#bartender!sam

Ever since the Yellow Eyes Demon fried their mother extra crispy on baby Sammy’s ceiling, the lives of the Winchester boys have been unusual, to say the least. John, convinced that Mary’s killer had targeted Mary for a specific reason, moves the family to a small, two-bedroom ranch across town (so Sam and Dean can share a room and Dean can always keep an eye on the baby boy) and gets back to work. By day, he works at his garage with his partner, but by night, he hunts down any scrap of information he can about his wife’s murder. 

And Dean and Sam grow up the same way, going to daycare and then school and then the local community college, keeping their heads down and acting just like every other boy that grows up in Lawrence. They get called down to the guidance counsellor a little more often, they have bruises and cuts and scrapes a bit more than your average kid, but they lost their mother young, and John’s always been a bit rough and tumble. Everyone makes excuses for them, Sam and Dean don’t even need to come up with lies to cover up their true nocturnal activities and weekend getaways. 

They spend every moment they aren’t in school helping their dad hunt down evil–the supernatural variety. Ghosts and werewolves and poltergeists and vampires and demons. Demons become their speciality. Because as soon as they learn that it was a demon that killed Mary, it’s their mission to hunt down every single one of those sons-of-bitches until their entire godforsaken species is extinct. When they learn that Sam has demon blood running through his veins, courtesy of the murderous visit Azazel paid them the night he turned six months old, cracks start to emerge in their life’s work. 

Dean is working with John at the garage now, Sam is bartending while he finishes up his final year of school. Sam’s got a pretty girlfriend, and Dean’s got a pretty long list of booty calls. John’s got his demon-hunting. And then all of the sudden, they have to make a choice they never anticipated–what level of demon-ness can they stretch to tolerate? Family has always been the most important thing to them, besides the hunt, so what’s more important? Killing the demon race to extinction or protecting their family. Family wins. 

When John has the choice of working with a demon to save Dean’s life, or killing Azazel and letting Dean die of his injuries… he knocks over the next domino. Taking care of his boys wins again. And when Sam dies, Dean makes the deal with the demon to bring him back, because taking care of Sammy wins. And when Dean dies, Sam tries hunting down and threatening every demon he can to bring back his brother, but when that doesn’t work, and Ruby offers him another way, Sam succumbs to the temptation and lets himself get hooked on demon blood because she promises him that if he’s strong enough, he might be able to bring Dean back. 

And on and on it goes, the unhealthy brotherly affection spiralling from commitment to codependency and ever closer towards addiction. There’s hardly anything keeping Sam and Dean from slipping the rest of the way down that slope. And demons–once again–are what push them over the final threshold to a place they can never come back from. 

When Dean becomes the thing they’ve always fought so hard against, more purely demonic than Sam has ever managed, the final domino begins to teeter. Sam tries to pull his brother back. He traps him in the back room of his garage, where Dean technically lives these days, ties him down to his bed and force feeds him the clarified human blood that can bring him back to his regular old mechanic, demon-hunting self. Dean wonders if some deeply buried part of Sam scratches the devil’s trap open on purpose, lets him escape on purpose, because they both know that neither of them are really happy leading their apple-pie double lives. Sam with his girl and his dog and his bar, Dean with his garage and his Impala. They’ve both been burying a secret far worse than their supernatural murder sprees all these years. 

When Dean escapes, he corners his little brother against a concrete wall of the garage, and he dares Sam to be strong enough to do it–to choose their mission, their life’s work, over protecting his big brother. Sam’s hand twitches, like he’s willing himself to fucking nut up and end it, fighting not to make the same mistake that’s gotten them into this situation over and over again. 

Sam accidentally nicks Dean’s throat with his knife, and finally, life as they’ve always known it is all over. 

Demon blood will always be a weakness for Sam, but usually, he has enough control over himself to resist the urge to drink. Something about Dean’s blood, though, it’s not the same. The siren song from the small rivulet of blood trailing down the hollow of his brother’s throat is a thousand times stronger than a veritable kiddie pool of blood from lackey-demon number nine; a hundred times stronger than the gashes over Ruby’s wrists that he’d suckled on so obsessively for over a year. And this is just one small drop of blood. Suddenly Sam can hear the rest of Dean’s blood rushing beneath the delicate membrane of his skin, pulsing in his veins, barely restrained. It would be so easy… hardly any effort at all… 

Dean’s fingers wrap purposefully around Sam’s wrist. He doesn’t have to work hard to push his brother’s arm away from his throat or use his demonically-enhanced strength. Sam’s willpower is now focused entirely on not drinking Dean dry, the tension in his arm illustrating his restraint in not pushing the knife further into Dean’s throat, and the demon can tell. Dean smiles darkly as he raises Sam’s hand and the knife it’s clutching up to his mouth, letting his sinful tongue dart from between his lips to collect the small line of his blood on the blade’s edge. He slices the tip of his tongue in the process, the wound burning violently thanks to the magic of the Demon Blade, and he hisses but he keeps his tongue firmly out of his mouth, the blood now welling temptingly on the muscle.

Sam feels like he’s about to hyperventilate. 

Slowly, teasingly, Dean twists Sam’s wrist and angles the back of his hand towards his mouth so he can lick across the surface of Sam’s knuckles, decorating them with his tainted blood. Sam stares at the shine of the deep red against the white of his skin, blanched from how tightly he’s still holding the Demon Blade. He feels himself swallow and regrets that he can’t taste any of the honeyed-metallic scent that’s enveloping him sliding down his throat. His vision has tunnelled to the back of his hand, everything else around him unimportant–even his demonic and murderous big brother. The world has faded to black and white except for the stain of red against his knuckles, clinging like dew drops on the grass to the coarse hairs that are standing on end, alert and at attention. Idly, Sam thinks he might be shivering. Everywhere feels cold except the skin of his wrist that’s still locked beneath Dean’s fingers. 

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean coos, and when Sam tears his gaze away from the blood on his hand to look at his big brother, the familiar green of his eyes has been swallowed by the black of the demon that’s inhabiting him. No. That he is. This isn’t some random demon possessing Dean’s body–this demon is Dean. Dean with all his cruelty and bloodlust twisted obsessiveness worn on his sleeve, no longer buried deep beneath years of shame and better judgement. 

“Do it,” the demon whispers again, no longer talking about Sam cutting his throat, but tempting him towards a wholly worse kind of violence. The kind that will destroy them both more egregiously than Death or Hell could ever conceive. 

“Let me take care’a you, Sammy,” Dean pleads, his eyes suddenly the bright, kind green that turns Sam weak at the knees. He’s never admitted it aloud, but Sam is just as weak for Dean’s imploring expressions as Dean is for Sam’s kicked-puppy look. “I know you want this. You need this. Let me help you,” Dean brings a hand up to the back of Sam’s neck bracingly, soothing away the tension of his restraint, massaging his muscles into submission. 

Sam lets out a sob, feeling himself breaking apart under Dean’s touch and wanting to refuse but finding that he can’t with each second that slips by, each touch of Dean’s burning fingertips against his skin. His head cants forward and Dean swivels to catch him, their brows touching, foreheads pressed together in a sick lovers parody. And Dean knows exactly what Sam needs, and how to get him to break and take it for himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean murmurs, licking his lips and painting them with a slick stain of his blood, prettier than any hooker in red lipstick that Sam has ever seen. “I’ve gotcha, I’m gonna take care’a you.” Sam’s body is wracked with another sob as each word drives a stake into his resolve, splitting it down the fault lines as Dean targets each weakness. “I love you so much, baby brother,” Dean whispers, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from Sam’s, waiting for him to fall and join him in his Hell on Earth. 

But when Sam’s lips crash into Dean’s he swears it feels more like Heaven. 

The old adage of drugs, sex and rock-and-roll feels an entirely appropriate descriptor for their lives now. 

Sam gets his blood-fix, Dean brings the rock-and-roll with his cassette collection like he always has, and they both get the sex. Dean isn’t sure which part is his favourite–the way Sam looks when he’s drunk on his big brother’s blood, or when he’s high on his big brother’s cock. Of course, more often than not Sam is both at the same time, so Dean doesn’t feel particularly guilty about not wanting to choose between them. 

Dean looks down at his little brother, kneeling on the floor between his legs, the long sandy brown hair tangled and knotted at the back of his head where Dean’s fingers have been messing with it. Sam hasn’t thought about brushing his hair in a while. That sort of thing isn’t important to him anymore. He only thinks about one thing these days, and that’s exactly how Dean likes it. The old human-him had always been worried that Sam would leave him someday, like he did when Dean was twenty-two, and too weak to stop him. But Dean isn’t weak anymore, and the new and improved him had the obvious solution for keeping Sam exactly where he wants him. 

“There’s a good boy,” the demon croons, petting Sam’s hair as he laves the huge flat of his tongue across the cut Dean has carved into his inner thigh. Dean doesn’t scar anymore when he heals, but Sam is so attached to drinking from this particular spot that he swears he can see a faint trace of the cut every time the skin closes over it again these days. 

With the hand that isn’t in Sam’s hair, Dean reaches for his cock and strokes himself languidly, enjoying the slow roll of his skin over the blood-engorged muscle, teasing his veins by squeezing tighter and letting go, making the blood pulse along his length in heady spurts, and Dean knows that Sam can hear it as he teases himself, because the man whimpers pathetically against his thigh, his tongue shaking with the increased speed of his breath. 

“Where’s your girl think you are?” he asks with a cold grin, and Sam shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent, not wanting to pause in his drinking to take the time to answer.  “She think you’re at work?” Dean prods, and Sam shakes his head again, teeth scraping over the cut in Dean’s skin. “She think you’re out with your brother gettin’ drunk? That’s not too far off the truth I guess,” he chuckles deeply, petting Sam’s head fondly. 

“Don’t wanna talk about ‘er,” Sam slurs when he pulls off Dean’s thigh with a gasp, only pausing in his quest for blood because his need for oxygen had become too urgent. Dean cups his cheek and drags his thumb across Sam’s lower lip, collecting the bloody spit pooling there and bringing his finger up to his own mouth, sucking it in with a hum of satisfaction and enjoying the look of disgruntled longing on his little brother’s face. Sam resents missing out even on that tiny, diluted drop of Dean’s demonic essence, and the demon knows it, which is exactly why he does it every time. 

Reaching to his side for his knife–not the Demon Blade, just a regular steel pocket knife he’s always carried around–he flicks the blade back out and runs it over the base of his stomach gently before dragging it down through the mousy trail of hair that draws a line from his belly button to his cock. As if someone would need directions on their way down, Dean’s cock stands out huge and heavy between his legs, twitching up in anticipation at the feeling of the pocket knife glancing over its length. 

The masochistic part of Dean loves this bit. He holds the head of his dick in one palm and angles the tip of the knife just so across the top, going for one of the smaller veins instead of the big one that runs up the underside. They’ve done that before and Sam nearly bit his dick off in his enthusiasm to suck down the tide of blood that started flowing. The smaller veins work better, giving Sam just enough of a taste to keep him happy, but not letting him gorge himself. Keeps Dean in control of the situation.  

Sam looks up at Dean pleadingly with eyes nearly as black as the demon’s own, waiting like he’s been taught. Waiting for permission. 

“This cock isn’t going to suck itself,” Dean scoffs, and that’s all the instruction Sam needs before he’s diving in hungrily, sucking the head of the demon’s length between his lips and swirling his tongue over the small incision, moaning with even more pleasure than Dean does at the feel of the wet heat sliding around him. 

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, fisting his hand in the knot of Sam’s hair. “There’s my boy. Dirty fucking boy, aren’t you? Gagging for a dick down your throat when you’ve got a pretty girl at home who wants to be choking on yours–such a fucking waste, aren’t you?”

Dean doesn’t do well with silence, he never has. And since he became this version of himself, it’s like all the voices in his head that he’s been trying to muffle his whole life have all been given microphones. Demons are the most tortured of all, he remembers being told during his sojourn in Hell. He hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out what Alastair meant by that, but now he knows all too well. Demons crave violence and pleasure and oblivion because that’s the only way to make the voices shut the fuck up. It’s the only way to get some goddamn quiet. 

The volume starts to dim as Dean yanks Sam forward, using his hair like a leash and dragging him down his cock until he’s pushing into a throat that’s fighting him. When he’s in Sam’s throat Sam can’t taste the blood anymore, and Sammy doesn’t like that, which means Dean loves it. 

“Yeah, bitch,” he groans, using his own voice to drown out the ones inside, still too loud. “Look at you taking my dick all the way down this pretty throat.” Dean circles the fingers of his free hand around the front of his brother’s neck and squeezes as he fucks in as deeply as possible, feeling the bulge of his cock moving in Sam’s throat and letting a groan ring out in the echoey concrete of his room at the back of the garage. 

This place has always been perfect for hunting the supernatural, and now for their even more secretive activities because it’s built out of the way, on the edge of the town. No one wants all the noise from an auto shop near their houses or offices, so there’s nothing else around here for at least half a mile. Sam and Dean can scream as loud as they want, and no one will ever hear them. 

“Good fucking cocksucker, aren’t’ya boy?” Dean keeps up his monologuing as he fucks Sam’s throat, denying him the blood that he’s so desperate to feel on his tongue again, keeping the crown of his cock firmly away from the man’s tastebuds. “What would people say if they saw you like this, huh? Big, tough, Sam Winchester, on his knees for a fucking demon, for his fucking big brother. What would Dad think of you, huh? His boys. Probably turned out worse than he could ever’ve imagined, didn’t we Sammy?” Dean laughs as he throws his head back, hips bucking off the edge of his mattress as he thrusts into Sam’s throat as roughly as he can. He feels Sam’s tears sliding off his face and onto the hand he has braced around his neck, and Dean wants to lick them up; taste a part of his brother’s shame the way Sammy tastes his. 

Because how can it not be shameful that Dean Winchester, famous demon-hunter, is now a demon himself and doesn’t give enough of a fuck to let his brother save him? Instead, he’s dragging Sammy right down to the pit with him, because they sure as shit weren’t gonna let something like this split them up after everything they’ve pulled to stay together. If Dean is a demon for good then Sammy’s getting damned too, that’s just the way it is with them. And Sam is far too addicted to the demon blood now to protest, even though he’s probably powerful enough to overcome Dean if he tried. 

That’s the most magnificent part, that Sam has every capability to escape this situation, to fight Dean off, and he’s becoming more and more powerful with every drop of Dean’s blood that he drinks, but none of that matters to him. Fighting Dean hasn’t even occurred to him. Because all that matters is his next fix. Dean has the all-powerful, special child of Hell as tamed as a hellhound. Obedient and hungry. Every second of every day, Sam is waiting for Dean’s call, telling him that it’s time. He would sit on his knees beside Dean’s bed on the cold concrete until his skin was rubbed raw and he was wasting away. His life’s one joy, now, is to service Dean, because when he does, he gets his reward. He gets Dean’s blood. 

They’re bonded more deeply now than ever before, in a way that Dean, twisted as he was even as a human, has always craved. Sammy as his; Sammy devoted solely to him. If they didn’t have a facade of a normal life to keep up, he would happily keep Sam naked at his beck and call. He’s had dirty dreams about the idea for years. Dean cums down his brother’s throat reminiscing about his old fantasies. The sounds of Sam choking on his release as Dean shoves him back off his dick are just about enough to drown out the noise in his head.

Part 1 is posting straight to Tumblr for Kinktober. Part 2 is a bonus smut scene and will be posted to my website as a member exclusive!

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

“Elizabeth-”

“Don’t do that.” She waved a hand at you before picking up a shot and downing it. “You sound like mom.”

“You think I like that I have to basically mother my older sister?” She shot you a look and picked up the second shot and downed it. You shook your head as two fingers pointed to the empty glasses. “No. I’m cutting you off.”

“It’s barely 9pm.”

“Exactly. And I’d like to not have to pick you up off the floor before 10. Go home, Beth.”

“Samuel-”

“No!” You told her, then turned him and pointed angrily at him.

His hands went up. “Sorry Elizabeth, I’m not getting between you two. Not making that mistake again.” He shook his head.

You grabbed the empty glasses and put them in the sink before walking off to serve a table.

Since you went off to serve someone else and Sam was busy with other customers, she got up, reached over the bar and grabbed a glass stacked by the sink and poured herself a beer from the tap. “You’re too good for this place.” She told him.

“Don’t I know it.” He muttered, moving past to grab whiskey off a shelf, not really looking at her.

“You’re not interested in me, are you?” He laughed. “Yeah.. Wish you had a brother.” She muttered, taking a sip.

“Elizabeth!” You yelled at her, slamming a tray of empties down on the counter. “Did you serve her?” You glared at Sam as he moved past.

“Nope. Must have grabbed it herself.” He put the drinks down, and got the money for them before coming back over towards you and your sister. “And I do.”

“You do what?” You looked at him.

“Have a brother.” Her eyes shot up to him.

“No.” You warned both of them.

“Older?” She asked and he nodded. “Interesting.” She licked her lips and smirked. “As good looking as you?”

“Don’t answer that.” You pushed Sam away, and snatched the beer out of her hand. “Go. Home.”

“But Samuel has a brother for me.” she pouted. You pointed towards the door and she sighed. “Why do I come here?” she muttered and wander off towards the pool tables.

“Don’t you dare.” you shot Sam a look.

“Don’t I dare what?”

“Introduce her to your brother.” you sighed. “You know how she is..”

He laughed. “My brother has a reputation of his own. Besides, she’ll meet him sooner or later.” You cocked an eyebrow. “He’s moving to town in a few weeks.”

“Shit.” the last thing you needed was a strain between you and Sam, and you knew that’s what would happen. It’s what always happened.

Dean Winchester’s reputation hit town before he did, and it kind of shocked you. He sounded so vastly different from how you knew Sam was.

And then you met him. He was charming, cocky, and he knew how good looking he was. But he was sweet too. There was no denying they were related, but there was also a vast contrast between them.

Soon after, he met your sister. Bought her a few drinks, and you didn’t see them for the rest of the night.

Around 4am, not long after getting home, there was a knock on your apartment door. “Hey, can I crash here?”

“Yeah, sure.” you opened the door to let Sam in. “What’s wrong with your place?”

“Dean.” You nodded, remembering Dean was living with him until he got his own place. “And your sister.” Your eyebrows shot up. “In my bed. Can I also use your laptop to find a new mattress so I can burn this one?”

“Yeah.” you winced, shutting the door. “Find me something to burn that mental image out of my brain.”

“Hey, I had to walk in on it.” he grumbled.

“Netflix to distract you so you don’t have nightmares about it?”

“Please.”

Barely half an hour later, Sam looked from the tv in your bedroom, down at you curled up towards him fast asleep. He smiled softly, and reached for the remote. Turning down the volume, he then put it back on the nightstand and got comfortable himself.

It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Only this time, you honestly weren’t sure what that was going to be. She had sworn this time was different. He was different, and she was as well. But you couldn’t help but warn her anyways.

And yet here you were, frustrated beyond belief at the situation. When she had told you what happened, she didn’t even let you open your mouth before she started yelling at you. She was positive you would say ‘I told you so’ and she wasn’t going to give you the chance. So she screamed at you before storming out.

And then you stormed out.

“Where is your brother.” You growled as soon as you were in the bar.

Sam looked up. “I don’t know.. Home, if he’s not with your sister..”

“No, no he’s not with her.” You shook your head. “He was, and then she caught him fucking someone else.” You turned and stormed out.

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “Come on, Dean…” Sam groaned. This was going to complicate things.

When he heard a pounding on the door, Dean got up. “Hang on, don’t get your panties in a wad.” Opening the door, he cocked an eyebrow. “What can I do for you, Princess.” He smirked.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You shoved him, making him stumble back, and you stormed into the apartment.

“Come on in.” He muttered sarcastically, shutting the door. “What’s up your ass? If you’d like it to be me-”

“Why would you do that her?” You turned on him.

“Who?”

“My sister! I get that she isn’t perfect, but fuck, Dean.. she didn’t deserve that.” He rolled his eyes and went for a beer. “Do you even care?” Once he closed the fridge, you pulled the beer out of his hand and slammed it on the counter away from him. “You cheated on her, Dean and you don’t even fucking give a shit how bad you hurt her.”

“I didn’t cheat on her.” He pointed out, looking a little agitated at the accusation.

“No?”

“No.”

“So, you didn’t take my sister out and get caught fucking someone else?”

“No, that did happen..”

“That’s cheating!”

“No.” He shook his head. “Your sister and I were never exclusive. She was never my girlfriend. We didn’t even go on a single date.” He pointed out. “We just drank, and fucked.” He shrugged. “She’s not the kind of girl I date, sweetheart. She’s the kind of girl I call once, maybe twice, if she’s lucky.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“No. Well, maybe.” He shrugged. “But I never told her we were more than we were.” He licked his lips. “It was just sex. Good sex, I’ll give her that. But I hear she’s had almost as much practice as me.” He smirked.

“Ugh.” You got a look of disgust and shoved him away from you. “What do women see in you?”

“Good looks, charming personality.” You scoffed, making him smirk again. “And a dirty filthy mouth that makes promises I can keep.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to walk away. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“The more you talk like that, the harder I get.” He teased coming up behind you. “And dirty talk isn’t all my mouth is good for.” You shivered as his breath fanned out on the back of your neck.

“Fuck you.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. I bet it doesn’t even need to come to that to make you cum.” He chuckled.

“You probably couldn’t even do it then.” You turned your head, defiance burning in your eyes. “You’re obviously overcompensating for something.”

He bit his bottom lip. “I knew I liked you. Let’s make a bet, Hm?” His nose brushed against your neck. “We’re going to go sit down, you and me. My hands are not going to touch you, not unless you asked me to. And I’m going to make you cum.”

“Fat fucking chance.”

“Hey, I had your sister begging in minutes.” He smirked. “If I can make you cum, or make you ask for me to touch you or fuck you, I win. If I get nowhere, you win.”

“I’m pretty sure either way you’re a winner, so why would I agree to this?”

“If you win, I’ll apologize to your sister. I’ll admit I was wrong, I will take her out somewhere nice, and I will treat her like a fucking queen, if she’ll let me.”

“And if you win?”

“You go on a date with me.” He grinned. You shook your head. “Come on, Princess. There’s a fire in you that I want to see more of.” his mouth moved over your neck, making you moan softly. “Good girl.” he took your hand and started leading you towards the couch.

He sat down, and watched you as you stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Sit.” You went to sit next to him but he stopped you. “Oh no. You’re not sitting there.” He pulled you forward so you were straddling his lap. “Right here.”

“Dean-”

“Ah.” He put a finger to your lips to shush you. “No talking. Only I talk.” He smiled, and his arms stretched over the back of the couch. “Unless you’re going to give in already. I’d be very disappointed if you did.”

“No. I just-”

“Ah.” he shook his head. “Now, let’s see.. What are you into..” He eyed you a bit, eyes lingering on your breasts, and then again between your thighs.

“Worst foreplay ever.” You mumbled, sitting back more on his thighs.

Dean laughed. “You don’t know how bad I want to kiss you right now.” He smiled at you. His eyes shining playfully.

“Mhmm.” You hummed, looking around Sam’s living room as if he couldn’t be any less interesting and chewed on your bottom lip.

“I wanna bite that bottom lip.” Your eyes shifted back to him as let your bottom lip fall from between your teeth. “I wanna feel your tongue against mine. So soft and wet. I bet you wanna feel mine too, don’t you sweetheart? But elsewhere.”

The left corner of his mouth curved up slightly and he watched your throat as you swallowed. You did your best to ignore him, eyes fluttering away again.

“I’d love to taste you.” He shifted slightly, an inch or so lower on the couch, getting comfortable. “Lick up the side of your neck to your ear.” He smirked when your brow twitched. “You’d thought I’d say something else, huh.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll get there eventually.” You shot him a glare and he grinned. “I want to taste every inch of you.”

“This is getting ridiculous.” You started to get up.

“If you get off my lap I win.”

“That wasn’t-”

“Winner by default because you forfeit.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” You scoffed. “Do you actually think you-”

“I do.” He nodded. “I can practically smell it.”

“You’re a dick.”

“I have one. And I’m damn good with it. Is that what you want to talk about? About how good my hard cock will feel deep inside you? Hm?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Or, and this could be a fun time too.. How about I just rub my cock between those lips, letting your clit feel every fucking vein. How does that sound, princess?” You bit your bottom lip again. “If you want, I’ll cum on your clit, it’ll feel so warm and good. And I’ll rub it in. With my cock or with my fingers, the choice is yours.”

You shifted your hips a bit, and you cursed yourself and him, because you couldn’t even try to hide it. You couldn’t close your legs, you couldn’t just get up and leave. Well, you could, but your pride wasn’t letting you. And yet, your pride was losing here too.

“Come a little closer, baby.” he shifted his hips again. “You can get that little bit of friction you need, and I won’t even count it.” You gave him a suspicious look. “Rules were that I wouldn’t touch you. I never said you couldn’t touch me.”

Your eyes moved down his chest and settled on the bulge in his jeans. You watched as it twitched under the denim, and your eyes went back to meet his. He had been watching you the whole time.

“You’re getting more curious.” He smiled. “Curious what all the fuss is about. I can tell you, if you come a bit closer.”

You couldn’t help yourself, it was almost like autopilot, you shifted just enough to barely feel his bulge against you. You didn’t want to give him the full satisfaction, so you were able to hold back at least that much. But you had a feeling this small victory wouldn’t last. You wanted him to keep talking.

He leaned forward a bit, so his voice was low and right by your ear. “It’s the drag, sweetheart. When I bury my cock as deep as I can and I slowly pull it out, the drag is what pulls you under.” You bit your bottom lip again and closed your eyes. “I can go back in just as slow if you want. Take my time with you, torture you an inch at a time.” You shifted again, thighs opening wider, not realizing you were starting to grind against him. “You like that? You want me to take my time with you? Worship you as if you were the most precious thing on this earth? I’d gladly do that for you, baby. Again and again.”

You let out a shaky breath, pressing a bit harder on him.

“Or, I can fuck you.” He went back against the couch again, eyes locked with yours. “Your feet over my shoulders so I can fuck you deep. I’ll watch those tits bounce with every thrust I give you. Or maybe I’ll have you on your knees, face in the mattress to keep you quiet while I fuck you with everything I’ve got.”

You groaned, and let your forehead rest on his shoulder. You could feel how wet you were getting. Between the promises he made, and you knew damn well they were promises of what was to come if you gave in, and the feel of him hard underneath you, you were barely fighting it.

“Do you want me to cum inside you? Filling you up again and again? Letting you feel how I swell with cum right before I shoot it deep in your cunt? Or do you want me to mark you as mine with it? I’ll cum anywhere you want baby.”

“Dean..” you moaned softly.

“Maybe I will mark you as mine. With my cum, with my fingers and with my teeth.” he gave your earlobe a soft bite.

“Please..” You whimpered.

“Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do. I’ll fuck you from behind, let my cock hit you deep and hard, make you scream my name, and right before I fill that soaked pussy of yours, I’ll bite you like a fucking animal.”

“Dean, please.” you whined.

“How wet are you right now, baby? You soaking through your panties just thinking about it?” You nodded. “What do you want?”

“Please, stop.” You begged, but you’re heart wasn’t in it.

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart. Not until you either give in, or soak through your jeans and mine. I wanna feel just how fucking wet you are.”

“Shit..” You breath hitched.

“Such a good girl.” He smirked. “You’ve already out last your sister.”

“Don’t.” You warned him and he chuckled.

“Answer me this, and I’ll never mention it again.”

“What?”

“How bad do you want my cock right now?” You groaned, and he chuckled again. “Just say the word and it’s yours.” You shook your head. “So stubborn.” He smiled. “I guess I’ll just keep imagining it, and telling you. Know what I’m thinking right now?” You shook your head again. “I’m thinking about ripping both our clothes off, and you grinding that wet pussy of yours onto my cock right here, like this.” He bit his bottom lip. “And maybe, just maybe, once it’s coated in you, it’ll slide right into your cunt. Mm.” He moaned, his head going back. “I bet you look so fucking good when you ride a cock.”

“Fuck.” You cursed, trying to get more friction.

“I want to bounce you on my cock so fucking bad right now.”

“Dean…”

“I’ll rub your clit while you do it.”

“Dean..” You breathed impatiently.

“Rub your warm wetness into your clit until you cum screaming around my cock.”

“Jesus, Dean just shut the fuck up and fuck me!”

He grinned. “You got it.” He lips pressed to yours hard, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tighter against him. Your mouth opened to him almost immediately, you were hungry for him. His tongue swept in over yours, his hands moving to rid you of your shirt.

Your lips parted just long enough for him to toss it aside, and in that moment, you saw the calmness in his eyes was long gone. All that was left was hunger. Dean wanted you bad.

You lips met his again, teeth scraping against his lips, and he groaned as he stood, lifting you with him as he started for the bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him before laying you on the bed. “How do you want it, Princess?”

“I don’t fucking care. Just make me cum.”

“Just remember, you owe me a date after this.” He grinned.

Sam walked in, tossing his keys down. He was so exhausted he left work a few hours early. His night had been spent trying to figure out what the hell he was suppose to do now. This had been why he had moved away from his brother years ago. Dean complicated things. And now he was complicating things here. He realized he’d have to have a talk with Dean about it. Either get his shit together or get lost.

Sam grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked towards the living room. Dean wasn’t there, so he figured his brother had gone out after being yelled at by you. He dropped onto the couch and took a swig.

When he looked down at the bottle in his hand, he noticed a shirt on the floor. His brow furrowed as he nudged it with his foot. He recognized that shirt. Picking up, he took a better look. It had been his, once. Until he gave it to..

Sam looked to his bedroom door. Dread filled him as he got up and slowly moved towards it. Silently opening the door, he felt his stomach drop when he saw you and his brother sleeping naked in his bed. He gently closed the door, and left his apartment.

You had been glad to wake up before Sam got home or Dean woke up, and snuck out of the apartment. You hid away all day, but now it was time to work. With a sigh, you pushed open the bar door and headed into start your shift. “Hey Sam.” You gave him a smile.

Sam didn’t even look up from the drink he was pouring for your sister. Didn’t even acknowledge your presence. But the look on his face told you all you need to know. He knew.

Your mood dropped, drastically. “I’m a fucking idiot.” You mumbled to yourself as you started for the back, barely hearing the door opening behind you.

“Hey princess.” Dean’s arm went around your shoulder. “How we doing today?”

“Peachy.” You muttered, pulling away from him and heading to the back.

Dean furrowed his brow at that, and went for the bar. “What was that about?” He asked as Sam came over. Sam slammed a beer on the bar, and Dean quickly plugged up the neck with his finger when it started to foam over. “What the hell, Sammy?”

“I can’t fucking believe you, Dean.”

“What’d I do?”

“You fucked her.” Sam growled it out. “And you don’t even give a shit about how it might make everyone else feel.” Dean looked down the bar at Elizabeth, and then back at Sammy. “I liked her, Dean. I really fucking liked her.”

“Sammy, I-”

“Yeah, you didn’t know. Just like last time, right?” He shook his head and walked away.

Dean felt like shit. He pulled his finger from the bottle and sat there staring at it. “Fuck.” He got up.

By the time you came out, Dean was gone. There was a full beer and some money on the bar, but he was no where to be seen. “Where’d Dean go?”

“Don’t know, don’t fucking care.” Sam grabbed the money and the beer and moved away.

“Sam-”

“I don’t want to hear it. But maybe your sister might like to hear the apology.”

Your eyes moved to your sister and you saw how hurt she was. “I’m sorry, Beth.” She shook her head and turned away.

Sam didn’t talk to you unless he needed to, at least not until the next night. “Dean staying with you?”

You furrowed your brows. “No, I haven’t heard from him since he left the bar yesterday.. Why?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Sam shook his head and walked away to put chairs up as you two closed up the bar. Despite his words, he told you anyways. “Hasn’t been back to my place, hasn’t answered my calls… Probably just fucked off somewhere else.”

You glanced to Sam’s phone, that he had left on the bar. Taking it in your hand, you unlocked it and searched through his contacts until you found Dean’s. Then you pulled out your phone and dialed, only for his voicemail to pick up after a few rings.

“Hey, you’ve reached Dean-”

“Jerk!” Sam’s voice cut through the message.

“You’re a bitch, Sammy.” And the tone sounded with a beep.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam turned and looked at you. “It’s Y/N. I just..” You sighed. “Come home, Dean. Sam’s worried. And I’m still waiting for that date you promised me.” You smiled softly to yourself, not noticing how Sam watched you. “It’s rude to stand a girl up like this. You’ve got my number now, so call me, okay? I’ll be waiting.” You looked down at your phone as you hung up.

“A date?” You nodded. “He hasn’t taken a girl on a date since Lisa broke his heart.” Sam muttered mostly to himself.

“And it looks like he still isn’t going to.” You put Sam’s phone down and tucked yours back in your pocket.

“Shit.” He muttered, heading for his phone.

“What?” You looked at him confused as he grabbed it and dialed.

“Hey, Dean.. Sammy.” Sam sighed. “Call me back, okay. I guess the three of us need to talk since it looks like I’m not the only Winchester who fell for her.” Your eyes went wide. “You’re still an ass, but you should have just told me.. Come on home. Jerk.”

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