No one loves me (not like you do) - (Sams/Dean, nc-17, 1704 words)
No one loves me (not like you do)
(Sams/Dean, nc-17, 1704 words, content is about 99% porn so please don't look for too much plot)
Apparently I was in the mood to write porn, lots of it. Thanks to whoever suggested multiple-Sams to me. Title from Portishead.
If Dean could just think, if he could just get his head together for a fucking second and think-
Sam's hands are on his shoulders, keeping him pressed down onto the motel-bed mattress, while Sam kneels astride his chest and lets him suck on his hard, wet (fucking perfect) cock, and Sam's tongue is licking his ass open.
Dean can't even breathe, how the hell is he s'posed to think?
:::
He wants to hide his face because his eyes are watering, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Sam will stop if he thinks he's making Dean cry. Maybe.
They won't let him hide. Sam is cupping Dean's face in his massive paws, looking him straight in the eye, won't let Dean look away, and he's crooning at him, soothing little nothings about how beautiful Dean is and how fucking gorgeous he looks taking Sam's dick, and how it's gonna be so so good.
The burn of Sam's cock as he slides into Dean's slicked up ass is broken glass and fire. It's endless. Inch after fucking inch and Dean can't stretch any more. Sam's cock is filling him up and splitting him in two and Dean chokes for breath because it hurts and it's good and he needs it to stop and Sam's hurting him and Dean'll fucking die if Sam stops.
Sam's hands span his hips, huge and possessive, while Sam kisses Dean's slack lips and Sam mouths over Dean's trembling shoulders.
Sam stops moving - his dick so deep and hard, and so there, that Dean figures you could touch his back and feel Sam in there.
The kissing stops just long enough for Dean to sigh in shaky relief. And then Sam thrusts and Dean breaks all over again.
:::
They've got him on all fours and his knees are skinned raw from being shoved across the coarse motel carpet. He's being fucked from both ends - Sam slamming into his ass and Sam's cock buried down his throat - and Dean doesn't have to do a damn thing but take it. He's rocked between them, from one cock to the other, his face ground into Sam's lap and his thighs spread wide for Sam.
There's nothing but heat in Dean's lungs, nothing but dazed want in his head. All he's ever wanted, and so much of it too.
:::
"My turn," says Sam.
Sam's dick hasn't even stopped pulsing in Dean's ass before Dean's being tugged off of him, and there's come leaking out and down his thighs, the sticky-wet head of Sam's cock brushing Dean's over-sensitive skin, and he's being dragged into Sam's lap, and Sam's cock - hard and thick and can't do it again, can't - is pushing up snug inside him.
Dean sags backward, and Sam's there, behind him and in front of him and everywhere, and Sam's arms are strong and reassuring around him, while Sam fucks him up and down on his cock. Dean doesn't even have to move - can't move - because there are plenty of Sams willing to move him and manhandle him, to catch hold of his hips and make him ride Sam's cock, pushing him down and pulling him up.
He sucks whatever they stick between his lips - fingers, dick, tongue. Moans in protest in the seconds between one Sam pulling another way to take his place. They pull him from one to the other, mock-fighting as one after another they fuck him and play with him and make him come.
He doesn't care what they do to him, so long as it's Sam. Sam in his ass, in his mouth, beneath his hands, wrapped all around him.
:::
They nudge two cocks into his ass, one rubbing slick against the other inside him as they spread him wide. Tell him he's greedy for wanting so much, call him a slut and a whore, call him a liar for pretending to be selfless when he's so greedy for Sam. They press him between Sam-flesh, Sam's mouth at his temple and Sam's breath hot on the back of his neck, Sam's hands all over him until there's not an inch of his body they're not touching.
Dean sobs and shakes, unseeing eyes turned towards the ceiling.
"You want more?" Sam whispers in his ear and the room rustles into sudden stillness.
Dean opens his mouth to speak but only gasps. It's too much. He's wet and aching and everything's melting inside his head. He can't take any more.
"Dean," says Sam, catching his gaze while Sam lays him over his sweat-damp chest. "You want more?"
Dean nods.
:::
At one point, he blacks out.
When he comes to, there's a dick riding the crease of his ass, another sliding over his tongue, and Sam's coming over his ribs while Sam's fingertips swirl through the mess of spunk and sweat.
There's one more Sam in the room than Dean remembers there being.
And then there were five, he thinks. He wonders if he might pass out again.
:::
Sam's fingers play with his ass, lazily teasing out trickles of come. He laps it up onto his tongue, long teasing stripes of hot wetness over the swollen ring of Dean's asshole. Then he leans over Dean and carefully spits it back out onto Dean's parted lips, strings of saliva and come glistening in the muted light of the motel room. Sam grins as Dean's mouth opens wider mindlessly for more.
"You fucking slut," he says affectionately.
"Yeah," Dean agrees.
"He needs to be fucked again," says Sam, the words rumbling through Dean where his head is pillowed on Sam's chest.
"He needs to beg," says Sam.
"Make him beg," Sam says.
The fingers that are prodding and poking at Dean's abused ass become more purposeful, dipping in knuckle-deep, fucking him shallowly. Dean's breath hitches and a sudden sense of panic runs high through him. As Sam hooks his knees over his shoulders and hauls him down the bed, onto his cock, Dean shakes his head.
All at once, they pause, with him strung out between them.
"Dean?" says Sam.
"You want us to stop?" Sam says.
"Have you had enough?" says Sam, and "Tell me what you want, Dean," and "Just have to say."
The motel room ceiling spins above Dean's head, his heartbeat pounds heavy and dull in his chest. He hurts all over, inside and out, shaky and loose. But everywhere he looks, he sees Sam.
"Please," he says. "I want more."
While Sam fucks him with slow, unhurried strokes that hit too deep, Sam kisses the sob out of Dean's mouth.
:::
They're passing him amongst themselves, and he can't even keep his eyes open any more, when the door bangs open and the first shot's fired.
Dean's still trying to crawl out from under Sam, who's suddenly slumped over him, when four more shots follow. Sam's heavy and bleeding on him and Dean can't seem to get out from under him. His ribcage is being crushed and there's someone in the room but he's trapped and he can't find the strength to make his body do as he tells it.
Then the weight's gone and Dean's flipped over, and he's staring up at Sam. The genuine article.
:::
Sam's hands are tight on the Impala's steering wheel as he drives. Dean is still exactly how Sam dumped him in the passenger seat. He'd like to be looking out of the window because Sam's face is set dark and ugly but he tried moving and had to stop before the pain made him pass out again.
Or having some music on would be good. Dean would have suggested it - anything to break the fucking nasty silence - but his throat is fucked raw. He can still taste Sam's come in his mouth. He concentrates instead on the dots of colour dancing across his vision while evening draws in, pale grey and gold, beyond the car.
"They weren't going to stop until you were dead," Sam bites out finally. "They were going to fuck you to death, literally. Do you get that? I mean, do you understand that?"
He looks back out of the windshield - obviously Dean isn't expected to answer. Just as well. He rests his cheek against the softness of the blanket Sam's wrapped him up in and tries to ignore the clammy stickiness that's still leaking out of his ass, smearing his thighs.
He hopes they get wherever they're going soon. He hopes there's a decent shower there and he hopes Sam won't try to help him clean up, and most of all he hopes Sammy won't leave him there alone, just 'cause he knows how screwed in the head his big brother is.
"Did you know you only had to tell them 'no'?" says Sam. There's a note in his voice that Dean doesn't much care for. "Creatures like that? They'd have stopped if you told them to." He pauses and Dean watches the roll of his throat and wonders how he could have been satisfied with the others. "You didn't tell them to stop though, did you?"
At Dean's silence, Sam flicks a glance at him, and Dean answers only because it might stop Sam looking at him like that.
"Guess not," he croaks.
:::
Sam does help him clean up. It's fucking humiliating and Dean tries to bat him away and ends up cracking his skull against the tiles. Sam dumps Dean in the tub and pretty much hoses him down. He washes him over, cool and impersonal, clinical.
And while he's lathering soap over Dean's shoulders, his hands slow, become thoughtful. He looks straight at Dean and says, "I don't want you like that, Dean."
Dean breaks a little inside, but he's always known, really, which is why he let himself get so lost with them. He nods and smirks and stares at the tepid bathwater.
"S'all right. Didn't expect you to."
"No," says Sam firmly. He catches hold of Dean's wrist and lifts it out of the water, traces a tentative fingertip over the bruises they've left there. Then he looks at Dean and says, "They were hurting you. I don't want you like that."
~end
(Sams/Dean, nc-17, 1704 words, content is about 99% porn so please don't look for too much plot)
Apparently I was in the mood to write porn, lots of it. Thanks to whoever suggested multiple-Sams to me. Title from Portishead.
If Dean could just think, if he could just get his head together for a fucking second and think-
Sam's hands are on his shoulders, keeping him pressed down onto the motel-bed mattress, while Sam kneels astride his chest and lets him suck on his hard, wet (fucking perfect) cock, and Sam's tongue is licking his ass open.
Dean can't even breathe, how the hell is he s'posed to think?
:::
He wants to hide his face because his eyes are watering, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Sam will stop if he thinks he's making Dean cry. Maybe.
They won't let him hide. Sam is cupping Dean's face in his massive paws, looking him straight in the eye, won't let Dean look away, and he's crooning at him, soothing little nothings about how beautiful Dean is and how fucking gorgeous he looks taking Sam's dick, and how it's gonna be so so good.
The burn of Sam's cock as he slides into Dean's slicked up ass is broken glass and fire. It's endless. Inch after fucking inch and Dean can't stretch any more. Sam's cock is filling him up and splitting him in two and Dean chokes for breath because it hurts and it's good and he needs it to stop and Sam's hurting him and Dean'll fucking die if Sam stops.
Sam's hands span his hips, huge and possessive, while Sam kisses Dean's slack lips and Sam mouths over Dean's trembling shoulders.
Sam stops moving - his dick so deep and hard, and so there, that Dean figures you could touch his back and feel Sam in there.
The kissing stops just long enough for Dean to sigh in shaky relief. And then Sam thrusts and Dean breaks all over again.
:::
They've got him on all fours and his knees are skinned raw from being shoved across the coarse motel carpet. He's being fucked from both ends - Sam slamming into his ass and Sam's cock buried down his throat - and Dean doesn't have to do a damn thing but take it. He's rocked between them, from one cock to the other, his face ground into Sam's lap and his thighs spread wide for Sam.
There's nothing but heat in Dean's lungs, nothing but dazed want in his head. All he's ever wanted, and so much of it too.
:::
"My turn," says Sam.
Sam's dick hasn't even stopped pulsing in Dean's ass before Dean's being tugged off of him, and there's come leaking out and down his thighs, the sticky-wet head of Sam's cock brushing Dean's over-sensitive skin, and he's being dragged into Sam's lap, and Sam's cock - hard and thick and can't do it again, can't - is pushing up snug inside him.
Dean sags backward, and Sam's there, behind him and in front of him and everywhere, and Sam's arms are strong and reassuring around him, while Sam fucks him up and down on his cock. Dean doesn't even have to move - can't move - because there are plenty of Sams willing to move him and manhandle him, to catch hold of his hips and make him ride Sam's cock, pushing him down and pulling him up.
He sucks whatever they stick between his lips - fingers, dick, tongue. Moans in protest in the seconds between one Sam pulling another way to take his place. They pull him from one to the other, mock-fighting as one after another they fuck him and play with him and make him come.
He doesn't care what they do to him, so long as it's Sam. Sam in his ass, in his mouth, beneath his hands, wrapped all around him.
:::
They nudge two cocks into his ass, one rubbing slick against the other inside him as they spread him wide. Tell him he's greedy for wanting so much, call him a slut and a whore, call him a liar for pretending to be selfless when he's so greedy for Sam. They press him between Sam-flesh, Sam's mouth at his temple and Sam's breath hot on the back of his neck, Sam's hands all over him until there's not an inch of his body they're not touching.
Dean sobs and shakes, unseeing eyes turned towards the ceiling.
"You want more?" Sam whispers in his ear and the room rustles into sudden stillness.
Dean opens his mouth to speak but only gasps. It's too much. He's wet and aching and everything's melting inside his head. He can't take any more.
"Dean," says Sam, catching his gaze while Sam lays him over his sweat-damp chest. "You want more?"
Dean nods.
:::
At one point, he blacks out.
When he comes to, there's a dick riding the crease of his ass, another sliding over his tongue, and Sam's coming over his ribs while Sam's fingertips swirl through the mess of spunk and sweat.
There's one more Sam in the room than Dean remembers there being.
And then there were five, he thinks. He wonders if he might pass out again.
:::
Sam's fingers play with his ass, lazily teasing out trickles of come. He laps it up onto his tongue, long teasing stripes of hot wetness over the swollen ring of Dean's asshole. Then he leans over Dean and carefully spits it back out onto Dean's parted lips, strings of saliva and come glistening in the muted light of the motel room. Sam grins as Dean's mouth opens wider mindlessly for more.
"You fucking slut," he says affectionately.
"Yeah," Dean agrees.
"He needs to be fucked again," says Sam, the words rumbling through Dean where his head is pillowed on Sam's chest.
"He needs to beg," says Sam.
"Make him beg," Sam says.
The fingers that are prodding and poking at Dean's abused ass become more purposeful, dipping in knuckle-deep, fucking him shallowly. Dean's breath hitches and a sudden sense of panic runs high through him. As Sam hooks his knees over his shoulders and hauls him down the bed, onto his cock, Dean shakes his head.
All at once, they pause, with him strung out between them.
"Dean?" says Sam.
"You want us to stop?" Sam says.
"Have you had enough?" says Sam, and "Tell me what you want, Dean," and "Just have to say."
The motel room ceiling spins above Dean's head, his heartbeat pounds heavy and dull in his chest. He hurts all over, inside and out, shaky and loose. But everywhere he looks, he sees Sam.
"Please," he says. "I want more."
While Sam fucks him with slow, unhurried strokes that hit too deep, Sam kisses the sob out of Dean's mouth.
:::
They're passing him amongst themselves, and he can't even keep his eyes open any more, when the door bangs open and the first shot's fired.
Dean's still trying to crawl out from under Sam, who's suddenly slumped over him, when four more shots follow. Sam's heavy and bleeding on him and Dean can't seem to get out from under him. His ribcage is being crushed and there's someone in the room but he's trapped and he can't find the strength to make his body do as he tells it.
Then the weight's gone and Dean's flipped over, and he's staring up at Sam. The genuine article.
:::
Sam's hands are tight on the Impala's steering wheel as he drives. Dean is still exactly how Sam dumped him in the passenger seat. He'd like to be looking out of the window because Sam's face is set dark and ugly but he tried moving and had to stop before the pain made him pass out again.
Or having some music on would be good. Dean would have suggested it - anything to break the fucking nasty silence - but his throat is fucked raw. He can still taste Sam's come in his mouth. He concentrates instead on the dots of colour dancing across his vision while evening draws in, pale grey and gold, beyond the car.
"They weren't going to stop until you were dead," Sam bites out finally. "They were going to fuck you to death, literally. Do you get that? I mean, do you understand that?"
He looks back out of the windshield - obviously Dean isn't expected to answer. Just as well. He rests his cheek against the softness of the blanket Sam's wrapped him up in and tries to ignore the clammy stickiness that's still leaking out of his ass, smearing his thighs.
He hopes they get wherever they're going soon. He hopes there's a decent shower there and he hopes Sam won't try to help him clean up, and most of all he hopes Sammy won't leave him there alone, just 'cause he knows how screwed in the head his big brother is.
"Did you know you only had to tell them 'no'?" says Sam. There's a note in his voice that Dean doesn't much care for. "Creatures like that? They'd have stopped if you told them to." He pauses and Dean watches the roll of his throat and wonders how he could have been satisfied with the others. "You didn't tell them to stop though, did you?"
At Dean's silence, Sam flicks a glance at him, and Dean answers only because it might stop Sam looking at him like that.
"Guess not," he croaks.
:::
Sam does help him clean up. It's fucking humiliating and Dean tries to bat him away and ends up cracking his skull against the tiles. Sam dumps Dean in the tub and pretty much hoses him down. He washes him over, cool and impersonal, clinical.
And while he's lathering soap over Dean's shoulders, his hands slow, become thoughtful. He looks straight at Dean and says, "I don't want you like that, Dean."
Dean breaks a little inside, but he's always known, really, which is why he let himself get so lost with them. He nods and smirks and stares at the tepid bathwater.
"S'all right. Didn't expect you to."
"No," says Sam firmly. He catches hold of Dean's wrist and lifts it out of the water, traces a tentative fingertip over the bruises they've left there. Then he looks at Dean and says, "They were hurting you. I don't want you like that."
~end