Wifey, your God damned tags are killing me! Can you imagine how differently things would have turned out if when Dean showed up at Stanford to ask his straight-laced little brother to help find John, he instead found Sammy the law-school slut? The frat house boy who'd pledged his freshman year, got plowed & throat-fucked daily, & knew just how to beg, "Please big brother, may I have another" in a fucked-out voice because that's what he's been saying to the other frat boys for the last 2yrs?
Wifey!! 💕💕
Sammy the law-school slut. Carve that on my tombstone because I am DECEASED.
Dean barely recognizes Sam.
His baby brother's hair is longer, and an absolute mess. Like he's just been fucked within an inch of his life. His pretty eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide as he sinks to his already raw knees in front of Dean. Hickeys and bruises scattered across his smooth tanned skin. A few random numbers sloppily written on his forearms in different color Sharpies.
The sight makes Dean's blood boil and his cock a c h e all at the same time.
"Fucking slut," he growls, trying desperately to keep his composure as Sam starts to tease him through his jeans with his tongue.
"Drop the self righteous act and I'll show you just how much of a slut I can be, big brother." There's a wicked gleam in Sam's eyes as he looks up at Dean. Spit dripping down his chin, dimpled cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink.
"Come on, Winchester. Make him gag on it, he loves that."
That Brady kid is whispering in Dean's ear again. It sounds like a dare. And everybody knows that Dean Winchester never backs down from a challenge.
He's just got one condition.
"Beg for it, slut."