It'd been months, for both of them. As far as Dean knows. He tries to find some reason to be angry with Sam, some reason to tell him he's a fucking idiot, fucking stupid to have done it, but he can't - not only because he's done it himself with some girl he picked up in a bar, but because Sam can never, ever find out that Dean knows. Through the crack in the door, Dean sees everything. He tries again to be angry with his brother for bringing someone back to their motel room to suck his dick, wishes Sam could've just gotten it done behind the pub like the rest of the population of this shithole town. But Sam's not like that, especially not now. And even though Dean's suspected for a while, it's still a shock to suddenly see who Sam's brought back. The boy on his knees in front of Dean's little brother is just that - a boy. Must be barely 18, and Dean realizes he's glad Sam's here with him instead of somewhere more public. He's glad that Sam, despite his impetuousness, does sometimes think things through. A firearms fine can be paid; being caught in public with your dick in someone's mouth, especially in this backwater, would not be so easy to shake off. Boy or not, he must be fucking good with his tongue. Dean finds himself hardening in his pants just thinking of what it must feel like, and tells himself to just fuck off and go to the bathroom to jerk off. Then Sam moans, and he's done for. This is your fucking brother, man, he tells himself, his eyes glued to the scene behind the slightly ajar door, his left hand rubbing slow circles against his crotch. Fucking hell, that son of a bitch can suck cock. Sam's moaning constantly, his head banging gently against the wall, his hips jerking as he fucks the boy's mouth. His hands are gripping the boy's pale hair, gripping so hard it must hurt, and the boy is making soft sounds of enjoyment as he licks and sucks and damn near swallows Sam's dick. Dean shoves his free hand into his mouth to stifle a groan when the boy pulls Sam's pants all the way down and pushes his legs apart. Holy shit, he's going in... and Dean unzips his fly and wraps his hand around his erection as his brother, little Sammy, gets a slick finger pushed between his ass cheeks and further. Dean can see his brother's cock, shining and glistening, and he feels a rush of something in his stomach, something that both sickens him and stirs him to further arousal. He finds himself wondering what it would taste like, what it would feel like on his tongue if he were the one on his knees, his brother standing over him and thrusting his dick into his mouth. He tries not to think about the fact that damn, it's Sam, it's his brother, and instead imagines that it would taste salty and hot, and would feel smooth and firm on his tongue. His hand on his own cock is a blur, and he bites down on the fist in his mouth as Sam bucks his hips and groans, the sound coming from deep in his chest, as he pulls back slightly and sprays come all over the boy's lips and chin. So fucking wrong, he tells himself as he comes into his hand. Just... don't go there. Ever again. He stands up quietly and grabs a tissue from the box on the table to wipe himself down, his head spinning and knees weak. He's just tucked himself in and run a slightly sticky hand through his hair when Sam opens the door. "Uh," Dean says. He's glad it's dark in this room, Sam won't see the dull flush on his cheeks or the damp patch on his jeans. "Thought I heard something," Sam says. He's looking as ruffled as Dean feels, and he rubs his nose nervously. "Didn't realize you were back." Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to be nonchalant. "Yeah, just got in. That guy I was checking out didn't know anything useful. Um. I'm gonna take a shower now and get some sleep." Sam nods and goes back into his room. Dean heads straight for the bathroom, and as he showers, he vows that not only should Sam never know what Dean saw, he should never know what Dean did. Maybe. Sequel: What Sam Saw |
