Sam's knees are raw where they've been rubbing against the threadbare sheets tangled beneath him. Every muscle in his body screaming for mercy as he presses his forehead to the mattress, slowly drawing in a ragged breath.
"Behave," Dean chides, emphasizing his demand with sharp smack to Sam's right ass cheek. He sounds every bit as wrecked as Sam feels, but his voice still has that infuriating playfully tone. The one that makes Sam's blood boil and his insides twist.
"Please." Sam says again, and this time it's barely audible. A desperate plea that he knows isn't strong enough to break through Dean's unwavering concentration. But still, Sam can't help but try. "Dean, I need-"
Rough hands slide up the length of his back in response, the action making Sam shiver violently. His skin is slick with sweat, Dean's soft, warm touch tempting him to chase the sensation. And it takes everything Sam has in him not to move. His knuckles chalk white, gripping the sheets for dear life as he tries desperately to obey the one order Dean had given him
"Fuck, Sammy. You're gagging for it, ain't ya?"
A jolt of pleasure and pain shoots up Sam's spine as Dean rocks his hip forward agonizingly slow. He can feel every inch of Dean's cock slide into him, hard and wet, making Sam hurt in the best possible way. In the way that was so organically Dean. Like the sting of sharp teeth soothed by a sweet kiss.
A shot of whiskey and a crooked smile. The only truly good thing Sam had ever known. Despite the fact that Dean would disagree with his dying breath.
Sam isn't above begging. Not when his thighs are starting to tremble from holding himself still for so long. But he doesn't try to readjust his position though. God, he'd rather cut his own tongue off than move. Because if he moves Dean will stop, and that's the last thing Sam wants right now. Honestly, he doesn't think his dick could handle that kind of disappointment.
"Sorry little brother," Dean taunts as he starts to pull out, the slow, slick motion making Sam's blood turn to ice in his veins. The younger man unable to help the pained whimper that escapes his throat at the action because fuck, it hurts. He wants Dean so bad that it hurts, but he has to stay still or he won't get what he wants. Dean will make sure of that. "But you're gonna take what I give you and you're gonna thank me for it."
Sam nearly screams when Dean sinks into him with one brutal thrust of his hips. His vision blurred from the tears brimming in his eyes as Dean grips both of his ass cheeks tight enough to bruise. There's another hard slap against his already battered flesh before Dean growls, "Thank me, Samuel."
Sam hears his brother hum softly in reply, skilled fingers dancing playfully across Sam's heated skin. It's comforting, what his brother's doing now. Almost hypnotic. And that's why Sam just about loses his mind when Dean all of sudden pulls out again lazily, leaving him feeling helpless and empty. His senses overwhelmed and his body aching.
"What would you do if I let you move, baby boy?"
Sam hears the question. Hell, he even comprehends it. But his mind is fuzzy and all screwed up with need and he just can't make himself form actual words. So instead he groans, low and deep in his throat, daring to wiggle his ass ever so slightly. A not so subtle, but very effective way of getting his point across.
Sam almost bites blood out of his bottom lip when Dean pushes back into him, stretching Sam so wide that it makes his eyes burn with tears. His neglected cock throbbing painfully between his legs, drooling precum all over the wrinkled sheets.
"I know what you'd do if I gave you permission to move," Dean chuckles, the dark, filthy sound sending a chill up Sam's spine. He can feel his brother's hands on his hips now. His unforgiving grip holding Sam in place. Keeping him at Dean's mercy. "You'd go crazy trying to fuck yourself on this cock," he taunts as he grinds his hips against Sam's ass teasingly.
Sam can barley think. His breath catching in his throat when Dean shift the angle of his hips, pushing in deeper than before; his cock hitting just the right spot inside Sam that has the younger man's eyes rolling back in his head.
"You'd be a mess, Sammy. Wouldn't be long before you were whining like a bitch in heat, begging me to fuck you right."
Sam wants to say he can't take this, that it's too much, but the complaint dies on the tip of his tongue when he feels Dean's palm, warm and rough, wrap around the back of his neck. Applying just enough pressure to make Sam pay attention, a teasing threat. The kind that Dean was way too fucking good at.
"You can, baby brother." Dean says, and while his tone is gentle, his actions are not. The tight squeeze he gives Sam's neck making the younger man's stomach knot up.
Suddenly, Sam feels too hot and too cold all at once. He's sore in places he didn't even know he could be sore, his body screaming for release. Or more specifically, screaming for Dean. "And how do I know that, sweetheart?"
It takes Sam entirely way too much time to make his mouth cooperate but somehow he manages. His tongue feeling like it's made of lead when he says, "Because you know what I need and you always give it to me."
"Good boy. But I think you're missing one little thing," Dean teases breathlessly, fucking into his little brother so deep that Sam swears he can see stars.
"Th-thank you for giving me wh-at I need, Dean."
"You're welcome, Sammy. Now shut up and take it."
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