TW // NSFW
Possessive/dark Dean, slightly slutty Sam, wincest obvs
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In life, there were facts. Things that were irrevocably true. The grass was green, the sun came up each day, we need oxygen to live...
Sam belonged to him.
All simple facts of life.
The thing was, sometimes Sam seemed to forget that, especially after he had a few drinks in him, and right now Dean was sat at a table in the roadhouse watching Sam flirt with some buff hunter guy.
And Dean was on the verge of losing it.
The guy said something, punctuating it with a wink, and got one of those giggles out of Sam that were usually reserved for him.
He didn't catch whatever Sam responded with, but his younger brother must be saying something good because then the guys filthy hand was moving to cup Sam's slim, perfect waist and pulling him in slightly.
Dean threw back the rest of his whiskey and pushed himself up fast enough to almost send the chair toppling.
He stormed up the bar, fully ready to punch the ever living fuck out of this man for having the sheer damn audacity to touch something that belonged to Dean, but then he saw Ellen's warning look in his direction.
He gritted his teeth, body tense. Right, he couldn't exactly beat the guy bloody in the middle of the bar. It would only cause issues for her, and the last thing she needed was the cops sniffing around here.
Dean could do without it too, considering he was technically a wanted felon.
He still approached regardless, sending the guy a glare.
"Hey Sammy, ready to get going?" Dean asked carefully, his eyes being dragged to that hand still resting on Sam's hip.
He forced himself to take a breath and calm down. It didn't really work, but at least he tried. He just needed to get Sam out of here and as far away from this guy as he possibly could, immediately.
"I'm good actually."
Dean's head snapped up. That was the last thing he expected Sam to say, but maybe he was getting too used to Sam following his every request. Maybe Sam was starting to fight back against it but well...
Sam was his, and he could fight against it all he wanted but that fact would never change.
Dean wouldn't let it.
Sam wasn't even looking at him, eyes clouded slightly but fully focused on this guy in front of him, and Dean gritted his teeth so hard it fucking hurt.
Those eyes, full of lust and want were meant to be saved only for their motel room. Fuck. Dean had God damn taught him that fucking look, the little shit.
"Sam, now." Dean hissed, tone low.
He was vaguely aware of Ellen hovering nearby, her expression partly exasperated and partly nervous.
She fucking should be, because if Sam didn't come with him right now? Dean was going to quite literally kill this bastard in the middle of her bar, cops be damned.
"You heard the kid, he's having fun. Aren't you, Sammy?" The guy smirked, radiating smugness as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss just below Sam's jaw.
Dean knocked him clean off the chair before he could even pull back, landing a kick to his chest as soon as he was on the ground.
"Dean! Jesus, stop it now!" Ellen hissed, but Dean kept kicking at the man until his boot had blood splattered on it.
He had touched Sam, he deserved it.
Speaking of, Sam hadn't said a word. He was still leaning on the bar, watching with an almost bored expression as the scene unfolded, with his chin resting on his hand.
"Dean, get the hell out and cool the fuck down!" Ellen seethed as she pulled him back.
"Fine. Sam, now" Dean gestured to him as he left, and he could hear Sam following close behind.
They got to the impala and Dean shoved Sam up against the side of it.
Sam went easily, putting up no resistance as he was slammed up against the car.
"You're being dramatic." Sam said, but he didn't sound mad.
"Am I? You knew what you were doing, rubbing up on that guy like some slut, letting him believe he would get to take you home..." Dean seethed quietly, gripping Sam's waist in the same spot his hands had been.
He tightened his hold, hoping Sam would have bruises in the shape of his finger tips tomorrow. Maybe if he covered him in marks like that he'd get the message that no one else got to touch him. Not like how Dean did, no one ever could.
"Maybe I would of let him." Sam bit, a sudden indignation in his tone as he stared at Dean with determination.
Dean's mind was instantly filled with images of Sam and this guy. Of Sam on his knees in some back alley, sucking his dick like it was his last meal. Of Sam on some unfamiliar bedspread that smelt nothing like Dean, legs spread open and ass in the air and ready. Of this guys fucking hands shoving Sam face first into the mattress while he fucked him.
It set off something primal inside him, and he tossed himself forwards and kissed Sam hard, their chests hitting together as Dean shoved his leg between Sam's to make his younger brother part his own.
Sam moaned into his mouth loudly, clearly not trying to suppress a thing as he groaned on Dean's tongue like a hungry slut.
"You wouldn't fucking dare." Dean snarled, nipping at Sam's lip hard enough to draw blood. Sam didn't so much as wince, letting his head fall back slightly.
"Say. It." Dean hissed, bringing a hand up to Sam's hair and janking his head back down, squeezing his jaw and forcing him to lock their eyes.
"Say what?" Sam asked innocently, eyelashes fluttering, and Dean was convinced there and then that Sam would be the death of him someday.
"Sam," Dean said, a warning, and Sam seemed to melt beneath his hands.
"I belong to you. All yours, Dean."
Dean smirked, pressing their lips together again, tongue sliding over Sam's lips to swallow up the blood he had brought to the surface.
"Damn fucking right."
