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a fic for @writethelifeyouwant about Sam. On camera.
I think it ended up a bit over 500 words. Sorry not sorry.
-
Sam looks around nervously, a final check that everything’s in place. Bed made, door locked, roommate out for the next few hours, lights adjusted the way the studio told him to. Lube and a “realistic” dildo in easy reach, and he’s wearing loose gray sweatpants and a Stanford-red hoodie.
Tripod with camera aimed at the pool of light on the bed, and he wishes he could keep his face out but the studio pays more if they can see his face, his reactions, and he’s more than a little desperate since discovering that his scholarship doesn’t cover books or meal plan and he needs cash fast. Luckily there’s a market for pretty boys in financial need, he doesn’t even need to let someone else touch him and the studio loved his jack-off video.
This’ll pay more.
Deep breath. He hits “record” and moves around to sit on the bed.
“Hey, so uh… I’m Sam, and you all liked my first vid so much, I’m making another. And it’d really help me out if you could leave a comment about what else you’d like to see from me.” He scrubs his hands on his sweatpants, laughs a little. “I’m still a bit nervous, so any encouragement you all could give would be… yeah.”
The studio told him not to worry about music or anything, they’d add some when they edited the video he’s sending them, but he can’t help wishing he could have something playing. Anything to get his mind off the camera in front of him and the blinking red light. He knows his cheeks are flushed red from embarrassment, but the studio loved that. “Ya look all innocent and shy... that gets lots of subscribers. Keep it up!”
He rubs the back of his neck, glances up at the camera, and feels himself blush harder. The problem is he’s just not in the mood, but if he doesn’t drop this tape in the mail today, he’s gonna start really falling behind on his classes. And maybe he shouldn’t, because that’s what got him into this new line of work in the first place, but he can’t break a habit of a lifetime, so he closes his eyes and thinks what would dean do.
Tries not to feel shame as he pictures Dean in his position and his dick starts to take interest immediately. He strokes it lightly, teasing through soft cotton, enough so it plumps up to tent the fabric before sliding his hands up his chest, rubbing at his nipples until they stiffen.
what would dean do
Sam opens his eyes, grins at the camera. “Think I should take it off?” He pulls the zipper of his hoodie down a couple inches, bites his lip, drags it further until the N and F are separated. That’s enough to trail his hand up between his pecs, up his throat, pushing his head back as he draws his fingers up over his chin to tease at his lips. Pretends it’s someone else’s hand (pretends it’s dean’s) as he sucks the tip of his index finger in and moans softly. He brings his free hand up to squeeze his pec, and blushes again. It’s not a tit, but he’s been touching himself the way Dean touches girls for so long he’s not sure he can get off without it.
Slowly, he pulls his finger out of his mouth, makes it pop loudly before tugging the zipper down completely and shrugging out of the sleeves. “You’ve got a great bod, kid, let us get a good look,” the studio said, so he pauses there, flexing his muscles, running his hands over his abs and gasping as he tickles his own sides. Goes back to his chest to squeeze and tweak his nipple, pinches one hard and gives it a little twist that makes him gasp. His eyelids are heavy as he looks into the camera again.
“I like when it hurts, just a little.” He barely recognizes the husky voice as he confides in the camera. In the thousands, maybe millions of faceless men who are going to watch this. Sam lets his eyes fall shut and pictures Dean standing there. “Wish you could touch me.”
what would dean do
Sam lets his hands fall, caresses his dick through his sweatpants with a groan. “Ready for more?” He falls back onto the bed, lifts his hips to slide his sweatpants off his hips, scoots back as his cock springs free of the waistband to thump against his belly. It’s hard and heavy, aching for attention but he avoids touching it. Frames it in his hands as he kicks his sweatpants off to the floor, pressing on the base with his thumbs to make it stand straight in the air. “Big, huh?” is not false bragging. He knows what average is, in real life and in porn, knows that he’s larger than most. Knows that he looks even bigger shaved bare, like the studio instructed. “Too bad it’s wasted on me.”
He pulls a leg up, raising his ass a bit higher, feels the tension in his abs as he reaches around his thigh to grab a cheek. Spreads himself wide, shows his hole to the camera. “What I really like… I like playing with this.” He braces himself on one elbow, reaches further, and rubs just the tips of two fingers over his hole, dry. His dick twitches, precum beading at the tip and smearing on his skin. Sam presses lightly, then harder, gets a finger in halfway to the first joint. A quick glance over his shoulder and he’s able to stretch his arm back to the bottle of lube on his nightstand. He flicks the lid open with his thumb and drizzles slick over his fingers and hole, hissing slightly at the chill.
The lube makes everything slippery, lets his first finger sink in completely and he’s got a second shoved in with a happy sigh before he remembers what the studio said. “Go slow, make ‘em wait for it.” He pulls his fingers halfway out, shoves them back in, starts slowly fucking himself and crooks his fingers up to hit his prostate. His dick leaks out more precum, a steady drip like a string of drool from where the head bobs in the air to his belly. His hips jerk, fucking back at his fingers and he bites his lip.
“Could come like this, but you’re here for something else, right?” Sam pants, pulling his eyes back to the camera. He doesn’t stop fingerfucking his ass, feeling the soft heat clenching around his knuckles, just adds another finger and moans at the stretch. “Betcha wanna see me take… something… a bit bigger.”
He presses his fingers tight into his hole, rubs against his prostate and moans as he reaches his other hand out, grabs the dildo standing on the stand. It’s as long as he is, thick as his wrist, and he doesn’t think about how he’d picked it for its resemblance to Dean as he brings it to his lips. The position isn’t the most comfortable, but his tests showed him that it gets his face in frame without losing his ass, lets the audience see him wrap his lips around the thick mushroom head of his dildo while his fingers continue to thrust and stretch in his hole. The chemical taste of the fake dick is familiar, hours of practice for his own sake and he’d never planned to show off on camera but it is what it is. Slowly, carefully, he pushes the dildo into his mouth, opening his throat for it, doesn’t stop until the balls are pressed against his chin and he’s gagging on the length down his throat.
When he pulls it out, it’s glistening with spit. He’s gasping for air and his eyes won’t focus. His lips feel swollen when he licks them, tries to speak and has to cough to clear his throat. “Need it now,” Sam manages to say, and he pulls his fingers out of his hole, teases around the rim with the cock. “Need you so much…”
Sam struggles to relax as he pushes the head against his hole, pushes out against it, gasps and pants and whines until it finally pops through the ring of muscle, then lays there, clenching around the shaft until the burn of toothicktoomuch subsides. He fumbles for the lube, finds the bottle in the rumpled blankets where he dropped it, drips more slick onto the dildo and pushes it in farther. His back arches as he gets the toy deeper, each fraction of an inch a struggle. It’s his first time fucking himself with anything other than fingers and he’s almost sobbing with the pleasurepain of it, tears streaming down his cheeks. “De…”
did i say that out loud?
It doesn’t matter. He’s got the whole of it inside him, filling him more than he’s ever been, and he wants more. Wants to feel weight on top of him, pressing him into the mattress, wants someone else pulling the thick shaft out and thrusting it back in, wants to feel hips pressing into his, swiveling the way he used to see Dean swivel in girls. All he’s got is his hand and a heavy chunk of silicone, so he gets a good grasp on the balls and starts thrusting and grinding the dick into him.
what would dean do
He wraps his other hand around his own cock, squeezing tight at the base, stroking himself roughly in time to the thrusts. His hips jerk back onto the dildo and forward into his fist and he throws his head back, bites back a howl and turns it into a long, low moan. It’s hard to keep a rhythm and he gives up on that, focuses on the feel of being stretched wide and stuffed, grinds back to try and get it just a little deeper, and his vision goes white as he comes harder than he ever has, spattering up his chest and he feels a few drops land on his chin before he collapses, boneless, on the bed.
Sam takes several tries to roll over, pushing himself up on his elbows and knees, but he finally gets in the studio-requested position and lets the dildo slide slowly out of his slicked-up ass, lets the camera linger on his gaping, puffy hole for a long minute before standing up with a groan, walking on shaky legs to turn off the camera. He pulls out the tape before he can chicken out, shoves it in the pre-addressed envelope and wipes himself off before getting dressed and heading out to drop the envelope in the mail, and he resolutely doesn’t think about it as he heads back to the showers to scrub himself clean.
-
Dean pulls the package out of the PO box and tries to pretend he’s doing this for noble reasons as he shoves $5k of pool hustling and poker cash in an envelope to mail to Stanford. Tries to pretend he’s gonna destroy the tape without watching it, tries to ignore the fact that the last tape was worn out from watching it before he finally broke it in pieces and burned it by the side of the road.
But if Sammy’s desperate enough for money that he’s willing to do this, Dean’s gonna make damn sure no one sees what’s supposed to be his. And if he does watch the videos Sam sends “the studio” a few times (a few hundred times) before getting rid of them, well… Dean figures he’s paid good money for these, and it’d be a shame to waste it.
You know in season one ep 19 (I’ll paste the trascript)
[DEAN: (Softly) And... I don't mean any disrespect but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that.... but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.
SAM is quiet and listening now, tears in his eyes.
DEAN: God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?
SAM: (softly) Yeah I know she would.
SAM gives a half smile, then sighs heavily.
SAM: Yeah you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.
DEAN: What's it about?
SAM refuses to answer. ]
Like whats the main part Sam? Is it wincest? Is it pining!Sam how am i suppose to interpret this??? And what was the secret he was keeping in at the end of the bloody mary episode?
I was sooo confused when i first watched it (before being a wincest shipper) but now allll im seeing is pining!wincest in season one. Like???
I'm glad wincest made you see the light, nonnie!!! Welcome to the family! We have cookies :DDD
It's 100% pining!Sam on the first one for me. After all, the night Dean whisked him away from Stanford was the happiest night of his life, we all know this now. But I don't think he realizes his own feelings yet. But he knows guilt, because his girlfriend burned to death on a ceiling, yet his heart soars at Dean's off-key singing, at the way he drums his fingers on Baby's wheel in tune with the music (even though he complains about it, like any little brother worth his salt should). Even something as inane as Dean scuffling with him over his laptop sends warmth shooting through his chest, and that has him frowning, because as much as he loves his annoying big brother, his girlfriend just died, dammit. So maybe there's hurt in there, too, because here's Sam, trying to sort through his jumbled up emotions, and then there's Dean, adamant on pushing him into the arms of yet another woman.
But little does he know, Dean's pining, too. And worse still, he knows he's pining. Been pining for years. What made Sam's eyes bleed is the secret of his psychic powers, but Dean's not sure what made his eyes bleed: he's got too many damn secrets, too many to choose from, some darker than others. The trucker in Tennessee who'd looked at Sammy in his sweet sixteen for a minute too long, who'd been swiftly sent to the hospital with a wrung jaw; his selfish happiness at Sam's life burning away to ash because that means he can keep him; the ache he felt at every smile little Sammy threw at him finally clicking into place when his little brother wrapped his arms around him under the 4th of July fireworks.
The ache he feels even now as he watches Sam kiss Sarah.
"That's my boy," he says to himself, smiling, but his voice sounds thick to his own ears, too far away, mind screaming this is it this is it you idiot you pushed too hard and now he's falling into someone else's arms and, this is where you lose him this is where you finally lose him-
But then Sam's walking toward him, giving him a questioning look, and Dean moves away from the passenger side door -the one he'd been leaning against- on autopilot, mind in a haze. Sam's already folded himself into the passenger seat that still knows every groove of his body so well, and he's looking up at Dean with wide eyes.
"Dean? Aren't we leaving?"
And Dean's fingers unclench from around the impala keys at that, chest feeling light. Like a hand that had his heart in a fist had finally let go.
Summary: Sam finds a prostitute that can shapeshift to take Dean's form. Loosely based on @wincestdailyheadcanons‘s Headcanon #32
Part of my Unrequited Wincest series
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester, Original Shapeshifter Character, Dean Winchester
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Word Count: 2000
AO3: Link
Excerpt:
Sam rests a hand on Dean’s chest, curls his hand into a fist around the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt, searches Dean’s eyes. Not Dean’s eyes, he thinks but he pushes away the thought. They’re enough like Dean’s eyes. The same emerald green. The same depth. The same softness, as they focus on Sam. He takes a deep breath to lose himself to this again, and finally his head’s cleared enough to think this is real, for a moment.
It’s just Dean in front of him now, familiar but still so beautiful that he takes Sam’s breath away.
Full Fic:
It had taken a while to find this person. He’d heard a rumor, and it took a lot of asking around to get the details he needed. And it had taken longer to find a hunt close enough for Sam to be able to make an excuse about going to see a girl so he could meet up with them late at night, without raising Dean’s suspicion.
Sam meets her at a nice hotel with a king-size bed and slightly dimmed, romantic lighting—her choice.
She’s wearing a black dress and knee-high black boots, her curly hair loose around her shoulders. Classy, yet suggestive. The two of them sit on the room’s crisp, white couch to work out terms.
“So,” she says after she finishes counting the cash he gave her. “Who will it be?”
Sam pulls a photo out of his wallet. Dean, grinning at the camera, his green eyes sparkling. And something of Dean’s, too, like she’d asked for over the phone—a small amulet Sam had dug out from Dean’s bag. Sam passes them to the woman.
“Hm. And how do you want me to play it? Sweet and romantic? Rough? Kinky?”
Sam swallows. This is so fucked up. Why is he doing this? He considers standing up and walking out, right now, but he knows he’ll regret it if he does. This is a rare opportunity. “Romantic, I guess,” he finally says. “But we can play it by ear.”
“Sure,” she says. She stands up and grabs the small suitcase she’d brought along. “I’ll be just a moment.” She disappears into the bathroom and he hears the shower turn on.
Sam bounces his leg while he waits, feeling nervous. His desperation is pathetic, but this past year of working with Dean… Sam’s not sure he can take it much longer. He had to do something.
Finally the shower shuts off. A minute later the bathroom door opens, and Dean steps out. Black t-shirt, jeans, bare feet. His hair is slightly damp and untextured from his shower. Dean smiles at him, a soft, warm smile that makes Sam’s breath catch. “Hey, little brother.”
“Hey,” Sam says softly, standing up. He approaches Dean. He doesn’t have to hold back this time, he thinks, he can do what he wants to—needs to—do.
He’d thought about a moment like this a thousand times. What would he say, when he confessed to Dean? What would he do? How would Dean react?
He rests a hand on Dean’s chest, curls his hand into a fist around the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt, searches Dean’s eyes. Not Dean’s eyes, he thinks but he pushes away the thought. They’re enough like Dean’s eyes. The same emerald green. The same depth. The same softness, as they focus on Sam. He takes a deep breath to lose himself to this again, and finally his head’s cleared enough to think this is real, for a moment.
It’s just Dean in front of him now, familiar but still so beautiful that he takes Sam’s breath away.
“Dean…” He feels tears prickle at the back of his eyes as he finally, finally says what he’s been holding back for so long. “I’m in love with you. So, so in love with you. God. I want you so much.”
The corner of Dean’s mouth turns up. “Come on, man. Don’t get all sappy on me.”
Sam pulls him in and kisses him, the way he’s wanted to for years, desperate and hungry and hard. Dean matches the intensity, sliding his tongue against Sam’s lips, pushing into Sam’s mouth, claiming him. His lips are soft against Sam’s, his taste minty, and Sam’s surprised that up close he even smells like Dean. Let that go, Sam tells himself. He needs to get caught up in this, or it won’t be worth it.
Dean unbuttons Sam’s flannel while they kiss, pushes it off his shoulders.
Dean pulls away, his lips still close to Sam’s. “Sammy. Bed. Now.”
Sam laughs softly. “Sure.” Bossy big brother taking the lead. It’s reassuring.
Sam climbs onto the bed and lies back. Dean crawls over him, resting his hands on either side of Sam’s head and bending down to kiss Sam again.
Dean pulls away and sits back for a moment.“Come on,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”
Sam pulls off his t-shirt, climbs out of his pants and boxers, tosses all of it over the side of the bed. Dean looks him over. “Beautiful,” he whispers, running a hand down Sam’s chest. “I’ve been missing out, huh?” he says, cracking a smile, and Sam’s heart flutters.
“You have me now,” Sam says.
“Yeah, I do,” Dean says.
“I want to see you too,” Sam says, but he takes the lead this time, pulling off Dean’s shirt, unbuttoning Dean’s pants. Dean finishes undressing in front of Sam and, as Sam looks at him, it’s suddenly hard to breath. Does every part of this Dean look like the real deal? No—don’t think about that. This isn’t like Dean, this is Dean.
Dean bends down, slides a tongue up Sam’s abdomen, up to his nipple. He swirls his tongue around it and Sam gasps. Dean’s hand finds Sam’s dick. He jerks it slowly, his grip soft and just light enough that Sam shivers.
“You like that?” Dean says, his voice low.
“Yes,” Sam says.
Dean runs his tongue up a little further, sucks on Sam’s skin by his collarbone. Dean strokes a thumb around the tip, and Sam stifles a moan. “It’s okay, baby brother,” Dean says. “You can let it out.”
His hand runs down Sam’s cock, and this time Sam lets himself moan “Dean” as his hands grasp helplessly at Dean’s back while Dean pleasures him, kisses him, marks him.
Dean pauses to look at Sam through his eyelashes.
“Do you want to be inside me, Sammy?” Dean asks, and then bites his lip, already pink and tender from the kissing.
Sam pauses. He’s thought about this, the first time, for so, so long and he knows exactly what he wants. But he’s always wondered what Dean would prefer, if this situation ever happened. How is the real Dean in bed? Would he want to top or bottom? Would he act like the shifter is now?
Don’t think about that, Sam tells himself, and out loud he whispers, “Yes.”
Dean smiles and reaches over to a small bag on the nightstand, pulls out a condom and some lube. He leans back to straddle Sam’s legs and keeps his eyes fixed on Sam’s while he opens the condom, unrolls it down over Sam’s length.
Sam licks his lips. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been this turned on before. All the times he’s fantasized, actualized in front of him now. The long lashes over Dean’s fiery eyes, filled with lust. His smooth chest, his soft stomach. His impish grin as he squirts some lube into his hand, rubs it onto Sam’s dick.
Sam can’t stand it anymore. He rolls them both over so Dean is underneath him, looking up at him.
Dean raises his eyebrows. “Control freak.”
“You like it,” Sam says, and he’s kissing Dean again before Dean can dispute it. He slips one finger into Dean, two, to open him up.
Dean breaks away for a moment. “Quit teasing,” he murmurs. “Come on. Fuck me.”
“You want me that bad, huh?”
“Always have,” Dean says, and Sam feels a thrill go through him before he remembers but he doesn’t.
“Something wrong, Sammy?” Dean asks, a hand coming up to stroke Sam’s cheek.
“Huh? Oh. No, sorry. I was just… Thinking.”
“Well, don’t,” Dean says. He smiles softly at Sam. “Relax, okay? Let it go. Whatever you’re thinking about.”
“Okay,” Sam says, and he’s only able to offer up a wavering smile. He pulls back just enough to line himself up with Dean’s hole. Dean tilts his hips to make it easier for Sam, and Sam slides in.
Dean lets out a long exhale, his fingers digging into the back of Sam’s thighs, pulling him closer. Dean is warm and tight and as Sam starts to rock into Dean, he looks down at his brother’s face. Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut, his head pressed back into the pillow, his mouth wet and open as he breathes hard.
Sam feels an unexpected pang of jealousy. Dozens of girls got to see Dean like this, hot and worked up and turned on and so, so beautiful, and Sam never had, never would, see Dean—the real Dean—like that, even though Sam had been with Dean his entire life and those girls had only been in it for a night.
Sam only notices that he’s stopped moving completely when he feels Dean run a hand down his cheek. “Hey. Be here,” he says. “Be with me.” His voice is soft, and Sam closes his eyes at the words, at the feel of Dean’s warm fingers on his face, and Dean’s words work, a little bit. Sam feels like he’s a little bit outside of himself while he starts to move against Dean again, like this is a little unreal, but he manages to clear his mind enough to lose himself in the pleasure, the bliss of having Dean beneath him, kissing him, listening to him moan out Sam’s name when he comes. Hearing his name on Dean’s lips pushes Sam over the edge too, and he comes a second later.
Sam pulls out and lies down next to Dean, the only sound in the room coming from both of them breathing hard.
Sam rolls onto his side to look at Dean. Coming down from his orgasm-high, it feels even more clear that this Dean isn’t Dean, that this sex didn’t mean anything, that in a few hours, things would go back to how they were—Sam hiding his feelings from Dean, because he wants something from Dean that Dean could never give.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” Sam asks softly. It still doesn’t feel right, but spending the night wrapped in the arms of not-Dean sounds so much more appealing than spending the night in the same room as but still distant from the real Dean, sleeplessly staring at the ceiling and feeling guilty and alone.
“Yeah, baby,” Dean says. He gives Sam a light kiss. “Me and the room are yours until morning. We can go again, if you want.” The words of an escort to a john, not from a man to his lover.
Still, Sam says, “Yeah, I’d like that.”
———
Sam lets himself back into the motel room the next morning. He’s still in yesterday’s clothes, but he’s cleaned up and looking like his normal self. He wishes he felt like his normal self, too, not filled with this guilt and shame from spending half the night and a good part of the morning fucking a shifter that looked like his brother.
Dean is up and showered and dressed and drinking coffee.
“Ha, I know that look. The walk of shame,” Dean says to Sam. “How was she?”
“Don’t be gross, Dean,” Sam says, as he walks to his bag to get a fresh change of clothes, but the real disgust he’s feeling is with himself. He can’t even bring himself to look at Dean—this Dean, the real Dean.
“I’m just glad you’re getting yourself out there again,” Dean says. “It’s been a long time for you, man. I worry about you sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Sam says, turning away to hide the look on his face. If Dean knew why it had been so long, he’d have something else to say. “Yeah, I worry about me sometimes, too.”
He’s fighting to free himself, fingers trying to dig under the cord around his neck, to pull it away. It’s too tight; he can’t get a grip and he’s losing…he’s losing…
Suddenly Dean is there, saving him, unwinding the cord and pulling him close. Sam feels Dean’s stubble against his cheek, Dean’s hand cradling his head. He grabs onto Dean, fingers twisting into his jacket as he holds him tight.
‘Sammy.’ Dean’s voice is husky with relief. He pulls back and holds Sam’s face in his hands, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. ‘You’re okay.’
It’s a statement and a question and a promise.
‘Yeah. Yeah, Dean. I’m o—‘
His words are cut off by Dean’s lips. Sam pulls him in tighter, opening up to his kiss and giving back as good as he gets. They’re panting for breath, Dean’s lips moving down his jaw to his neck, and Sam starts to feel like all he can do is hang on while Dean ensures he’s alive with lips and teeth and tongue.
‘Sammy.’
‘Dean!”
‘Sammy… Sam!’
“Sam! Come on, dude, chow time!” Dean slaps a hand down on Sam’s shoulder.
“W-wha—” Sam flails awake, looking around wildly at his surroundings and praying Dean hasn’t noticed the current problem in his pants. Dean’s smirking at him, but that tells Sam very little. Sam hunches over under the guise of scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair, and asks in a sleep-husky voice, “Where are we?”
“Biggerson’s, just outside Kansas City. Come on, I’m starving.”
“You go on and get a table. I’ll follow you in a minute.”
Dean’s smirk returns. “So it was that kinda dream. Glad the nightmares are easin’ up, little brother. That heavy breathing had me worried for a sec.” Dean squeezes his shoulder with a grin. Sam hopes his tense reaction reads as irritation to Dean rather than suppressed pleasure. Dean gets out of the car and leans in through the open door. “Alright dude. I’ll see ya in a minute. Just…if you’re gonna jerk it, mind your manners. Don’t make a mess in my Baby.”
Sam presses his forehead against his closed fist and pivots his face to roll his eyes at Dean. “Sure thing, jerk.”
“Bitch.” Dean gives a winning smile, pats his pockets and nods when everything is where it should be, and swaggers toward the diner.
Sam takes several calming breaths, wondering which is more messed up: his dreams or his reality. Is it worse that his mind turned a near death experience into an erotic dream, or that his brother teasing him only worsened his current predicament?
***
They end up getting a motel room later that night. Dean wants to hit a bar, and he’s got that look that tells Sam Dean probably won’t be back in the room until morning.
Sam needs to let off some steam, too, but Dean’s way of random hookups isn’t really his thing.
They drink a couple beers and hustle a game of pool together before Dean splits off on the prowl. Sam watches surreptitiously, nursing another beer, but turns his attention elsewhere when Dean’s imminent success becomes obvious. For a brief moment, he considers trying out Dean’s way of letting off steam, but quickly nixes the idea when he realizes he’s comparing the looks of all his prospects to either Jessica or Dean.
Sam is getting tired of thinking about how fucked up he is. He finishes off his beer and decides to leave.
Sam waits until he’s back in their room, thoroughly ensconced in the embrace of shower steam, before replaying the dream images he’s been pushing away for hours. He teases himself with it, grip feathery light on his cock as he draws out the scene: Dean’s mouth on his, kissing down, hands moving from Sam’s face down his body… pulling him in tighter, kisses hungry, moving to press himself against Sam, between his sprawled legs… Sam thrusting his hips up in kind as Dean says his name over and over, ‘Sammy, Sammy, Sam…’
“Dean...” Sam is stripping his cock rapidly now, unable to hold back any more, needing roughness and the slight drag of skin against wet skin with only shower water and the dribbles of precome to ease the way. Imagines Dean biting a kiss into the side of his neck where the lamp cord had been; bites the meaty part of the arm he’s been using to lean against the wall, grunting his helpless release into the impression of his teeth.
He watches the water wash the physical evidence of his deviancy down the drain, and wishes his soul could be washed clean so easily. The brief warmth of satiation turns cold when he turns the water off and sees the bite mark he left on his arm.
