Dean insults Sam in front of a helpful witch, and she gets a little pissed. "It's about time you got to know your brother better," she snarls at him. Dean rolls his eyes and leaves the room, letting Sam do the thing with the eyes to get the info they need. He emerges a few minutes later, triumphant, and waves a piece of paper at Dean. Dunno what your problem was, she was fucking hot. I'da bent her over the nearest surface if I'd had the chance. "Dude, I don't know why Dad ever let you go on a hunt by yourself, you've got no people skills," Sam says. "How the hell did you ever get any info outta people?" Dean blinks a few times and wonders where the thought that the witch was hot had come from. Sure, she was kinda cute in an elfish sorta way, but not exactly Dean's type. Perhaps I could distract him and get him to wait for me at the motel. I'm sure she was making eyes at me. Bet she'd look good on her knees. Dean glances over at Sam, a frown creasing his forehead. Sam's fumbling with the papers in his hands, reading through them with a frown creasing his forehead, and Dean shrugs. He's had weird thoughts before. Pretty pink lips, wrapped round my dick. Slick and wet and hot mmm, wonder if she'd deepthroat me like Jess did... "Dude!" Dean snaps. Sam glances up at him, confused. "What?" "You..." Sam raises an eyebrow, and Dean shuts his mouth on his next sentence, which was I think I can read your mind, because that's never a good conversation starter. "Never mind," he mutters, and gets into the car. All the way back to the motel, he's barraged with a constant, never-ending stream of thoughts from Sam, all of them involving sex. Occasionally, Dean glances over to him to see if he's okay - hell, if Dean had been having those thoughts he'd be squirming in his seat, uncomfortably hard, but Sam doesn't appear at all uncomfortable. Dean shifts in his seat; Sam's thoughts have turned him on quite seriously, which is wrong on so many levels. "So I was thinking," Sam starts, and Dean resists the urge to say about sex again? "If I was a black widow, wanting to prey on the weak-minded, I'd hang round outside bars at closing time. And the previous two attacks did take place late at night in the vicinity of a couple of bars." Dean wonders how Sam can get any thinking done at all, what with the porn going on in his mind all the time. "I guess," he says. "So, what's your plan? Come out of a bar at closing time and pretend to be drunk?" "Pretty much," Sam says. Push her up against a wall, lick her tits, pull her skirt up, fuck her, god, warmhotwettightyeah listen to her moan, kiss her come in her. Dean rubs a hand over his face and tries not to groan. "Fine," he grunts, and when they pull up at the motel, Dean doesn't say anything to Sam, just heads straight to the bathroom and gets his dick out. Jesus Christ, he can even hear Sam's thoughts through the bathroom door, and the ideas his little brother so eloquently puts in his mind conspire to get him off in less than a minute. Something's gotta be done about this. *** It gets worse when they hit the bar. It's like Dean's honed whatever fucked-up skill he's somehow developed, and now instead of words he's getting images. And seriously, he does not need to see in his mind a nearly crystal-clear image of Sam sucking some guy's dick. Wait, what? Dean whips his head around to stare sharply at Sam, who's perched on the stool next to him with Dad's journal in front of him, leafing through the pages, a frown creasing his forehead. Dean slides off his stool to go get another beer, and Sam absently says, "Get me one too," while thinking about having an orgy with the group of girls hanging around the bar. When Dean walks away and sees a clear image of his own ass in his mind, completely bare, bent over Sam's lap being spanked, he realizes that he has to do something about this, immediately. He gets the beers, ignores the girl making eyes at him, and stalks back to the table, slamming Sam's beer down in front of him. "Dude, we gotta talk." Sam looks up, a frown on his face. Dean sees himself giving Sam a lapdance, and feels his face redden. "Okay, that's fucking it," he growls. "Seriously, Sam, you gotta do something about your one-track mind!" Sam looks honestly confused, his brow wrinkling and his lips pursing. "What one-track mind?" he asks. "Cause I've told you a thousand times, I don't want to hook up with the sister or friend of whichever random girl you're fucking tonight." In his mind, Dean sees Sam doing just that, and whoa, apparently little Sammy's really not that little anymore. Dean covers his face with his hands and tries to block it out, to no avail. "Sam?" he mumbles from behind his hands, "that witch who didn't like me? I think she's cursed me." "Cursed?" Sam asks. "How? What's she done to you? You don't look any different." Dean concentrates, but can't block out the image of himself, stark naked, lying on a bed stroking his dick, and he suddenly regrets the fact that he's never had any inhibitions about jerking off when Sam's asleep - or pretending to be asleep, as it turns out - in the bed next to him. "Jesus Christ, Sam, can't you think about anything but sex!?" Dean yells. The bar falls silent, everyone turning around to stare at Dean. Sam's looking at him like he's gone completely mad, and Dean grimaces. "I'm taking a walk," he mutters, grabbing his beer and pretending not to feel all the eyes on him as he walks through the bar towards the door. Just as he's about to open it, he's assailed with a lovely image of himself sucking Sam's dick. He winces, shudders, and shoulders the door open. Outside, there's blissful fresh air, and for the moment, a complete lack of pornographic images in Dean's mind. He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air sear through his sinuses, and wills his cock to just calm the fuck down till he and Sam can figure this thing out. He hears the door open behind him again, and then Sam's standing behind him, all tall and gorgeous and smelling good and fuck! Dean screws his eyes shut and groans. "What's going on?" Sam asks quietly, and Dean turns around. "I think that witch made it so I can read your mind," he says bluntly. Sam's eyes widen. "You can read my mind?" he asks disbelievingly. Dean nods. "It started out with just words, but now I'm seeing images." Sam frowns at him. "Right. So, what am I thinking about now?" A blinding flash appears in Dean's mind; it's Jess, she's tying Sam to the bed with two of Sam's own ties – Dean recognizes the ugly stripes – and she's wearing the cutest little nurse outfit and ... "Sam!" Dean yells. "That's... God, can't you not think about that sort of shit?" "What?" Sam yelps. "What did you see?" "Um." Dean blushes, and is glad it's dark enough that Sam won't be able to tell. "Uh. Jess. She, uh, she was wearing this cute little nurse outfit with stockings and heels, and she was, uh, tying you to the bed with your own ties." Sam blinks. "Dude, I was thinking about that time you locked yourself out of the Impala and had to break into your own damned car. And what the hell, since when have I ever told you about what Jess and I did together?" Dean sees an interesting scene featuring Sam, Jess and some other guy, and bites his lip. "Like the threesome you had with that blond dude? The circumcised one?" Sam takes a step backwards, and Dean can see his face reddening in the light from the streetlamps. "Okay, man, that's just scary. Um." "So you didn't have a threesome?" Dean asks. He can't believe he's discussing his brother's sex life, for chrissakes. He can't believe his brother's had a goddamned threesome. Not even Dean's done that. He resists the urge to pout childishly, and concentrates on the more pressing issue. "Maybe it's subconscious," Dean suggests. "I'm not picking up your thoughts; I'm getting those deep-seated desires or whatever the fuck you'd call it." "That could be it," Sam says. "I dunno why they'd all be about sex, though." He looks honestly confused, and Dean grins at him. "Clearly, you need to get laid," he says helpfully. "Maybe then, you wouldn't think about it all the time. And man, subconscious or not, I dunno if I want to keep hunting with someone whose mind isn't one hundred percent on the job!" "Says the man who can't go two days without jerking off," Sam mutters, glaring balefully at Dean. "And dude, I can't help what happens in my subconscious. Can't you just ignore it?" Dean grimaces when he gets a particularly juicy image - it's him and Sam again, and they're sucking each other's dicks. He grabs his forehead and moans. "Oops?" Sam says, obviously trying not to laugh. "What was that one? Or don't I wanna know?" "That's another thing!" Dean growls. "Why the fuck do you keep thinking about spanking me? Or sucking my dick? Or fucking me??" That's a small lie; Dean hasn't seen any images of him and Sam fucking, but he's pretty sure that... oh yeah, there it is. "And why the fuck am I the bottom?" he bleats. "Deep seated desires, you said," Sam says slowly. Dean nods silently, noticing belatedly that his mouth is hanging open. He snaps it shut and glares at Sam, who lets out a thoughtful hum. "Dude, do I even wanna know?" Dean shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other; dammit, Sam's incredible pornographic mind has had him hard for ages, and he's getting frustrated. No fucking way he can deal with this shit 24/7. He looks up at Sam, who's biting his lip nervously and refusing to look Dean in the eye. "Oh fuck me," Dean groans. "You have got to be shitting me." He's attacked by a new image: him and Sam kissing. Not just kissing; they're fully making out, his hands wrapped around Sam's face as they kiss, all tongue and oh God now Dean can even hear a fucking soundtrack. He takes a step backward, then another, and then turns and heads back to the car. "Dean?" Sam calls after him. "Just gimme a minute, okay?" Dean replies, not turning around. "Go get another beer or something. I'll be back in a minute." He gets into the car and sees out of the corner of his eye that Sam's going back into the bar. He groans loudly and leans his head on the steering wheel. He can't get the images out of his head, especially that last one. Sam had been kissing him like Dean fucking belonged to him, and Dean... Dean had been kissing back like his life depended on it. God, just thinking about it again is making Dean's cock hard enough to feel like it's gonna burst out of his jeans. He presses his hand down on it to relieve the pressure a little, and firmly resists the urge to just shove his hand down his pants and start stroking. Now really isn't the time to start that; Sam's just as much as told him that he wants to do inappropriate things with Dean, and Dean... he's gonna be honest with himself and admit that the idea of it isn't grossing him out as much as it should, and maybe - just maybe! - he might have already thought about it, in those introspective hours between three and four in the morning when he always wakes up horny. Sam's already planted plenty of wonderful images in Dean's head, and hell, who's ever gonna know? His mind made up, Dean gets out of the car and heads back into the bar. He's immediately assailed by a lurid image of his ass being licked by Sam. Dean inhales sharply, like he's been punched in the stomach, and does his best to ignore the porn reeling through his mind (with accompanying moans and grunts) and instead concentrates on not coming in his pants as he heads towards Sam, who's pretending to flick through Dad's journal, a bottle of beer in his hand. He looks up guiltily as Dean approaches, and his face creases in a smile when he realizes that Dean's not going to punch his lights out. "That was a good one," Dean says quietly, grabbing Sam's beer and taking a swig. "Dude, do you spend all your time alone watching porn or are you just really, really imaginative?" Sam blushes and snatches his beer back, drinking deeply to try and gather himself. "Uh," he stutters when he puts the bottle back on the table, "I guess I'm imaginative? Cause I don't watch as much porn as you seem to think, Dean. So you're not gonna hit me or walk out on me or somethin'?" The pathetic worry in Sam's voice makes Dean grin. "Dumbass," he grumbles, "You ain't getting rid of me that easy." He grins even wider when he receives an image of the both of them making out again in reply. "Do you wanna?" he whispers, leaning close enough to smell cheap motel soap and a hint of sweat on Sam's skin. "Wanna what?" Sam asks, looking confused. "Make out," Dean says reasonably. "I mean, you've been chucking that one at me pretty damn strongly. And seriously, if we don't go fool around soon I'm gonna have to go jerk off in the next few minutes." He gestures shamelessly at his crotch, and Sam blushes even redder when he sees the outline of Dean's hardon through his jeans. "Fine," Sam says, his lip quirking. Dean grins at him, but isn't expecting Sam to reach across the table, grab the lapels of his jacket, and plant one on him right there and then. He's too surprised to react in any other way than to kiss back; Sam's warm and tastes good and damn he's good at kissing. Dean forgets that they're in a public bar, and grabs Sam's face, pulling him in and licking his way into his brother's mouth. Oh Jesus Christ, it's so completely different to kissing girls and Dean's an addict immediately. Sam's not afraid to bite a little; he takes Dean's lower lip between his teeth and tugs it gently, and Dean lets out an unashamed moan. He can feel his ears turning red, his entire body flushing and heating up from the inside out. Sam's tongue strokes across his own, claiming Dean's mouth and scattering his consciousness across the inside of his mind. Dean struggles to keep his focus, but it's fucking impossible with Sam continuing to slip deep, drugging kisses into his mouth, into his being. "Sam?" Dean murmurs, pulling back enough to get the word out before diving back in and opening his mouth wider, wanting more, now, and why the hell hadn't they been doing this for months? "Yeah?" Sam hums into his mouth. His hands are on Dean's shoulders, thumbs massaging the muscles lightly through Dean's jacket. "Gonna come in my pants," Dean says, pushing Sam away slightly, giving him room to get his bearings and try to gain control of himself again. He grimaces when he gets a clear, vivid image of himself doing just that, and leans forward to rest his head on Sam's shoulder, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself down. "Dude, you gotta stop with the visual porn," he breathes, tangling his fingers in Sam's shirt and holding on tight. "Can't," Sam murmurs in reply, running a hand through Dean's hair, tugging the short strands gently before stroking the back of his neck. Dean shivers and opens his mouth on Sam's neck, licking and biting and soothing as Sam makes appreciative sounds above him and sends fantastic images into his mind. "You wanna...?" Dean doesn't even finish the sentence before Sam is dragging him out of the bar by the collar of his coat. A girl whistles at them, but Dean's too busy staring at Sam's ass (and seeing himself fucking it) to care. They barely make it to the car; the constant stream of images and sounds in Dean's mind are driving him mad, and Sam's clearly incredibly turned on by Dean's enthusiasm. Dean presses Sam up against the Impala, kissing his neck, stroking the ends of his hair out of the way to reveal more skin. His erection is almost painful in his jeans now, and he rubs a hand over Sam's ass, one hand holding Sam against the car while the other slides around to unzip Sam's pants and reach inside. "Can I?" Dean grates, and Sam nods, not even needing to be told what Dean wants to do. He thrusts his hips forward with a grunt when Dean's hand wraps around his cock, his own hands splayed out on the black metal of the Impala as Dean grinds his erection into Sam's ass. God, the images are getting clearer, and Dean can practically feel what Sam's feeling. He moans, biting down on the soft skin on the back of Sam's neck as he tightens his grip and ruts hard against his brother's ass. He can almost feel a hand wrapped around his cock, a presence pressing against his back, and he can see in his mind what they must look like to a bystander. Dean's eyes roll back in his head and he almost bites through his lip when Sam's cock hardens even more in his hand, weeping precome and sliding smoothly through his fist. He can't help it; he's been so fucking hard for so fucking long, and all Sam needs to do is reach behind him and slide a hand between Dean's crotch and his ass, and Dean bucks into the pressure and comes all over the inside of his briefs. "God, fuck, I'm sorry," Dean pants, still riding the waves of pleasure. He groans again when he feels Sam come, feels it almost like he's coming again, and his cock spurts a little weakly as Sam covers his hand and the side of the Impala with sticky, liquid heat. Dean strokes him through it, soothing the bites on his brother's neck until Sam makes an uncomfortable sound and pulls away. "Dude," Sam breathes, turning around and wiping his hand on Dean's thigh. Dean can't bring himself to care; the nerves in his legs feel like they've been severed, and he pitches forward into Sam's arms, inhaling deeply and smelling sex and come and Sam. "I'ma gonna go see if I can find that witch," Sam murmurs. "You wanna stay here and try to catch the black widow?" Dean blinks muzzily up at Sam, trying to comprehend what Sam's saying. "Black widow? Huh?" Sam rolls his eyes. "The hunt, man. Did you come your brains out or something?" He chuckles, and Dean purses his lips. "Uh. Yeah," he manages after a moment. "Black widow. Right. What are you gonna do to that witch?" "Thank her," Sam replies with a grin. |
