#wincest smut

[unsurprisinglyren]

The line was quiet when Dean accepted the call; almost he thought it hadn’t connected properly. A silent stretch of nothingness and then he heard it, the very shallow breathing of his little brother; low and unsteady and fuck. He’d missed him. It was a visceral tug below his ribcage, a swift rearranging of his insides. Not entirely unpleasant, a dip and shiver and swoop within him.

“Hey.” He said because it was apparent Sam wasn’t going to be the one to initiate the conversation despite being desperate to call in the first place.

“Hey.” Soft-voiced, breathy and sweet and Dean’s chest expanded on an abrupt breath, warmth sudden in his lungs, tightening his lower belly. A flare of something more. He frowned at that.

“What’re you drinking?” He asked, sitting back in the hard-backed chair; the scattered, messy collection of case files and other documents forgotten on the dingy motel table in front of him. It could hardly be considered a dining table, it barely seated one comfortably. But it was just big enough to hold his case notes.

“Beer. I shouldn’t be, though. I have a test tomorrow. Or today.” Sam trailed off and Dean could hear the shifting of fabric. Blanket and pillow, and then Sam was sighing. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Dean. It’s doing my head in.”

“Yeah?” What else was he supposed to say? I’ve been thinking about you, too, Sammy. Ever since you left it’s not been the same. You shouldn’t have left. You shouldn’t have left me.

Sam made some pitiful little sound in the back of his throat, high-pitched and wavering and it struck Dean low. Made his breath come quicker. A strange response but when Sam spoke, he lost the ability to breathe altogether.

“I wish you were here with me now. Lying beside me. With me. You’d keep me warm, wouldn’t you, De?”

He swallowed. It stuck on the way down, noisy. He was certain Sam would have heard it. Clocked his apprehension. But Sam was too far gone, wasted on cheap beer and mumbling down the line still, heated words, not shy or filtered. And Dean felt a flicker of something through his body. Warm-edged. A little like fondness, and too much like arousal.

“If you were here I’d make sure you were looked after,” a long inhale. A shifting sound. Then Sam stifled a small noise that might’ve been a giggle. “I’d suck you off.” Bold words and an even bolder follow up. “I’d swallow, too. And let you do whatever you wanted to me after.”

Dean’s stomach tightened, a pulse of unbidden desire, hot and stifling. And suddenly the motel room was too hot. His armpits prickling with sweat. He shifted in the chair, warning with a low-pitched voice, “Sam. You’re drunk.”

But you’re not, his mind supplied. Stone-cold sober and getting hot under the collar from hearing your little brother’s naughty words.

It was more than that though. More than the breathy words. More than the implication that Sam must have thought about this type of thing sober for him to have the balls to bring it up drunk.

It was the shivery little breaths from the other end of the line that made Dean’s cock ache; hard and flushed full and he could resist no longer. He scooted his arse forward a little on the chair, his knees falling apart. Popping open the button of his jeans and dragging down the zipper with a muted hiss, he drew in a steadying breath.

The relief, when his erection was freed from the confining denim, was a rush through his lower belly. Heat and the flare and snare of sudden desire.

“De?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Rough-edged. Like he’d swallowed a handful of jagged rocks. He swallowed, fingers loosely wrapped around the heated length of his erection. Not moving. A display of self-restraint. A hesitancy even. His eyes drifted over the contents of the table; satanic symbols and red-marked letters. The case he’d been diligently working for the past month hardly mattered right now.

“I want you inside me.”

And shit. Dean’s whole body tightened with those words, warm and slightly slurred. Poor boy was desperate and hot for his big brother, and Dean couldn’t bear the idea of shutting this down. Whatever the hell this was. Phone sex. With his brother. And fuck, but he was hard as fucking granite.

“Yeah?” It was all he could manage. A roughened word spoken just a touch too deep. Could have been taken for disgust, but Sam was too far gone and knew Dean far too well to mistake it for anything but the raw lust it was.

“Mmhm, I’m so horny for you! I want you to open me up and fuck me nice and hard.”

“Fuck, Sammy.”

“That’s the idea.”

Dean tightened his grip on himself, tugging at the tip, a twist of his hand. And yeah, fuck yeah, the idea of fingering his little brother open; of having Sammy writhing on his fingers, coming undone, coming apart in the most beautiful way imaginable because of Dean’s touch, and then being taken by him. Knees pressed to his shoulders, belly folded over, thighs trembling, held taut, the bitten red lips and swallowed gasps, and...

“Fuck. I want that.”

Nevermind the fact he’d never slept with a guy before. He wasn’t naive about how it worked. Hell, he’d watched porn before. He knew. But, shit. He’d never thought about it with Sam before.

“I’d be so good for you, De. I’d let you go as deep as you wanted and you could fill me up. I wouldn’t mind.”

Dean’s hand jerked faster, pre-come dampening the head of his shaft, moist and warm and he used his palm to smear it down the length of it. Spreading his knees wider until one of them knocked against the table leg.

Sam was breathing heavily, biting back his sounds and Dean had the belated realisation that Sam was jacking off as well. His body went hot. A searing cascade of pleasure. Of wrongness. Yet the moral debate rattling around in the back of his skull only heightened the pleasure, gave it a razor sharp edge. And Dean groaned, low in his throat, a sound he couldn’t have smothered or swallowed down even if he’d tried.

Sam responded with a noise of his own; rasping and trembly and so fucking vulnerable that Dean felt something inside of him shift. Come undone. A displacement of some inner morality. A discarding of it.

And he couldn’t quite quell his own words, roughened by desire, by the utter perverseness of what they were doing. “That’s it, sweetheart, you like the thought of me breeding your tight little arse? Making you come while I fill you all the way up?”

Sam moaned, deep and sweet and Dean could hear the click of wet skin on skin. The telltale signs that Sammy was just as far gone as Dean was. His arousal dripping at the thought of taking his big brother’s cock in his arse, being fucked hard by it.

Would he beg Dean for more? Or would it be too much for him to handle? He might cry. Dean found he rather liked that idea. A sweat-dampened, wet-lashed Sammy sniffling underneath him, his pink-tipped cock hard and flushed as Dean drove mercilessly into him.

And fuck, he was close, held on the very edge of climax, driven to the precipice just by the soft sounds down the line and his own perverted thoughts.

“I’m close, Dean,” shaky-voiced. Dean heard the shift of bed springs, the hitched breath Sam let out, and then Sam was breathing down the line, “Make me come. I wanna come for you.”

And what else was Dean supposed to do? His own arousal was kicking hard, exhausted from the tease of his too-loose fist, wet with pre-come and flushed an angry red when he glanced down at his open flies and the slick mess over his hand.

He gave into both of their needs. Recklessly barreling into unknown territory. Knowing full well there was no going back once he stepped over that particular line.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you nice and hard? Pound your arse until you can’t hold back anymore. Until you want to scream? Wanna scream for me, Sammy?”

“Y-yeah. Wanna let you hear how good you’re making me feel.”

“You touching yourself?” He didn’t really need to ask, he could hear well enough the stifled moans, the wet slip and click of Sam jerking off to his voice and his words. But he asked it anyway, some small part of him needing the outright confirmation.

“Mmh, yeah. So close. T-tell me I’m -” Sam trailed off, voice gone shy and soft. But with a belly full of liquid courage and the building crescendo of an impending orgasm, he forged ahead before Dean could prompt him. “Tell me I’m a good boy?”

Fuck. Dean’s cock twitched, an achy throb of arousal that made his thighs quiver. He gripped the base hard to quell the sudden rise of his own orgasm. Spurred on by Sam’s breathy voice, the tentative request, the way Dean’s body had reacted with a violent rush of heat and need.

Sammy wanted to be called a good boy? Dean could definitely do that.

“You want to come, Sammy? Want to come for me and be a good boy?”

A drawn-out moan from Sam, high in his throat and broken with a deep-seated pleasure that had everything to do with the way Dean had pitched his voice low; a growl of grit and gravel. Warm and rough and just the right side of gentle that it had an immediate effect on Sam.

Dean listened, phone held so tightly to his ear that it hurt, as Sam came undone. A quivering thing on the other end of the line, soft boy, sweet baby brother, coming in a rush at the praise and the gruff tone and Dean felt an implicit sense of power. A control he never knew existed; raw and compelling and powerfully addictive.

He came with a grunt, taken by surprise by the vehemency of his climax. A roaring rush in his ears, drowning out Sam’s panting breaths, lifting his head dizzily, a gossamer kind of lift and swoop and drop. He was left breathless, hand still wrapped around his softening shaft, phone still clamped against the shell of his ear, chest still twined up with the heady sense of power.

Silence, save for their mutual breathing, ragged at first, then softer.

“You okay?” Dean ventured into speech first, almost afraid of Sam’s response.

But it came on a huffed breath, a laugh, the breath of one anyway. “Yeah. I think I might actually be able to sleep now.”

“Good.” And it was good. Dean sat up straighter in his chair, shaking off the cooling slick of come from his hand, frowning at the mess he’d made in his jeans. Now that the sweep of pleasure had passed his head was returning to stark reality.

He swallowed hard, glancing over his research, the white-washed walls, the humming orange overhead light, the latched motel door. He was miles away from Stanford. Miles away from Sam, who was sleepy and contented after coming, mumbling something about his test that Dean didn’t quite catch.

And it wasn’t a sense of regret that fell upon him once Sam had hung up, the line static and barren, it wasn’t guilt or disgust that made him shove all the research into his duffel bag, that made him swipe up the keys to the impala and head for the door. For Stanford.

For Sammy.

It was a devouring, unremitting, implacable need. Bone-deep. Embedded into the very marrow of his bones.

He started the engine with a twist of the key in the ignition, a roar and rumble underneath him. And he was pulling out of the parking lot with a rev.

He never should have let Sam leave for Stanford. He was determined to make things right. Even if that meant stealing Sam away. Locking him up. Keeping him all to himself.

[weirdbrosinc]

sam giving dean road head because he just can't wait until they get to the motel to taste his brother. dean's trying hard not to roll his head back, with a hand in sam's hair and the other shaking on the wheel. sam just keeps fucking his throat on his brother's cock because it feels like it's been so long since he's had this last, even though really it's just been a couple days... they're codependent your honor <3

[samofmine]

okay so. sam with a praise kink & a humilliation kink.

Imagine Dean breaking into Sam's dorm once, one week after he left for college, cause he's drunk and sad and hurt and he misses Sammy. It scares Sam shitless and he almost punches him but Dean manages to hold him down, "easy tiger", and then they're wrestling, more trying to touch every piece of the other's skin than actually trying to hurt each other, and it takes 0 time for Sam to get painfully hard in his pajama pants and of fucking course Dean notices.

"Still the same horny mess, huh, Sammy?"

And Sam just lets out the most pathetic whine as Dean reaches for his cock, hand moving up and down lightly and slowly and Sam missed this so much he could cry.

Dean has him begging for it in no time "use your words, babyboy" and Sam's brain can barely come up with anything but please please please.

Dean turns him over and climbs on top of him, taking both their clothes off as fast as he can and Sam just waits.

Dean starts to finger him right there on the floor and Sam can't wait, he needs Dean inside, his whole body feels hot and he's tingling and the friction of the carpet against his cock is just so good, so right, so he begs again please please please and Dean tells him to shut up, shoving his cock inside Sam hard and all at once and it punches the air off Sam's lungs.

"Quiet Sammy," Dean leans in to whisper to him, "You don't want your college friends to know you're a slut."

And oh my god Dean is fucking him so slow and so hard, Sam can't take it, he starts to fuck himself on Dean's cock in a pathetic rhytm that is not nearly enough.

Dean even stops for a moment, lets him do all the work, and then he grabs both Sam's arms and starts to fuck him properly, using Sam like he's a fleshlight, and oh god the memory of Dean fucking that flashlight in the bathroom when he thought Sam was asleep, Sam moans loudly, his cock leaking on the carpet.

"You should see you right now. College boy turns out to be nothing but a pathetic slut. What's the use of studying so hard if you're just gonna be fucked dumb by your brother's cock, huh?"

Sam is so close, his entire body shakes, and Dean is still holding his arms and he can't touch himself and it's all too much and he starts crying, moaning Dean's name and hoping he'll get the message.

And oh, he does, he pulls Sam in until his back is flushed against his chest and starts fucking him slowly, kissing his neck, and Sam needs more, he starts moving, and fuck, Dean's hand finds his cock.

"So good, Sammy" Dean groans and Sam can tell he's close, too, "Perfect for me, doing so good."

And Sam only nods, fucking back on Dean's cock and thrusting on Dean's hand, and he needs it so bad-

"Go ahead, Sammy, let go for me. Let me see how perfect you look when you cum on my cock." Dean speeds up his hand and Sam cums with a loud cry, body falling forward, but Dean catches him and turns him on his back, gritted teeth as he throws Sam's legs over his shoulders and enters him again, fucking Sam even harder, groaning "fuck fuck fuck" and spilling inside him.

Sam almost wants to beg for him to stay like that, inside him, not moving until the sun comes up, until Sam can feel him getting hard again, until he can fuck Sam and spill inside him again and again until he feels full.

But Dean just gets up, gets dressed and leaves.

Sam doesn't get up from the floor and it doesn't take long until he's hard again so he starts jerking off, high on the feeling of his brother's cum leaking from his hole.

[amaranthmori]

[slutbee]

when he's god

Written for the Sam and Dean Mini Event by @holyfreaks

06/26/24 Prompts: First times/last times, motel rooms, love like religion/devotion

Rating: E

WC: ~2k

Part 2/4.

Summary: It's been a while since Dean first gave into Sam begging to kiss him. Sam gets antsy and decides to take things to the next level. Dean never stood a chance of telling him no.

Making out with Sam made Dean indescribably high. His brother's lips were soft against his own; untouched, Dean thought. Sam was unsure at first, mouth cautious like he was afraid to make the wrong move. But Dean was happy to take the lead. He was teaching Sam, after all.

He huffed a breath out of his nose that ricocheted off Sam's face and back into his own. Sam shifted in Dean's lap, subtly enough that Dean wasn't sure he knew what he was doing. But the next roll of his hips was more confident, and Dean groaned involuntarily. He felt Sam smile and broke away.

"Sam," Dean said breathlessly, chest heaving with the effort to breathe around how fast his heart was beating.

Sam's expression turned worried. "Do you not- I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I promise."

"No, it's okay..." Dean hesitated, still catching his breath. "It's just that..." He sighed. "You're way too young."

The worry dropped from Sam's face and was replaced by a teasing grin. "That's what you're worried about here?"

Dean scowled and lunged forward to kiss Sam again. Breaking away, he said, "Shut up. That part makes it worse." Sam's face fell again and Dean rushed to cover himself. "I mean, if someone were to find out, they'll think I'm taking advantage of you. Older family member, I could've groomed you."

"You're right," Sam admitted dejectedly. "What are we supposed to do then, Dean? I want you." He pouted. It was so little-brother manipulative that Dean couldn't help but kiss him again.

"Make you a deal," he said when they parted. "When you turn sixteen."

"That's so long," Sam whined, punctuating his drama with a hard roll of his hips. Trying to manipulate Dean into giving in, but Dean had made up his mind to this hasty plan.

"It'll be okay," said Dean. "I just want to make sure we're not being impulsive. Plus, sixteen is the legal age of consent." He winked.

Sam added the puppy dog eyes 3000 to the pout. "I consent now."

"Legal, Sammy. Legal."

It had been several months since the first time they kissed. Sometimes, still, when Dad was away, they'd settle into one of the beds to nap together, waking each other up with gentle kisses all over the other's face. Which almost always turned into a heavy makeout session that Dean cut short, keeping to his stance.

Sam was frustrated. Months now, his brother had practically been edging him daily. He would let Sam get all worked up in his lap, then stop at the last second. At night, when he was sure Dean was sleeping, he crept to the bathroom to take care of his aching hard on, moaning Dean's name softly as he came.

Sam's birthday came and went, but Dean showed no signs of breaking from his pattern. When he stopped everything, Sam would whine and say pretty please, but Dean would not be moved. So Sam decided to take matters into his own hands.

They had finished shooting practice for the day, and Dean was in the shower washing away the sweat from the Midwestern summer day. Sam sat criss-crossed on the floor, cleaning their guns, bullets strewn on the carpet from him haphazardly emptying them. His plan was simple: accost Dean while he was half-naked, off-guard from his shower, and make him so turned on that he would have to fuck Sam.

In the other room, the shower turned off. Sam scrambled to put away the guns, leaving the bullets all over the floor, and jumped onto the bed. He laid on his stomach and grabbed the book he had placed to "read" only in his boxers. A familiar cold feeling gripped his chest, but he pushed it down. Nothing to be anxious about. Dean wouldn't hurt him.

The bathroom door creaked open behind him, and Dean's footsteps came a couple steps into the room before stopping. Sam smiled and craned his neck around to see him. Dean was clad in only a towel, wrapped loosely around his waist, like Sam had predicted, and he was frozen in place, mouth open slightly, breathing picking up.

Sam arched his back a little and wiggled his ass. "Come here, Dean," he said in a sing-songy voice. It was childish, he knew, but he was a child, after all.

Dean's voice was dry but sounded full of lust. "Sammy, I-"

"Oh come on, Dean." Sam rolled over onto his back, propping himself on his elbows to glare at his brother. "My birthday was two months ago. You promised."

Dean wasn't hard to convince. He walked the rest of the way to the bed, dropping his towel on the way, and climbed over top of Sam.

Sam had seen Dean naked before, many times, but nothing compared to having him hovering over Sam's also-naked body. He dropped back to the bed, his hands creeping up to grip Dean's hips.

"Too much clothes," Dean murmured, kissing down Sam's torso. When he reached the bottom, he hooked his fingers in Sam's boxers and carefully pulled them down. Sam shivered as the fabric dragged over his hardening cock.

"So pretty, Sammy," Dean said, pressing his mouth to the underside of Sam's dick. Immediately, Sam's whole body tensed. It was one thing to imagine your hand was someone else's, but it was another thing entirely to have your dick in someone's mouth. Sam moaned, surprised at the sound that escaped him.

Dean raised himself up and whispered against Sam's ear. "You wanna be on top, or you want me to?"

The favorite images of Sam's brain flashed through, of Sam's hands grasping Dean's hips while he pounded into him. He was willing to bet money that Dean's ass felt a million times better than his mouth.

"I want to be on top," Sam answered breathlessly. "But you have to tell me what to do." A surge of arousal coursed through him at the admission.

"Sure, baby," Dean said against Sam's jaw, where he was leaving open-mouthed kisses. Then he rolled off of Sam onto his back and flung his legs wide. "Come here."

Sam's heart thudded in his chest as he knelt over Dean. The act in itself was nothing he hadn't done before, but it was always fully clothed with the knowledge that nothing more was going to happen. Now he was finally escalating it.

Dean took hold of Sam's hand and brought it to his mouth, sucking Sam's fingers between his lips and swirling his tongue around them. Sam watched in fascination as Dean opened his mouth again and let go of Sam's hand, a string of saliva connecting to his lips.

"Put 'em inside me," Dean said, shifting to angle his ass upwards as much as he could while laying on his back. Sam hesitated, then brought his middle finger to circle Dean's hole. Dean bit his lip and looked so pretty under Sam, eyes widening when the finger pushed inside. Sam thrusted his finger inside Dean a few times experimentally.

"You can do another," Dean breathed, eyes fixed on Sam as he squirmed and blushed. "I was fingering myself in the shower." The last part was quieter as he was embarrassed to admit it.

Sam didn't say anything, just smiled and added two more fingers at once, making Dean gasp. He wiggled his three fingers inside Dean to get some kind of reaction, and was rewarded with a high pitched moan when he found the right spot. He pressed his fingers in that same spot several times, until Dean was squirming too much and a string of please-es were falling from his open mouth. Sam carefully extracted his fingers from his brother and wiped them on the motel blanket. He took hold of his dick and smoothed some precum around it before lining up with Dean's hole.

Shaking with excitement and nervousness, Sam used one hand to guide himself while the other found Dean's hand and gripped it.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean reassured him, squeezing his hand. "Go for it."

"I'm gonna put it in," Sam whispered.

As he finally pushed his cock past Dean's rim, they both let out loud moans, Sam's a little higher-pitched and more like a whimper. He breathed heavily in loud sighs as Dean pulled him closer, farther in. Once he was buried to the hilt, he buried his face in Dean's neck and whined.

"Feels so good, baby," Dean said tightly, taking a deep breath. "Feel like I'm gonna blow already."

"I'm not gonna last," Sam whimpered desperately.

"No, you're doing so good," Dean encouraged. "So good. C'mon."

Sam pulled out slowly to thrust into his brother again. He struck up a rhythm, spurred on by the moans he was eliciting from Dean and the feeling of his tight hole wrapped around his cock. He didn't even realize his eyes were shut tight until he opened them and was met with Dean's gaze, looking reverently up at him. Sam shuddered and dropped down to catch Dean's lips in a messy kiss, jolting teeth against teeth with every rock of his hips.

"I love you," Dean whispered into Sam's mouth.

Dean wasn't usually the type of person to break out sappy shit when it came to sex, but the way Sam moved over him, face set in determination and pleasure, stirred up powerful emotions, too powerful to set aside and ignore.

"I love you," he whispered, and the way Sam's face lit up with a smile twisted in his heart. The gravity of how wrong this was hit him, because Sam was so much skinny high school boy that Dean had to remember that this was his little brother.

His, though, and nobody else's. That much was evident by the way Sam's fingers dug into Dean's hips, sure to leave bruises that he would have to hide from Dad. Sam sucked and bit at the side of Dean's neck, and that one Dad would definitely see, but Sam was his god, so Dean would play the part of sacrificial lamb. Taking the heat off Sam was his life's purpose. Sam was his life's purpose, really, and in that moment, with his little brother sweaty above him, face twisted in almost-orgasm, Dean realized there was really nothing left in the world short of dying that he wouldn't do for his brother. Although he would die for Sam if he had the reason or opportunity, he knew that.

Sam's fingers were interlaced with Dean's, pressing Dean's hand palm-up into the pillow by his head. Dean squeezed Sam's hand tightly, feeling himself getting close.

"God, Sammy, gonna-" Sam pushed Dean's thighs up and fucked him from this new angle straight over the edge, and Dean came untouched all over his stomach, practically up to his chin. He had never done that before, but he had never fucked Sammy before, and the love and intimacy he had with his brother was heightening his senses. Dean gasped and whined as Sam continued to hammer into him, chasing his own high until finally, finally, Sam threw his head forward, pressing his forehead to Dean's, and Sam-warmth spread inside Dean, accompanied by the prettiest sounds he'd ever heard a boy make, huffed into his ear.

Sam kept his pace for too long after that ("crazy bastard"), whining and moaning into Dean's ear as he overstimulated them both. It became nearly unbearable for Dean, but it was so intimate and so Sam that he couldn't push him away. Finally, Sam pulled out and flopped down at Dean's side.

They laid there, saying nothing, breathing heavily for a good several minutes. Sam curled into Dean's side, seemingly oblivious to the mess they'd just made of each other. Then, after a while, Dean asked, "How was it?"

Sam's voice cracked, reminding Dean again how much younger he was. "So fucking good, De." He kissed Dean's shoulder. Dean turned his head and kissed Sam's forehead.

"Good."

"Thank you," Sam added, and a swell of pride rose in Dean.

"Love you so much, Sammy." I'd do anything for you, you don't even have to ask was the part he left out. "Don't you forget it."

"How could I," Sam murmured sleepily. He yawned. "Let's clean up before we fall asleep."

Dean chuckled, remembering the drying cum all up his front and probably Sam's, too. "Yeah, probably a good idea. Hope there's still hot water."

[thefirstradiant]

Suptober Day 8: Witch’s Brew

What’s My Flavor?

✨Wincest✨ Rating Explicit. Written for #suptober24 prompt: Witch’s Brew and kinktober kinks: choking, dubcon (but not really, just under the influence of magic), and tied up.

Words: 2.5k

Sam needs to willingly drink the antidote. Dean knows exactly how to pull that “yes” out of his brother.

A/N: Title is from a very Wincest-coded song, Sailor Song by Gigi Perez. Also this may be my new favorite lil thing I’ve written hehe

The purple wisps of smoke continued to curl into the air and make Dean cough and splutter. Why did potion making always have to be so intense, he thought, annoyed at his own annoyance. It’s a magic potion, of course it’s gonna smell terrible and coat every bit of air in this tiny room.

That’s not the only thing Dean was annoyed at currently though. He stared at his stupid little brother. It was just supposed to be a regular witch-killing, or at least, witch-neutralizing. No need for annoying counter potions or dealing with this.. version.. of Sam.

But, of course, Sam’s sitting in a short wooden chair with ropes around his arms, legs, and chest, and a dopey smile on his face in this storm cellar of all places. He just had to take the knife, didn’t he?

“Well, boys, that’s my part done.”

Dean looked up as Rowena stepped back from the cauldron, nodding her head in satisfaction at the bubbling liquid. She had a flask poured out and set it down on the table.

“Now you need to get him to drink that. The whole thing.”

She spared a glance over at Sam, who was currently glaring at the potion, and continued.

“I don’t envy you. But, if you don’t, he’s going to be like this until he dies. Remember, he must agree to taking it. You can force him, convince him, anyway you like, but he must agree. Or else it will be useless, no matter how good a witch I am.”

Rowena took a long look at Dean like she was contemplating something, but then turned and climbed the stairs out without another word.

Dean felt the first spark of real fear cut through his annoyance. What if he couldn’t get him to drink it? They’d only reached one other victim in time, and had failed to get her to agree to the antidote.

The witch’s spell was a particularly awful one. As far as they could tell, she gave her victims a taste of genuine happiness and whatever they wanted until, inevitably, they died or killed themselves in some horrible, stupid way. None of them had wanted to turn back.

Dean sighed and looked back over at Sam, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the potion.

“We’re gonna get through this, Sammy. I don’t know how, but we will.”

Sam wriggled in his ropes and tried to sit up straighter. The glare at the potion became a glare at Dean.

“I’m never going back. I’m never drinking that potion.”

Damn. Not starting off great. Dean stood and advanced slowly toward Sam, ignoring the flask for now. The chill in the room became more and more apparent as he got closer. Was it Sam doing that? The witch? Or was it just worry trickling up and down Dean’s spine? He wasn’t sure.

He stood barely a few inches away from the chair, placed his hands around Sam’s bound arms, and leaned down to be even closer to him. He needed to make his brother see in no uncertain terms. Even through the haze of the potion, he should be able to get this. Dean made sure he was looking straight into Sam’s eyes before speaking in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Yes. You will be.”

Dean watched as Sam’s throat clenched and swallowed. He saw a shiver run through him and his face softened for just a second before glaring at him again.

Oh. Okay. Sure. If that’s how Sam wanted to play it, Dean could get behind it. He shook off the fact that it’s been years since Sam had asked for anything like this from him and the fact that he wasn’t really asking this time either.

Dean studied the man beneath him. His fists were clenched hard and he was trying to hide the heaving of his chest. So needy.

“Sammy. Look at me.”

Dean reached out a hand and forced Sam to look directly in his eyes again. He shuddered under the touch. Dean almost laughed. Sam’s been hit by a spell that gives him happiness and the desire to take whatever he’s always wanted, and this is what he responds to?

Dean lowered his voice to almost a whisper. He could feel himself already getting hard.

“Sammy, you idiot. You don’t need a potion for this.”

Sam groaned and immediately tried to pretend he hadn’t. He seemed like he was trying to look away, but couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from Dean.

Dean could clearly see the bulge in his jeans where his legs were forced apart by the ropes. There wasn’t any denying it anymore. He’s kind of hot like this, Dean considered, surprising himself.

Sam eyes had shifted downward and locked onto Dean’s crotch, which he knew had a matching bulge. Sam began to whine. Standing over him, Dean felt very tall again, looking at a small, younger brother. So pretty, so eager.

“Shhhh, I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta drink the potion.”

Sam jerked up and stared Dean down. Apparently he wasn’t far gone enough yet.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Dean growled low in his throat. His hand came on to Sam’s chest and pressed him backward.

“I’ll fuck that yes out of you if I have to, Sammy, don’t challenge me.”

Sam, for his part, just moaned and leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. He was so responsive it was rushing to Dean’s cock everytime he made a noise.

“Fuck, you really like that don’t you?”

Good to know, he thought, filing these things away for a less dire situation.

“I’m gonna untie you now. If you leave, you get nothing. Nod so I know you understand.”

Sam looked angry, but nodded a tad too frantically anyway. He’s really desperate for it, I wonder how many years he’s kept this inside.

Dean slowly untied all Sam’s limbs and his chest and allowed him a moment to stretch out before he gave him another order.

“Now, take off your pants and get on the floor. Hands and knees.”

Dean was almost surprised at how easy this was for him. It felt.. natural, especially with the way Sam responded to everything like he wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

Sam moaned again and unbuckled his belt with trembling hands. He looked at the wall while stepping out of his jeans and throwing them aside before kneeling down, facing away from the table that still held the potion.

Mmm. Dean stared at his brother presenting his ass up towards him with his head hanging low towards the floor. Goddamn. Dean’s own jeans were painfully tight, so he unzipped them and pulled them down slightly to give himself some freedom.

The sound of his zipper echoed around the room and he heard a small gasp from Sammy as he waited for Dean to come closer.

Fuck.

Not able to wait any longer, Dean’s eyes raked the table covered in potion ingredients. Rowena must have used something mm- ah that’ll work. Dean grabbed a bottle of some kind of basic oil and settled down on the floor behind Sam. The potion was still within reach. Good.

“Dean..” Sam sunk even lower to the floor, only keeping his ass up.

“Oh, Sam, I don’t think a pack of wild werewolves could stop me now.”

Dean ghosted his fingers over Sam’s sides, pushing his shirt up and grabbing his hips.

Sam let out a delicious moan that had Dean pulling down his boxer-briefs immediately and finally getting a good look. He groaned. Sam’s little pink hole looked much as he remembered and a rush of how it felt came back to him suddenly.

His fingers began to glide over Sam’s hole and he dribbled a small amount of the oil onto them.

Sam gasped.

“Yeah, Sam? You’re ready, aren’t you?”

Sam pushed his ass back against Dean in reply and moaned low into the floor as Dean pressed a slick finger into him. He chuckled softly.

“Son of a bitch, Dean. Come on.”

“Always so desperate for me, aren’t you?”

But Dean gave him another finger quickly and started pressing in and out as Sam moaned openly and reached down to touch himself. Damn, that was hot.

Dean added a third finger, probably before Sam was really ready, but he didn’t care, he needed to fuck Sam NOW.

“Dean!”

“Mm, .. I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

“PLEASE!”

Sam was clearly done with the waiting and preparation. So was Dean, he could hear himself breathing heavily. Dean gave Sam a few more thrusts with his fingers, Sam moaning in response, and then pulled them out, purposefully snagging on his rim.

Sam was whining and pushing out toward Dean like he was trying to get his fingers back in him. Like he needed something in him.

“Mmm come on, Sammy, hold on. You know what’s coming.”

Dean smiled as he dragged his fingers back over Sam’s hole and he twitched delightfully. Mmm. Gorgeous.

Dean shifted back onto his knees and rested down on his legs. While Sam couldn’t see him, he grabbed the flask full of thick purple liquid and placed it behind himself. He was surprised he even had enough presence of mind to remember the potion, with Sam still stretched out on the floor in front of him, hair a complete mess and back covered in a soft pink blush.

“Turn over.” He ordered. “Now.”

Sam wasted no time at all and breathed out softly while turning to lay with his back down on the cold floor. Dean could see that the blush continued over his stomach and the part of his chest peeking out from under his shirt. There was a light dusting across Sam’s cheeks too. He was warm to the touch and Dean couldn’t help but run his hands all over Sam’s sides and hips.

“Mmm. So perfect.”

“Dean.. please.”

“I’ve got you, Sam. I got you.”

He shifted and pulled his jeans down a little more so he could get his boxers out of the way. Finally, with a deep groan, Dean pulled his cock out free. He gave it a few long strokes, the friction felt so good. And Sammy looked even better, zoned out and desperate for it. Open. Waiting. For him. Dean couldn’t hold on a second longer.

Dean grabbed Sam’s hips and lifted them over his own until he was practically in his lap. They were so close. He could feel every movement Sam made, while he tried to squirm closer to Dean’s hard cock. They were lined up perfectly.

“Alright, Sam, you ready?”

“YES. Dean, I’m ready.”

Dean took a deep breath and pulled Sam toward him, impaling him ever so slowly on his cock, until they were flush against each other and he couldn’t think anymore.

Fuck. Sammy.

Dean groaned loud against the walls of the cellar.

“Damnit Sam- Sammy. Oh god. So tight.”

Dean looked up at Sam’s face again. It was flushed red, but Sam was grinning, smiling like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Dean rolled his hips into him and felt a stab of pride at watching Sammy’s smile slip to an open mouthed moan of pleasure. He pulled moan after moan out of his brother’s mouth as he began rocking steadily into him. Damn his sounds are so hot.

Sam was breathing out a quiet stream of yes yes Yes YES with every thrust of Dean’s hips. Dean smiled to himself. Well, if he got a yes for that..then-

He reached behind himself to close his fingers around the now cold flask. Bending over Sam to reach his face pressed him in so deep, both of them let out a groan.

“Mm come on, it’s time.”

Sam opened eyes he had shut when Dean pressed into him and flicked his gaze to Dean, to the flask, back to Dean, and back to flask again. He looked like he was about to protest, so Dean changed the angle of his hips just slightly, where he knew Sam wouldn’t be able to resist.

Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head as Dean hit that perfect spot inside him and his hands flew out to either side. Then, very quietly, almost so Dean couldn’t hear, he replied.

“Yes, Dean.”

And Sam left his mouth hung open, waiting.

Dean was flooded with immense relief and red-hot lust at the same time. He dragged his free hand up to land on his brother’s neck and started to pour as much of the potion as he could into his mouth. Then he massaged his neck until he’d been forced to swallow all of it.

Without stopping the movement of his cock inside Sam, he kept this up until the flask was completely drained. Only a drop remained, dribbling from Sam’s lips as he tried to breathe. Dean released the flask and his hand that was holding Sam’s neck.

“There. You did it.”

But Sam looked desperately out at his brother and grabbed the hand that had been around his neck to bring it back to where it belonged. He patted Dean’s hand where he had rested it back on his throat in a silent, but blindingly clear, message.

A rush of heat went straight to Dean’s head and cock and he found his vision went a little hazy from the pressure. Damn, the things he does to me. He’s insane.

Dean closed his hand around Sam’s throat anyway, no longer trying to make him swallow, but instead trapping all his air. He brought his other hand to wrap around Sam’s throbbing cock, leaking a steady flow of precome.

Sam groaned, as much as he could while his airway was being blocked, and arched his back toward Dean. He’s so beautiful like this, Dean thought. Sam’s face wore an expression of absolute bliss and lust. Dean wondered vaguely how many times he’d ever get to see that look on his brother’s face.

“Sammy. Oh, Sammy. Come for me.”

That was all Sam needed to start shaking. His mouth opened in a silent scream or moan or gasp or something, Dean wasn’t sure, and he was coming all over Dean’s hand. It felt like he came forever, thick white stripes coating his palm, and rolling and clenching around Dean’s cock.

Would he?.. Dean wondered and decided to test his theory. He brought his filthy hand up to Sam’s face and covered his mouth with it. Dribbles of come started to mix with the remnants of the potion on Sam’s lips. He loosened the vice grip on Sam’s throat just enough so he could start gasping into his hand.

Sam’s eyes opened briefly, glanced at the hand with a flash of understanding, and closed again. Then his tongue came out and danced over Dean’s palm, licking up as much come as he could reach. No hesitation whatsoever.

Dean’s groan was so low it was almost impossible to hear.

“Fucking hell, Sam. Fuck- I’m coming.”

Dean’s hips gave one last wild thrust into Sam before he pressed in all the way and held there, head hanging down and limbs shuddering. The buildup of pressure that had begun with Sam tied to that damn chair released deep into him.

“Damn.”

That was the most intense orgasm Dean’s had in.. well probably ever had. He looked up to check in on Sam who, for what it was worth, looked much more lucid than he had in awhile.

“Hey. Sam, you back?”

Sam’s voice was breathy and raspy as he coughed and attempted to respond.

“Yeah.. yeah, Dean, I’m back.”

It worked. Thank god. Dean sighed and reached out a tired hand to pat Sam on the chest. He sat back, not wanting to pull out of Sam just yet. He didn’t want to ever be apart from Sam again.

“Good. Welcome back, little brother.”

FIN

[winchesterride]

So, here it is, my first Wincest fic 🥳

It wasn’t Sam's fault that serial killers excited him. And wasn’t Dean’s fault he would do weird stuff to please Sam.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Rape/Non-Con (Actually doubt con)

Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005)

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

post series, POV Sam Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, rough sex, Objectification, possessiveness, light bondage, serial killer kink, marking kink, role play, knife play, light blood play, rape play, light Break Me!Sam¹, light Tamer!Dean, mention of cannibalism, mention of necrophilia, Incest

Okay, thats PRETTY dirty, one of the dirtiest things I ever wrote, but I enjoyed it a lot, so hope you guys enjoy it too.

Please read the tags and warnings before reading!

PS: I put it only to registered users because it's mature, hope this don't prevent anyone from reading

¹Break Me submissives in BDSM play with physical struggle, they resist if not restrained, appealing to physical fights and runaways, making the scene look like a rape

²Tamers in BDSM are doms that deal with disobedient subs and have to discipline them

Credits of the Moodboard:

Photo by Jon Tyson na Unsplash – Taxidermy Deer

Photo by Akinori UEMURA na Unsplash – Chains

Photo by Igor bispo on Unsplash – Knife

[angelsberrymilk]

no but imagine Sammy with a cunt. and pair that up with summer time and hot road trips. Pre-spn s1. pre-stanford era. Sammy who can't go through the day without wearing a pair of shorts. and they're thin. a little tight and so flipping short. and Dean is just there. trying so hard not to stare at the curve between Sam's legs. He tries to hard not to notice the outline of his brother's pussy lips. who's shaking and trembling, trying to wil away the image of his brothers sweaty inner thighs. nahaaaaaahhhgggshsgd

[spnatdirection]

mentions of harsh biting; knives; blood

So, hear me out...I'm watching season 7 (spn ofc) and when sam was seeing lucifer I had a thought. What abt sam and dean, not really together but getting there, but they fuck, just to 'ease the tension' ig. But sam and dean are doing the hanky and dean can start to tell when sam sees lucifer bc he spaces out and kinda closes up and tenses yknow? It takes a little nudge from sam for dean to get it but he does So they start implementing pain sometimes. Dean ofc loves to do it but wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't think it would help sam. But if they're in the middle of it and sam starts spacing dean would just bite him, like damn near enough for blood. But it helps sam. And as the hallucinating gets worse the pain would just get more. They bring in the knives. Just small nicks at first then cuts. Idk, just a thought :)

[wincestuous-psychos]

Alews list of Wincest

Mainly “mature” - “explicit” works

With Your Dreams Untold by wahwardelle

Top dean bottom Sam, starts with the boys sharing porn over the years ends with dean fucking Sam. Fantastic read imo

Fumbling in the dark by Leonidaslion

POV outsider for like so many episodes I’m in love Wincest best fic 11/10

[unsurprisinglyren]

There was a stiffness to Sam’s shoulders when he pushed out the door. A hard-set to his jaw. Dean’s stomach crumpled up, not an unpleasant sensation, a heated rush of something bitter, like tannic coffee, and sweet, like liquid sugar. A strangely contrary emotion. Bittersweet.

Sam was exactly how he remembered him. His too-long hair falling into his eyes as he approached the impala sitting curb side. His hands shoved deep into his front pockets, a hunch of his shoulders as if he didn’t quite know what to expect. Maybe he didn’t. Dean would remind him. Guide him. Let him slowly come to the understanding of why exactly he was here and what he was seeking from his little brother.

A flare of need; virulent and hot down his spine. Warming his stomach, and lower. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, white-knuckled. He waited until Sam was a few steps off the impala, backlit by the yellow light from inside the dorm. Frowning. An uncertainty playing about his mouth and in the furrow of his brow. He let Sam come to him before he moved.

He pushed open the door with a hook of his fingers in the handle, a jerk and clank as it came open a bit more forcefully than he’d anticipated.

“Hey.” He said and it was reminiscent of their phone call. Again, he intrinsically knew Sam wouldn’t be the first to speak.

Sam stopped just shy of the curb. Hands still deep in his pockets, mouth pressed tight, he threw his chin in a silent question; what do you want?

But when Dean didn’t immediately answer the unspoken question, Sam caved and said; “What are you doing here?”

“Take a guess.”

A plain look was levelled his way for that. But Dean didn’t recant it. He waited, watching Sam from the driver’s seat, noting the way Sam shuffled his feet, anxious, unsure. Unsteady all of a sudden. Knocked off balance by Dean’s words and the suggestion behind them, no doubt.

Slowly, incrementally slowly, reality dawned on him; a flicker of understanding, a slight raise of his eyebrows before they knitted up and he threw his chin again, this time in some kind of disbelief, or denial.

And yeah, there it was, a jarring realisation that sat cracked and clear on Sam’s face, and he took a step back, a stumbly sort of half-retreat and said, “I was drunk.” As if that might explain it all away.

“I know.” Dean said, calm-voiced. He got out of the impala, shut the door behind him, and glanced at Sam as he locked it. “I wasn’t.”

“Dean, I –”

“Save it. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“Yeah, well I’m not interested. You going to invite me in?”

“For what?” And damn, it was said so hesitantly that Dean almost felt a swell of fond pity for Sam. Pity and a slither of frustration.

“For coffee.” He said and it was dead-panned.

Sam scoffed, a dry sound. Disbelief, this time. Not quite denial – not quite denying Dean – and there was a fissure of energy between them; charged and static and thrumming with a dense undercurrent of tempt me some more and maybe I’ll bend and break for you.

Dean pressed a touch further, angling a look into Sam’s downcast eyes, lowering his voice just so. “Let me come in,” he said and it wasn’t a question. Sam knew it, too. Dean saw the way his shoulders tensed, a stiffness moving down his spine, but his gaze lifted, half-hidden by the soft fall of his hair about his cheeks, and in it was the soft, very minuscule emotion that matched Dean’s own – want. Curiosity, too. An ember of it sitting pale and cold.

Dean intended to stoke it to full heat.

“Sammy.” He said, grit and gravel and just the right side of gruff.

Sam relented. His internal struggle clearly displayed on his face; the little line between his eyebrows and the squinch of his mouth, but it gave in beautifully. “For coffee.” He said.

“Yeah. Coffee.” Dean would let him pretend that was all it was. They both knew it wasn’t. They both skirted the fetid, bloated spark of what if like it was made of poison. As if the moment they gave over to it they’d be forever impaired.

“Just coffee, Dean.”

“I know, Sammy.”

—

Sam went about the pretence of actually fixing up a cup a coffee for them both. Steaming and bitter smelling and Dean humoured him, sipping it standing up in the small kitchenette. It was spotless, the sink gleaming under the low-orange lamplight. The tea towels neatly hung.

Sam stood also, resting the small of his back against the counters edge, holding his coffee mug in front of him like it might offer him some protection from what was simmering between them. Like it might morph into the shape of a shield so he could hold Dean off.

It might’ve been the stretching shadows falling across the room from the dark window over the sink, but something was askew, Sam’s gaze was just a touch too ardent; equal parts trepidation and temptation. But there was something else behind his eyes, something not as familiar to Dean.

He watched the way Sam lifted his mug to his lips, taking a small sip. Watched the way his throat worked around the swallow. The way his gaze skittered behind Dean’s left shoulder, back to his face, away again to some point beyond his head.

And ah, that was what the slippery emotion was. Dean felt only slightly unmanned by it. Because of course it should be there, a stark thing between them, bolder than the desire or the curiosity.

He should have seen it sooner. The red-rimmed eyes, the heavy-lidded gaze – sleep deprived, bluish bruise-like smudges under Sam’s eyes – and the hesitant little nibble he gave his bottom lip, a habit from childhood. Only back then he’d take to his nails.

“Don’t do that.” Dean told him.

“Do what?” and Sam looked genuinely puzzled.

“That. The whole beating yourself up over what we did. It’s not cute and you look wrecked.”

“I –” Sam paused, swallowing thickly. Then looked away to the gleam of the stainless-steel sink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

“Dean,”

But Dean was reaching behind him with a clatter of ceramic on laminate, fumbling his half-drunk coffee down onto the counter behind him and advancing quickly on Sam. Three strides and he’d crossed the small space.

“Dean, don’t.” Sam told him, chest catching around a sharp inhale. His coffee held up between them as if it would do any good to ward Dean off.

“Don’t what?” he prompted.

“This. Whatever this is.” Sam looked just a touch too desperate. Yet, for all his words he hadn’t moved to shove Dean away, and he could. He could reach out and force Dean back out of his personal space. He didn’t and it was telling.

It was all Dean needed to know.

“I’m going to, Sam. Put it down.”

“What?”

“Your coffee. Put it down.”

“Why?”

“So it doesn’t go everywhere.”

Despite the unnerved expression Sam gave him, he did as Dean bid, placing his mug down on the sink and then Dean moved.

He caught Sam by the wrist, easily enough, but Sam didn’t relent so simply and it took Dean a moment to overpower him by sheer strength, a messy tussle in the middle of the kitchenette, a grunt from Sam as Dean whirled him bodily around by a grip on his bicep and shoved him roughly up against the edge of the sink.

“You’re out of practice, Sammy,” he taunted, holding the captured arm high up between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“Get off me!” Sam gritted out, though he knew better than to struggle. It was easy to dislocate a shoulder in such a hold and Dean had utilised it for that exact reason. Sam’s free hand scrambled at the edge of the sink, nails scratching at the stainless-steel, but he held himself steady enough to avoid more strain on his shoulder.

“Give up?” Dean felt the way Sam’s muscles trembled. He was taller, but Dean had been training longer and hunting longer, too. He outmatched Sam in physical strength easily enough. It was a heady realisation. He stepped the small distance closer, closing the space between them and bringing his chest up against Sam’s quivering back.

It served to make Sam cry out, a garbled sound that might’ve been a curse word. Not from surprise at the closeness, but from the strain of his shoulder, held firm and high and aching.

“Dean!”

“Say it.”

“I – uh, I give up. Let me go.”

Dean did so, but he didn’t step away. Instead, he reached out and gripped the back of Sam’s neck, hard. A tight hold. Not that Sam was trying to wriggle away, too busy rubbing his shoulder but he tensed up at the contact.

“Not like this.” He muttered, breathy. Dean brushed the pad of his thumb over the soft skin of Sam’s nape, baby-fine hairs and the slight dampness of perspiration.

“Not like what?” Dean didn’t need to ask it. He already knew.

Not like this, not rough. Not forced. Not in the middle of the kitchenette. Not rushed. Not frantic.

Dean didn’t think it was ever going to be anything but those things. It was always destined to be messy and dirty and quick between them. Spurred on by a drunk phone-call and the spark of self-loathing in his baby brother’s eyes.

It was always going to be this way.

He couldn’t explain that to Sam, couldn’t find the words to convey it. Not with the heat of Sam’s body pressed to his front. Not with the thrumming, awakening arousal stirring between his own hips. And definitely not when Sam made a pitiful little noise in the back of his throat, pleading, and yeah, nah, Dean couldn’t say it but he could show Sam exactly how it was going to be tonight.

He kicked the side of his boot against the inner part of Sam’s shoe, forcing him to widen his stance. And Sam didn’t refuse. Didn’t say a word. Only ducked his head, shoulders hunching up, gripping the edge of the sink like it was his only lifeline and waited. Allowing Dean to position him how he wanted to.

Dean was already half-hard. His chest tight from a combination of expectation and anticipation. He reached around Sam’s front, fingers skimming over the cold metal of the belt buckle, prying it open with only a slight fumble. Sam let him. He canted his hips back so Dean could open the flies of his jeans, so he could drag the denim down, the white-cotton underwear along with it.

Dean’s breath caught behind his sternum at the submission. Of course, Sam would let him do anything he wanted to him. When hadn’t he? He’d always been this way. Only now, in the dimly-lit kitchenette, with Sam half-unclothed and held carefully still, Dean realised just how much control he’d always had over his little brother. It was an intoxicating thing. Thick and swelling his cock to full attention.

Sam’s fingers bent around the lip of the sink, knuckles standing out from how firmly he gripped it, the heel of his hands slipping a little as Dean moved up roughly behind him. With his jeans puddled by his feet his ass was bared, pale and pert and fuck Dean needed to have it right now or he’d keel over and die.

“D-Dean,”

“I’ve got you.”

“Dean, wait,” unsure. His voice wavered over the words.

“Spread your legs a little more, Sammy,” cajoling, he bent forward a little to breathe it against the nape of Sam’s neck, stirring the fine little hairs there. He felt rather than saw the moment Sam shuffled his feet apart some more. “Good boy.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Only that it came sudden and deep from his chest. Came out warm and thick and Dean didn’t want to take it back.

Sam made a soft noise in the back of his throat, not quite a moan, not quite a whimper. Dean wanted to hear more of those little sounds. To make Sam lose all sense of the rigid control he had on himself.

“Gonna take you apart, baby,” he promised, opening his mouth to graze his teeth against the side of Sam’s neck; sensitive skin and the shiver of Sam’s body against his front. “Gonna make you beg for it. Make you come so hard you can’t keep standing. You want that?”

“Dean – I, mmh-ah!” Dean cut him off with a firm bite to the fleshy little earlobe, he sucked it hard before letting it go. But it had served to quiet Sam’s protests.

“You’re hot for it, Sammy. Aren’t you?”

He didn’t need to reach around and feel for the proof of Sam’s arousal. He could smell it; musky male and the slight sourness of sweat and something deeper, something additive; a warm scent that was purely Sam.

“Dean… fuck.” And it was a relent. A release of some inner boundary. A retreat of Sam’s iron-clad self-control. Sam gasped softly, tipping his chin up, throwing his head back and Dean couldn’t help licking at the sharp jawline that was displayed for him. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Dean wanted to know, smoothing his hands around Sam’s narrow hips, warm and firm and holding him in place.

“Yeah!” Sam gasped again, this time it was lower-pitched, needful, his body jolting underneath Dean’s hands. “I need it.” He admitted.

And yeah. Yeah, Dean knew he needed it. Craved his big brother’s touch. Wanted it despite how dirtybadwrong it was. Sam was equally as fucked-up as Dean was. Maybe more so. And Dean was adamant on taking advantage of that.

“You want me to mess you up, baby boy?”

Sam’s ass pressed back, seeking out Dean’s hips, pale and round and perfect and then he moaned for Dean, high in his throat like the prettiest whore and Dean snapped. Gave himself over to the physical ache in his loins and the searing urge to take and have and possess.

“I won’t be gentle.” He said and it was a threat as much as a promise.

Despite his guttural words, he didn’t immediately act. He flexed his fingers on Sam’s hips, feeling the way his brother shivered just a little, poised and held very still, gripping the edge of the sink, his head bowed, hair falling about his face, and Dean had the urge to spin Sam around, to see his face, his expression. But there wasn’t time for that; not with his erection aching in the confines of his jeans, pressed hard up against the unforgiving zipper.

Nah. Tonight would be just like this.

He kept a hold of Sam’s hip with one hand while he caressed his other around, over the flat stomach and lower, to the jut of Sam’s arousal; full and heated and it twitched as Dean wrapped his fingers around the length.

Sam must have bitten off his noise, because it came out barely audible. Dean gave the cock in his hand a firm stroke from base to tip. And it didn’t matter that he’d never done this with a man before – hell, he’d never even thought about doing it with a guy – because Sam gave him a wobbly small noise and canted his hips forward, seeking more friction and Dean was done for.

Abso-fucking-lutely gone.

“Fuck, Sammy, you like it huh?”

“Yeah,” softly said, almost hesitantly. And it was almost comical that Sam could hold reservations while pinned to the counter, with Dean’s hand wrapped firmly around his cock, breathless and helpless and so fucking hard he felt like granite in Dean’s fist.

“Let go.” Dean told him, it was meant to sound comforting, but it came out growled. A gruff order.

It done the trick, however. Sam grunted something – might’ve been a curse word – and pressed his arousal into Dean’s hand some more, shy thrusts of his hips that became more sporadic and quicker as Dean tightened his hold and let Sam fuck into his fist.

“That’s it, Sammy.” He breathed. His own arousal hurt. Trapped and thrumming.

He let go of Sam’s hip, but kept his hand on his cock, watching the jerky way Sam moved, the dip of his head hanging low between his arms, the shiver through his knees. And as swiftly as he could, Dean undone his jeans one-handed, ripping open the top button and finally, finally freeing his length from the denim confines of his jeans.

“Dean,” Sam swallowed hard. “I’m close.”

“I know.” He could feel the way Sam’s shaft pulsed. Warm and solid and leaking wetly at the tip. The pre-cum eased the way for Dean to go quicker still, which made Sam gasp, letting go of the sink with one hand to reach between his legs, as if to stop Dean.

“Dean!”

“C’mon, it’ll be easier if you come. You’ll be more relaxed for when I put it in.” At least that’s the way it worked with women. Most of the time. Dean had taken his fair share of virgins, getting them off first helped ease their tension and got them nice and wet. But Sammy was not a girl and he was squirming against Dean, his fingernails digging into the skin of Dean’s wrist that jacked him, but he didn’t try and pull Dean away, only held tight and let himself be brought to climax.

A quiver against Dean’s front. A cut-off noise that might’ve been beautiful had Sam not stifled it. Was still hot, muffled and trembly and fuck, Dean was on the edge with a suddenness that surprised him.

He pressed himself forward, heedless to Sam’s unsteadiness; the way he let go of Dean’s wrist to hold tight to the sink again or else his knees would give out, and Dean thrust forward – not in, because that would have been near impossible with no preparation – grinding his flushed cock between Sam’s ass cheeks, three firm thrusts; the feel of the puckered hole against the underside of his cock and the way Sam panted, coming down from his orgasm-induced high, was all it took for Dean to come.

A spurt of hot cum; it splattered over the small of Sam’s back, dripped between his ass cheeks, a slick mess that Dean watched as he rode out the last ripples of pleasure. His stomach felt tight from it, his cock twitched as he thrusts a few more times.

His head was exceptionally light. Thoughts floating somewhere high above him, skirting the ceiling a moment, before he slowly descended. And fuck, despite coming he could still feel the simmering undercurrents of arousal. The need to fuck and fuck hard.

“You good?” he said, his voice was raspy. He must have cried out when he’d come. He couldn’t recall. He let go of the soft slip of Sam’s cock, wet with ejaculate. It was cooling on Dean’s hand, too. Slick between his fingers. It didn’t disgust him, the proof of his baby brother’s lust only bolstered his own lust, a swoop inside his stomach. Pleasant and heated.

Sam’s legs were shaky, Dean watched him steady himself against the sink, straightened his arms and locking his elbows, he nodded though, still breathless. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” Then, because his cock was only half-soft and his desire outweighed his lazy post-orgasm languidness, he said, “Five minutes and then we’re going again. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk for a week.”

[weirdbrosinc]

the way sam looked like it pained him to be intimate with ruby... the way he held back... he just wants to fuck his brother

[samofmine]

as much as i love the fact that sam and dean would have kinky, filthy, nasty sex with each other, i LOVE how they would also have the most intense, passionate, it's-not-fucking-it's-making-love type of sex as well.

imagine all that adoration, the longing, the years they spent apart from each other they can't seem to ever make up for, the overwhelming desire.

they would worship each other's body. dean would caress every inch of sam's skin, kiss everywhere he could reach, whisper love declarations on his ear before he finally fucks him slowly and deep while looking into his eyes and tasting his moans, caressing his hair, pulling him closer and holding him through his orgasm, saying how much he loves him, how perfect he is and how perfectly they fit together.

sam would taste every inch of dean's body, feel him hard and leaking on his hand and jerk him slowly and steady, watching closely as pleasure takes over his expression, drinking in the sight and telling him how much he loves him, loves this, wants to make him feel good over and over again. he would fuck dean slowly, kissing him, praising him with every thrust, saying how good he feels, how good he takes care of him, how he wouldn't trade being his for anything in the world. he would kiss his chest and the side of his neck and intertwine their fingers together, foreheads touching, feeling dean's breath getting faster and shakier against his own skin, and they would come together, shaking and moaning each other's name.

they would probably be overwhelmed with the intensity of what they make each other feel and make each other tear up a little. neither of them quite believe they deserve such an intense expression of love, but nonetheless, they adore each other's bodies in a way that makes them understand religion.

[amaranthmori]

[slutbee]

he's always mine

a wincest oneshot

1.5k words

Excerpt:

"Dean, what-"

"Shhhh, Sammy," Dean slurred, whiskey-breath hot on his neck. "Need you."

Sam let go of the tension in his shoulders as he allowed Dean to fumble with his belt buckle and yank his jeans down around his ankles.

His brother needed him, and that's what they had agreed to. There was nothing Sam wouldn't do for Dean, at any time of day or night, no matter where they were. He belonged to his brother, and his brother belonged to him.

link to the work on AO3