anyone here fuck with lukedean.

sam usually only takes them out to sniff them, hesitant to taint the years old smell he likes to pretend is still reminiscent of everything dean. he fondles himself absentmindedly while thinking of his brother, ass up on the bed as he presses his face into dean’s pillow, still slightly wet from dean’s hair after his shower last night.

he grinds into the palm of his hand, feels precum staining the front of their boxers, tainting it, sam’s scent mixing with dean’s imagined one, and the arousal of it has sam inhaling dean’s actual scent greedily, yearning for his sweat, his morning breath, the unclean scents only reserved for sam.

he doesn’t expect the door to creak open—dean usually isn’t back so early from his grocery runs— and for dean to come up behind him, palming his ass and thumbing open the perfectly placed tear at the back of the boxers, moving it to expose sam’s hole.

“miss me, sammy?” dean rasps, his voice lower than usual. sam knows that tone, the tone dean uses when he’s fucking deep up into sam’s guts like he hates him, like he needs him to breathe.

sam knows the feeling.

he hears dean huff in amused realization behind him. “are those my old boxers? you really kept that thing?” his coarse fingers press at sam’s hole, teasing pink edges and exposing him to cold air, spreading him thin. it’s fucking painful, but sam pushes back for more.

he whines as dean’s fingertip breaches his entrance. “yeah, they’re ours.” he grunts out, breath punched out of him as dean pushes in further. “couldn’t get rid of them.”

dean’s other hand grips his ass cheek and spreads him further so he can have a clear view of his dry thumb spreading sam open. sam bites into the pillow to stifle a groan.

“gonna fuck you open in my boxers, in our boxers, baby brother.”