“You’ve never fucked a celebrity, Sammy?”
Tara had kindly offered up her trailer after Dean made her see heaven, giving some excuse that she was needed on set for reshoots as she passed Sammy by with a knowing glint in her eyes. Dean would have invited her to join in, but he was getting a mild impression that Sammy wasn’t happy with him. He should have been—how long had it been since he got laid?
The grimace on his face told him everything, but “everything” was a bit foggy. For all he knew Sammy had a stick up his ass and he was trying his damndest to keep quiet about it. After a moment of opening and closing his mouth like he was going to tell Dean off for some infraction, looking not too dissimilar to a fish the entire time, he gave up and crawled into the trailer, Dean following not too far behind.
Sammy paced up and down the length of the trailer, from the sofa at one end to the foot of the disheveled bed at the other. He wasn’t agitated from all Dean could tell, but whatever was on his mind was bothering him something fierce. Dean, on the other hand, was relaxed and halfway ready to pass out at the dinette table.
“C’mon, successful hunt, got the girl, what do you have to mope about?” Dean was very aware that one of those successes was only applicable to him, but he’d hoped that his brother might share in the pride of that conquest. He did not.
“I’m not moping, I’m just thinking.”
“You’re always thinking, Sammy. Would it kill you to turn your brain off every once in a while and just have fun?” He picked at a bubble in the tabletop where the laminate had either not been attached properly or was starting to peel up. Each of Sammy’s clattering footsteps up and down the narrow walkway shook the trailer and Dean wondered if anyone was outside getting the complete wrong idea of what was going on behind closed doors.
Sammy scoffed and turned once he reached the foot of the bed again, a look of disbelief slapped across his face.
“I turn my brain off and we get killed!”
Dean rolled his eyes and pushed up from the dinette table, walking over to his hysterical baby brother. He boxed Sammy against the counter, his back wedged into the microwave. Sammy looked down at him with wide eyes, glancing between Dean and the window just behind the sink.
“Calm down, Sammy. No one’s looking.” He snaked his hand underneath Sammy’s shirt and skated his palm upward until he was groping his pec. “Just calm your tits, I’ll take care of you, okay?”
Dean grazed his nipple with his thumb and grinned seeing Sammy struggle and squirm. He was so desperate to stay angry, it was almost cute. No, not almost—if Dean never saw Sammy again and there was no chance of getting him back, this was how he’d remember him. Sammy frowned but he leaned into Dean’s touch, a small moan escaping his lips when Dean rolled his thumb across his peaking nipple.
They moved to the bedroom and Dean was surprised by Sammy taking the lead: he pushed him down onto the unmade bed and knelt over his lap, floppy hair curtaining his face. Dean reached up to grope at him again, but Sammy smacked his hand away.
“Nuh-uh. No more teasing.”
Whatever had possessed Sammy and brought out his inner slut was owed a muffin basket at the bare minimum. Dean had no time to think as Sammy started gyrating his hips and grinding his clothed pussy against his thigh, gripping the sex-stained sheets to anchor himself in place. He held eye contact with Dean as he fucked his thigh, each roll of his hips milking a desperate grunting sound out of Sammy. Dean reached to grab Sammy’s hips and move him on his thigh and once again the demon took hold—Sammy grabbed Dean’s wrists and pinned his hands over his head, only inspiring him to grind harder. Dean caught a gasp in the back of his throat.
“What’s gotten into you, Sammy?” Dean’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull, and his cock was doing the same. All of the blood was rushing from his head at breakneck speed, he was surprised he could still form words at all.
As Sam picked up the pace, the trailer started to rock once more. He could add “production trailer brake tester” to his imaginary resume at this rate.
“Just you,” he said coyly, rocking back and forth with enough force to make Dean’s thigh start to go numb.
Sammy’s thigh occasionally bumped Dean’s swollen cock and granted him some relief from the sudden unbearable pain of his erection. He didn’t think he had it in him to come again so soon, but he’d probably be able to manage it for Sammy, especially in this state. With what little brain function he still had, he tried to run down what he knew about incubuses but ended up losing his train of thought when Sammy suddenly thrust forward, hard, on Dean’s thigh.
“Jesus, Sammy, you almost smashed my dick!” He could complain, but his cock was trying to force its way through his zipper as he spoke.
Sammy panted and tipped his head forward, hair falling in his face as he rutted against his thigh. Dean wished he could truly feel how wet Sammy was, he could feel heat on his thigh and saw the wet spot growing in the front of his jeans but he knew he had to be sopping wet. His mouth watered at the idea of Sammy sitting on his face and drowning him in his slick.
“You fucked Tara right here?” Sammy’s voice was thin and high, he was so close to shooting his load.
“Doggy.” Dean smirked, exhaling roughly when Sammy’s thigh slammed into his straining cock once again. “I think she might’ve taken my dick better than you.”
“Fuck off,” he croaked, his voice similarly strained. Of course he was right, but he couldn’t let that knowledge out unless he wanted to further inflate Sammy’s ego.
Dean tested to see if he could loosen his hand from Sammy’s grip and reach down to grope at his tits but only got an iron grip in response. He yelped like a scared puppy and turned a little red out of embarrassment.
Sammy ground through his orgasm, if his grunting and breathless moaning was anything to go off of, and his last few hard thrusts were enough to get Dean to soak his own jeans. It wasn’t the first time Sammy made him come in his pants and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last, he just hoped that Sammy might do it like this again.
His baby brother collapsed on top of him, breathing hard and looking utterly pleased with himself. It was probably the first time he saw Sammy really smiling on this entire trip and it stirred some mushy feeling in his chest. He wrapped one heavy arm around Sammy’s back and set his chin on top of his head.
“So, Sammy, you didn’t answer my question.”
“Huh?” He asked blearily; Dean could practically hear his eyes closing.
“I guess I know the answer now, though. They’re gonna be thanking me in interviews six months from now, guaranteed.” He stroked Sammy’s back as he scoffed once again.
“Keep telling yourself that, Dean.”
Sammy nestled his face into Dean’s neck and, finally, allowed himself a second to rest—somehow, Dean could picture him still thinking about their next hunt while teetering on the edge of creaming his jeans. In fact, Sammy allowed himself half an hour. Maybe Dean didn’t totally think it through, trapped under Sammy with a painfully flagging erection. Dean'd get it made up to him soon enough, however, preferably involving his tongue and Sammy’s pussy.