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Smith had been working by Wesson’s side for over a year now; they spent more time together in the same room than he did with anyone else in his family or friends. Wesson had risen through the ranks, with Dean’s enthusiastic approval and support, from going postal on some hardware in IT support that one day to where he sat now in the C-suite office next to Dean’s. When Dean and Sam put the ghost of Sandover, the very founder of this company, to rest, Smith had known that he wanted Wesson as a partner, and he’d managed to strategically oust the stuffy, dust-collecting other board members as the years went by after that incident. The all-encompassing branding and employee policy reform that followed Sam’s little freak-out with that poor hardware was written so believably well by Dean himself; the board just soaked it right up. He had presented it not only as a rejuvenation of the brand but found that they gained traction as a positive and inclusive employer on social media, which was in its beginning stages back then, but something Dean had had his thumb on the pulse with even back then as Director of Sales and Marketing.
Well, and here in the present, Sam was sitting across from him as they planned their strategic goals for the new fiscal year. They had become the de facto co-leaders of the firm, but their partnership wasn’t about what legal authority they had on behalf of the board and the name Sandover Corp on a world business stage, but how the two Alphas simply got along. Unlike many of their designation, they complemented each other in differing thought processes so well that it turned into corporate strategic and tactical magic.
There was also the problem that Dean had been falling in love with Sam Wesson. How far back? He wasn’t even willing to admit it in the privacy of his own mind, but it was far too long to now be working this close to him daily. Being at the C-suite level in a company meant you spent all your work days in meetings strategizing, sweet-talking customers, communicating with your fellow upper echelon colleagues, or directorship-level managers to help them troubleshoot matters. With the complete overhaul they’d brought in, he and Sam, that meant at least two to three hours of overlap, including their lunch break most days, to talk shop.
With the new modern era of Sandover’s product portfolio that they had shuffled in came the interview requests from various magazines, best managed company awards that wanted them as guest speakers, and most mind-blowing of all, the rumors about them being together together while present and rising for a while now, never crested or crashed into anything specific.
This week was both strategically important for business and the week of their extravagant holiday party that had become the event with local celebrities and who’s who. On one hand, what they presented to the board next Monday was the direction for the company as a whole, and it was their most adventurous corporate strategy yet. On the other hand, they were the centerpieces and stars of the fundraiser and employee appreciation party at Sandover for the holidays. They would pick the charity or cause through employee surveys and pick the top three most requested ones. It was a masterful strike of genius on Dean’s part because it generated an unprecedentedly positive reputation for the company with audiences that mattered. It was also a significant tax write-off for the company, as Sam had figured out, when the IRS came knocking each year.
Dean watched Sam, where he sat in his visitor’s chair, a comfortable upholstered modern dark wood frame affair with vanilla-colored cushioning. Behind him was the glass shelf-covered wall containing Dean’s awards and some mementos, while the floor-to-ceiling windows allowed the warm afternoon sunlight to dance around Sam’s hair and bathe him in an ethereal glow. His suit, as always, was impeccable, a dark slate gray single-row suit jacket and slacks with a light gray dress shirt under it, finished off with a perfectly-tied black and navy patterned tie. Dean shimmied in his own office chair and just caught his hand from doing something really embarrassing where it had dropped between his thighs. Luckily, the tabletop hid all that from Wesson.
“Dean? You with me? Kinda spaced out for a sec?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised in concern and leaning forward a bit as if to see Dean up close and check on him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Dean coughed to clear his throat and sat up straight to look at Sam across the massive top of his desk. “Just the sunlight got into my eyes,” he fibbed, kind of half turned in his chair, got up, and walked over to the windows to hide his burgeoning erection and to lower the blinds.
Sam’s gaze burned a hole into his back, which made him actually get hot under his collar, and he couldn’t even tell why. Yeah, he’d been gone for the man for years, but he would never pursue him. They were professionals and business partners; no good would come from an emotional entanglement. He placed his palm on the cool window pane and sighed out a long breath of relief.
“Dean, hey? What’s going on with you?” Dean could smell him, his earthy, masculine scent and the aftershave that complemented it, before any words were spoken. Wesson’s palm on his shoulder blade, meant to be grounding Dean figured, felt like a branding iron through Dean’s suit. He forced himself to relax into it as best he could and dipped his head forward until his forehead touched the blissfully cool glass of the window.
After a few more exhales and Sam giving him the space and moment he needed, he said, “Must've eaten something gone off, don’t feel so good.”
“Say no more, here.” Sam removed the file folders that took up real estate on the couch, which rang along the window front of Dean’s office, and fluffed up one of the three decorative pillows for him before telling him to settle down. As Sam did so, he had his back turned, and the fabric on his slacks pulled tight across his muscular ass and thighs. The sight made Dean want to push him down, pin him to the leather surface of the couch, and claim him right here, right now.
“I need, I need you to leave, Sam.” The words were low, a threat, and made Sam’s hackles rise, or as much as a modern-day Alpha’s hackles could rise. Dean watched Sam straighten up to his full height and saw him turn slowly to face him. He was fucking huge, must have been hitting the gym even more than usual, and Dean was salivating quite literally when he saw the corded bulge of muscle move under the tailored suit.
“Dean, any chance you are in a rut? Because your pheromones are all over the place right now. Is there an Omega I can call? Any service you use?”
Dean huffed a laugh at that. If only it were as easy as calling an Omega to help him. He was fucking wired wrong, wanted to take and own Sam and never let him go. Knot his tight Alpha hole, screw all consequences, and bite down on that strong column of his neck to make him his. Something must have shown on his face, and he realized he hadn’t even answered the question.
“Dean?” Sam took on a fighting stance, hands relaxed but ready to act. They’d both been taking martial arts since the ghost hunt, and Dean knew how well Sam could fight and how they were quite evenly paired when sparring. “I’m going to walk out of here, put the privacy screens to 100% opaque, and you do what you gotta do to get yourself back to normal. Rub one out, rut the couch, but I’m not about to fight you here in the office, you hear?”
“Yeah, why are you talking to me like I’m some pup or helpless Omega? Telling me what to do. You’re not my Alpha.” But I want you to be, he thought to himself.
“You’re an Alpha with a lot to lose and who’s seconds away from attacking me in broad daylight. In the office of the company you are the CEO of. Now tell me what you want to do about that?”
“I want you to bend down and present your Alpha ass so I can fuck you into the couch and knot your tight hole and bite your neck to claim you… Oh God, fuck, Sam.” Dean blushed furiously after the swell of words just poured out of him, untethered, guilt and shame rolling over him like a tidal wave. He just single-handedly fucked everything up with one moment of lack of control.
“You want to claim me? Another Alpha?” Sam looked at Dean, perplexed, wide-eyed, and was that a glint of hope in his eyes? Dean couldn’t quite trust his own analysis of the situation because his rut was ramping up exponentially, his sight tinging red with the animalistic nature of it.
“Sam, please, I can’t hold back. You have to leave. Now!” The last word was a roar, and Dean glared Sam down as he said it, legitimately trying to scare him off.
“Your eyes, Dean. You … We can’t, two Alphas?” It was more of a question than a statement, Sam’s tone hopeless, like it wasn't something he had a solution for.
“Don’t you think I fucking know that? Now leave, Wesson.” Dean held on to his desk, fingertips red then white with how tightly he was gripping the wood to avoid grabbing Sam instead, his neck, his biceps, or that narrow waist of his.
Sam backed away from him, hands up, palms facing Dean, and flicked the switch that made the walls of Dean’s office fully opaque, not just milky for privacy, and left. With every step he took, Dean swore he could sense how Sam’s scent dissipated, and his Alpha howled pitifully at the loss of his mate. Mate? Where the hell did that come from now?”.
Dean checked that the door was locked and returned to the couch, where he pulled off his own belt and folded it up to shove between his teeth in hopes of keeping himself quiet. He dragged his slacks and boxers down to underneath his balls, his erection bouncing up toward his stomach, his knot already half-formed and precome glistening at the tip. Leaning back on the carefully curated pillows and using spit for lube, he was stripping his own cock, vigorous and desperate, imagining the tight hot walls of Sam’s around him instead of his own fist until he roared out his orgasm around the leather in his mouth and slumped back on the couch. His head hurt, his arm ached, and his cock was red and raw from how brutally hard he’d been with himself. This had been nothing but a perfunctory hand job to take the edge off a biological reaction. They needed to get this week over with because he couldn’t deal with this right now.
As unsatisfactory as his post-orgasm felt, it helped clear his mind and made the Alpha in him simmer down to the point of him being able to focus on work and finish his day at the office. The last thing to get through was a client meeting with a group of Japanese businessmen who expressed interest in the marketing approaches Sandover engaged in. He’d gotten some rut suppressants from his assistant, Charlie, and was able to be semi-productive that afternoon until it was time to head to the restaurant.
Throughout the entire evening, Sam’s eyes flitted over to Dean far more often than necessary, and he outright glared at Sam when he caught him for the twentieth time. Dean felt a little bad when that made Sam blush and look away.
For all that Sam was watching Dean, he was watching Wesson right back, and something was different about him tonight. Sam seemed restless, louder somehow, and a little nervous. Of course, there was his smooth talking, charm, and charisma that shone through in circumstances like this, but Dean knew him well enough to know when he was masking a little bit. Also, Wesson blushing because of something he did had never happened before, except when they were sparring, in that case they were both flushed and sweaty from exertion.
***
They had seen the Japanese delegation off in two of their company’s town cars and waved goodbye to them. Every single one of them had had a bit too much alcohol, even Dean was a bit tipsy, but he knew Sam was practically sober; he’d watched him all evening.
“You okay, Wesson?” Dean asked Sam where they stood on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant they’d been at.
“Huh? Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” His hand flew to the nape of his neck so fast, Dean almost laughed out loud at how nervous he looked.
“Wanna try again? I see you for multiple hours every day, and you’ve been off, on edge all evening, what gives?” Dean dug deeper and watched Wesson squirm under his gaze, which was ridiculous because he was so tall he had to look up at him.
“Look, the things you said in the office earlier. I - I want that, all of it.”
“You want the rollout on Instagram and the hockey camp idea in collaboration with the NHL?” Dean truly was at a loss because they’d already agreed, and surely Sam couldn’t be talking about his Alpha hormone-influenced diatribe earlier.
Sam stared at him, cheeks flushed with pink all the way across the bridge of his pretty nose, and his tip-tilted hazel eyes looking at Dean with heat.
“Oh? Oh. But you said we can’t.” Dean stumbled over the words as disbelief and tenacious hope flooded him in equal measure.
“As did you, but erm… It’s. Oh gosh, this is awkward. It’s legal, you know? That new bill that passed? I wanna try, well, not try. I actually want you to do all that.” There was an easing of tension in Sam’s face, like saying all this was a weight off of him, and that wasn’t making any sense, was it?
“Wesson, hold on. Are you, what are you saying?” Dean couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Surely this wasn’t possible, and he needed Wesson to spell it out.
“I’m saying I want you to pin me down and knot me, I want you to claim me as your Alpha. your mateship bite, I’d wear it with pride because I feel it too between us, the bond, you know? I’m not supposed to go into a rut for another month, but it’s right there under the surface.”
“Mates? You think I’m your mate?!” Dean exclaimed, and Sam’s hand flew up to Dean’s lips to try and shush him, looking around frantically, which was fair. They were in public and not exactly anonymous in this city. His palm was warm, soft, and wonderful where it brushed across his lips.
Dean also realized that Sam looked hurt, confused, and so terribly insecure, a look that he’d also never seen on him before. “Let me rephrase that like the proper human being I’m supposed to be,” Dean said and continued as plainly as he could. “You think I’m your mate when it’s me who has been in love with you from pretty much the moment you walked in as IT support. Seeing you stride out of that elevator on your first day, making that god-awful polo shirt fight for its life with your wide chest? My crush was further cemented by our ridiculous jump into being monster hunters, and I haven’t been able to think of anyone but you. Especially this past year, working alongside you for hours every day, sparring in martial arts, and having shop-talk lunches with you nearly every day. I want you, Sam, truly, in every way. The fact that you seem to want me seems too good to be true, it terrifies me and makes my stomach do somersaults at the same time.” Dean inwardly cringed at how sappy that all was. His ears were ringing, his heartbeat picking up, and his stomach was unsettled with both nerves, hope, and fear. Fear of rejection, he realized, still even after all that was already said.
Sam smiled and cupped the side of Dean’s face in his large palm before he offered Dean a hotel room key with a post-it on it with his other hand.
“Meet me here in an hour, yeah?” Sam leaned in until their foreheads touched, and Dean noticed that Sam’s scent was extra, a little spicier than normal, alongside the underlying familiarity of Wesson’s orange and cinnamon scent that he loved so much. He turned the nondescript plastic card over in his hand. In Sam’s accurate, printed handwriting, it read, "Bourgeois - Room 921.”
The Bourgeois Hotel was one of the finest hotels downtown. Dean swallowed emptily at the implication and looked up at Sam, seeking reassurance that this was really what Sam wanted.
Sam gave him a nod and winked at him, before giving Dean a wide, dimpled smile. “See you there, Smith.” Then he slid into his car that had pulled up while they were talking and was gone.
Dean waved his driver away with an exorbitant tip for having wasted his time and started walking. Vaguely in the right direction of the Burgeous, but not really intent on ever getting there. His mind was reeling, moving felt good, as did the cool nighttime air, and his breath was picking up, heart beat racing; panic, he was panicking, and he had no idea how to deal. All the scenarios of how this could go wrong were racing through his mind: the branding, the company’s reputation, his entire career, and Sam’s, for that matter, could be decimated if the board didn’t buy into how they were gonna spin it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swore out loud and got a judgmental side eye from a couple passing him by. He just glared back at them and smirked when they sped up their pace. His hair was a mess by now from tense fingers running through it, and he could feel the effects of the rut suppressants he’d asked his assistant Charlie for wane with every step he took. He needed to make a decision on this now, three options really.
Go and take whatever Sam was offering, like they both wanted.
Go and talk sense into Sam and, by extension, himself, that this could never happen.
Stay away and leave Sam hanging.
Even as he thought of option three, he’d never bail on Sam, no matter the situation. In fact, the stakes felt higher than ever before. This was the culmination of years of yearning, pining, secretly admiring Sam, and loving him quietly with the knowledge that he could never have him.
It sent him into a spiral mentally, and ridiculously enough, his cock was pressing against the zipper of his suit pants. Clearly, his body had no issues with what he wanted, but it was his head that needed to play catch-up. All these carefully constructed walls and self-regulation methods to keep from wanting Sam and slipping up, that he’d built up over the years, started to crack and crumble one hairline fissure at a time as he kept walking.
He had stopped to sit down on a bench at the outer perimeter of a small city park, watching the people walking by but really not registering anyone. The vibrating of his phone made him jump, and he read the message from Sam. “See you soon. Sam”
Dean realized that he’d never confirmed or refused the invitation, and he started typing a reply, the way he would always reply to Sam’s texts just as soon as he got them. Sam was obviously waiting for a response as he saw the three dots moving on the screen of the app. “Screw it,” Dean said, seeing that he would be twenty minutes early after checking his smartphone, but he couldn’t wait anymore, not when he’d waited years already.
***
“Just a second.” Sam’s voice sounded flustered despite being muffled by the door, and he answered it, only opening it enough to make eye contact with whoever stood on the other side. His large feet were bare on the low-pile carpet of the room, and the hemline of his fuzzy robe cut at his lean, muscled legs just above the knee. Dean felt ridiculously grateful for the one-size-fits-most bathrobes hotels supplied because Wesson had never looked hotter.
“Dean? Eh.. hold on, you, uhm, you’re early,” Sam stammered and fumbled with the chain and slide lock of the hotel room door before opening it wide and waving Dean inside. He looked dewy, freshly showered, and it took conscious effort not to pull him in close by the fuzzy lapels of the robe. His chestnut brown hair was natural, a little wave to it, and still a little wet from the shower he must have had. His face flushed, his hazel eyes never leaving Dean’s, and his bulky, tall form was shaping the robe in all sorts of appealing ways.
“Sam, I - Did you mean what you said earlier? About me?” Dean looked down at his shoes and took a deep breath. This was it, the moment where his life would end or start fresh in a way he’d never had before. He felt guilty for needing Sam to say it again. “Did you mean what you said about me claiming you and knotting you? It’s not something I take lightly, you know? It will change things.”
Sam stepped closer and tilted Dean’s chin up with gentle fingers and kissed him, soft and chaste, just a brush of lips really. “Change can be good, Dean.” He kissed him again, hungrier this time, and Dean melted into it, kissing him back, wrapping a hand possessively around Sam’s waist, where he felt the firm, muscled body under the fuzzy robe. His other hand wandered up and gripped the still-damp hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. A growl vibrated from his chest, and Sam smiled against his lips, tilting his head willingly to expose his throat when Dean applied just a modicum of pressure. “Take me, Alpha,” he whispered, and Dean didn’t waste any time.
He kissed his way down the side of Sam’s neck and ravaged his lips when he yanked the fluffy hotel-branded bathrobe off of Sam. Wesson started stumbling backwards and held on to Dean’s torso, kissing back desperately, turned on, his cock rigid against Dean’s hip, fabric separating their cocks as they slid alongside each other. Dean gave him a hard shove, and Sam wind-milled his arms as he fell backward onto the bed. He scooted up the bed, watching Dean with a gaze like liquid fire, aggressive and strong, all Alpha, and let his legs fall wide open.
Dean kicked off his shoes, suit, and underwear at lightning speed and crawled onto the bed and blanketed Sam’s body with his, light freckled skin on tan, their lips clashing, his hand gripping Sam’s hair tight to keep him in place. Sam melted into the mattress under him, like having his Alpha on top of him was all he’d ever wished for, and Dean finally considered that that was actually it.
“Fuck, Dean, your damn freckles truly are everywhere.” A dopey, happy grin on Sam’s face went along with the words.
“Far too coherent, Alpha,” Dean growled against Sam’s lips and started rutting his cock against Sam’s more eagerly, and watched as his head fell back into the pillow, small gasps and needy groans pouring from his lips.
“Please, want you in me, don’t want to come like … Fuck… Come like this, please, Alpha,” Sam begged, and Dean himself was riled up as much as Wesson, knowing he’d blow his load if he kept going like this. Sam’s entire body was shuddering, his fists clenched tightly in the bedsheets as he rutted their cocks against each other’s, his immense physical strength pushing into Dean and lifting him off the bed a little.
A whimper escaped him when Dean pulled back enough to kiss his way down Sam’s torso, kneading his pecs and mouthing his nipples until he arched up into his touch with a needy moan ripping from his throat. Another less articulated plea from Sam made Smith continue his exploration along the dips and valleys of Wesson’s six-pack that shuddered beneath every touch and further south along the V-shaped lower abs, which were like a neon sign toward his rigid cock.
Dean took a moment to look his fill; this massive Alpha was like putty under his hands, all willing and so damn gorgeous, all laid out for him. Sam’s scent was heady and ripe, mingling with Dean’s, which made his inner Alpha roar with possessiveness and just shy of being completely unhinged and feral.
“Fuck, you look - I wanna devour you, Wesson. Can I?” Dean articulated his words by licking his tongue up the underside of Sam’s cock until he scooped up the glistening drop of precome at the tip.
“Yeah… Fuck… Ngh… P-please.” Taking the head of Sam’s cock in his mouth, he started to pump the shaft of it with his hand, forcing Sam’s legs up and over his shoulders, making space for himself. The noises Wesson made increased in pitch; it didn't take long until Dean could tell that he was close. The shuddering breaths he took and hearing him like this was everything, and more than he’d ever imagined this being.
When he had Sam just on the brink, he pulled off with a wet pop and smirked up at Wesson, who looked strung out on lust and sex, eyes half-lidded with a hunger that made him look predatory. Dean had no doubt that Wesson could flip them both over in a heartbeat and let his Alpha off the leash. “Gonna make you feel so damn good, Alpha,” Dean promised and rubbed his knuckles along Sam’s perineum while kissing the inside of one of his thighs, which made Wesson purr like a damn kitten and his muscles relax in the process. He kept going, intent on rubbing across his Alpha’s hole, but found a rubber flange instead and not a tiny starter plug either.
“Wesson! Did you? Is that? Fuck!” Dean fisted his knot, which threatened to expand to full size, at how Sam’s rim was wrapping around a thick butt plug. Dean’s mind pictured Wesson freshly showered, with one foot propped up on the bed, reaching back to work himself open with those massive fingers of his and then popping a knotted Alpha butt plug into his tight hole.
“W-wanted to be ready for you, barely finished before you showed up.”
Dean unshouldered Sam’s legs and leaned forward to kiss Sam, who cradled his face in both palms, large, warm, and tender; the kiss was anything but.
“How do you want me, Alpha?” Sam’s face was too close to be anything but a blur when his words brushed across Dean’s lips, their hips grinding against each other without conscious thought, and Dean kissed him some more, nipping at his lower lip.
“Turn over for me, get your knees under you,” Dean requested and pulled himself off of Sam just enough so he could turn over while still caged by his arms. Sam’s back was a masterpiece, the breadth of those shoulders he finally got to admire openly, which he’d seen move beautifully under a business suit, and the delicious taper to a narrow waist above a muscular butt with the black flange spreading Wesson’s cheeks just slightly.
“Hmm… Love that you got ready for me like this.” He grabbed the bottle of lube that Sam left on the bedding in his haste to open the door for him earlier. “Fingered yourself open, bet you were rock hard doing it, too, weren’t you?” The words came easily now that he allowed himself to truly have this with Sam, and he pumped the black toy in and out of him, watching in fascination as his rim stretched around the thick, knotted part of it. The pink skin was glistening with lube, and Dean needed to be in there, now. He could feel his knot reacting to everything: the sight, the feel, their mingled scents, and the pheromones of this Alpha that screamed mate on repeat in his mind.
“Alpha… Ngh,” Sam pleaded, cheek pressed into the pillow, his back curved, and his long, lean legs folded under him, a shiver of tension running through him in anticipation as Dean ran soothing hands up and down his torso. He was kneeling up at Sam’s back, their hips at the same height.
Smith pulled the plug all the way out, slow and steady, but not stopping until it popped free. Wesson’s hole was trying to tighten up, clenching around nothing, a low moan in his throat, his voice deep and wrecked, muffled by the pillow. Dean petted his flank soothingly and slicked himself up generously before finally sliding in. Despite all the prep, Sam was tight, hot, and perfect around Dean’s girthy, rigid cock. He could feel him tense up and stopped moving. “Sam, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I - I will be. I’ve never - with an Alpha.” The words were shuddering out of him, and Dean kept rubbing his palms down his arched back and down the side of his thigh, grounding him with touch to get him to relax. “There’s no rush,” I wanna just thrust in, gotta hold it together, gotta make this good for him.
“So… Ah… So big, wanna be ready, don’t - I don’t like pain.” Sam blushed visibly and almost tried to hide his face in the pillow when he said so. Dean wanted to punch out whoever made him feel like he needed to specifically ask not to be hurt during sex.
“Sweetheart, I - I love you, the last thing I’d ever do is hurt you, you hear? My love, breathe with me, yeah?” Dean gently pulled out and, without warning, spread Sam’s cheeks and licked his tongue flat across his opening. He could taste himself, and Sam, whose scent was more intense here, and the unscented lube he had used. It wasn’t the most pleasant thing all combined, but he worked Sam open properly, slick fingers and his tongue working in perfect synchronicity. Sam’s folded legs spread wider as he kept going, his beautiful, muscular body relaxing while Dean spread him open. He kept pumping his tongue in and out while he reached around to stroke Sam’s cock a handful of times, finding it rock-hard and leaking with arousal.
“There’s my gorgeous Alpha, relaxed and ready for me soon.” Dean knew he was a lot to take, even for Omegas, and Sam was most certainly not that, which he loved about him: his imposing presence, his kindness, his fierce energy in the boardroom, his vulnerability that Dean and Dean alone got to see. He moved his hand back to Sam’s hip for support and kept going.
“Let’s go for one more,” Dean announced, and Sam eagerly squeezed around his digits. He was three fingers deep, sliding in and out with ease, and now adding the fourth, gently fanning his fingers out to stretch him a little wider on every pass. Sam’s scent was like a drug, rut, spice, and pheromones, sending Dean to new heights, his cock dribbling and knot half-formed. He fisted it hard, almost cruelly, to buy them more time. Sam’s pleas for Dean, interspersed with hard breaths, and his body asking for everything Dean was willing to give, made it challenging. He wanted to bottom out in Sam, slam into him so hard he would have no choice but to flatten out, pin him down with a palm pressing down between his shoulder blades, but that was for another day if Sam wanted that too. “Fuuuuck… Sam, you don’t even know how beautiful you are like this, all warm, pliant, and so open, wanna make this better than anything you’ve ever experienced, my love, my mate.”
“Dean, please, I need, want … Ngh… Please, please, please.” The last words were puffs of air more than spoken words. Dean could see the profile of Sam’s face, his hazel eyes half-lidded, lips parted, and his fists white-knuckled where he gripped the fitted sheet of the bed.
“Pat my thigh to tap out if it’s too much.” A jerky nod of Sam’s head against the pillow was all he got in response. “Hold still, gorgeous. Yeah, oh fuck, you feel so good.” Dean knew he wouldn’t last long, but this time, when he had the head of his cock inside Sam, there was no flinching, no wince or tension. Sam relaxed completely, and Dean gripped his hips hard for leverage, careful not to dig his nails into the soft skin there, to keep him from pushing against him, keeping him from taking too much, too quickly. “Patience, my Alpha, wanna make sure you can take me.” Sam reached back with one hand, wrapping it around the back of Dean’s thigh, holding on, connecting, grounding himself.
“Alpha, please,” Sam huffed out, and Dean kept going, could feel him intermittently tighten and release around him, the heat of Wesson felt amazing enveloping his cock, and finally he was balls deep, the tight right closing around the root of his cock below his knot. “Ready for me to move, handsome?” Dean could feel the embers catching flame, every particle of focus zeroed in on where they were connected.
Sam was biting his lower lip and nodded almost frantically, clenching hard around Dean, which made him wince, so much tighter than any Omega, different and so right in every way. He reached around to stroke Sam’s erection again and made the other Alpha mewl helplessly. “Move, fucking move,” Wesson’s command was a growl, and Dean felt Sam’s fingers dig into his thigh where Sam pulled, ineffectually trying to get him to go deeper and almost managing for Dean to lose his balance.
Dean peeled Sam’s hand away from his leg and twisted his arm behind his back, a shocked exhale from Wesson before he voluntarily offered him his other arm. Just like that, gripping and pinning Sam’s wrists to the small of his back, Dean set a slow and steady pace, but his control was waning. His Alpha was snarling and eager to claim, to bite and make his what was so freely offered. “Oh fuck, Sam, yeah,” Dean grunted, hard slam of hips against hips, the obscene slapping of skin against skin, driving them both higher as their scents mingled around them, the smell of sex, musk and sweat permeated the entire room and Sam was a bundle of pure visceral pleasure beneath him, participating, pushing into every thrust from Dean. Sam’s breath punctuated with a throaty chorus of, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.” His voice was beautiful and drenched in lust, winding up to the tipping point with Dean just seconds behind him as he finally let his Alpha go, hard, relentless thrusts that shoved Sam up the bed, his grip remained firm but not bruising around Sam’s wrists as he pounded him through the mattress. Alpha on Alpha, knowing he didn’t have to hold back, that they were both equal in strength and that they both wanted this. His knot had swollen up to its full size, and Sam was taking it, no sign of discomfort, like a perfect match physically and in every way.
Sam was beyond words, but Dean read him just fine before he yanked him up to his knees by his arms so his front was flush with Sam’s back, Dean’s arms now wrapped around Wesson’s middle, and Sam reaching back to wrap large palms around the sides of Dean’s waist. Dean was more rutting now than slamming into Sam, his knot fully expanded and spreading Sam’s rim wide on every pass, the friction and tightness thrusting him toward the edge. Smith splayed the fingers of his left hand wide across Sam’s heaving chest to pin him against his body and took Wesson’s cock in hand, curling his fist around his fully-formed knot and stroking him root to tip, matching the incessant rhythm of his hips grinding up into Sam.
“Oh fuck, Sam… I’m gonna.” Dean’s orgasm rushed him far faster than expected, explosive and hard, and Sam leaned his head back against the side of Dean’s face before he tilted it to the side, presenting the side of his throat to Dean. “Mine.” Dean filled him up as he bit down hard, breaking the skin, and fireworks went off behind his eyes as he did, bright, white sparks flying. Their mateship bond gripped them tightly, wrapping them up in comfort, warmth, and a euphoria unlike anything Dean had ever felt before. It took every last ounce of his strength to keep them both upright, and he could feel Sam’s knot pulsing in his fist, coming hard. Sam was locked down tight around Dean, and that pressure dragged every last bit of come from him. Dean held onto Sam with both hands, tenderly licking the bite mark clean with his tongue and nuzzling against Sam’s shoulders and back with his eyes closed.
“All mine, Sammy.”
“Yours, Dean,” Sam whispered back to him.
The End.
