badbastion

He moaned when it slicked over his tongue, salty and musky and viscous, the side of his face brushing Dean’s bobbing cock. A line of wetness smeared across his cheek and he turned toward it, hot breath wafting along the length of it before he took the head in his mouth and sucked. It was blood-hot and heavy and felt too big for his mouth. Saliva flooded under his tongue and some of this dripped out of the imperfect seal of his lips, sliding down Dean’s shaft.

Sam tilted his head, his hair brushing Dean’s stomach, and took more in, jaw opening wider around Dean’s cock as he finger-fucked Dean, pushing in until his last knuckles hit Dean’s body before pulling out to do it again.

Dean's knees shook with the effort of staying apart. Watching Sam, how eager he was to have Dean come around his fingers, daring him even, tight and wet and hungry for Sam's cock to stretch him out.

Cool air prickled his fevered face as fingers widened him, readying him for Sam's pleasure (he nearly thought King, the way Sam's eyes looked him up and down like a ransom he'd yet to take), but Dean didn't want to finish, not yet. He wanted to share that final moment, to drag Sam on top and dig his heels into the dip of his back, rough hands locked around Dean's wrists, that huge body slamming against Dean as Sam's cock pumped into his tight pink ass, writhing in cockbound agony when Dean finally, finally came.

Sam took one more long lick of Dean’s cock and sat up on his knees, hectic spots of flush on his cheeks, his lips swollen pink, his hair a messy halo around his head.

“Dean,” he groaned, pulling his fingers nearly all the way out and teasing around the stretched, slick rim with his ring finger before he squeezed three fingers in, cock jumping at the way Dean clamped down around the stretch before letting him in. Sam jacked himself a few times, running his fingers over the head of his dick to swipe up the welling precome. Wrapped his hand around Dean, adding his own wetness to his spit, and gave Dean a long, slow, twisting squeeze as he delved deep inside Dean with his fingers, spreading him and stretching him.

Dean’s face was a beautiful mix of agony and ecstasy, and Sam couldn’t help but to lean up and kiss him.

Fingers curling inside Dean, aching cock pressed up against Dean’s heaving belly, they kissed wet and sloppy, tongues licking together, teeth scraping and biting.

Dean groaned, his body tightening around Sam’s fingers again, and Sam groaned with him. He’d be feeling that around his cock, fuck.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?” Sam asked, but he kissed Dean and let it hang in the air instead of letting him reply. Forever, it felt like, though decades was close enough. Since Stanford, yes, but even before that. Teenaged Sam had watched his beautiful, beloved big brother, full of hormones and hero-worship and conflicting feelings, had covertly watched Dean change clothes, had stumbled upon Dean making out with girls and secretly, so secretly it was almost a secret to himself, wanted to be in their place.

Jealousy suddenly overtook him and he shoved his fingers in deep. How many girls had Dean been with, how many times had Sam sat in the Impala while Dean got his rocks off with some no-name waitress in their motel room? Sitting in the car pining, walking back in to smell the sex in the room and watch the way Dean moved, all languid and satisfied.

Sam breathed out hard through his nose. He would, he would make Dean forget all those women. He’d fuck them all right out of him. But first there was something he needed to know.

“Have you ever done this with another guy?” he asked, stabbing his fingers into Dean.

Something dark flashed in Dean's eyes,and he pulled Sam down for a kiss, fingers twisting his hair. "What" mouthing the stubble of his jaw "Would any other man have" bit his lip "That haunted me" forced his mouth open, tongue darting in "The way you did?"

Dean's kisses were desperate, bruising, trying to say all the things he had no words for. "Damn you were so beautiful growing up. I'd been with some women, I mean write a letter to Playboy material, but there was nothing so damning as having to watch you become a man. I used to..."

Here Dean stopped, licking his lips nervously. "You were so quiet around girls, you kept asking me for advice. How to talk to them, how to do... " he said, looking up through his eyelashes, "...other things."

Soft warm kisses down the side of Sam's face, Dean's thumb gentle against his mouth. "I spent a lot of time wondering how to get you in the backseat of the car. It wouldn't count. It would just be...practice. You would be you," said Dean, a dark glitter in his eyes, "And I would be the girl."

A torrent of feelings ran through Sam. They could have had so much time… But before he could get misty-eyed about it, he felt Dean’s cock twitch against his own, felt Dean’s insides tighten around his fingers. Jealousy and lust twined in him then, obliterating his momentary dismay.

All those women. Playboy material. Sam bit down on Dean’s full bottom lip.

“You wanted to be my girl? Even back then?” he asked, breath humid against Dean’s mouth, curling his long fingers inside of Dean. The thought of his gorgeous big brother letting him take him in the Impala, horny teenagers fogging up the windows and getting the leather seats all messy, made heat coil tight, a heavy weight in his lower belly. He pumped his fingers in and out, knuckles stretching Dean’s hole. “Wanted me to finger you? Eat you out? Fuck you in the back seat of the car?”

Flash of Sam's white teeth, kisses rough and messy, letting Sam use him, do whatever he wanted to him, and Dean wanted it, wanted to come apart beneath seven feet of demon blood and gleaming muscle. He wanted it for all the wrong reasons. Not because he was lonely or because he admired Sam's nobler qualities, but because Dean had spent a lot of nights after hunting wanting some Big Bad to ravish him in his bed and Sam Winchester was the hottest, scariest motherfucker he’d ever met.

With one more biting kiss, Sam pulled back onto his knees, grabbed Dean by the hips and manhandled him onto his stomach. Dean groaned when Sam jerked Dean up onto his knees, ass in the air.

“I wanna do so many things to you,” Sam husked. He clutched the muscular swells of Deans ass and ran his cock up between his cheeks, gliding along Dean’s messy, slick crack. The head of his dick caught on Dean’s rim, and Sam almost, almost pushed right inside, but he wasn’t done with Dean yet.

With the corner of the sheet he wiped lube off Dean’s ass, then he bent down and spread Dean wide, staring at his pink, stretched asshole and watching the way it clenched closed and then open again. Moaning, he leaned in and licked, tasting the artificial edge of lube in his mouth but licking it away until all that was left was Dean’s raw, earthy taste. Spreading Dean with his thumbs, he shoved his tongue inside him, curling and thrusting, eating him out with messy abandon.

Dean choked, grabbing sweaty fistfuls of white sheets, cockhead grazing the bed, the barest touch setting him on the razor's edge of orgasm and fuck where had Sam learned to do that? He wanted to come but he didn't want to lose this, that hot wet mouth sucking on his aching pink ass, the bite of Sam's nails on his hips, holding him, marking him, owning him. "Damn boy," said Dean, panting, barely holding it together, "You got an educated mouth."

In answer, Sam growled against his skin and thrust his tongue in deep, deeper, until his mouth was wide open against Dean’s ass, muscles of his tongue aching. He was playing it by ear. Just wanted to make Dean feel good, wanted to make Dean desperate for it, wanted to make Dean his. He pulled back, getting the rim of Dean’s ass between his lips and sucking on it, then he delved inside with his tongue again.

He reached down between Dean’s legs and found his cock, full and rock hard and wet, and he wrapped his fist around it, milked it, long, slow strokes that made Dean drizzle precome out onto the sheets and made Dean clench up in pulses around his tongue.

Dean's face pressed into the pillow, mouth shaped around a dirty word, cock swollen as though it had been capped at the end. No one had ever made him this crazy, no one knew his body this well, and he was torn between saving himself for the very end and wanting to thrust into Sam's expert fist. He was a martini glass filled to the brim and balanced on a rubber ball. He was at Sam's mercy.

"Fuck fuck gun's gonna go off, please," said Dean, whimpering shamelessly.

Immediately, Sam’s tongue was gone from his ass, Sam’s hand was gone from his cock. He felt the weight of Sam’s long body on top of him, Sam’s hot dick pressed against his lower back.

Sam grabbed his wrists and pressed them hard against the bed. “Don’t you dare,” Sam hissed against Dean’s ear. He thrust against Dean’s lower back, dick and balls dragging against sweaty skin. “You’re gonna come on my cock, or you’re not gonna come at all.”

Dean pulled against him, but Sam had leverage on his side, breath hot on the back of Dean's neck, every muscle tensed for a fight. And Dean wanted to fight. He wanted to fight Sam, and he wanted to lose hard.

Dean turned his head, his mouth twisted in an insolent smile.

"Make me."

Sam bared his teeth in an almost-smile, reveling in the way this had become a battle. He was still full of steam, still shaky with adrenaline from all that had come before, and Dean was giving him the perfect chance to let it out.

He sat up on his knees, pressing one hand hard against Dean’s lower back, pushing him down and pinning him to the bed. With his other hand he popped the lid of the lube open and drizzled a line down the top of his dick, slicked himself up, and yanked Dean’s hips back up off the bed.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard,” Sam said through gritted teeth. He nudged his blunt head against Dean’s wet asshole, took a deep breath, and slid in, in one long, unforgiving thrust until his hips were flush against Dean’s ass, groaning the whole time.

Dean's stomach swooped, mouth watering, plump pink rim stretched tight around the base of Sam's cock, thick and leaking and parked deep inside where it wasn't gonna leave until Dean milked every drop out of it. This was it, this was the line crossed, he was compromised, tainted in the best possible way, but he had to relax, if he didn't, if he crushed Sam in his desperation, he'd come all over the sheets and he wanted to keep Sam angry.

Dean panted words between slow thrusts. "You like that?" Sam's cock slowly pulling out "Fuck you're hard" the last inch left inside "I'm surprised" fuck getting stretched out on Sam's huge cockhead "I thought you couldn't get it up" Dean whipped up on his knees until his back was flush to Sam's chest, mouths kissing close, Sam still just inside him "Without the taste of evil cunt in your mouth."

Dean looped his arm around Sam's neck, hand flat between his shoulder blades. "The things I seen you put your dick in," said Dean, wicked little whisper against Sam's cheek, "You'd fuck a slit in a piece of meat if it had fangs on it."

Shame and anger made Sam lash out. “Oh, you fuck,” he gritted, and he grabbed Dean’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. He yanked him down as he thrust up, stabbing his cock in deep. Held Dean immobile while he pistoned his hips in a fast, punishing pace.

“Like you’re. So. Innocent,” Sam hissed in Dean’s ear, punctuating each word with a thrust.

The headboard slapped the wall, bang bang bang, and Dean took the pounding, a one-note litany of violence punctuated by his delirious, breathless laughter. How long did Sam think he'd last now?

“You think it’s funny?” Sam grunted. He pushed Dean down onto his face and grappled for his wrists, twisted them until they were at the level of his hips and slammed forward, using Dean’s wrists to pull Dean back onto his cock. The flat of his hips smacked Dean’s ass in a sweaty staccato rhythm as he drilled in.

Anger, always just under the surface, made him fierce. But as he fucked Dean, the repetitive movement of his muscles cleared his mind just enough for him to understand something. Dean wasn’t meaning to be cruel; or rather, he was, but it wasn’t to hurt Sam. It was to get this out of him, to get Sam to give him the hard, painful, cathartic, good fuck he needed after all the uncertainty and pain and emotional upheaval of the past days.

So Sam gave it to him as hard as he could, panting and gasping as he pistoned into Dean’s tight, swollen asshole.

Being rough had never been a problem. Since Jess, it had been being gentle that was difficult. Since Jess, sex had always held an edge of anger, and he held onto that edge as he gripped Dean’s wrists tighter until Dean made a pained noise, and continued to pound into him like he could heal Dean if he just hurt him enough.

Sam's thick naked cock sliding into his tight hole, widening him, disciplining him with every punishing thrust, stamina to burn. Even if Dean came now, Sam could probably go on for hours, hammering away until Dean damn near split in half. It was agony. It was worth coming back from the dead. For once, Dean was glad Sam couldn't see the look on his face.

"That all you got?" Dean slurred. His eyes opened and slid sideways to look at Sam, chest heaving, lips parted, lathered with sweat like a hard-ridden horse. He tried getting a rise out of Sam, but the trash talk was pro forma now, the fuck having taken it out of him, softened him, and he sure as hell wasn't about to ask for what he really wanted.

“Jesus,” Sam breathed, both turned on and exasperated by Dean’s running mouth. Thighs shaking, he ground deep into Dean one more time before he pulled out, grabbing Dean’s hips again to muscle him onto his back.

He spread Dean’s legs and got down in between them. Leaned down close, Dean’s trembling thighs sweaty against his hips. “Just shut up, Dean,” he said, and he kissed Dean, a sloppy kiss, panting and open-mouthed and wet.

Dean was a wreck, hair dark with sweat, pretty-boy face atop miles of wet muscle, sunburned shoulders to chiseled chest and narrow waist flowing to the cut of his hip bone as he wrapped his legs around Sam until their bodies molded, hot skin sliding over each other. Wanton little noises as he moaned into Sam's kiss, fingers catching in the tangle of Sam's hair as he dragged his teeth up his throat and bit his ear and whispered, "Don't stop. I'll die if you stop."

Sam found Dean’s mouth again, opened up for him. In a slow kiss, he reached down between them. Dean’s cock was so hard in his hand, hot and slippery, and he took that slick and rubbed it onto his own cock, moaning. Then canted his hips, found Dean’s asshole, open and wet and ready for him, and he slid inside with a long, harsh sigh.

The anger was gone, had evaporated with Dean’s mouth on his. Now he could be gentle, now he could take Dean however he wanted. And right now that was slow and easy, rocking his hips up into Dean, feeling the tug and give of his ass and the way Dean’s cock rubbed against his stomach, precome mixing with sweat, their breaths mingling, lips coming apart and then together.

“God Dean, you feel so good,” he whispered. “Wanna make you come apart.”

The sheets were soaked through, the bed a sweaty imprint of their bodies, but Dean could've stayed there all day, drunk on Sam, wearing his sweat. The way Sam moved on top of him, powerful, back muscles like bridge cables beneath Dean's hands, wet warm skin the way Dean had always imagined he'd feel after a shower, his own cock pinched between their bellies and fuck he is close, whole body contracted with need every time Sam's cock slid up inside him, hands pushing his ass up a little higher, like Sam is winding him up but won't let him go until he says the right word. Until he asks permission.

Dean sucked on his mouth, sucking the air out of his lungs, his voice molasses and rough timber. "Fuckin give it to me already."

“Dean,” Sam groaned, almost the only word he had left. Without the anger driving him, all that was left was pleasure, huge and intense, like he could drown in it. He sat up slowly onto his knees, wanting to look at his brother when Dean came, his hands sliding down Dean’s body, fingers leaving lines in the sweat, Dean’s ring on his finger making a deeper imprint. “Dean,” he said again, almost reverent, and he tilted his hips back so that only the first few inches were sliding into him. Dripping with sweat, hair stuck to his face and muscles heaving with deep, starved breaths, Sam angled himself until, there, Dean’s cock jerked and blurted out a thick slurry of precome unto his stomach.

He stayed there, rocking back and forth. Staring into Dean’s heavy-lidded, glittering eyes, he wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock and stroked him, long and slow and loving the way Dean felt around him, squeezing down tight every time Sam eased in.

“Wanna watch you come,” Sam whispered.

Fuck, Dean had had lays say that to him, but not like that, not like some harbinger sex-god carved out of wood bent on giving Dean the most mind-blowing, world-changing orgasm while speared on his first big cock like a worm on a hook.

Dean closed his eyes at first, but he had to see this. See his legs spread wide open around Sam, bicep edged in the lamplight as his hand slid possessively up Dean's ripe cock and stopped right beneath the head until Dean whimpered and then did it again.

Dean thrashed, fingers clawing the top of the headboard, trying to get more, trying to fuck himself on Sam's cock, his insides on fire, letting rip a string of curses and making the headboard thump the wall like a broken washing machine.

Sam tilted his head back to take a deep breath, sweat rolling down his bared throat, then shoved more of his dick into Dean. Dean’s dirty mouth was driving him crazy in the best possible way, and he felt his own orgasm beginning to bloom deep in his belly, making his thrusts deep and sharp.

He gripped Dean’s leg behind the knee and held him open, the other hand busy on Dean’s cock, faster now, getting wetter every time he stroked. Sam’s red, kiss-swollen mouth was open, sucking in air when he pulled out, grunting when he shoved back in.

“Say it Dean, please say it,” he panted.

The sound of his voice, the light burning in the back of his eyes, dammit Sam had no right to be that beautiful, he could have had anyone and he was giving this to Dean, and more than anything Dean wanted to touch him, feel Sam's mouth on his when he said his name.

"...baby boy...please..."

“Oh god, Dean,” Sam panted, his vision going blurry. He let himself fall forward, bracing an elbow beside Dean’s head, groaning out Dean’s name again before he leaned in to kiss him. Then he was uncoiling, body going hot all over, his dick swelling so hard he gasped, and he came deep inside Dean. Mouth open against the corner of Dean’s lips, he panted and groaned through it, cock bucking and spurting and filling his brother up.

His hand had gone lax on Dean’s dick, but he felt it swell against his fingers, and while he was still shuddering through his orgasm he gripped him tighter, wanting to take Dean down with him.

"...Sam I..."

There it came, that creature trying to climb out of him, a moment stretching into days as Dean's orgasm started in his cock and ran around to the small of his back and then punched him in the gut so hard he felt his heart stop, meaningless words between kisses, hot ropes of pearl in Sam's fist, the aftershocks lingering long after he was spent as Sam continued to work him, teasing his twitching cock in slow, wet strokes until his eyes rolled white into his head and he fell back in a boneless heap.

Part 12