Anonymous asked: fandom: spn, pairing: Sam/Dean, prompt: Dean fucks Sam with his custom Colt M1911A1, in front of a hotel mirror
Under a cut for incest.
He had his suspicions from the moment he saw them huddled together talking, but standing in the doorway unnoticed, Adam is still shocked, watching the bodies writhing together on the bed in a mass of muscle, deep cries resounding in the room.
"Oh, my God," he whispers before he can choke it back, and Sam and Dean stop moving, turn to him in unison; for a long time all three of them just stare.
"Adam," Sam starts, as though he’s about to offer a lame explanation, but Dean just reaches out a hand instead, and Adam finds himself moving toward the bed, his hand sliding into Dean’s, his mouth shaping around the word "please."
The next thing he knows, he’s being stripped down by two pairs of ardent hands; Dean’s mouth is on his neck, Sam’s legs are tangling with his, and he could get lost forever in this dual embrace and never look back. “Please,” he keeps saying, and they keep whispering his name — into his neck, his hand, the base of his cock — and enveloped in his brother’s arms, driven crazy, Adam is more at home and more loved than he has felt in years.
"Take out your tits," Dean whispers as he slams Sam against the wall, then pushes against her, kissing her hard. She groans as she feels how hard he is, reaching inward to unbutton her tight plaid shirt and sliding down the wall to her knees. She he could take his cock in her mouth, but there are times when Dean just wants to slide against the creamy firmness of her breasts, and she knows that wild look in his eyes when she sees it.
"Oh, fuck, yeah," Dean says, grinning, as she cups her breasts in her hands, pushing them up and against the shaft of his dick; "that’s it, Sammy, you just show me those hot tits of yours, gonna slide all over them and then come all over your face."
"Oh, God," she whispers, "I can’t wait to taste it," and Dean has to grab the base of his dick and squeeze hard to keep from coming on her thick lips and gorgeous breasts right then and there.
It’s fair to say that neither of them expected this, but now that they look up the symbol their rush of uncontrollable lust made sense. Dean hadn’t thought of anything in that moment but the desire to push Sam down and have his way with him, and Sam hadn’t seemed to care about much else, either; now, at least, they can blame the fertility goddess whose symbol had lined the walls of strangely irresistible motel. Now, though, Sam’s having morning sickness, and the lore keeps saying something ominous about the Son of Man being the missing piece in some ritual or other, but Sam keeps having to go to the bathroom again and never quite finishes translating. Dean suggests maybe they should see that one Schwarzenegger movie where the guy gets preggers. And both of them are having trouble thinking about anything but getting their hands on each other again.
Sam corners him in an alcove just beyond the view of the other prisoners in the yard; in another moment he’s got Dean pressed up against the wall and is grinding against him, mouth bruising his with the ferocity of his kisses.
"C’mon," Dean whispers, breathless, "ease up, fuckers let me have it last night."
"I know," Sam whispers desperately between kisses, his hands coming down on Dean’s already-bruised hips and locking there. "I know, and it drives me fucking crazy, Dean, you’re mine—" he guides Dean’s hips upward into that slow, maddening roll that they’re so practiced at by now. It leaves them both gasping, and Dean whimpers with need, clinging to Sam’s arms with trembling hands, whispering as they rub together again, "Doesn’t matter how much they touch me, Sam— I’m still all, all yours."
Sam’s head is tucked into his shoulder, and he’s crying, Dean’s pretty sure — not that they can tell the different between tears and sweat right now. Dean’s arms and body are open to him, and he whispers Sammy’s name over and over as Sam slides, whimpering and grunting, into him. But the name on Sam’s lips isn’t Dean’s — it never has been, and it doesn’t need to be, so long as Dean’s mouth is the one his mouth touches, as long as Dean’s embrace is the one Sam seeks for comfort.
Dean was there for him after Jess, too, and he’ll be here as long as Maddy’s memory clutches at Sam’s heart. And no matter what other loves and losses they suffer, when Sam needs the touch and roughness of Dean’s body against his, Dean knows he will always be there.
Dean’s muscles ripple, his abs curling and tightening as he bounces up and down. Sam runs his hands over Dean’s pumping thighs, muttering encouragements, the heat of Dean’s velvet skin burning into his palms with each stroke. And Dean’s all power and furnace inside, ass sliding slickly down and around Sam’s cock, clenching and relaxing with each inhalation and exhalation. Sweat pours like oil down his skin and beads hang off the long fringe of his eyelashes as he looks down at Sam. There’s adoration in those eyes, like Dean’s the one who has the great view, but Sam knows there’s nothing in the world that could match what he’s seeing right now.
"Sammy" is a diminutive for outside the bedroom, but inside it’s all "Sam," begging pleas for Sam to get inside him and to fuck him good like he needs. And Sam doesn’t even respond to that name — with Dean underneath him, pink skin and flushed cheeks, he’s not even human anymore, he doesn’t speak English or respond to questions and whimpering begs. He just holds Dean down, nips at his skin and drags their cocks together until they’re both shuddering, then plows Dean through with long, lubed fingers until Dean’s hole is convulsing and begging for more.
Then Dean can count on being filled, pounded — can count on the sick sound of Sam’s balls slapping his ass with each thrust — can count on having to grasp his own dick to get friction, because Sam doesn’t give a damn, so long as he’s fucking Dean hard. But after a while Dean’s fingers on his own cock are there to hold himself back, not urge himself forward, because Sam is so damn good and hard and strong inside him that Dean’s on the verge of coming so hard he’s reduced to an animal, too.
Submission from utter-trash!
Sam stutters and protests at first, a flush rising high enough up his cheeks that Dean could get away with teasing him about blushing if he wanted to.
All his words die in his throat though as Dean licks around his hole, pushing in just slightly with the tip, waiting to hear Sam’s surprised gasp at the slick feeling.
Sam’s thighs relax letting Dean in close enough to press into him fully with his tongue, slick muscle sliding in so easily as Sam just opened up for him, immediately finding his prostrate and making Sam groan.
Dean firms up his tongue and jabs it in, aiming for that spot that makes his little brother writhe and pant out obscenities, intent on dragging as many of those out of him as he could.
It’s worth it to hear Sam choke out a groan and clench around his tongue as he comes from nothing more than that.
Dean needs rough and hard so often, and Sam gives it to him, with his whole heart invested in giving Dean everything he needs to keep going in the hard-to-impossible job they do day after day. But sometimes Sam needs something, too, and it’s then that Dean lets down his facade and just opens up beneath Sam, lying back and groaning as Sam touches every inch of his skin with a reverent mouth, whispers into his ear and his mouth and hair how beautiful Dean is and how much Sam loves him.
When Sam fucks him, Dean whimpers, hands clutching at the nape of Sam’s neck and face contorted into near-childlike desperation and agony. “Sam, please,” he whispers, completely different from when he begs for it hard and fast, and the sight of Dean so utterly vulnerable and needy beneath him makes Sam have to bite his lip and hold back to keep from coming too quickly. He wants it to last, wants the moment of being protective and loving to spin on as long as it can, and wants Dean to be glowing, when it’s all over, with the knowledge of how much his brother adores him and wants him to be happy.