Okay! Let's take a break while I post some comment porn
This is a slightly-more-polished version of what I wrote for Porn Battle VI.
Thirteen Minutes on a Motel Bed, Sam/Dean, based on the prompts "incubus" and "need." Warning for very rough dub-con, no spoilers.
Dean yowls when Sam jabs forward, in, white-knuckles the pillow when Sam bites at the nape of his neck and grimaces at the hard chew of Sam’s teeth against his skin, hurtful.
Sam says, “Fuck, fuck,” against Dean’s hairline, snaps his hips deep (hands too tight, he’ll leave bruises) and Dean closes his eyes and tries, tries not to scream, not to beg Sam to stop, stays still and lets Sam have this. Have him.
Dean thinks it’s better that this is happening to him and not somebody else, not to some sweet tiny-boned girl who’d cry, who wouldn’t understand why this was necessary, wouldn’t know it wasn’t Sam doing this to her (could never be Sam, not Dean’s dorky little brother with his soft touch and big smile), wouldn’t know about the incubus or the oily way he’d laughed when he’d said, “Too late, I already got him,” just before Dean blasted a round of consecrated iron into his skull.
Sam grunts and fucks his dick hard into Dean’s ass, splits Dean open on him with nothing but spit and brute force (it’s gotta be hurting him almost as much as it’s hurting Dean, too much friction and he must be chafing, but Sam shows no signs of it), and Dean makes a raw noise at the back of his throat-not a sob, not exactly: more like the whimper of a kicked dog-and Sam ruts into him unrelentingly, slapslapslap of his thighs against Dean’s backside and Dean is tearing the pillow covers, he’s holding them so tight, and then Sam comes.
Thirteen Minutes on a Motel Bed, Sam/Dean, based on the prompts "incubus" and "need." Warning for very rough dub-con, no spoilers.
Dean yowls when Sam jabs forward, in, white-knuckles the pillow when Sam bites at the nape of his neck and grimaces at the hard chew of Sam’s teeth against his skin, hurtful.
Sam says, “Fuck, fuck,” against Dean’s hairline, snaps his hips deep (hands too tight, he’ll leave bruises) and Dean closes his eyes and tries, tries not to scream, not to beg Sam to stop, stays still and lets Sam have this. Have him.
Dean thinks it’s better that this is happening to him and not somebody else, not to some sweet tiny-boned girl who’d cry, who wouldn’t understand why this was necessary, wouldn’t know it wasn’t Sam doing this to her (could never be Sam, not Dean’s dorky little brother with his soft touch and big smile), wouldn’t know about the incubus or the oily way he’d laughed when he’d said, “Too late, I already got him,” just before Dean blasted a round of consecrated iron into his skull.
Sam grunts and fucks his dick hard into Dean’s ass, splits Dean open on him with nothing but spit and brute force (it’s gotta be hurting him almost as much as it’s hurting Dean, too much friction and he must be chafing, but Sam shows no signs of it), and Dean makes a raw noise at the back of his throat-not a sob, not exactly: more like the whimper of a kicked dog-and Sam ruts into him unrelentingly, slapslapslap of his thighs against Dean’s backside and Dean is tearing the pillow covers, he’s holding them so tight, and then Sam comes.