obsessed

despite everything it's still you.

Jared Padalecki as DEAN FORESTER

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azazel should had fucked both sam AND dean while possessing john

John leaves for a hunt without Dean while Sam’s sick and leaves him with strict orders to watch after his little brother, despite Dean’s protests about it being stupid that he has to play babysitter. Dean’s not at all happy about it, glowering and kicking at the wall with the toe of his hunting boot.

Sam shifts on the squeaky motel bed, scrunching up his face and frowning, squinting at Dean. His whole body aches, and ne’s uncomfortably hot and cold at all once. Not to mention, his throat hurts like a bitch, and that incessant kicking Dean is doing is only making the throbbing of his head so much worse. So he’s not proud of it, but he snaps at Dean, something mumbled about shutting it and letting him sleep, the words nearly incomprehensible and garbled with exhaustion.

Sammy knows he must be out of it because Dean seems to only take a second to be standing by his bed, now glowering down at him. He’s rough as he rolls Sam onto his side, making space to join him on the mattress, and in his daze, all Sammy can think about is how Dean’s cool hands feel so good against his flushed skin.

He barely comprehends Dean pulling his boxers down, it’s all he’s wearing anyways, but he does snap to when Dean starts to push into him, his spit-slick cock splitting Sam open. His head falls slack against the pillow, his whole body loosening, pliant to his big brother.

Dean swears before he grabs Sam’s hips harder, mumbling “jesus Sammy, you’re burning up, feels so fucking good” as he buries his head in Sam’s hair, and Sam’s legs fall open a little wider. He tries to say something to Dean but his throat is all raw and achy, so instead it just comes out as a ragged moan, the sound tearing its way out painfully.

Then Dean starts fucking him, long, deep strokes that would be hard enough to shove Sam forward if Dean’s strong hands weren’t splayed over his skin, keeping him close. Dean pulls Sam against him, the cool of his skin against the hot flush of Sam’s back, and Sam’s eyes roll back in an exhausted, groggy, feverish haze.

Dean’s fingers indent his skin, and his thrusts get faster, enough that Sam chokes and tries to wriggle away from the painful rawness, even as the feeling makes his own cock harden more, swollen and leaking against his stomach. Dean fucks into him rougher, and Sammy squirms and whines, but his limbs feel like lead and his head is pounding, hammering against his skull, so all he can manage is to choke out, “De please, please, it hurts”

It’s not long before he’s fully begging Dean, tears forming hot in his eyes and spilling over his fever-flushed cheeks. His legs are shaking, maybe from exhaustion, maybe the merciless way Dean’s fucking into him, or maybe from both. And his voice is weak and almost gone, scratchy and painful enough that it leaves him choking out Dean’s name inbetween thrusts. He begs him to stop until it feels like his throat is bleeding, telling him it hurts, and it’s too rough and, “please plea-e-se De… just wanna sleep, De… De, hurts so bad please no—”.

as soon as sammy said “i do” to buttfucking and getting buttfucked on the regular, dean dusted his hands of any other hangers-on. but they haven't had the talk about it yet. dean ignores the fact the idea of sam having sex with anyone else makes him physically nauseous.

so he’s quite surprised when he fumbles around for a condom one night and sam shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead and fumbles it out of dean’s hand.

“no,” he pants, “in me, you have to come inside me dean, please. wanna feel you leaking out for hours.”

and well. fuck. dean can’t say no to that.

when it’s his turn in a few days, he rolls away from sam’s mouth and has to try to focus through sam’s open mouthed kisses and bites to his shoulder blades as he fumbles in his nightstand for a condom.

sam makes an honest to god whine when he sees it, and laces his fingers with dean, keeping dean from opening it up.

“please, dean,” he murmurs, kissing dean with enough tongue to make dean forget his own name, “wanna come inside you, don't you wanna feel me?" and somehow dean gets distracted and the next thing he knows, sam is staring intently at dean's hole, pushing his come back in with strong, overwhelming fingers.

it becomes a routine. dean'll fumble around for a condom or pull one out of his wallet or yank open the glovebox for them and sam's big clever fingers will slide it out of dean's palm and drop it to the floor or the sheets or the asphalt.

and dean can't really find it in him to complain because he's having the best sex of his life on a daily basis. sam barely lets him go fifteen hours without bending him over or pulling him down.

one day, sam jumps on dean as soon as they light a warehouse full of vampires on fire, pushing him up against the impala and fumbling wildly for dean’s belt. when sam starts rubbing his fingers down the back of dean’s sweaty day-three boxers, dean smacks at his hands and warns “hey man i haven’t had time to clean today” because dean doesn’t care if he is fucking his brother—saying i didn’t douche is embarrassing as fuck.

sam, if anything, kisses dean harder, takes dean’s wallet out of his back pocket, palms the lube and leaves the condom as he drops dean's wallet onto the ground.

dean, who sam yells at if he doesn't wash his hands after using the urinal, balks. until, well, he's distracted. you understand.

dean wises up one day after he hauls his creaky joints out of bed to get sam a washcloth—he’s the picture of chivalry despite his brain being drained out through his dick, thank you very much—and comes back to find sam rubbing dean’s come into the inside of his thigh like a fancy lotion.

a lightbulb. dean’s little brother might be a fan of dirty messy possessive smelly sex. huh.