‘big bro’ dean x reader … ‘big bro’ sam x reader (18+)
warnings: pseudocest, double penetration (anal and vaginal), pussy eating, anal fingering, creampies, aftercare, angst! happy ending though, NO WINCEST wincest dni this is not the place to be on a saturday! or ever!😂😂😂
note: the moment you’ve all been waiting for. im so excited to share this with you guys!! i hope you all like it!!! sorry for the long wait!!!
The first time Dean allowed himself to lay his hands on your skin he felt damned.
Now, he’s never been much of the religious type, but for the first time in his life he felt like he might need to turn to God. He wanted so badly to feel disgusted by your flesh, to feel grossed out with every inch he sank. But he didn’t. You felt good.
He can remember it clear as day. It was in the back of an abandoned house you all were squatting in for the night.
Dean reminisces the feeling of your tongue pressing against his. He’d stolen kisses every now and then before this but pulled away before he could turn it into anything more. He was too scared. His head hurt every time he thought to do it. Too much emotion running through his sharp mind to be happy.
Bed rotations were stalled. He never faced you, but you’d wake up to his arm around your stomach or his hand in yours each morning.
The first time he allowed himself to let go of all that guilt he felt free. He allowed himself to feel the warmth of your body, the warmth he’d envied for weeks that Sam got to feel before him. He adored every scratch you put on his back in the mirror afterwards, debating if he could get it tattooed. He remembers the way you looked at him as he stretched you out, an unfamiliar feeling to you because you were already used to Sam.
Dean remembers the way you blinked back tears, pulling him in for a deep kiss when he came inside you. There were no condoms where there typically should be. He remembers the feeling of relaxation in his bones when he kissed you back.
He feels relaxed as he sleeps beside you, arm around your stomach and his face in your neck. His brows are furrowed and his exhales grow shaky with every scratch of your nails against his head.
No, he doesn’t love you like that. Not in the same way you love Sam, not in the same way he loved any woman before shit got.. weird. But he loves you in another way, the way a father loves his daughter and wants to protect her, doesn’t want her to leave home in fear of others taking advantage of her. That’s how he loves you. He knows you love him in that way, too.
“Dean?” Your voice manages to lull him out of whatever daze he was in. His eyes feel heavy. His fingers curl around your waist and he hums softly. “Mm?” Your body turns somewhat, hand pulling out of his hair. He makes a disgruntled noise from being pushed out of his resting place. “I.. need a smoke.”
“A smoke?” He grunts, lifting his head and squinting at you. “It’s too late for a smoke.” His scolding words make you smile. “I’m capable of going by myself. Plus, I can watch for Sam whenever he comes back.”
“You’re not going by yourself,” He murmurs, lifting his body and rubbing his eyes. “Come on.”
Dean forces you to sit close by. He has his arm around your shoulder, letting your head lean into his chest as you inhale and exhale the cigarette between your fingers. Each hit feels like a punch to the lung, but you like it.
When Sam rolls back in with Baby he parks smoothly and exits the car with haste.
“Sammy,” He calls out, sliding his arm away from you and standing up. Sam smiles that lopsided smile of his, tossing the keys back to his brother and standing near. “She’s fine. Not a scratch, ‘kay?”
“Hope not.” He shoves the keys into his jeans. “What’d you get?”
“Got a pack of gum, some beer, and a newspaper.” He skims through the plastic bag in glances.
“Fucking hell. One thing I asked for was the damn pie.”
You snort, resting your cheek on the heel of your palm. “Gas station pie might kill you, De. Ever thought of that?”
Sam sighs, walking over to you and plopping himself down on the gravel. “Thank god someone else has some sense here.”
When he kisses you, Dean’s stomach churns. He wonders to himself, is this how he looks with you? Does he look this relaxed as his lips press against yours, his tongue brushing against the opening of your mouth and sticking it in? Does Sam feel this sick when he sees it? Does his stomach churn and bubble with disgust, too, or does he feel peachy keen?
“I’m going inside.” He grunts, turning abruptly and heading back in. You turn towards him, brows furrowing a bit.
“..You two did talk it all out, didn’t you?” You frown, stubbing your cigarette out on the ground. Sam nods. He squeezes your hand gently and you turn to him, brows knotted in worry. “I.. am going to see if he’s okay. Yeah?”
You know Dean too well to not want to check on him. You know that even if he says he needs space what he really needs is comfort. Something to lean on that isn’t just his own arm.
“Yeah, okay.” Sam smooths his hands out on his jeans, smiling up at you.
When you find Dean again he’s just sitting at the bed. He’s got his shirt off and on the ground, feet planted into rotting wood panels and his fingers in his hair. It’s almost statuesque.
You don’t say anything at first. Just crawl behind him on the bed and smooth your hands over his back until his muscles stiffen under your touch. He bounces his leg stiffly, running his hand over his face when he turns to look at you.
“What?” He huffs, frowning at your pitiful expression. “God, don’t look at me like that. Let Sam in. Don’t keep him out like a stray dog.”
“You guys’ve been tense for a while.” You mutter, blinking and straightening your face out. “Even though you talked.. or so you say you talked.”
“Oh, we talked.” He snarls. You squeeze his back. “Hey. I’m trying to ease the tension here, alright?” You sit back, settling your hands in your lap. “Talk to me now.”
“I don’t need you playing shrink, sweetheart.”
“I’m not being one. God forbid I want to make sure my brother’s okay, yeah?”
Brother, brother, brother. Your brother. Sam’s brother. Your big brother. Your pseudo-brother.
The same ‘brother’ you had sex with not even two nights ago, that brother.
“I-I don’t..” He rasps, standing up and covering his face. You perk up, watching as he paces. He moves like he’s preparing for the worst. “Don’t fucking call me that,” He grunts. “We had sex the other night, don’t fucking call me that.”
“I am sick!” Dean can barely speak. He feels like he’s better off rotting in some unknown place, better off anywhere but here. When he manages his way back to you, he looks lost. Like a child. You tilt your head. “I-I’m fucking sick in the head. This whole thing is sick. You and Sam surely thought of that when you started fucking each other, yeah? Surely? At any time did you think it was weird?”
“I mean, yeah, but- but it’s not like anything’s going to change with us.” You exhale. You shrink into yourself, wiping your hand down your face. You don’t want to look at him. He doesn’t want to, either, but he stares at you with the same ferocity he does when he whacks off a vampire’s head. “Shouldn’t it change?”
You swallow. “Do you want it to?”
Dean grabs at your arms, pulling you closer until you’re writhing with discomfort. His lips meet yours aggressively, tears bubbling behind his eyes as he shoves his tongue into your mouth.
It’s always like this, isn’t it? It’s always heat, messy forces of mouths combining into one. You maul at each other like animals, desperate to fight for your own. It sounds like you two are growling.
Neither of you notice when the door opens, when Sam sneaks his way back in and sees your bodies running along each other like a river of passion. Your fingers are loyal to the curves of Dean’s muscles in a way they never are to his. It almost makes him jealous.
He doesn’t get the sharp dig of your nails in his arms with every scrape of his teeth against yours. He doesn’t get the same brush of your hands riding up to his shoulder blades. What you two have is animalistic. Driven by pure devotion and a need for each other that Sam doesn’t provide. It’s almost familial the way you two paw at each other like you’ve known eachother’s nakedness for more than just the last few weeks.
Sam knocks on the wall. Once, twice, then thrice with a cough to go with it. “Hey,” He calls out, brows furrowed with irritation. He doesn’t want to watch you two hump each other. He doesn’t want to feel jealous anymore. Dean can barely pull himself off, but he does begrudgingly. His head turns and he glares at his brother like they’re going to have a dog fight.
“What?” He snaps. Sam makes a face. “I don’t need to see you two having sex.”
“If you don’t like it then you’ve got a few places to go.”
“Yeah, well, some people need more than just five hours of sleep, Dean. Like me.”
“You can sleep in the damn car for all I care! You got her for months, I get her for two seconds before I’m being begged to stop!”
“Yeah, well how about you guys go to the car if you want to fuck like rabbits instead?”
Their bickering fills your ears. It rises to the top of your head and makes you feel dizzy. You’re all kiss-dazed and suddenly immersed in loud noise.
“Guys, come on! Knock it off!” You turn your head and cover your ears. He gets off the bed, picking his shirt back up. “Oh, I’ll knock it alright. I’m going to the bar. How’s that for some peace and quiet?”
Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes, kicking his feet at the ground and rubbing his hands over his face. “You’re always so damn defensive. Can never hold a conversation without flipping out!”
“I can hold a damn conversation!” He barks, shoving the fabric over his head and shoulders. “Learn to hold a pillow over your head if I’m fucking the shit out of her!”
“Jesus Christ, shut up!” Your shouting hurts. It scratches the inside of your throat like metal wires. “Shut up, shut up! What the hell is the matter with you two?!”
Their chests rise and fall with irritation.
Classic Winchester bickering. Anything but a normal conversation with healthy boundaries, right?
“God, you two can’t do anything without screaming at each other! It’s ridiculous! What’s got your panties in a twist all of a sudden?” You sit up, wiping the back of your mouth and flipping your hair out of your face. “Dean, sit back down.”
It’s not a request. It’s a meek attempt at ordering him around like a dog.
“For the love of everything, sit down!” You yell. You feel like you’re choking on air. It’s too much voice, too much being exhaled for someone like you. He sits. Sam subconsciously sits at your request, too. His fingers grasp at the sheets and he sinks into himself, staring at you like a scolded child.
It’s heavy breaths that fill the silence. Nobody speaks. The air is weighted, pressed against your shoulders like an elephant in the room. You feel it the most. It’s all your fault, isn’t it? For making Sam this way, for enticing Dean into it, too. The pit of guilt circles your stomach like a frolicking sheep.
“I-“ You shake your head. All you want to do is crawl away. Somewhere far, somewhere nobody will see you. You wonder if they feel like this, too, or if anger consumes them like moss to a house. “I don’t.. want you to fight. We shouldn’t fight. This is all stupid.” You blubber, squeezing your hands into fists. Your throat closes and opens.
“Talk to each other.” You ask, running your fingers through the crest of your hair. Sam squeezes the sheets. “We talked already, princess. He’s just being an asshole.”
“I’m not being an asshole.” Dean chimes. If he were a dog, his fur would be sticking straight up. “You decided to antagonize me.” The younger one scoffs. “Antagonize. Big words aren’t going to make me feel bad for you.”
“Holy shit.” You’re always amused by their inability to communicate. It sounds like a bunch of four year olds without any manners. “Holy fucking shit. I-I can’t. I can’t.” You roll off the bed, making way towards your sweater and pulling it back over your body. Dean gives you a look. “Oh, you can leave but I can’t?”
“You can’t even have a proper talk with your own brother about something so trivial!” You scream. You rub your temples, groaning and burying your fists in your hair. “I-It’s my fucking fault for this whole mess but at least I could tell you if I was upset over something! You can’t do anything without someone yelling at you!”
You feel terrible. Your whole world is going to shit.
You should’ve told Sam to wait that day. Should’ve locked the door extra good so he couldn’t get in. Anything, anything but letting Dean find out. Anything.
“I need air. I need something. I need you two to talk, please, I am begging.”
Sam’s face scrunches up. He’s making the same face you do to Dean; it’s pitiful and scorning. You hate it, too. “..Alright. Okay.”
The cold air fills your lungs and calms you like nothing else could. Takes the stress away in the same manner the cigarette does. Flick, light, and burn.
It fills your lungs like a kiss. Stronger than the scent of cologne at your back, stronger than an arm around your waist. It isn’t strong enough to hold the tears back. Isn’t strong enough to pull you back together through shaky breaths and coughs of choked up smoke with each sob.
Yeah, it hurts. Would it be easier if you didn’t know them? How much of a difference would that make? If you were some random woman hobbling along through hunts, would they care so much about sleeping with you?
You are a hydrangea, blossoming through wet tears and turning a beautiful blue. Your feet are crouched in dirt so close you can feel it in your nose with every breath. You wish you were being washed away, absorbed like the air that goes into your lungs and comes back a white cloud.
The sound of shoes stills you out of a sob. It pulls you like a fish on a line, squeezes you tight.
Sam crouches down with you at the same level, places his hand on your shoulder and rubs at your back. “Princess.” He whispers. When you look back, your eyes are blurry. It’s his turn to hate a look now.
“Oh, sweetheart..” His embrace envelops you without a second thought. Lifts you out of your own misery. You stub your cigarette out, watch it crumble into the dirt. You hope that’ll be you one day.
Sam kisses the side of your head, places his hands on your cheeks and rubs out the tears into his own skin. His guilt consumes him. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs. You nod, sniffling and shrugging him off. At least you try to; he doesn’t really budge. His lips press between your brows, at your nose, and against your lips. Brings you warmth a cigarette cannot provide. Brushes his tongue against your lips and dips it in to taste the tobacco on your skin. He pulls away.
“Come back inside?” He furrows his brows, smiling a bit. You purse your lips. “..Okay.”
He’s always gentle with you, especially now as tears blur your vision and you keep wiping at your face with the hem of your sleeves. He keeps his hand at the small of your back, guiding you until you’re inside again.
Dean isn’t there, but the shower water runs so you know he’s in it. Sam helps tug off your sweater and places it onto a spare chair. His hands feel like silk as they glide against your arms, leading you into bed so he can unravel you like a bandage. He does all the work for you, wiggles your boots off, then your pants and shirt to leave you just in your undergarments. He sheds his own like it’s a second skin.
His body is solid like a rock. It curls into you and keeps you steady, hard abs at your back. He brushes his fingertips against the curves of your hips and thighs, up your waist, eventually to your chest.
“You talked it out?” You ask softly. Your hand curls into his. “We.. we did.” He murmurs, kissing the back of your head. You furrow your brows and turn your head back to him. “You sound nervous.”
“I’m not. It’s just,” He shakes his head. “He’s doing his best to come to terms with stuff. It’s tough shit.” Sam smiles so softly but his dimples pop out just the same. He leans down, pecks your lips gently. “He needs time.”
Lightly, you nod. Lean up into him and give a light peck, too. And another. And another that delves deeper, tongue darting out to part his lips and wet your own. He accepts his fate.
Hands crawl to your hips, squeeze the fat so tightly it leaves handle marks. The shitty air conditioning stops working from the heat of the shower. You can get a quickie in, he thinks. Dean showers for too long anyway.
He turns you. Fingers glide against your back and cup your ass, squeezing the flesh tightly as he flips you over him. They inch down to your panties, thin fabric bunched up between your ass which he paws at incessantly until it gives. You can feel him pressing at your asshole, circling the tight ring until you ease up.
You moan softly into his mouth, peeling yourself away from him. Sam smiles again. This time it’s wide and teasing. You groan when he dips his fingers lower, towards your aching cunt blossoming for him with nectar. He coats his skin in the wetness and brings it back up, the same fluid motions beginning again, small circles around your rim as if threatening you.
“We don’t have time,” You murmur, wincing as his finger gently begins a push in. It forces you to exhale. “Sam!” He laughs under his breath, large finger stretching you open as you groan beside his neck. Your face buries into the crook. Soft, languid, hot exhales against skin and brushing back into you. Each centimeter of his finger that goes makes you twitch and roll. He pulls it out, pushes a second in alongside it. It glides right in, your body trained to open for him.
“Dean’ll be a while,” His voice is hushed, like his words are a secret. You nod, reluctantly so. “He takes too long in those damn showers. You know him.”
His fingers widen, stretching your hole open until you’re reduced to a whining mess, fingers clammy as they grip into the sheets below. Your skin collects sweat from each pore, it seeps out onto him like rain, coats him in it like an oil spill.
His lips kiss at your neck, the meat of your shoulder pressed against his lips. He can feel his cock rising with every shudder. He adds a third just to be safe.
“Oh, fuck,” You gasp. Tears well and drop like flies. You bare your teeth into his neck, bone against skin. They push and press, nip at him until he relents and releases you with a gaping ass, pulsing with need. A silent cry for him and all he is.
Sam’s body listens without needing to be told, it grinds into you until he manages to wiggle off his boxers and slip your panties off your legs. Both go on the floor in a pile. “Up.” He pats your hip and you go.
Your body rises slowly, face flushed with these unbearably horny tears. He laughs. “So pretty.” His hand glides against your back, up and at the clasp of your bra, unhooking it skillfully until it drops fully. “Turn around, sweetheart. M’gonna take care of everything.”
You do. You lie against him, legs held up by one strong hand while the other holds the base of his cock at your hole. He teases, rubs the length against your cunt which leaks down between your ass. He slaps his tip against your clit, kissing your shoulder as you whine and writhe. Finally, he pushes in. It stretches you painfully at first, hurts and stings like a burn, but then feels like too much pressure. It fills you up and you can feel it in your stomach. He bottoms out and whines, squeezes your body to his.
His thrusts are always slow at first. They ease in and slip out quicker and quicker with each thrust until a rhythm picks up. You’re too caught up in how good it feels to have all of him inside you—his hand gently rubbing at your clit with each thrust, his moans filling the room alongside yours—that you don’t notice when the shower turns off.
Dean can hear it. Your sex is loud but not rough. He can tell by how you whine his name out breathily. He rubs the towel into his damp hair, droplets falling like a sprinkler. He wraps it around his waist, turning the knob reluctant to even leave the bathroom. He almost contemplates just staying in until you’re done, but he’s a big boy. He can handle a little sex.
The door opens under your ears. Sam notices before you, eyes widening and a groan escaping. “Fuck,” He rasps, coming to a halt. Dean smiles at his misery. “Oh, by all means, don’t stop on my account.” He waves his hand, shuts the door. You blink, opening your eyes and looking at him. He does a finger-wave.
“Dean,” You whine, hips bucking and rolling into Sam. He makes a face. “Come, come.. Please?”
“Come?” He snorts, rubbing the back of his neck. “You seem a bit.. occupied.”
You shake your head, bringing a hand down alongside Sam’s stilled one. You rub at your cunt yourself, spread it open with your fingers as if to invite him in. He throbs.
“Sam?” He coughs. He can feel himself rising under his towel. Sam seems reluctant, toes curling down into the mattress. He wants to make you happy, though. He knows what you’re thinking; you hope this will bring you all together again. “Okay, fine. Just.. don’t touch me.” Dean unwraps himself. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Warmth radiates off of Dean’s body when he comes close. His hands are powerful against your thighs while Sam’s scramble away. They grab like tentacles, hands against your knees and opening your thighs. You’re wet as ever, dripping down onto Sam as his cock fills your ass. It’s a beautiful sight, he thinks, watching you glisten and twitch with a need so strong it flows out of you.
His fingers dip into you, scoop your essence onto his hands and laps it up. You watch him with a giggle, the sound turning breathy suddenly as Sam begins fucking you again. He hugs your waist, kissing at your shoulder like an apology for the stillness. He’s a cat, trying to get your attention by rubbing onto you.
“So sweet.” Dean groans, bringing his fingers down again. He slaps your clit lightly, smiling when you moan and buck into the pressure. “Don’t be so greedy. You’ll get what’s coming.”
A whine leaves your lips. It’s more of a huff.
“Fucking rude,” You blubber. He shrugs.
He shuffles downwards onto his knees, scratchy motel sheets against his chest, pressing against his chubbed cock and sensitive tip until his face is between your legs.
“Hey,” Sam grunts, slowing his hips. You groan and kick. Keep going, it says to him, like a whip to a horse. He does. “I said don’t touch me.”
Their lips snap shut. Dean shakes his head and whips away the irritation like a dog with a tick. His mouth opens and wraps around your clit like second nature. You immediately yelp, feet planting onto his shoulders and curling into the meaty flesh of his back. Sam ignores the closeness to chase his own pleasure. His cock presses deep inside like a rabbit in a burrow—he fucks you like one, too, balls slapping against your ass.
Dean groans and moans into your cunt, tonguing your folds and dipping his tongue as far as it’ll go. He’s skillful, years and years of women who come and go into your lives finally being made to use right here where it matters most: your pussy in his face.
“Perfect,” He purrs, suckling your clit until the heels of your feet are digging into his back. He lets it go with a pop. “Beautiful pussy over here.” He licks one stripe, staring up at you with a cheeky smile. You can barely look at him, eyes threatening to roll back into your head. Your forehead presses against Sam’s temple, twisted away yet scrunched with pleasure. “P-Please, please don’t stop,” You sob, grinding against his teeth. Sam twitches under you, biting your shoulder. You’re squeezing the life out of him.
“Want it?” He flicks his tongue against your clit. You writhe, worm to dirt. “Yes, yes. God, yes, please, De!” Sam can’t take it anymore. He feels like his dick’ll pop off. “Make her cum, Dean,” He rasps. He tucks his chin onto your shoulder so he can hear better. “I’ll lose my shit if you don’t.”
“Needy. Both of you.” He scoffs, buries his face back between your legs and whips it around like he’s mauling you. He’s too fucking good at what he does, the sex god he is, forcing an orgasm out of you that’s so powerful it makes your spine rigid. You sit up straight, Sam grunting at the suddenness, your hands burying into Dean’s hair and shoving his face until you’re all finished. He could die happy right here.
You slump back into Sam’s chest like a sack of potatoes, eyes fluttering shut. Dean sits up, licking his lips happily and beginning to press his tip against your cunt.
“Will it fit?” Sam manages, head tilting somewhat. His body comes to a complete stop. Dean shrugs. “Probably. Just go with the flow, man. Seriously.” He slaps your clit and watches how you jump at the spark. “Tell me if it hurts, baby.”
Feels like you’re being ripped wide open, the thickness of his length pushing your walls out. Dean glances at you every so often but you only nod for him to keep going. You really just want to get this over with.
Thin skin inside you threatens to rip, threatens to fuse your insides into one. This is what it feels like to be a big ball of dough, stretched out by rolling pins and rested to expand under cloth. To be baked under heat, your skin warm and burning with every inch further. Dean’s hand is under your knees, face scrunched up at the tight squeeze until it finally gets balls deep. He sighs, muscles releasing themselves while he bottoms out. You whine like a horse, head tilting back against Sam’s shoulder who only kisses the side of your head and rubs your stomach like you’re pregnant.
“Didn’t think that’d work,” Dean admits, sighing and staring down where your bodies meet. Sam snickers. “A ‘trust the process’ thing. Y’doing okay?” He rests his palm on your inner thigh, smiling at how your eyes flutter and you exhale in relief. “Mm. I-I feel okay. It’s okay. Just a lot.” You manage, voice croaky and tight. Dean leans down, kisses your lips like an apology. You accept it entirely, letting your lips part for him as he tongues you into a writhe.
Sam buries his face back into your shoulder, slides his hands back onto your hips and lifts you up somewhat. You choke at the suddenness and it’s swallowed by Dean’s mouth. You feel panicked when he moves, his cock sliding in and out of your ass slowly but surely as Dean kisses you like a distraction. You peel away, twisting your head and squeezing your face. Skin reddens like a pomegranate. He smiles, sits back up and squeezes your legs. “Gonna move.”
He thinks that this is how it feels to be okay again.
That aching, swirling pit inside him is gone. Doesn’t pull or tug at his insides anymore when he watches your face contort with a pleasure so intense it makes you bite your lip until skin tears. It feels surreal.
The last time he had sex with you he wanted to cry. Didn’t let you look at him, didn’t let himself look at you. Buried his face between your legs but closed them, let your nails dig like shovels. Kissed and bit and tongued at your shoulders and neck but didn’t leave that spot until he finished and went to clean you. Forced you to turn away when you tried, so desperately tried, to look. But now he wants you to look.
To him in this moment there’s nothing more beautiful than your pleasure, the ecstasy you get from him and Sam splitting you open, buried deep inside your flesh and sharing the love they so deeply have for you.
He brings a hand down, lets your leg rest around Sam’s and begins circling your clit. They both groan in unison at the sudden tightness.
“I-I can’t do it anymore,” Sam murmurs, eye twitching. Sweat pools above his brow, dips down his eyelid and onto his cheek. He’s twitching, legs suddenly trembling with a need he cannot escape from. Toes curl into the bed until it creaks from just the pressure alone. When the springs shoot back up so does he, his hips rutting at your back so hard you’re scared he might bruise you. Sam cums with a whine, a sob, a nuzzle of his nose against your neck, smooths his hands against your waist and up to your breasts, squeezing them lightly.
“So damn quick.” Dean grunts. Sam huffs with annoyance, deciding not to give into it for once. “Started before you, anyway. Just hurry up.” He scoffs, fingers coming and pinching at your clit until you jerk up. “Don’t gotta tell me twice. Make her cum f’me, Sammy.”
He removes his hand and braces them on your knees while Sam does the honor of rubbing your clit. Your legs become pushed to your chest against your breasts, feet kicking at his biceps with every push of his cock. Sam’s fingers are delicate where Dean’s weren’t, soft and sweet. Two completely different energies all in one space.
Your body numbs and tingles as your orgasm approaches. You can’t feel your feet anymore. Dean’s cock drills into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. There’s no stopping him, you’ve come to terms with this. His body leans into yours and kisses you right on the lips, tonguing you and fighting for a spot. You give it up immediately. Let him taste you, all of you, all of the love you have for them. Tongues and teeth.
“Holy shit,” He groans into your mouth. The words vibrate against your bone, make you lean your head away. Sam’s fingers are tight, a dull ache in the muscle from repetitive action. “Gonna cum, sweetheart.”
“Y-Yeah, yeah, okay.” You whimper. Your hips buck and roll into Sam’s hand, into Dean’s cock. Both are still inside you, and even as Sam softens it’s still so deep inside. Dean huffs and smashes his face into yours again. His teeth hit your upper lips first, bone into flesh to force it to bleed again. The pain sends a shock up your spine, up your pussy, into your gut. You climax with a shriek. Dean follows.
He topples onto your bodies like he’s dead, lets himself empty his balls until he feels relaxed enough to pull out. Sam takes the hint and does the same, though he’s slower with it as to not tear at your skin.
A dull throb runs through your body, your clit begging for a break. It’s puffy and hardened, stimulated enough to poke out beneath the hood. Dean chuckles into your neck, kisses the skin.
“Get off,” Sam grumbles, smacking Dean’s arm. They’re both sweaty, sticking to each other as if it’s a hot summer day. “I can’t hold up her and your big ass.” He rolls.
“I’ll get a towel or something.” He stands, rubs the back of his ivy-league short hair and walks around. You breathe heavily and flip over like a seal, arms stiff and barely moving as you shove onto the other side of the mattress. Sam curls beside you, wraps an arm around you and kisses your forehead.
“You’re okay?” He whispers. His thumb brushes your lips, smears blood away and it coats your skin like lipstick instead. You nod and a grimace at the sting, legs flexing with discomfort and twisting together. It relieved him more than anything. “Good. You did amazing.”
When Dean comes back he takes his time. Passes Sam his own towel but cleans you with such tenderness you’re surprised it’s coming from him of all people. Wipes you up and down, between every crease, against your neck and even kisses your forehead as part of the treatment. Smiles charmingly at you, teeth glowing pearly white even in the dim light.
You exhale something of a shake. “De,” You murmur. He stills, lips faltering for only a short moment. “Are you okay? With everything?” He shifts, chewing at his bottom lip and sinking down onto the bed. “I don’t want you to tell me something and mean the other. I.. I want to know. Really, really do. That you’re okay with this. Everything. That it won’t make you as upset anymore.”
“I mean.. Shit.” He sighs, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing your leg. He’s more so trying to soothe himself. “I’d be idiotic to say no after all of that.” He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you smile so wide since the words left. The last time he remembers anything close you had no front teeth and a wobbly lip, blood trickling from getting your teeth pulled. This time they bleed from his love.
Sam’s relieved, too. He loves Dean. Not in that way, of course, but he does. You both are the only family he’s got.
“Sleep with us tonight?” You murmur, reaching and squeezing his hand. He nods, glances at Sam who just rolls his eyes. “Sure. If I fit.”
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