetic.
"Sorry," Sam continued once the man turned back. "I guess it was just a cobweb. They have us so high-strung in this job! Always noticing things."
But it soon became clear they were going to have to cut the interview short. Sam imagined they had already gathered as much about the situation as they were likely to, so he faked stomach trouble and dragged Dean out.
By the time they got to the Impala, Dean had already pushed him over the hood and started to thrust loaded hips at Sam's backside, cheeks burning red. "Sam, I...I don't think I can stop myself!"
Sam, meanwhile, closed his eyes tight. He couldn't believe this was happening. Dean, of all people...but it made him think. It made him wonder. Was this something controlling Dean, or was it just amplifying something already existing?
Slowly he worked his way around, which made his posture into lying on the hood on his back, legs spread.
"Dean," he murmured, "if you wait until we get back to the motel, you can...we'll do whatever you want."
Through what was undoubtedly a herculean effort, Dean pulled back and tugged his brother up, loading him into the car and tearing off back to where they were staying. He barely got the door closed before he began to close the distance between himself and his brother, and an easy grin spread across his lips. Oh yes. Yes, this was it.
Sam didn't even know what to think. They tumbled to the bed, and Dean moved his hips like clockwork. At first, Sam tried to remain stoic. But he had to admit, the attention wasn't unpleasant or unwelcome. It was Dean, after all. The feeling of his brother in his arms through the night made him feel warm inside, so why should this be any different?
He smiled up at Dean and reached down to help him out of his slacks. Why not? Who knows what the curse could do otherwise?
But at the first touch, Dean tensed and gasped, gurgling as he felt himself make those slacks distinctly warm and sticky. Sam pulled his hands back like a shot, almost afraid that he had done something wrong.
Dean collapsed on him, and at first Sam thought he had caused his brother's doom, jumping to the worst possible conclusion. But the thumping of Dean's heart and his quick breathing banished those thoughts.
"I..." Dean stammered, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry...Sammy." His thoughts flashed through his mind.
The same was true for his brother. Sam couldn't think of what to say. He couldn't manage to form words. Too many things occurred to him.
"Guess that's that?" Dean tried to fake a confidence, a toothy grin and a brightness in his eyes. "Right baby bro?"
Sam just looked right into Dean's eyes, and it startled the both of them. He was sure his brother could feel it, pressed right atop him: his own excitement from everything that had happened. He finally allowed himself to feel it. Finally, to admit it with his body, and he knew it could not be dismissed or ignored.
"Where do we go from here...?" Sam almost whispered it.
Dean forced a hard swallow, unable to take his eyes from Sam's.
The woman looked evenly at Dean. She had the appearance of a more gothic type, with the dark makeup that accented her severe features. Her expression spoke of almost disbelief and a fraction of amusement amongst contempt.
"I'm almost afraid to ask what, because I've gone twenty-seven years never hearing anyone actually say that old chestnut about falling from heaven. But go ahead. Surprise me."
Dean opened his mouth before it sunk in. "Uh...well, usually sophisticated and intelligent ladies like you find it charming?" He tried the grin, the wink, and the slight lean forward. "I mean, of course I'm just using it...totally ironically..."
"So you're a hipster douchebag posing as a dick-motivated idiot. How novel." She sighed and turned back to her drink, some sort of scarlet blend, and tipped it to her lips.
"So...I could ask, are you tired?"
"If your next words are going to be 'because you've been running through my mind all night', I would proceed very carefully," she answered.
Dean closed his mouth without any more words. She knew all of them! It was like she was some sort of wizard.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
The woman turned to look Dean down and up again, and her eyes glimmered for a moment. She reached out and touched his chest, right in the centre, with a single finger.
Dean's mind immediately fogged, and he raised a hand to his forehead, shaking his head. When he looked up again, there was only an empty glass sitting on the bar. He glanced around him; the woman had vanished, as if she had never been. But that glass sat there, the only real proof he hadn't been speaking to thin air.
Working through the disorientation, he made his way back to the motel, where Sam sat at the table, typing on the laptop. He glanced up at his brother.
"Wow, you're early. That bad, huh?"
That was all Sam had any chance to say, before Dean was on him, grinding against his thigh with a tentpole poking through the denim. The two toppled to the floor, and Sam slowly shook off the shock.
"Dean! Get a hold of yourself!"
"Rather get a hold of you," Dean replied so smoothly, and then he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening.
Suddenly it became clear to Sam, and he simply sighed, pushing at his brother, trying to separate the two of them. "Dean. Dean, you screwed up tonight, didn't you." It turned out more of a statement. He knew the answer before the question even formed in his mind.
Dean's face was a mixture of horrifying embarrassment and uncontrollable arousal, much like the rest of him. He trembled, held at arm's length, as Sam got to his feet.
"Tell me...what happened, and we'll see what we can do about it."
It took Dean a moment, to breathe deeply and slowly sigh it out, and then again, then a third time. He forced himself to climb up and sit on the edge of the bed. It became clear he couldn't look directly at Sam, and he fidgeted with his fingers as he spoke. The story was brief enough to tell.
Sam sighed too, but for different reasons. "Great. So I'm guessing you got a curse put on you, and there's probably something you have to do to fulfill or break it."
Dean made the mistake of looking up, and slowly a grin spread across his lips. He straddled the chair where Sam sat and lowered himself down to sit in his brother's lap, rubbing his buttocks along the other man's thighs.
"Dean...!"
Sam didn't really know what to do. He leaned back as much into the cushion at the back of the chair as he could. But his brother had him backed into a corner, essentially; he couldn't really escape unless he overturned the chair.
Maybe he could wait it out, he thought. He waited, glancing tentatively down. He hoped it was that simple. But despite his brother's clear arousal and enthusiasm, nothing came of it...figuratively or literally. After several minutes of the grinding, Sam cleared his throat and placed his hands on Dean's shoulders.
It brought forth a moan from his brother, and a little stream of drool leaked from his lips.
That gave Sam a moment's pause. "Dean. Maybe that's it. Maybe you have to...uh, you know. Go to...you know."
Dean shivered bodily and panted as he leaned heavily against Sam's sturdy form. "I...can't," he whimpered. "It doesn't want to...to do..."
A few thoughts fluttered through Sam's mind. Then a few more, and he looked Dean over and pursed his lips, brow flattening. "Dean, I am not going to...I'm not even going to entertain the thought..."
"Sammy, I know it's...I mean, I..." Poor Dean. He couldn't come to terms with it so easily. He had banished it for so long with all of the one-night stands and casual lays. If only purely mechanically, all of the perfunctory liaisons kept him from acting on the persistent urges constantly recurring in his subconscious.
Sam firmly held Dean's shoulders in his hands and guided him to the bed, then he walked away, continuing into the bathroom. He casually shoved at the door, just pushing it to the jamb and crossing to the toilet. He didn't even manage to undo his jeans before Dean was grinding on his ass, as if he really meant business.
Sam winced. He could feel his brother really did mean it. Even through the thick denim, it was easy to tell exactly how aroused Dean was.
"Dean! Can you not leave me alone for five seconds?"
"All I need is like five minutes," Dean answered breathily.
"Dean!" Sam turned and shoved his brother out, slamming the door and turning the lock. He flopped down to sit on the toilet, face in his hands.
They could get through this. They had made it through worse.
"Just...pull yourself together," he said to Dean, before bed. It took an impressive thirty seconds after the lights were out before he was no longer alone in his own bed.
"I just...I need to be here, Sammy." Dean was clearly utterly ashamed of his urges, but at the same time he also obviously had no control whatsoever over them.
The night brought with it some uncomfortable rest, some uncertain sleep, but eventually Sam fell into unconsciousness and, when he woke, he found his arms around his brother, legs tangled, and spied Dean's face. So peaceful, so content. It made Sam smile a little.
Through breakfast at the diner, Dean actually behaved himself. He smiled a bit too much, Sam thought, but overall it seemed almost as if the business from the night before had perhaps been an effect of too much of some bad alcohol.
He slipped out of the booth and to his feet, and he noticed the waitress only too late. She danced out of the way, but the pepper shaker slipped from her fingers to the floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sam quickly bent to collect it and offer it back to her.
Dean's eyes immediately zeroed in on those bulbous buttocks, and despite himself he licked his lips. He slid up behind his brother and pressed right against him.
"Clumsy, Sammy," his voice rumbled, deep and sultry.
The waitress mirrored Sam's own expression of not really knowing where to look. It was starting to horrify Sam that he would never be able to go anywhere again, at least not with Dean, and avoid something like this happening. He hadn't even thought about it, before bending over.
Smoothly he pivoted and guided Dean back to sit at the booth, taking his own seat across from his brother, looking to his eyes and nowhere else intently. The meal went with barely a word passed between them, and then they returned to the motel again, to prepare for the real stuff of their day.
Sam didn't really want to shower, but he knew he had to, in order to actually pull off the disguise. As he had expected, Dean burst in the bathroom and, with the transparent excuse that they could "save water", pressed up against Sam and began to wash himself off.
And hump Sam's hip all the while, of course.
After the shower, Sam quickly dressed himself and tried to get out the door before Dean could get his clothes on. But he was too quick, and they really worked better as a pair.
"Are you sure you're...up for this?" Sam sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap. "Can you really keep a lid on it?"
"Totally. I'm a new man. Just check it out."
Sam had to admit, it impressed him that Dean managed to get them to their destination without running the car off the road. But as they spoke to the man, there was an increasing antsiness, a fidgeting that soon became clear was not something to be denied.
The moment Dean sidled behind him, Sam's stomach fell. He knew what would come next. "Hey!" He suddenly shouted out. "What's that?"
It worked to distract the man they were interviewing, fortunately, and in that instant Sam turned and gave a wide-eyed glare at Dean, who looked supremely apologetic.
"Sorry," Sam continued once the man turned back. "I guess it was just a cobweb. They have us so high-strung in this job! Always noticing things."
But it soon became clear they were going to have to cut the interview short. Sam imagined they had already gathered as much about the situation as they were likely to, so he faked stomach trouble and dragged Dean out.
By the time they got to the Impala, Dean had already pushed him over the hood and started to thrust loaded hips at Sam's backside, cheeks burning red. "Sam, I...I don't think I can stop myself!"
Sam, meanwhile, closed his eyes tight. He couldn't believe this was happening. Dean, of all people...but it made him think. It made him wonder. Was this something controlling Dean, or was it just amplifying something already existing?
Slowly he worked his way around, which made his posture into lying on the hood on his back, legs spread.
"Dean," he murmured, "if you wait until we get back to the motel, you can...we'll do whatever you want."
Through what was undoubtedly a herculean effort, Dean pulled back and tugged his brother up, loading him into the car and tearing off back to where they were staying. He barely got the door closed before he began to close the distance between himself and his brother, and an easy grin spread across his lips. Oh yes. Yes, this was it.
Sam didn't even know what to think. They tumbled to the bed, and Dean moved his hips like clockwork. At first, Sam tried to remain stoic. But he had to admit, the attention wasn't unpleasant or unwelcome. It was Dean, after all. The feeling of his brother in his arms through the night made him feel warm inside, so why should this be any different?
He smiled up at Dean and reached down to help him out of his slacks. Why not? Who knows what the curse could do otherwise?
But at the first touch, Dean tensed and gasped, gurgling as he felt himself make those slacks distinctly warm and sticky. Sam pulled his hands back like a shot, almost afraid that he had done something wrong.
Dean collapsed on him, and at first Sam thought he had caused his brother's doom, jumping to the worst possible conclusion. But the thumping of Dean's heart and his quick breathing banished those thoughts.
"I..." Dean stammered, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry...Sammy." His thoughts flashed through his mind.
The same was true for his brother. Sam couldn't think of what to say. He couldn't manage to form words. Too many things occurred to him.
"Guess that's that?" Dean tried to fake a confidence, a toothy grin and a brightness in his eyes. "Right baby bro?"
Sam just looked right into Dean's eyes, and it startled the both of them. He was sure his brother could feel it, pressed right atop him: his own excitement from everything that had happened. He finally allowed himself to feel it. Finally, to admit it with his body, and he knew it could not be dismissed or ignored.
"Where do we go from here...?" Sam almost whispered it.
Dean forced a hard swallow, unable to take his eyes from Sam's.