Archive of Our Own

Dean hated witches.

It was a simple fact. Hell, a way of life, even. Dean liked watching movies, loved eating pie and hated bitches who spat out a couple incantations and called it a day.

In fact, he’d go as far to say he fucking despised them.

Dean wasn’t all for ‘wishing death on people’, but hot damn, did witches make him wanna friggin’ pray  they’d all just die.

That took him to his next point. Why did they always have to be so complicated? Dean had thought love spells meant, you know, love. But no, was it a trend to be irritatingly authentic?

Dean grimaced.

He was under a ‘lust spell’ and the bitch had left him conscious enough to recognise what he was feeling wasn’t his own. Now, he had to just 'suffer' ‘till Sam and Bobby found a cure, or ‘till he hit the bucket.

Witches, man. So unbearably evil.

Dean glanced up to find Sam and Bobby both staring at him with varying degrees of sympathy.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, turning his back to them on the motel bed. Better if he didn’t look at them- this was already humiliating enough. His clothes were sticking to him, he could feel the flush on his cheeks, neck and ears, and the low-grade burn under his skin was only getting worse.

“Um, Dean?” Sam’s voice was soft, low, and quiet- meant to be comforting- all it served to do was make the burn simmer. “The witch said you’d know who the target of the spell was. You… you know, right?”

Dean shoved his hand into the air and crudely flipped him the bird without turning around. “Take that to the bitch.”

Bobby scoffed. “Son, we do not have the time for this. Fast forward a few hours, you’ll be jumping the bones of whoever was unlucky enough to be the victim, and we won’t be able to pull you off ‘em. Quit the martyr act and just spit it out.”

Dean flinched, then groaned again, pressing his forehead into the pillow. Bobby and Sam both shifted uncomfortably, and Dean just knew they were exchanging glances.

“Dean,” Sam tried again, even softer (if that was possible), “you want me to get someone from the bar? Someone who might- might be able to help without it getting… complicated” Sam asked hesitantly.

Dean shook his head no. It wouldn’t work. The spell could only be reversed if Dean slept with the target.

“Dean-“

“No.” Dean’s voice cracked on the word, and fuck- could this get anymore mortifying? “I need you to- ugh. Kill her. Just kill the fucking bitch.”

Bobby’s sigh was heavy and irritated. “If we could, we would. She was real clear. The spell’s tied to you now. Only way to break it is to sleep with the target. No loopholes, no take-backs.” And man, Dean knew the man was trying his hardest to be all clinical and objective, but there was only so much you could do when your pseudo-son was groaning and grunting with a magical hard-on.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

“I- I won’t. I’m not doing that to them.” He muttered. “I’d rather die.”

Sam stepped forward, a scowl on his face so different to how’d he’d been just a few seconds before. “Dean we are not letting you die over this. Just tell us who the target is. They’ll understand. We’ll explain it to them, and they’ll-”

A bitter, humourless laugh tore out of Dean’s throat before he could stop it. “And if it’s a kid, Sam? You gonna ‘explain’ it to a kid?”

Sam’s jaw tightened.  “I’m sure there’d be a way around it. We’d find a solution. ”

Bobby shot Sam an incredulous stare. “No we couldn’t. But you not telling us, is really not helping, boy.”

Dean’s whole body gave a violent shudder.

The spell pulsed, and for one terrifying second, his mind filled with nothing but Sam. His hands, his mouth, his voice saying his name in that low, wrecked way he’d speak when he was trying to convince Dean of something. Heat flooded his belly and Dean bit down on his own arm to keep from making a sound.

The motion didn’t go unnoticed. Sam moved closer, the mattress dipping as he sat on the edge of the bed. His hand hovered over Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was steady, but Dean could hear fractures of apprehension shine through. “Whoever it is, I swear to you, we’ll handle it. But- But you’re scaring me, dude. You’re shaking, you’re burning up- you can’t just ride this out. It’s gonna get worse, Dean.”

Dean wanted to cry, laugh, or slit his own throat.

But he couldn’t do any of the above. Hell, he couldn’t even begin to try and explain it.

Just so you know Sammy, it’s you! The target’s you because she’s a sick fucking bitch and I don’t know how to stop it unless we incestuously fuck like rabbits. ‘Cause that’d go over so fucking well-

“Dean.” Sam’s hand finally made contact, warm and solid on his shoulder jerking Dean so hard out of his own thoughts, he nearly flinched of the bed.

Bobby’s voice jumped in instant and sharp. “Alright, that’s it. I ain’t watchin’ this. Either you tell us right now, or I’m locking you in the panic room until this thing burns out, target or no target.”

“Bobby, you can’t-“ Sam started.

“Watch me.”

Dean breathed out a ragged, shallow gasp. The touch of Sam’s hand had spread a ripple of fire across his whole body, his skin vibrating and pricking with desire- the spell was fucking rejoicing.

He could feel his control weakening. In another hour- hell, maybe even less- he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He’d be on his little brother like some rabid animal in heat and god- Dean didn’t want to do that to his baby brother.

He’d rather die.

Dean would rather die.

“It’s you,” Dean chocked out, so quiet it was barely a whisper. “Okay? It’s you- the target, it’s Sam.”

Bobby sucked in a breath, then muttered a small, “Oh God.” Sam’s hand didn’t move from his shoulder, but Dean felt his fingers go stiff.

Bobby let out the breath he’d sucked in, slow and steady. The man had his hand massaging the skin in-between his brows.

“Dean…” Sam whispered.

Dean didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. “Now you know. So just… Please lock me up, Bobby. Do it. Do it before I can’t-“ He broke off, teeth gritted as another wave of pure, undiluted want and arousal slammed into him.

All Dean could think was Sam. His name on his tongue, his scent wafting into his nose, his warmth behind him- Dean felt like his body was an inferno, liquid lava flowing through his fucking veins.

Bobby’s boots scuffed the cheap motel floor. “Sam. A word.”

“No.” Sam’s answer was abrupt- ripped out of him, and it made Dean’s heart stutter. “No, Bobby. This isn’t- this isn’t something we can just lock away. Bobby- you heard what the witch said! Dean doesn’t sleep with the target- he dies.”

“Sam, for the love of- this is just some sick fucked up last minute jab from the bitch and- and he’s your brother.” Bobby gritted out- desperation mixed with anger flooding his every word.

“I know better than anyone who he is.” Sam took his hand off Dean’s shoulder and stood up. “I know exactly who he is. I’m not letting him die because that bitch wanted to fuck with our lives.”

Dean- missing the warmth on his shoulder- finally turned his head, just enough to meet Sam’s eyes over his shoulder. Sam’s gaze was steady, jaw set, that familiar stubbornness carved into every line of his face. No revulsion. No hesitation. Just Sam ready to charge into the depths of hell headfirst, as always.

“Sammy- please listen to Bobby. Please. This isn’t- it isn’t your burden.” Dean gasped out, his legs twitching slightly. He was steadily running out of time.

“It’s my burden, ‘cause you’re my brother.” He replied simply. Dean felt himself throb in his jeans. He felt sick.  “Dean, we’ve survived worse, we’ve done worse. This- this is nothing. It’s just a spell. We get rid of it; we go find that bitch and kill her.”

Dean whimpered. “God- Bobby, convince him- convince him-“

Bobby grimaced. “Sam, this isn’t a good idea. This is- this is crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed.”

Bobby’s words hung in the air of the dirty motel room. Dean really wanted to scream, Yeah no fucking shit, Sherlock. But his throat was closing up, and his hips gave another involuntary twitch against the mattress. The motel sheets were already beginning to dampen with sweat and now almost every nerve in his body was screaming for Sam. Just Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam-

“I know what line it is,” Sam said, voice low and rough in that way it got when he’d already made up his mind and the rest of the world could go to hell. “I’m not stupid, Bobby. But I’m not- I’m not watching Dean die because some witch decided to use him as a pincushion. You think I don’t know what the hell I’m offering?”

Bobby’s jaw worked like he was chewing on glass. “Sam, there’s gotta be another way. A counterspell, a hex bag, something. We’ve got time. We can hit the books, call Missouri, Pamela- anyone.”

Dean laughed, but it came out more like a sob. “Yeah, great idea. ‘Hey, my brother’s got a magical boner for me, mind lending me a hand?’ Dean’s voice cracked on the last word, and another pulse of liquid need rolled through him. His fingers clawed into the pillow, knuckles white and shaking. “Sammy, please, just listen to Bobby. Please, please- Just lock me up. God- I don’t care if it kills me. I can’t- I won’t do this to you.”

Sam moved back to the bed, and this time he didn’t hesitate. He sat down and his hand went straight to the back of Dean’s neck, cupping the hot, damp skin there with a gentleness that made Dean want to cum-

No, that wasn’t right.

It made his heart shatter.

God, but Dean wanted to feel Sam’s skin against his and-

“You’re not doing anything to me Dean. It’s the spell. Not you, man. We do this, get it over and done with, then hunt the bitch. Like we always do.” Sam gently squeezed his hand there.

Dean shuddered under the touch, a full-body tremor that left his gasping. Sam’s palm on his skin was better than any Whiskey he’d ever drank, better than open road, better than pie, better than anything.

And if Dean was slightly more lucid, he would most likely be horrified with how gratifying it felt, instead, he wanted to lean into Sam, crawl into Sam, drown himself in Sam, and just drink Sam up.

“You don’t understand,” Dean whispered, face still half-buried in the pillow. “It’s getting worse. I’m- I’m already thinking things. Feeling things- and it’s not right…”

“Dean. It’s okay.”

Bobby made a sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a grunt. “I ain’t watching this shit. This is a new fucking level, even for you two.” He grabbed his truck keys off the nightstand, the metal clinking with a finality that made Dean’s stomach drop. “I’m gonna go start searching for the witch.” Bobby crossed his arms. “But Sam- you call me the second-“ Bobby grimaced, “-the second it’s done. We’re gonna have a lot of shit to talk about, and we’re gonna put a bullet through that bitch’s heart. You hear me?”

Sam frowned but nodded without looking away from Dean. “We hear you, Bobby.”

Dean wanted to call out, to beg Bobby not to leave, not to leave him alone with Sam because once that door shut he wasn’t sure who he’d become. But his tongue was thick and useless, and all that came out was a broken, “Bobby-“

The older hunter paused at the door, hand on the knob. His shoulders were rigid, and hunched, and at that moment he looked every one of his years. “I’m sorry, son. For what it’s worth.” And then the door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was overbearing.

Dean’s breath was coming in short, sharp bursts now. The spell was accelerating, he could feel it- the rational part of his brain was slowly being drowned in a tsunami of feral, animalistic want.

Sam’s hand was still on his neck.

“Sammy,” he managed, and his voice was wrecked, barely recognisable. “It’s- you gotta know- I’m not me anymore. Please, you gotta believe me-“

Sam shifted on the bed and then he was leaning in, his other hand coming up to brush the sweat-damp hair off Dean’s forehead. “I know, Dean. I know.”

Dean rolled onto his back, turning his face up. And god, Sam was right there. His jaw shadowed with a week’s worth of stubble, his mouth set in that determined line, his eyes holding none of the disgust Dean had been fucking dreading to witness. Just resolve.

Just Sammy.

The spell ignited.

One second Dean was clinging to the last shreds of his own autonomy, the next he was surging up, hands fisting in Sam’s flannel shirt, dragging him down. Dean shoved his nose into Sam’s neck breathing in deeply. Sam inhaled sharply.

Then Dean flipped them both around, straddling his brother. He lifted his head upwards- his eyes lidded and lips parted- then he let out a long, low moan.

Dean decided there, he fucking loved how meaty Sam’s thighs felt in-between his.

Sam flushed before glancing to the side, his hands fisting the sheets below himself. Maybe to ground himself, maybe to imagine a woman was above him instead of Dean, or maybe to pretend he was a hostage or something. Dean quickly realised he didn’t give two fucks.

“Hmm, Sammy, even pressed up against you like this feels sogood.” Dean sighed out, his head tilting further back.

Sam was rigid underneath him- tense; stressed- and Dean couldn’t care less, all he wanted was Sam.

Sam polluting every goddamn particle he was made up of.

Sam licked his lips before looking up. “D- Dean? That you or the spell?”

Dean leaned his body forward until they were chest to chest, nipples brushing and he breathed directly into Sam’s mouth. “I’m whatever you want me to be, baby.”

Sam’s eyebrows turned up in remorse. He knew it wasn’t just his brother anymore.

Dean canted his hips up towards Sam’s own cock, which was slowly filling out. He then glided his hands up into Sam’s hair pulling at the strands. “You ever- aah- had sex with a man before, Sammy?” Dean panted out.

Sam’s flush only seemed to darken. “No.”

Dean smiled. “Good. Neither have I, baby.” He leaned his head down, crudely licking a long stripe from below Sam’s bottom lip to underneath his nose. Dean could feel Sam’s thighs tense beneath him.

Dean grinded his hips again, moaning and letting his head loll to the side. “Oh god, I could just cum like this-“

Sam bit his lip, and Dean raised his head again watching as Sam’s teeth dug into the pink flesh with a fervent kind of intensity. The spell purred under his skin, hungry; pleased but nowhere near satisfied. That didn’t matter. Dean would satisfy it soon enough.

He slowly brought a hand up to Sam’s jaw. “Don’t do that,” he breathed, dragging his thumb across Sam’s mouth until the lip popped free. “Wanna hear you, Sammy. Wanna hear every sound you make.” He crooned.

Sam’s chest rose and fell in quick successions. His hands were still fisted in the motel sheets, knuckles bone-white and every line of his body practically screaming restraint. “Dean, just- just do what you need to do, okay? You don’t have to-“

“Shhh.” Dean rolled his hips in a slow, filthy circle, and this time, the friction punched a groan out of them both. The rough denim of Sam’s jeans scraping against Dean’s own was almost too much; definitely not enough.

Dean could feel the shape of his brother’s fat cock through the layers, only half-hard now; steadily growing harder, and the knowledge sent a white-hot surge of satisfaction to his gut. “There we go. There you are Sammy. Knew you’d give it up for me.”

“It’s just- physiological,” Sam gritted out, turning his face away, but his hips twitched upwards, a tiny, involuntary jerk. “It doesn’t- ugh- it doesn’t mean anything.”

Dean laughed, low and wrecked, and ducked his head to mouth languidly at Sam’s jaw. “Hmm, you sure?” He dragged his tongue over the stubbled edge of it, tasting salt, musk, and something so Sam it made Dean’s toes curl.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice cracked; Dean’s cock throbbed, pulsing hard and insistent against his zipper- almost painfully.

He was leaking pre-cum already, could feel the wet spot spreading through his boxers, and he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything except chasing the building pressure at the base of his spine and the man underneath him.

He ground again, harder this time, and Sam grunted, his hips finally lifting to meet the pressure. Dean moaned, loud and shameless, and braced his hands on Sam’s chest, feeling the solid heat of him through his shirt.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean panted, setting a frantic rhythm- a desperate graceless roll of his hips that had the bed frame creaking beneath them. “Just like that, Sammy, just- fuck- I’m already so close-“

And if Dean had been in the right frame of mind, it would’ve been embarrasing, instead it felt fucking exhilarating. Dean had never been this easy, this responsive. Each grind sent sparks skittering up his back, his balls drawing up overwhelmingly tight, heat coiling low in his belly. He was humping his little brother like a dog in heat, and god damn him, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop- he wanted to rut against Sam’s thighs until he came so hard he blacked out.

Dean felt his orgasm crash over him, sudden and potent. His hips stuttered, grinding down hard against the ridge of Sam’s cock, and then he was cumming, soaking through his jeans in hot, pulsing spurts. He sighed, Sam’s name all breathy and raw and reverent on his tongue.

The pleasure was warm and soso good.

Dea rode it out in shuddering, helpless twitches, face buried in the crook of Sam’s neck, and the spell purred in momentary satisfaction.

And for a few seconds, Dean was rewarded with temporary sanity.

He could feel the damp, sticky mess cooling in his jeans (oh god, what had he done); Sam’s erection still pressing insistently against his thigh, and-

Then Dean’s cock hardened once again and any sanity he’d regained, left alongside his inhibitions.

Dean sat up shuffling down Sam’s body till he was sat on the man’s knees. Sam lifted his upper body onto his elbows. “But- But Dean I thought it finished.”

Dean tilted his head and grinned. “Takes a lot more than juvenile grinding, Sammy.” He purred. Sam blushed and laid his head down again.

His grin widened, sharp and hungry, as he watched Sam’s head fall back against the mattress.

There was no way to describe it. The spell was like its own living entity inside him, coiling, purring, demanding. Its only objective was more. More of Sam’s skin, more of his sounds, more of his body-

“You didn’t really think that was it, did you, baby?” Dean murmured, voice a low rasp. He shifted his weight, knees bracketing Sam’s thighs, and let his hands drop to the waistband of his brother’s jeans. The button gave way with a soft pop, and the sound of the zipper teeth separating was obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room. Sam’s stomach tensed, his muscles jumping under Dean’s knuckles as he worked the denim down just enough to free him.

Sam’s cock sprung up, thick and flushed and already leaking a lick of bead at the pink tip. His dick naturally curved to the right and the member had a vein that travelled down the left side all the way to a base that was nestled between a soft, trimmed layer of hair. Dean’s mouth went dry (or maybe wet- he couldn’t really tell anymore, didn’t care either). All he knew was the sight of it, the sheer fucking size of his little brother, made the spell (the spell?) hum a greedy, gratified note.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean crooned, and it was devout and wrecked all at once. “You been hiding this from me? All these years? Fuck.” He wrapped one hand around the base, and Sam spasmed like he’d been electrocuted, a broken groan tearing from his throat.

“Dean- ah, wait-“

“No waiting.” Dean’s thumb swept over the head, smearing pre-cum in a slow, deliberate circle. Sam’s hips bucked, and Dean drank in the sight of him: head thrown back, throat working, hands fisting the ruined sheets like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality. “That’s it. Just let me feel you, Sammy. Wanted this for so goddamn long…”

Maybe it was the spell talking, maybe it was some deep rotten truth the magic had unearthed, but Dean didn’t- no, couldn’t stop to analyse it. He stroked, learning the weight and the heat of Sam in his palm, the way the shaft throbbed and swelled with every slide.

Imagine what it’d feel like inside, and Dean was sure that wasn’t his inner voice, maybe it was the spell, maybe it was the witch herself, and Dean had never thought about taking it up his ass, but god, his brother’s cock deserved it. Dean wanted Sam’s cock shoved so far up his ass it’d choke him once he came. He roughly twisted his wrist on the next upstroke, and Sam keened, a high, desperate sound that shot straight to Dean’s already leaking cock.

“You like that? Huh?” Dean leaned down, breath ghosting over the wet tip, and Sam’s hips canted up, seeking more. “You’re so hard for me, baby boy. So fucking hard. And this is all you? No spell at all?”

“It- doesn’t-“ Sam gritted out, but his voice was wrecked; his eyes were squeezed shut like he couldn’t bare to face the truth painted all over Dean’s- or rather Spell-Dean’s- face.

Dean sniggered and gave one last long, twisting pull before releasing him. Sam gasped at the loss, eyelids flying open, and Dean felt possessive, molten satisfaction.

He was going to take everything. Every scrap of Sam’s composure.

“Shuffle up, big guy,” Dean ordered, already moving, knees crawling up the mattress until he was straddling Sam’s chest. His own cock hung heavy and wet (he’d slipped himself out of his jeans a while ago, when he couldn’t handle the constriction any longer), still slick with the mess of his first orgasm, and spell was snarling for more, more, more-

“Open up.”

Sam stared up at him, pupils blown wide, lips parted. Sam was wary, but still so willing it made Dean’s ribs ache with want. “Dean…”

“I said open up, Sammy.” Dean’s voice dropped an octave, and he cradled his brother’s jaw with one hand, thumb pressing gently at the corner of his mouth. “I need it. Need your mouth on me. Need to fuck that pretty throat ‘till I cum so hard I forget my own name. You gonna gimme that? Gonna be a good boy for your big brother?”

Sam’s whole body quivered. And then, with a slow, shaky exhale, his lips separated. That was all the invitation Dean needed. He fed himself to Sam, and the first hot, wet slide of it punched a ragged moan out of him. Sam’s mouth was heaven- tentative at first, then adjusting, tongue flattening along the underside as Dean gave him another inch. The spell howled, and Dean’s hips stuttered forward, chasing that tight, perfect heat.

“Fuck, Sammy,” he whined, bracing one hand on the headboard, the other still tangled in Sam’s hair. “That’s it. Watch your teeth, baby. Yeah, god- just like that. Take it. Take all of it.”

Dean didn’t wait for Sam to adjust. The spell had stripped away all drops of patience or gentleness he once had. Instead, Dean set a rhythm- deep and relentless- fucking into his brother’s mouth with a single-minded desperation. Sam brought his big hands to the back’s of Deans thighs’ squeezing as tight as he could; he gagged, his throat convulsing around the intrusion and the vibration of it made Dean see stars.

“Yeah, choke on it, baby,” he panted, looking down to watch his cock disappear between those swollen, split-slick lips. Sam’s eyes were watering, but his hands were still squeezing his thighs, not pushing him away; not pulling him in- just holding on. And that, more than anything, made Dean’s balls draw up tight. Sam was letting him do this. Sam was just taking it.

His world narrowed to the wet sounds filling the room, the slap of skin, the obscene gag-and-gasp tempo that had Dean’s spine bowing. He was close, so fucking close, the pressure winding at the bottom of his skull and sending live signals through his sensory neurons.

“Sammy- Sam- gonna cum,” he sighed out, voice cracking. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth, and you’re gonna swallow it all, you hear me?”

Sam’s only response was a strangled hybrid between a gag and a whimper that vibrated all the way down to Dean’s core. And then Dean was gone, releasing with a hoarse cry, spilling hot and thick down his brother’s throat. He rode it out in jerky, helpless thrusts, fucking his cum deeper, and Sam took it gulping around him until Dean was oversensitive and trembling.

When he finally pulled out, a thin strand of spit and cum connected them before breaking. Sam gasped, chest heaving, face a wreck of tears and saliva and flushed heat. And beneath him, Dean felt a sudden jerking against his shin- looked down to see Sam’s hips twitching helplessly, his own untouched cock spurting thick, white ropes across his stomach and the bunched-up fabric of his shirt.

Dean’s eyes widened.

Sam had come. Sam had come just from Dean using his mouth. For being used as a hole for his big brother.

This time, the spell granted Dean no momentary relief of his insane horniness. Dean just reached behind himself, swiping three fingers through the mess on Sam’s stomach and bringing them up to his own lips, sucking on them before popping them out of his mouth. “Came all over yourself like a fucking whore, and I didn’t even touch you. You’re so gone, Sammy. So fucking gone.”

In response, Sam’s face crumpled with something that might’ve been shame, but before he could speak, the spell pulsed again- stronger this time. A fresh, hungry thrum that made Dean’s spent cock twitch with renewed interest.

Dean was not done. Not nearly done.

Dean didn’t give either of them a moment to recover. The croon of the spell was a continuous buzz in the back of his mind, spiralling tighter in his gut, pushing him past the point of any rational thought. Sam was still gasping, chest splattered with his own release; his eyes glassy, but Dean was already moving- already repositioning them with a strength and purpose that wasn’t entirely his own.

“Dean- wait, just- gimme a sec-“

“No,” Dean growled, a guttural command originating from the depths of his throat. He shoved at Sam’s jeans and boxers until they were a tangled mess around his ankles, and Sam, dazed and compliant, let him. “No more waiting. It wants more. I need more, Sammy. Need to feel you. In me.”

Sam’s breath hitched, his spent cock giving a weak, almost painful-looking twitch against his thigh. “In-“ Sam repeated breathlessly. “Dean, we- we don’t have to- we haven’t-“

“Don’t care.” Dean was already stripping off his own soaked jeans, his movements choppy and rushed. “Haven’t done it. Don’t care. Need it. Need your fat cock splitting me open, baby. Been thinkin’ about it. It’s been thinking about it. And fuck, just the thought of it-“ He groaned, his own cock, still slick and half-hard, bobbing in agreement.

He crawled back over Sam, but this time he turned, facing Sam’s feet. He swung a leg over Sam’s torso, planting his knees on either side of his brother’s hips, his back to Sam’s face. Dean braced his hands on Sam’s thick thighs, looking down at Sam’s cock, which was valiantly trying to fill again despite having just come.

“Dean, what are you-“

“Getting’ what I need,” Dean grunted, spitting into his own palm. He reached behind himself, his wet finger finding his own hole. He hissed at the foreign, intrusive pressure- his body clenching in shock. He’d never done this before, but it didn’t care about his experience.

It craved fullness. It craved Sam.

Like he was possessed, Dean worked himself open with a frenzied, graceless pace, one finger quickly becoming two. The stretch burned, but the spell twisted the pain into something so fucking electric, it made Dean’s cock drool a fresh bead of pre-cum onto Sam’s stomach. He moaned, a ragged, shameless sound, and Sam’s hands flew to his hips, gripping so hard Dean was sure it’d bruise into two symmetrical handprints of purple.

“Fuck, Dean, you’re gonna hurt yourself- slow down-“

“Don’t wanna slow down,” Dean wheezed in response, scissoring his fingers, his hips rocking back onto his own hand. “Want it to hurt. Wanna feel you for days, Sammy. Want you to ruin me.”

Dean pulled his fingers out with a dry sound. He didn’t turn around- it wanted Dean to present himself like a bitch in heat. And so, Dean would.

He reached down, grabbing the base of Sam’s cock. It was heavy and hot in his hand, already mostly hard again. A pearl of new pre-cum was beading at the tip, and Dean sued his thumb to smear it around the swollen head. Sam whimpered, a sound ripped from his throat, his hips lifting.

“Yeah, there he is,” Dean murmured, a broken worship in his voice. “Knew you’d get hard for this. Knew your big cock wouldn’t want to miss being inside your big brother.”

“Dean, please…” Sam’s voice was wrecked, a sob and a plea tangled into one.

Dean smirked before positioning the thick, flared head against his spit-slicked hole, his heart hammering against his ribs. He bore down, and the blunt pressure was immense- a burning, impossible stretch that stole his breath. He was nowhere near prepared and Dean’s body fought against it; clamped down, but the spell was omnipotent, and he pushed back with a broken cry.

The head popped in, and Dean felt his eyes roll back into his head whilst a wail tore from his throat- agony and ecstasy fused into one raw sound. He was in the midst of being split open, filled in a way he’d never imagined, and it was Sam.

Sam was inside him.

The spell was singing a victorious, feral hymn. Below Dean, Sam let out a strangled, rasping moan, his fingers digging into the meat of Dean’s ass cheeks.

“Oh god, oh fuck, Dean- tight- you’re so fucking tight-“

“Take it,” Dean sobbed out, forcing himself down another inch, then another. The burn almost felt cleansing- the feeling of Sam’s thick, curved length forcing his insides to make room, to accommodate him. “Yeah, you feel that, Sammy? Feel your brother’s ass swallowing your cock? Fuck, you’re so deep. You’re in my guts, baby.”

Dean didn’t wait to adjust. It wouldn’t let him.

He lifted his hips until just the tip remained, the drag of Sam’s cock against his stretched rim making him convulse violently, and then he slammed back down, taking the length into one brutal stroke. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed and was punctuated by Dean’s broken cry and Sam’s chocked-off mewl.

He rode his brother with an urgent tempo.

It wasn’t about Sam’s pleasure- the spell didn’t care about whether he came or not, and Dean, in his entranced state, could only focus on the primal need to be filled; to be fucked; to take Sam’s cock as deep as it could possibly go. He bounced on it, fucked himself back onto it with a swivel and grind of his hips and his own cock bobbing and slapping against his stomach, untouched but leaking constantly.

“So good- fuck- this is what I needed,” he babbled, one hand braced on Sam’s knee, the other reaching behind himself to rub at his own rim and feel Sam’s cock, as it entered and exited him. “Needed my baby brother’s big cock in my ass. Needed you to fucking wreck me, Sammy. Best fucking thing I’ve ever felt-“

Sam choked, whimpered and sobbed in response to every dirty comment Dean made, letting his older brother use him- his hands only serving as a weight on Dean’s hips; his own hips making small, abortive thrusts upwards that he couldn’t seem to control.

Then Dean angled his hips just so, and Sam’s cock dragged over something inside him that made his entire world go supernova. A bolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shot up his spine, and he screamed, his rhythm faltering. “There- oh god, right fucking there, Sammy- hit it again, hit it again, please, please, please-“

He rode Sam with a renewed kind of delirium, chasing that white-hot feeling, grinding down in filthy circles to keep that thick cockhead pressed against his sweet spot. Dean was close.

And then, suddenly, Sam’s hips bucked up hard, a blubber heaving it’s way from his mouth. “Dean- I can’t- fuck, I’m gonna-“

Dean felt it. A hot, pulsing flood deep inside him as Sam’s cock spasmed and tremored, painting his insides with cum and the sensation of being filled, of Sam’s release flooding his insides, was the final, perfect push.

Dean’s own orgasm violently washed over him- overwhelming yet intoxicating all the same- his untouched cock spurting thick ropes across Sam’s legs and the rumpled sheets. He bawled Sam’s name as his insides clamped down, milking Sam’s cock through the last of his shudders.

Dean then collapsed forwards, slipping off Sam with a wet, lewd pop, a sticky trickle of Sam’s cum dribbling out of his gaping hole. He lay panting on the mattress, and for a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the motel room.

The spell was quiet. Sated, for now.

Dean could feel the ghost of his own sanity returning to the fringes of his mind, bringing with it a wave of horror and shame that he was too exhausted to full face.

Behind him, Sam was silent and still. And then, very quietly, Dean heard a wet, sniffing sound. Sam was crying.

Dean’s stomach dropped.

“Sammy,” he croaked, but his voice was still ravaged, still rough from screaming his brother’s name. The word came out wrong and Sam’s breath hitched harder.

Dean forced himself to move. Every muscle of his screamed. His ass throbbed with a deep, relentless ache, and the sticky mess cooling on his stomach and between his thighs made him want to peel his own skin off. He rolled over, slow and careful, and the sight that greeted him made something behind his ribs, tear itself in half.

Sam was still on his back, one arm thrown over his face, his shoulder shaking. His jeans were still tangled around his ankles, his softening cock lying spent against his thigh. His stomach was painted with Dean’s release, smeared and drying, and his lips- god, his lips were swollen and red and still shiny with spit and the remnants of Dean’s earlier climax. Sam looked spent. He looked ruined.

He looked like everything Dean had never, ever wanted to do to him.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice cracked on the name. He reached out, hand hovering over Sam’s chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to make contact. His fingers were trembling. “Sammy, hey. Hey, look at me.”

Sam shook his head behind him arm, a jerky motion. “Don’t. Just- gimme a second.”

Dean’s throat closed up. The spell stirred, a lazy, possessive curl of heat low in his stomach, and Dean wanted to scream. Even now. Even now, looking at his little brother falling apart beneath him, it was still hungry. Still wanted.

Dean forced it down.

“It’s- It’s quiet,” he managed, and his voice sounded almost normal. Almost his. “The spell. It’s- It’s almost finished, I think. Maybe. I don’t know, but Sam, I’m-“ The words lodged in his throat. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Sam’s arm slid off his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and wet, his cheeks blotchy with tears, but his jaw was set in that stubborn, Sam Winchester way that Dean knew better than his own reflection. “It’s not your fault,” he said, and his voice was hoarse but steadying. “It’s the spell. We knew that going in.”

“That doesn’t make it-“ Dean’s voice broke. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. “That doesn’t make what I did okay. The way I- fuck, Sammy, I called you-“

“I know what you called me.” Sam’s voice was quiet. “I was there.”

Dean dropped his hands and forced himself to look at his brother. Sam was watching him now, tears still tracking slow paths down his temples into his hair, but his expression wasn’t the shattered thing Dean had been expecting. There was shame there, yeah, and something like grief, but there was also-

The spell purred.

Dean’s cock twitched.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, horror flooding his system. “No. It’s not- Sam, it’s not done.”

Sam pushed himself up on his elbows, is brow furrowing. “What? But you- we just-“

“I know.” Dean’s hip gave an involuntary roll against the mattress, and he bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste flooded his mouth, and for a second, it grounded him. “I know, but it wants more. It’s not gonna stop ‘till I ride it out. Fuck-“ His back arched, a fresh wave of heat rolling through him, and his cock- his fucking cock- was filing again, rising against his thigh like the last hour hadn’t happened at all.

Sam sat all the way up, his hand finding Dean’s shoulder. “Dean. Dean, look at me.”

Dean looked. Sam’s eyes were still wet, but they were focused now. Intent. “I’m here,” Sam said, and his voice was steady in a way that made Dean’s chest ache. “Whatever it needs. I’m here. Just tell me.”

Dean wanted to tell him to run. To get Bobby, and lock Dean up to ride this out alone until the spell burned him alive. But it was waking up fast now, and Sam’s hand was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“I need-“ Dean gasped, his hips grinding down against nothing. “I need to taste you. I need- fuck, Sammy, I need my mouth on you. Need to get you hard on my tongue. Need you to fuck my throat until I can’t breathe. Please, please- I need it.”

Sam’s breath caught. His hand tightened on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean watched the flush creep back up his neck, spreading across his cheeks, and pinkening the tips of his ears. “Dean…”

“Please.” Dean was begging now, and he didn’t care. Didn’t have the pride left to care. “Please, baby boy. Let me suck you. Let me make you feel good. You’ve been so good for me, Sammy, so fucking good, just let me- let me have this. Lemme taste you.”

The spell was roaring now- Dean was drowning in it.

Sam swallowed hard. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, ‘kay. Do it.”

Dean moved before the word was fully out of Sam’s mouth. He pushed Sam back against the pillows and crawled down his body.

Sam’s cock was still soft- still slick- with the remnants of his earlier release, and Dean’s mouth watered at the sight.

“Gonna clean you up,” Dean murmured, more of himself than to Sam. “Gonna take such good care of you, baby. Gonna make you feel so good.”

Dean lowered his head and dragged his tongue up from the base to the tip of Sam’s shaft, lapping up the salty-bitter taste of his brother release. Sam gasped, his hips jumping, and Dean sighed at the sensation. Sam was already starting to thicken.

“That’s it,” Dean breathed encouragingly against the soft foreskin of the head. “That’s it, Sammy. Get hard for me. Let me feel you grow in my mouth.”

He wrapped his lips around the head and suckled, gentle at first, then with increasing force, digging the tip of his tongue into the slit before twirling it around again. Sam’s hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the sweat-damp strands, and the tiny bite of pain made Dean groan. He worked his tongue lower, chasing every trace of Sam’s cum until there was nothing left but clean, hot skin and the faint musk that was just so Sam.

He was fully hard now, his cock thick and heavy on Dean’s tongue, and Dean pulled off just long enough to look up at him. Sam’s head was thrown back, his chest heaving, eyes closed, his lips parted on a silent moan. He was heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Ready?” Dean asked, and his voice was already so raspy, barely a whisper.

Sam lifted his head, meeting Dean’s eyes. “Yeah. Do it.”

Dean sank down.

He took Sam to the root in one blocky motion, and the feeling of his brother hitting the back of his throat punched a broken cry out of both of them. Dean’s throat seized, fighting the breach, and he groaned around the thickness, the vibration making Sam buck up with a strangled shout.

“God- Dean-“

Dean pulled back until just the tip rested on his tongue, then sank down again, faster this time. He hollowed his cheeks, sucked hard, and forced his throat to relax. Dean was a quick leaner. Or perhaps the spell was giving him a hand.

“You’re- ugh- how are you so good at this,” Sam gasped, his hips starting to move, little abortive thrusts that Dean welcomed- encourage even. “Dean, your mouth- fuck-“

Dean pulled off with a lewd, wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Sam’s cock. He trailed a finger up the hot flesh with a smirk. “Don’t hold back,” he rasped. “Want you to fuck my face, Sammy. Want you to use me. Don’t you want to? Don’t you wanna fuck your big brother’s throat?”

Sam made a sound like he’d just been kicked in the chest. “Dean-“

“Do it.” Dean was begging, commanding and asking all at once. “I can take it. Want to take it. Want you to let go. Please, Sam. Please.”

The last of Sam’s restraint crumbled; his hand tightened in Dean’s hair, and then he was guiding Dean back down, his hips lifting to meet him halfway. The first real thrust made Dean’s eyes water; his throat spasm, and it was perfect.

Sam fucked his mouth with no finesse whatsoever, and this time, Dean was the one taking it. He let his jaw go slack (when did Dean learn how to do that) let his throat open, let Sam use him the way Dean had used Sam.

It purred in content.

“Close,” Sam gasped. “Dean, I’m close-“

Dean doubled down. He sucked hard, tongue working the sensitive underside of Sam’s cock, and reached up to cup Sam’s balls, gently rolling and massaging them with his fingers. Sam cried out, his hips snapping up one final time, and then he was coming- hot and thick and bitter down Dean’s throat- and Dean swallowed every drop, moaning at the taste, at the feeling of Sam beating against his tongue.

When Sam finally went limp beneath him, Dean pulled off, pressing a kiss to the softening head before wriggling back up the bed. Sam’s eyes were closed, his breathing ragged, and Dean felt a surge of would-be tenderness had the spell not twisted it into ravenous hunger.

“Sammy,” he whispered, brushing the hair off Sam’s forehead. “You with me?”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open. They were glassy and dazed, but they were present. “Yeah,” he breathed.

Dean smiled, and it was almost soft. Almost his own. “Good,” he murmured. “Because we’re not finished yet.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and Dean could only feel the overwhelming feeling of more more more more-

Sam grasped Dean’s wrist, the one resting next to his forehead and his eyes darted to the left, sporting an uneven, tense half-smile. “Um, Dean- I can’t…” He whispered the last part.

“Can’t what, baby?”

Sam flushed before looking back at him. “I can’t get hard again.”

Dean blinked. For a long moment, the words didn’t make sense. Sam’s hand was still wrapped around his wrist, warm and solid and grounding, underneath the heat of the spell, a flicker of guilt tried to surface.

Then the spell twisted, hot; impatient, and Dean’s mouth curved into a smile that wasn’t entirely his own.

“Can’t get hard?” he echoed, his voice dropping into something low and almost pitying. He turned his wrist in Sam’s grip, tangling their fingers together instead, and leaned in until his breath fanned across Sam’s cheek. “Oh, baby. You think that matters?”

Sam’s brow furrowed, confusion bleeding through the exhaustion. His eyes were still red-rimmed, his lips still kiss-swollen, and he looked so thoroughly debauched that a saner, kinder version of Dean would have gathered him up in his arms and never let go. But that version of Dean had been drained out of him hours ago.

“Dean, I’m serious- I can’t. It’s not gonna- I need time, man. I’m not-“

“Shh.” Dean pressed a finger to Sam’s lips, the same finger that had been inside himself not so long ago, and the flash of awareness that followed- Sam could probably taste the essence of Dean right now- made the heat in his gut spread hotter. “Don’t need your cock, Sammy.”

Sam’s mouth moved against his finger, a silent question, but Dean was already pulling back, already shifting his weight.

“Roll over,” Dean said, and it wasn’t a request.

Sam hesitated. His throat bobbed. “Dean-“

“Roll. Over.” Dean’s voice cracked on the command, imploration bleeding through his authority. “Please, Sammy. Don’t you want me to get better?”

And there it was again, that stubborn, impossible resolve settling over Sam’s features. His jaw tightened, and then he moved, slow and uncoordinated, rolling onto his stomach with his cheek pressed into the pillow. His jeans were still tangled around his ankles, his shirt rucked up around his ribs, and the expanse of his back- broad, muscled and tanned, scattered with faint beaty spots- made Dean’s mouth water.

“Good boy,” Dean breathed, and Sam flinched. “So good for me. Knew you would be.”

He crawled over Sam’s body, bracketing his hips with his knees. The mattress dipped and Sam’s breath hitched, his shoulder drawing up like he was bracing for a punch. Dean’s cock hung heavy and aching between then, already fully hard again and the sight of Sam splayed out beneath him, vulnerable and willing, made Dean’s hole twitch.

“Gonna use these,” Dean murmured, running his palms over the swell of Sam’s ass. The muscle jumped under his touch, but he didn’t squeeze, didn’t spread. “Gonna fuck these pretty cheeks, baby. Just slide right between ‘em. Won’t even have to get you ready. Won’t have to do a damn thing but lie there and take it.”

Sam made a sound- a crossover between a groan and a sob- and buried his face deeper into the pillow. His hands fisted the sheets, but he didn’t say no. Didn’t try to stop him either.

Dean leaned down, pressing his chest to Sam’s back, and nosed at the spot behind his ear. He breathed in before smiling and pressing a kiss to the nape of Sam’s neck. When Sam shivered, Dean pushed himself up and reached behind himself gathering slick from his still-leaking hole, coating his own cock with the remanence of Sam’s release.

He positioned himself, the thick head of his cock nudging against the crease of Sam’s ass. Sam tensed, and Dean soothed a hand over his flank.

“Shh. Relax. Just gonna slide against you. Not gonna go inside.” The spell had no interest in entering Sam. Only marking him as his own.

Dean pressed his hips forward, and the first wet drag of his cock along the cleft of Sam’s cheeks punched the air from his lungs. “Fuck-“

Sam gasped, his whole body going rigid for a moment before deliberately relaxing. The friction was perfect- tight and hot and slick, Sam’s muscles giving Dean pressure without any of the resistance of entry. Dean’s eyes fluttered, and he pushed forward again unable to stop himself.

“Yeah,” he panted, his hands gripping Sam’s hips for leverage as he rutted between his brother’s cheeks. “Yeah, that’s it. This what you wanted, Sammy? Wanted to be my little cocksleave without even having to get hard? So perfect, just lying there and letting me use you-“

Sam whimpered, a broken, punched-out sound, but his hips gave an abortive, instinctive twitch backward. Dean caught the movement and laughed, breathless and giddy.

“Hmm, you feel that? My cock dragging all over that pretty ass? Bet you wish you could fuck up into something- but you can’t, can you? Just gotta lie there and take it whilst I use you to get off.” Dean’s voice broke into a moan on the last word, and he ground down harder, chasing the building pressure at the base of his spine. “Fuck, Sammy- close- so close-“

He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the mattress beside Sam’s head, and the change in angle made his cock slide deeper into the cleft, the tip catching briefly on Sam’s rim before slipping past. Sam jolted, a strangled noise escaping, and Dean’s brain short-circuited.

But even the spell, apparently, had its limits. Or maybe it was just Dean’s own deeply buried conscience, still clinging to the last fragment of influence. Because he didn’t push in. He pulled his hips back, just enough, and then snapped them forward again, fucking the slick channel of Sam’s perineum with a renewed urgency.

Dean orgasmed once again, a hoarse whine being ripped from his throat. He thrust once, twice, the ground hard, spilling hot and thick between Sam’s cheeks, painting his tanned skin with ropes of white.

For a handful of glorious seconds, everything was quiet.

The insatiable heat beneath his skin began to ebb, retreating slowly and Dean’s thoughts, fractured and scattered, started to knit back together into what resembled coherency.

He could hear the shaky rise and fall of Sam’s breathing beneath him.

Sam’s breathing. Not sobbing. Just exhausted, trembling breaths.

Dean forced his eyes open. The back of Sam’s head filled his vision, his hair a dark, tangled mess against the pillow. Sam’s hand was still fisted in the sheets, knuckles bloodless, but his shoulders had lost some of their rigid tension. He wasn’t crying anymore. He was just… there. Letting Dean drape over him like a heavy, spent blanket.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was sandpaper-rough, but it was his own. No purr, no hungry edge. Just raw and shattered. “Hey… I think- I think it’s over.”

Sam stirred. A long, slow exhale gusted out of him, and his head turned just enough for one glassy, bruised eyes to meet Dean’s over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” The word was a croak, but it was hopeful.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, and god he almost believed it. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, hissing as his spent cock dragged through the mess on Sam’s skin. Every muscle in his body ached, his ass palpitated with a deep, abiding soreness and there was a bone-deep exhaustion settling into his limbs that felt long overdue. “I think… It’s quite. I can- I can think again-“

He was Dean. Horrified, and ashamed, and already bracing for the volcano of guilt that was just about to erupt. But as of now, the most important thing was the fragile, tender hope on his brother’s face.

Sam shoulders sagged. “Oh, thank god.” He started to shift, to push himself up from the mattress, and Dean moved with him, intending to roll off, to give them both space, to maybe find a knife, or a gun, or a deep, dark hole to crawl into and rot forever-

And then the spell surged.

But this wasn’t like the frantic, all-consuming animalistic libido of before.

No. No, no, no.

Now, the spell felt more insidious, an ache that travelled through every neuron in Dean’s body, clamping down on the base of his spine with a fresh, brutal fist of need. His cock, still smeared with his own release, gave a violent, painful twitch against his thigh, and Dean doubled over with a raspy wail.

“Dean?” Sam was instantly alert, twisting around, hands coming up to grip Dean’s shoulders. “Dean, what is it? What’s happening?”

Dean wanted to cry. Hadn’t he done enough to his little brother?

“It’s- not- done,” he gasped out. The spell came alongside a terrible, itching emptiness that made him want to claw at his own skin. “Sam, it’s- it wants more.” Dean could feel tears welling up in his own eyes. “Please, Sammy, I just want it gone-“

And then he was crying. Honest-to-god tears tracking hot and helpless down his cheeks, and he couldn’t stop them. How much would the spell force Sam to give up?

“Dean, talk to me,” Sam urged, his voice scraped tender but still so achingly kind; present. “What does it need? What do I do?”

Dean’s hips jumped against nothing, his spent cock giving a painful, traitorous lurch. The emptiness inside him was unavoidable. Oh, god, it wanted so much-

“Your mouth,” Dean choked out, the words tumbling out before he could swallow them back. “I need- fuck, Sammy, I need your mouth on me. On my-“ Dean forced the heel of his hand down, grinding it against his now chaffed dick. “On my hole. Need you to- uh- eat me out ‘till I come apart on your tongue. Please, please, baby, I can’t-“

A violent shudder wracked through him, and Sam’s grip tightened, keeping him upright. Sam’s face was a mixture of fatigue, grief, and that same stubborn, immovable love that had already let Dean do unspeakable things to him tonight. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and then he nodded.

“Okay. Okay, Dean. Tell me what to do.”

Dean sobbed in relief, his whole body sagging forwards until his forehead thumped against Sam’s collarbone. “Lie down. On your back. I’m gonna- gonna sit on your face. You just- just open up and lemme use you. Can you do that, Sammy? Be a good boy and let me ride that pretty mouth?”

Sam flinched at the words, but he was already moving, already shifting onto his back with his head cradled by the thin motel pillows. His jeans were still a tangled mess around his ankles, his soft cock lying spent and unresponsive against his thigh, and by god, Dean didn’t care. Didn’t need it. All he needed was that clever, willing mouth.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed out, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before his eyes found Dean’s. “Yeah, do it. Whatever you need.”

Dean moved like a man possessed, crawling up Sam’s body with shaky, clumsy limbs. He swung a leg over Sam’s chest, then higher, knees planting on either side of Sam’s head. He braced one hand on the headboard and looked down.

Sam was already gazing up at him, with his lips parted and his eyes red-rimmed but stable. The sight of his little brother laid out beneath him, waiting to be used, satisfied the already cooing, vindictive spell.

“Fuck, look at you,” Dean breathed, his free hand tangling in Sam’s brown curls. “Mm, so pretty like this. I’m gonna make you eat my ass ‘till you can’t breathe, baby. Gonna come all over that face, and you’re gonna take it, aren’t you?”

Sam’s only response was a shaky exhale and the barest nod, his hands coming up to curl around Dean’s thighs.

Dean didn’t wait. He lowered himself, guiding Sam’s mouth to the slick, aching furl of his hole, and the first hot, wet drag of Sam’s tongue struck a husky moan out of him.

“Oh. Oh, fuck- yeah, that’s it. That’s fucking it.”

Sam licked into him with a reckless, unpractised enthusiasm. His tongue was broad and warm, lapping over the puffy rim and tracing the stretched-out ring of muscle that still remembered the shape of Sam’s cock. Dean ground down shamelessly, riding his brother’s mouth like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Deeper,” Dean demanded, rolling his hips in a filthy circle. “Get your tongue inside me, Sammy. Want you to taste how goddamn open I am for you.”

Sam obeyed, spearing his tongue past the loosened ring of muscle. Dean cried out, head throw back, one hand white-knuckled on the headboard; the other pulling at Sam’s hair. The wet, obscene sounds filling the room (slick lapping; Sam’s muffled grunts; Dean’s ragged panting) seemed like straight out of a cheap porno.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah- just like that. Fuck my hole with your tongue, baby. Eat it like your starving for it. Tell me you love it. Tell me you love eating your big brother’s ass.”

Sam made a broken, throaty sound against his skin and the vibrations shot straight to Dean’s cock. He couldn’t see Sam’s face anymore, just the crown of his head and the cadenced movement of his jaw, but he could feel the way Sam’s hands tightened on his thighs, pulling him down harder. Sam’s nose was pressed against his perineum, his stubbled chin slick with spit and cum; rubbing against Dean’s inner cheeks- that was surely going to leave him with a rash. Dean was fucking drowning in it.

“Gonna come,” he said, his voice cracking into a high, keening whine. “Gonna come all over your face, Sammy- don’t you dare stop- don’t you fucking stop-“

Sam’s tongue plunged deeper, his lips sealing around the rim and sucking hard and that was it. Dean broke down with a hoarse, ruined bawl, his untouched cock spurting hot, thick ropes across the headboard, Sam’s hair and forehead and his cheeks. He rode Sam’s mouth through every pulse, grinding his release into his brother skin, and Sam took it. Took all of it, lapping and sucking until Dean was a trembling oversensitive mess above him.

When Dean finally lifted himself off, his thighs quaking with the effort, he looked down and nearly came again from the sight alone. Sam’s face was glazed- painted with streaks of white, his lips swollen and glistening, his eyes dazed and half-lidded. A thin strand of spit and cum connected Sam’s mouth to Dean’s hole and Dean reached down to swipe his thumb through it, pushing it gently past Sam’s lips.

“Swallow,” he rasped. Sam’s throat bobbed, and Dean felt a surge of domineering, hectic adoration. “Good boy. Such a good fucking boy.”

Then, after his post-climactic shudders had passed, Dean felt his mind begin to blanken, the spell subtly etching away into nothingness.

His body went limp, flopping to the side of Sam, his breathing ragged and shallow. And then his eyes fluttered closed.

Dean?” Sam stilled, lifting himself onto his elbows and turning to his brother’s still body. “Dean, hey- Dean!”

But Dean didn’t respond. His face was slack and peaceful. Panic clawed up Sam’s throat.

Very carefully, he reached over his brother, two fingers pressing to the pulse point in Dean’s throat.

A pulse. Strong, steady and normal.

Sam let out a long exhale, His hand came away slick and shaking, and he stared down at Dean’s unconscious form, his mind struggling to catch up with the events of the last few hours.

The spell was gone. Dean was alive. They’d done things Sam was sure their relationship would never recover from.

Sam knelt there for a few more minutes, between his brother’s spread thighs which were covered in sweat, saliva and cum. Then, moving on some weird, fucked-up kind of autopilot, Sam reached for the edge of the motel sheet, pulling it over Dean’s limp body and tucking it around his shoulders.

He should clean them up. Make the morning a bit easier for the both of them.

But Sam could barely keep his eyes open. All he could manage to do, was slump down beside Dean and follow after his brother into the world of unconsciousness.