A good hunter wouldn’t have fallen for it.
A good hunter would have seen the signs, and they would have pumped it full of silver before it got this far.
Dean was on his back, his arms held over his head, with the shapeshifter knelt over him and sinking down onto his unwanted erection. He wouldn’t have been so hard if the bastard hadn’t taken on Sam’s shape, vag and all.
“I knew you had a weak spot, Dean,” it taunted him in a cold, yet familiar voice, “I just didn’t think your devotion went so far.”
“Fuck you,” he spat back, grunting as his hips were crushed into the hard ground.
The shapeshifter moaned and threw its head, Sam’s head, back, and Dean couldn’t shake how much he’d always wanted to see Sammy like this. That he could finally do just what he’d dreamt about without running the risk of destroying his family.
Dean held a moan in his throat as shifter Sam rocked his hips into Dean’s, clattering and feeling better than any drunken hookup he’d had in recent memory. Though he knew it’d feel better with the real, honest-to-God actual Sam, no matter how impossible that was.