Fic: From the Inside (Dean/Sam) NC-17
Title: From the Inside
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 3265
Warning: Minor breathplay
Disclaimer: Don't own the Winchesters, unfortunately.
Notes: Written for blindfold_spn for the prompt of: Sam and Dean undercover in a nightclub/sex club. Sam keeps getting hit on by this guy and flirts back a little. Dean needs to show them both who Sam belongs to.
Euphoria is like an assault on the senses from the moment they walk in the door, and Dean can feel the bass reverberating through him like a heartbeat, pounding, relentless and never-ending. It’s dark and loud and dry-ice-smoky and he feels completely out of his depth.
Dean’s only exposure to gay clubs prior to this had been that episode of Queer as Folk he’d accidentally flicked the TV on to that week he was laid-up from those fucking Pixies. Little assholes cast a puking spell on him and he couldn’t even move without throwing up.
Sam sure got a laugh outta that one.
Euphoria isn’t quite as out there as Babylon, but there’s still more naked flesh than he’s used to seeing in public. On men. Not that he has a problem with that on a base level, hell; he’s seen Sam naked enough times. But this is different.
“It’s all so...”
“Gay?” Sam stares at him, rolling his eyes. Sam never seems to get that look with anyone other than Dean. “You do realise you aren’t exactly straight, Dean? I mean, you fuck guys, so...”
“Nonono,” Dean shakes his finger at Sam, “I don’t fuck guys, Sammy, I fuck you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Sam rubs his forehead like he always does when he’s pissed off, “your logic does not compute.”
Dean doesn’t see what the issue is. Sam is the only guy he’s ever fucked in his life, and that’s because he’s Sam and the rules just don’t apply when it comes to the two of them.
Sam though? Sam’s fucked around with plenty of guys, and Dean would be a goddamned liar if he said it didn’t bother him a little.
Sam looks like he fits in quite nicely. Actually, Sam looks fucking hot. Fitted black t-shirt that clings to pretty much every curve Sam has, PVC pants, and boots. His wrist is adorned with a black cuff, and he’s wearing Dean’s amulet. Sam’s worn the amulet 24/7 since he fished it out of the trash. Dean feels pretty much naked without it most days, but he’d never admit it to Sam, and he thinks he probably doesn’t have the same connection to it these days, anyway. Sam can have it.
Sam moves confidently, like he isn’t at all out of place, not one bit, and Dean really doesn’t want to think about how many times Sam’s been to a place like this, with dark corners, and booths and a backroom, for fuck’s sake. It makes Dean’s gut twist and makes his imagination run fucking wild.
“You okay?” Sam asks, as they wait in line for the bar. He looks a little concerned, which is pretty much par for the course when Dean retreats into his head like that, but Dean can’t help it, he isn’t used to watching Sam put himself on display like this, like a fucking virgin sacrifice.
Well, minus the virgin part, of course.
“Fine,” Dean mumbles, pulling at the neck of his t-shirt. He’s dressed pretty simply compared to Sam, just new black jeans and boots and his usual black t, but because they’re in the kind of club they are, he’s also wearing leather driving gloves and a newer, much more sleek leather jacket.
“You look.” Sam swallows, “really good. You uncomfortable?”
“It’s just, ah hell, Sammy, this place just isn’t me. Not really.”
A couple of girls walk past, obviously together from the way they’re eyefucking each other. The brunette’s in a black corset and leather mini and knee-high boots, and the redhead’s in a red halter and black hotpants that barely cover her ass. Dean watches them walk away, head tilted.
“Lesbians are awesome,” he says, grinning, “Okay, maybe this place is a little bit me.”
Sam laughs, and Dean concentrates on the line of Sam’s throat, blocking out the jealous twinges in his gut. With his neck exposed like that, Sam looks good enough to eat. Not to mention the way those pants may as well be painted on, and highlight his ass in a way that makes Dean feel alternately horny, and uncomfortable.
Aaaaaand that whole not thinking about Sam’s ass being fucked by any number of guys who aren’t Dean only lasted about a minute. Sometimes Dean really wishes he could turn his brain off.
“Can I buy you drink?” Dean hears, yelled over the music, and some guy, maybe an inch taller than Dean, is leaning on the bar next to Sam. He’s a good-looking guy; deep-blue eyes and dark hair, lean, and those eyes are currently travelling slowly down Sam’s body, and up again, like he’s already planning all the things he wants to do to him.
“He’s all good, but thanks for asking,” Dean growls. His jaw aches, and he’s in a foul fucking mood already, and they’ve barely been there 20 minutes.
Sam glares at him and turns back to Blue Eyes, “Don’t mind him,” he coos in a voice that’s completely at odds with the filthy look he’s just given Dean, “He’s a bit possessive. You’re certainly welcome to buy me a drink.”
Dean snorts, and Sam ignores him, leans back on the bar, and grins at Blue Eyes. It’s a fucking flirty, sly grin that makes Dean clench and unclench his fists at his sides.
“So you two aren’t exclusive?” He tears his eyes away from Sam for a brief minute to look at Dean briefly, same casual ogling of Dean then back to Sam again. He hooks a finger in Sam’s waistband and pulls him in. “You’re both really fucking hot, but I think I’d have the most fun with you. I’ll just bet you love being tied down, don’t you?”
Dean wants to fucking shoot this guy in the face. He grabs Sam by the arm and throws a “back in a minute,” behind his shoulder, as he pulls Sam away.
“What the fuck?” Sam yells, “I was getting somewhere with him, Dean. We are supposed to be interviewing these guys, remember?”
“Don’t have to look like you’re enjoying it so much,” Dean grumbles.
Sam grins wide, “Oh my God. Really?”
“What?”
“You’re jealous. That’s so cute.”
“Ah, bite me, Princess,” Dean takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching. “Go on then, back to your mark.”
He stands at the other end of the bar, and watches as Sam saunters back to the guy, almost feline grace in the swing of his hips, whispering what is probably an apology in his ear.
After ten minutes of watching him flirt like a fucking pro, laughing and touching and goddamn near fluttering his eyelashes; Sam comes back over to Dean’s end of the bar.
“No luck?” Dean tries to say matter-of-factly. He’s ready to turn around and tell Sam he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether they find this incubus or not, anymore, that he’s had enough and it’s a stupid fucking plan anyway.
“Well, he didn’t know anything,” Sam says, scratching absently at his neck, where the leather strap of the amulet meets his skin, “but I did get his phone number.” He shows Dean his bare arm, which is now covered in the dark-haired guys digits, scribbled in black pen.
“Well, you’re not exclusive? Are you, Sam?” Dean scoffs, “free agent, you can do what you want.”
“And I will,” Sam breathes in Dean’s ear, and walks away from him in the direction of the dancefloor.
***
Dean finds a group of barely-legal twinks on his way back from the bathroom. Turns out they’re friends with the missing kid, and he manages to get a vague description of the car their friend got into the night he disappeared.
All in all, not a complete waste of time.
He scans the dancefloor looking for Sam, and sees him pressed into a dark corner by some blond guy who’s just as freakishly tall as him. Sam is all come-hither looks and eyes at half-mast, biting his lower lip. One of Sam’s hands is braced on the wall, and the other is resting on the blond guy’s ridiculously sculpted forearm. Sam’s head is thrown back and he’s laughing at whatever the guy is saying, like a fucking flirt.
Dean feels like he’s wired to explode. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and his skin prickling everywhere. He needs to. Fuck, he needs to do something, screw the case to hell and back, he doesn’t care.
Then the tall, blond fucking freak gets his fingers on Sam’s lips, tracing the outline before dropping his hand down, caressing Sam’s neck down and down until he reaches the leather strap holding the amulet - his amulet- and laces his fingers in it. Pulling it taut.
Dean can see Sam gasp in a breath, filthy fucking look on his face, and that’s fucking it. He strides over to them, tapping the blond guy on the shoulder. The guy turns around, pissed as hell that he’s being interrupted in his fucking seduction routine, and Dean whispers in his ear, “That,” he gestures to the amulet, “is mine. And so is he. You’re going to want to get your hands off of both of them.”
“Sorry,” the blond guy shrugs, backing off; “he didn’t say he was taken.”
Dean glares at the guy, and he doesn’t wait around, just waves to Sam and heads off in the direction of the bar.
Sam is staring at Dean, breathing heavily, his eyes dark as fucking sin. Dean grabs him by the waistband of his ridiculously tight pants, and walks in the direction of the backroom, pulling Sam behind him.
The backroom of Euphoria is dark and dirty, and wow, it really is like that fictional backroom on TV, with built guys in all sorts of positions; couples and threeways and more and so much fucking skin on display it should be illegal.
But Dean isn’t focusing on any of that, he finds a piece of wall in the corridor between the backroom and the main dancefloor, and pushes Sam into it.
“Do you enjoy it?” Dean growls in Sam’s ear, “windin’ me up like this? Making me fucking crazy like this, Sammy? I should make you pay.”
“Just, doing my job,” Sam stammers. Dean drops his hand down to Sam’s cock and rubs it with the heel of his hand. Sam hisses, and that’s a small victory right there.
“And you’re so fucking good at your job, Sam, aren’t you?” Dean cups his hand around his brother’s erection, “Whoring that ass of yours out for anyone who asked tonight, huh? What’d you tell them?”
“Told them,” Sam starts, and groans when Dean squeezes his cock, trying to move his hips forward, get more friction, “I was looking for someone to.”
“To what, Sam?” Dean whispers into Sam’s neck, biting hard, “to fuck you?” Sam shakes his head, but Dean’s too far gone. His jaw starts to clench painfully, and he wants to put his fist through the wall, or Sam’s face, or even better, both.”
“Woulda let them, wouldn’t you?” He gets his fingers in the leather strap around Sam’s neck, and pulls. It’s tight around Sam’s neck, Dean can tell, but Sam seems to be really getting off on it, moaning under his breath, his cock pushing against Dean’s palm, “You like that? Want me to choke you? Get you off while you can’t fucking breathe?”
Sam’s mouth is always warm and wet and so fucking eager, but Dean doesn’t want to kiss him yet, so he takes his hand off Sam’s cock, and just holds him there, one hand gripped in Sam’s hair and the other holding the leather strap. “
“I was hoping,” Sam groans, “that you might react like this.”
Dean feels white-hot anger rush through his gut, “Is that all this is to you, Sam? A fucking game?” He gets a hand under Sam’s t-shirt and scratches blunt fingernails down his chest, across to Sam’s nipple, “Letting him touch what’s mine, think I need to show you what happens to fucking teases, Sammy.”
“Go on then,” Sam spits out, “show me. I fucking dare you.”
It’s like all the stupid competitions they had when they were kids, trying to outdo each other. But this time, Dean isn’t willing to lose.
He lays his mouth over Sam’s and kisses him, still holding him in place. It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s fast and hard and rough, and Dean doesn’t let Sam come up for air, just keeps on kissing, lips smashing against Sam’s hard enough to bruise, his tongue sucking on Sam’s.
Dean pulls at Sam’s hair, tugs at it, and it must be just that other side of painful because Sam inhales sharply. Dean can feel the rush of it, the knowledge that he’s in control here, go straight to his cock.
“Whoring yourself out all fucking night,” Dean rasps, and his voice sounds so raw already. Fucked-out, and all they’ve done is kiss. “Wonder what they’d all do if I fucked you out there where anyone could see you? Made you beg for it like a little bitch. They’d probably watch. I would if it was me, Sammy, be so fucking hot.”
“Fucking narcissist,” Sam bites his lip, his hands fisting in Dean’s jacket, “you gonna fuck me or just shoot your mouth off all night?”
“Oh don’t you worry about that. Face the fucking wall,” Dean growls, and he gets Sam’s pants undone enough to get his hand inside. Sam isn’t wearing underwear, and Dean swears under his breath, his hand moving around to the front and squeezing Sam’s cock, before pulling out and sticking his fingers in Sam’s mouth.
“Get ‘em nice and wet,” Dean grinds out, “can’t do much more than that right now, so it’s all you’re gonna get.”
Sam sucks on Dean’s fingers and it’s fucking obscene, it makes Dean’s cock twitch in his pants. He’s so hard now he’s aching, and every swipe of Sam’s tongue feels like it goes straight to his cock, like Sam was licking that and not his fingers.
With his other hand, Dean grabs Sam’s hair and pulls it back, feeling the thrill in his belly when Sam inhales sharply. It’s not like he gets off on hurting Sam or anything, he’d pretty much rather die. But Sam’s been ramping up the tension all night, and the fact that he’s done it all on purpose? Dean’s gotta make him pay for that.
Which of course is exactly what his brother wants.
“I shouldn’t give you what you want,” he whispers, pulling his fingers free of Sam’s mouth, “should get myself off and leave you here. I mean fuck, Sam, you let him touch this.”
Dean tangles his fingers in the leather holding his - his goddammit- amulet around Sam’s neck.
“Thought you didn’t want it anymore?” Sam laughs, breathy and strained, and that’s just fucking it, he’s had enough of Sam trying to rile him up.
“You need to shut your fucking mouth, or I will shut it for you,” Dean says, wrapping a hand around Sam’s throat.
“Uh, God, okay,” Sam stammers, and Dean laughs. He gets his fingers inside Sam’s pants, circling Sam’s hole, and when Sam rocks his hips back, trying to get Dean’s fingers inside him, he feels fucking triumphant.
“Barely started and you’re already near begging for it,” he hisses in Sam’s ear, “I mean, fuck, look at you, Sam, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers like you can’t fucking wait.” He pushes in then, one fingertip sliding in inch by inch.
Sam is already breathing hard, his eyes half-closed and his head thrown back. Fucking gorgeous throat and Dean can’t help squeezing just a little, which just makes Sam all the more turned-on.
“You really do love that, don’t you?” Dean says, another finger sliding into Sam’s hole, deeper now, pressing against his prostate, and Sam is starting to lose it. He’s making the most delicious sounds as Dean fingerfucks him slow and deep and God, he feels so good.
“Yes,” Sam spits out. “That what you wanna hear, Dean? I love it, all of it. Now you gonna actually get around to fucking me sometime soon, or should I get Alex back here and see if he’ll do it? He told me he wanted to get me on my hands and knees and fuck me all. Night. Long. Maybe I should take him up on his offer.”
“Oh fuck you,” Dean snarls, his whole body thrumming with adrenaline and anger and bonedeep lust. He pulls his fingers out so fast that Sam’s knees buckle, and gets his own pants undone. He pulls Sam’s own pants down to his hips and shoves his cock inside Sam so deep that it has to hurt. “No-one else can have you like this, you fucking liar. Nothing you love more than taking. My. Cock.”
Dean has both hands on Sam’s hips now, holding him there as he pounds in and out, pushing deeper and deeper inside him each time. Sam is keening, his hands braced on the wall, holding him upright. Dean drops one hand to Sam’s cock and strokes forward and back with each thrust of his own cock in and out of Sam’s ass.
“Feel good, Sammy?” Dean croons in Sam’s ear, “So fucking ready, aren’t you? So desperate to come. Christ you feel so good, so fucking tight.”
Dean can feel his balls start to seize up already, and he drives his cock into Sam now as fast and hard as he’s able to while he jerks Sam’s cock with the same rhythm.
It’s over too damn fast. If Dean had his way he’d be pounding his brother’s ass all night, but he only manages one, two, three pushes before he groans out, “Ah, fuck. Fuck, Sammy.” White sparks flash behind his eyes and he gets hands on Sam’s hips again, driving Sam back onto his cock, still fucking in and out as he comes so hard he thinks he’s going to faint.
Dean bites him as his own orgasm hits, sinks his teeth in Sam’s shoulder as he pulses over and over, deep in Sam’s ass as he can.
“Turn around,” he manages to rasp out, voice all raw and abused. Dean gets one hand on Sam’s cock, and the other on his throat, squeezing hard as he brings Sam off rough and fast, watching his brother’s face every second.
Sam looks so amazing like this; teeth buried in his lower lip, head thrown back, and one hand working his nipple, rolling it between long, elegant fingers.
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean moans, “gettin’ me all worked up again. Look so fucking pretty like this.”
“So close,” Sam whimpers, “so fucking close, man.”
Dean leans in then and whispers, “when you’re done? Gonna take you back to the hotel and spread you open, Sammy, get my tongue inside you and see if I can make you come without touching you. Let you scream as much as you like, and if you scream real good I’ll let you suck my cock like you’ve been dying to all night.”
Sam comes, his hips pistoning, driving his cock in and out of Dean’s fist.
They stand there for long minutes, just panting, breathing in tandem, and when Sam’s breathing seems to be mostly back to normal, he unties the amulet from around his neck and fastens it around Dean’s.
“Yeah,” Sam says, appraising, “that looks much better.”
“Of course,” Dean scoffs, “we all know who the prettier brother is, after all.”
end
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 3265
Warning: Minor breathplay
Disclaimer: Don't own the Winchesters, unfortunately.
Notes: Written for blindfold_spn for the prompt of: Sam and Dean undercover in a nightclub/sex club. Sam keeps getting hit on by this guy and flirts back a little. Dean needs to show them both who Sam belongs to.
Euphoria is like an assault on the senses from the moment they walk in the door, and Dean can feel the bass reverberating through him like a heartbeat, pounding, relentless and never-ending. It’s dark and loud and dry-ice-smoky and he feels completely out of his depth.
Dean’s only exposure to gay clubs prior to this had been that episode of Queer as Folk he’d accidentally flicked the TV on to that week he was laid-up from those fucking Pixies. Little assholes cast a puking spell on him and he couldn’t even move without throwing up.
Sam sure got a laugh outta that one.
Euphoria isn’t quite as out there as Babylon, but there’s still more naked flesh than he’s used to seeing in public. On men. Not that he has a problem with that on a base level, hell; he’s seen Sam naked enough times. But this is different.
“It’s all so...”
“Gay?” Sam stares at him, rolling his eyes. Sam never seems to get that look with anyone other than Dean. “You do realise you aren’t exactly straight, Dean? I mean, you fuck guys, so...”
“Nonono,” Dean shakes his finger at Sam, “I don’t fuck guys, Sammy, I fuck you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Sam rubs his forehead like he always does when he’s pissed off, “your logic does not compute.”
Dean doesn’t see what the issue is. Sam is the only guy he’s ever fucked in his life, and that’s because he’s Sam and the rules just don’t apply when it comes to the two of them.
Sam though? Sam’s fucked around with plenty of guys, and Dean would be a goddamned liar if he said it didn’t bother him a little.
Sam looks like he fits in quite nicely. Actually, Sam looks fucking hot. Fitted black t-shirt that clings to pretty much every curve Sam has, PVC pants, and boots. His wrist is adorned with a black cuff, and he’s wearing Dean’s amulet. Sam’s worn the amulet 24/7 since he fished it out of the trash. Dean feels pretty much naked without it most days, but he’d never admit it to Sam, and he thinks he probably doesn’t have the same connection to it these days, anyway. Sam can have it.
Sam moves confidently, like he isn’t at all out of place, not one bit, and Dean really doesn’t want to think about how many times Sam’s been to a place like this, with dark corners, and booths and a backroom, for fuck’s sake. It makes Dean’s gut twist and makes his imagination run fucking wild.
“You okay?” Sam asks, as they wait in line for the bar. He looks a little concerned, which is pretty much par for the course when Dean retreats into his head like that, but Dean can’t help it, he isn’t used to watching Sam put himself on display like this, like a fucking virgin sacrifice.
Well, minus the virgin part, of course.
“Fine,” Dean mumbles, pulling at the neck of his t-shirt. He’s dressed pretty simply compared to Sam, just new black jeans and boots and his usual black t, but because they’re in the kind of club they are, he’s also wearing leather driving gloves and a newer, much more sleek leather jacket.
“You look.” Sam swallows, “really good. You uncomfortable?”
“It’s just, ah hell, Sammy, this place just isn’t me. Not really.”
A couple of girls walk past, obviously together from the way they’re eyefucking each other. The brunette’s in a black corset and leather mini and knee-high boots, and the redhead’s in a red halter and black hotpants that barely cover her ass. Dean watches them walk away, head tilted.
“Lesbians are awesome,” he says, grinning, “Okay, maybe this place is a little bit me.”
Sam laughs, and Dean concentrates on the line of Sam’s throat, blocking out the jealous twinges in his gut. With his neck exposed like that, Sam looks good enough to eat. Not to mention the way those pants may as well be painted on, and highlight his ass in a way that makes Dean feel alternately horny, and uncomfortable.
Aaaaaand that whole not thinking about Sam’s ass being fucked by any number of guys who aren’t Dean only lasted about a minute. Sometimes Dean really wishes he could turn his brain off.
“Can I buy you drink?” Dean hears, yelled over the music, and some guy, maybe an inch taller than Dean, is leaning on the bar next to Sam. He’s a good-looking guy; deep-blue eyes and dark hair, lean, and those eyes are currently travelling slowly down Sam’s body, and up again, like he’s already planning all the things he wants to do to him.
“He’s all good, but thanks for asking,” Dean growls. His jaw aches, and he’s in a foul fucking mood already, and they’ve barely been there 20 minutes.
Sam glares at him and turns back to Blue Eyes, “Don’t mind him,” he coos in a voice that’s completely at odds with the filthy look he’s just given Dean, “He’s a bit possessive. You’re certainly welcome to buy me a drink.”
Dean snorts, and Sam ignores him, leans back on the bar, and grins at Blue Eyes. It’s a fucking flirty, sly grin that makes Dean clench and unclench his fists at his sides.
“So you two aren’t exclusive?” He tears his eyes away from Sam for a brief minute to look at Dean briefly, same casual ogling of Dean then back to Sam again. He hooks a finger in Sam’s waistband and pulls him in. “You’re both really fucking hot, but I think I’d have the most fun with you. I’ll just bet you love being tied down, don’t you?”
Dean wants to fucking shoot this guy in the face. He grabs Sam by the arm and throws a “back in a minute,” behind his shoulder, as he pulls Sam away.
“What the fuck?” Sam yells, “I was getting somewhere with him, Dean. We are supposed to be interviewing these guys, remember?”
“Don’t have to look like you’re enjoying it so much,” Dean grumbles.
Sam grins wide, “Oh my God. Really?”
“What?”
“You’re jealous. That’s so cute.”
“Ah, bite me, Princess,” Dean takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching. “Go on then, back to your mark.”
He stands at the other end of the bar, and watches as Sam saunters back to the guy, almost feline grace in the swing of his hips, whispering what is probably an apology in his ear.
After ten minutes of watching him flirt like a fucking pro, laughing and touching and goddamn near fluttering his eyelashes; Sam comes back over to Dean’s end of the bar.
“No luck?” Dean tries to say matter-of-factly. He’s ready to turn around and tell Sam he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether they find this incubus or not, anymore, that he’s had enough and it’s a stupid fucking plan anyway.
“Well, he didn’t know anything,” Sam says, scratching absently at his neck, where the leather strap of the amulet meets his skin, “but I did get his phone number.” He shows Dean his bare arm, which is now covered in the dark-haired guys digits, scribbled in black pen.
“Well, you’re not exclusive? Are you, Sam?” Dean scoffs, “free agent, you can do what you want.”
“And I will,” Sam breathes in Dean’s ear, and walks away from him in the direction of the dancefloor.
***
Dean finds a group of barely-legal twinks on his way back from the bathroom. Turns out they’re friends with the missing kid, and he manages to get a vague description of the car their friend got into the night he disappeared.
All in all, not a complete waste of time.
He scans the dancefloor looking for Sam, and sees him pressed into a dark corner by some blond guy who’s just as freakishly tall as him. Sam is all come-hither looks and eyes at half-mast, biting his lower lip. One of Sam’s hands is braced on the wall, and the other is resting on the blond guy’s ridiculously sculpted forearm. Sam’s head is thrown back and he’s laughing at whatever the guy is saying, like a fucking flirt.
Dean feels like he’s wired to explode. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and his skin prickling everywhere. He needs to. Fuck, he needs to do something, screw the case to hell and back, he doesn’t care.
Then the tall, blond fucking freak gets his fingers on Sam’s lips, tracing the outline before dropping his hand down, caressing Sam’s neck down and down until he reaches the leather strap holding the amulet - his amulet- and laces his fingers in it. Pulling it taut.
Dean can see Sam gasp in a breath, filthy fucking look on his face, and that’s fucking it. He strides over to them, tapping the blond guy on the shoulder. The guy turns around, pissed as hell that he’s being interrupted in his fucking seduction routine, and Dean whispers in his ear, “That,” he gestures to the amulet, “is mine. And so is he. You’re going to want to get your hands off of both of them.”
“Sorry,” the blond guy shrugs, backing off; “he didn’t say he was taken.”
Dean glares at the guy, and he doesn’t wait around, just waves to Sam and heads off in the direction of the bar.
Sam is staring at Dean, breathing heavily, his eyes dark as fucking sin. Dean grabs him by the waistband of his ridiculously tight pants, and walks in the direction of the backroom, pulling Sam behind him.
The backroom of Euphoria is dark and dirty, and wow, it really is like that fictional backroom on TV, with built guys in all sorts of positions; couples and threeways and more and so much fucking skin on display it should be illegal.
But Dean isn’t focusing on any of that, he finds a piece of wall in the corridor between the backroom and the main dancefloor, and pushes Sam into it.
“Do you enjoy it?” Dean growls in Sam’s ear, “windin’ me up like this? Making me fucking crazy like this, Sammy? I should make you pay.”
“Just, doing my job,” Sam stammers. Dean drops his hand down to Sam’s cock and rubs it with the heel of his hand. Sam hisses, and that’s a small victory right there.
“And you’re so fucking good at your job, Sam, aren’t you?” Dean cups his hand around his brother’s erection, “Whoring that ass of yours out for anyone who asked tonight, huh? What’d you tell them?”
“Told them,” Sam starts, and groans when Dean squeezes his cock, trying to move his hips forward, get more friction, “I was looking for someone to.”
“To what, Sam?” Dean whispers into Sam’s neck, biting hard, “to fuck you?” Sam shakes his head, but Dean’s too far gone. His jaw starts to clench painfully, and he wants to put his fist through the wall, or Sam’s face, or even better, both.”
“Woulda let them, wouldn’t you?” He gets his fingers in the leather strap around Sam’s neck, and pulls. It’s tight around Sam’s neck, Dean can tell, but Sam seems to be really getting off on it, moaning under his breath, his cock pushing against Dean’s palm, “You like that? Want me to choke you? Get you off while you can’t fucking breathe?”
Sam’s mouth is always warm and wet and so fucking eager, but Dean doesn’t want to kiss him yet, so he takes his hand off Sam’s cock, and just holds him there, one hand gripped in Sam’s hair and the other holding the leather strap. “
“I was hoping,” Sam groans, “that you might react like this.”
Dean feels white-hot anger rush through his gut, “Is that all this is to you, Sam? A fucking game?” He gets a hand under Sam’s t-shirt and scratches blunt fingernails down his chest, across to Sam’s nipple, “Letting him touch what’s mine, think I need to show you what happens to fucking teases, Sammy.”
“Go on then,” Sam spits out, “show me. I fucking dare you.”
It’s like all the stupid competitions they had when they were kids, trying to outdo each other. But this time, Dean isn’t willing to lose.
He lays his mouth over Sam’s and kisses him, still holding him in place. It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s fast and hard and rough, and Dean doesn’t let Sam come up for air, just keeps on kissing, lips smashing against Sam’s hard enough to bruise, his tongue sucking on Sam’s.
Dean pulls at Sam’s hair, tugs at it, and it must be just that other side of painful because Sam inhales sharply. Dean can feel the rush of it, the knowledge that he’s in control here, go straight to his cock.
“Whoring yourself out all fucking night,” Dean rasps, and his voice sounds so raw already. Fucked-out, and all they’ve done is kiss. “Wonder what they’d all do if I fucked you out there where anyone could see you? Made you beg for it like a little bitch. They’d probably watch. I would if it was me, Sammy, be so fucking hot.”
“Fucking narcissist,” Sam bites his lip, his hands fisting in Dean’s jacket, “you gonna fuck me or just shoot your mouth off all night?”
“Oh don’t you worry about that. Face the fucking wall,” Dean growls, and he gets Sam’s pants undone enough to get his hand inside. Sam isn’t wearing underwear, and Dean swears under his breath, his hand moving around to the front and squeezing Sam’s cock, before pulling out and sticking his fingers in Sam’s mouth.
“Get ‘em nice and wet,” Dean grinds out, “can’t do much more than that right now, so it’s all you’re gonna get.”
Sam sucks on Dean’s fingers and it’s fucking obscene, it makes Dean’s cock twitch in his pants. He’s so hard now he’s aching, and every swipe of Sam’s tongue feels like it goes straight to his cock, like Sam was licking that and not his fingers.
With his other hand, Dean grabs Sam’s hair and pulls it back, feeling the thrill in his belly when Sam inhales sharply. It’s not like he gets off on hurting Sam or anything, he’d pretty much rather die. But Sam’s been ramping up the tension all night, and the fact that he’s done it all on purpose? Dean’s gotta make him pay for that.
Which of course is exactly what his brother wants.
“I shouldn’t give you what you want,” he whispers, pulling his fingers free of Sam’s mouth, “should get myself off and leave you here. I mean fuck, Sam, you let him touch this.”
Dean tangles his fingers in the leather holding his - his goddammit- amulet around Sam’s neck.
“Thought you didn’t want it anymore?” Sam laughs, breathy and strained, and that’s just fucking it, he’s had enough of Sam trying to rile him up.
“You need to shut your fucking mouth, or I will shut it for you,” Dean says, wrapping a hand around Sam’s throat.
“Uh, God, okay,” Sam stammers, and Dean laughs. He gets his fingers inside Sam’s pants, circling Sam’s hole, and when Sam rocks his hips back, trying to get Dean’s fingers inside him, he feels fucking triumphant.
“Barely started and you’re already near begging for it,” he hisses in Sam’s ear, “I mean, fuck, look at you, Sam, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers like you can’t fucking wait.” He pushes in then, one fingertip sliding in inch by inch.
Sam is already breathing hard, his eyes half-closed and his head thrown back. Fucking gorgeous throat and Dean can’t help squeezing just a little, which just makes Sam all the more turned-on.
“You really do love that, don’t you?” Dean says, another finger sliding into Sam’s hole, deeper now, pressing against his prostate, and Sam is starting to lose it. He’s making the most delicious sounds as Dean fingerfucks him slow and deep and God, he feels so good.
“Yes,” Sam spits out. “That what you wanna hear, Dean? I love it, all of it. Now you gonna actually get around to fucking me sometime soon, or should I get Alex back here and see if he’ll do it? He told me he wanted to get me on my hands and knees and fuck me all. Night. Long. Maybe I should take him up on his offer.”
“Oh fuck you,” Dean snarls, his whole body thrumming with adrenaline and anger and bonedeep lust. He pulls his fingers out so fast that Sam’s knees buckle, and gets his own pants undone. He pulls Sam’s own pants down to his hips and shoves his cock inside Sam so deep that it has to hurt. “No-one else can have you like this, you fucking liar. Nothing you love more than taking. My. Cock.”
Dean has both hands on Sam’s hips now, holding him there as he pounds in and out, pushing deeper and deeper inside him each time. Sam is keening, his hands braced on the wall, holding him upright. Dean drops one hand to Sam’s cock and strokes forward and back with each thrust of his own cock in and out of Sam’s ass.
“Feel good, Sammy?” Dean croons in Sam’s ear, “So fucking ready, aren’t you? So desperate to come. Christ you feel so good, so fucking tight.”
Dean can feel his balls start to seize up already, and he drives his cock into Sam now as fast and hard as he’s able to while he jerks Sam’s cock with the same rhythm.
It’s over too damn fast. If Dean had his way he’d be pounding his brother’s ass all night, but he only manages one, two, three pushes before he groans out, “Ah, fuck. Fuck, Sammy.” White sparks flash behind his eyes and he gets hands on Sam’s hips again, driving Sam back onto his cock, still fucking in and out as he comes so hard he thinks he’s going to faint.
Dean bites him as his own orgasm hits, sinks his teeth in Sam’s shoulder as he pulses over and over, deep in Sam’s ass as he can.
“Turn around,” he manages to rasp out, voice all raw and abused. Dean gets one hand on Sam’s cock, and the other on his throat, squeezing hard as he brings Sam off rough and fast, watching his brother’s face every second.
Sam looks so amazing like this; teeth buried in his lower lip, head thrown back, and one hand working his nipple, rolling it between long, elegant fingers.
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean moans, “gettin’ me all worked up again. Look so fucking pretty like this.”
“So close,” Sam whimpers, “so fucking close, man.”
Dean leans in then and whispers, “when you’re done? Gonna take you back to the hotel and spread you open, Sammy, get my tongue inside you and see if I can make you come without touching you. Let you scream as much as you like, and if you scream real good I’ll let you suck my cock like you’ve been dying to all night.”
Sam comes, his hips pistoning, driving his cock in and out of Dean’s fist.
They stand there for long minutes, just panting, breathing in tandem, and when Sam’s breathing seems to be mostly back to normal, he unties the amulet from around his neck and fastens it around Dean’s.
“Yeah,” Sam says, appraising, “that looks much better.”
“Of course,” Dean scoffs, “we all know who the prettier brother is, after all.”
end