Sammy was unbuttoning his jeans before Dean had a chance to shut the door. Shutting the door had started to become an afterthought the longer they spent on the road and the longer they played into motel lobby clerk’s assumptions of their relationship; they weren’t necessarily wrong now, were they? Dean would gladly give them a show if Sammy wasn’t such a prude.
They took a few synchronized steps over to the bed, Sammy collapsing onto the creaking mattress with a squealing thud. Dean crushed his mouth against Sammy’s in a deeply uncoordinated kiss, tasting sweat, sulfur, and lingering traces of vinaigrette on his lips. His baby brother grabbed at the shaved nape of Dean’s neck and pulled him closer, grinding himself into Dean’s thigh. To think that demon hunting got Sammy wetter than a water park in Atlantis.
“Are you hard?” Sammy breathed against Dean’s ear, rubbing his own thigh against the aching bulge in his Wranglers.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Dean caught him in another kiss, one that would leave their lips bruised in the morning if he was lucky. Sammy would have a shit fit, but Dean knew that deep down he loved those physical reminders of their depravity. He wiggled his way out of his jeans until they looped around his ankles and tugged his underwear halfway down his thighs, deciding that was more than enough room for Dean to work with. Sammy parted his knees and rolled his hips up to grind against Dean, leaving a slick trail up his thigh.
Sammy’s pussy was white hot and drooling, pink inside and looking more delicious than a quarter pounder piled high with cheese and bacon. Dean had Sammy’s pussy to thank for his jawline, but tonight he wasn’t going to be able to wait ten minutes to orgasm. Sammy was ready now, and it would only take a little fingering to put him over the edge.
He dove his broad fingers in, his middle and ring sliding in like they were made for this. With the way his pussy clenched around Dean’s fingers and pulled him in like a black hole, he was pretty sure that he and Sammy were perfectly molded for each other. Sammy bucked his hips up into Dean’s hand and he grinned with the type of pride that didn’t seem fitting of a man getting fucked by his brother’s fingers, let alone one that still tried to deny just how far their brotherly love went.
“Can I fuck your tits after this?” Dean’s gaze darted between his soaked pussy and pectoral muscles, rising and falling with each thrust. His cock strained inside his jeans as he pictured Sammy underneath him, panting while Dean pressed the slight swells of muscle together to form a pocket.
Sammy gasped as Dean quickened his pace and clawed at the paper thin sheets. Despite his writhing and whimpering, his face was as composed as always.
“If you don’t come on my face again, then yeah, sure.”
Sammy had whined like a bitch the last time he had to wash Dean’s come out of his hair — to think he’d died before and yet a little baby batter stuck in his hair was what made him panic. Dean tried to reassure him that he’d look hot with a shaved head, but Sammy refused to hear it. A full bottle of Head and Shoulders and a lot of vigorous scrubbing later and no one would have ever known what horrible sin Dean had committed: almost ruining Sammy’s floppy boy band hairdo.
“You look so pretty with my come all over your face!” Dean drilled his fingers into Sammy’s pussy. He could feel them starting to prune like he’d spent too long in the bath, but that only excited him more.
Sammy threw his head back and moaned, riding Dean’s fingers like he wasn’t moving at all. Dean wondered if Sammy had done porn of some kind to pay for textbooks, the way he moaned and begged for Dean to fuck him harder, faster, more, it’s so good, Daddy! He wouldn’t be able to mask his jealousy if Sammy decided to show him his hypothetical porn, but it’d get him off seeing just how far Sammy could be stretched before he broke. One day he might not feel so jealous and invite a third, but something hot and furious burned in him just at the idea of someone else touching his baby brother.
Dean used his free thumb to rub at Sammy’s clit, matching the rough, arrhythmic canting of his hips. He was about to rip the sheets in his white-knuckle grip, and Dean was surprised it had taken this long for him to do some actual damage to their bed. It wouldn’t be the first motel they’d left in a sorry state, excluding the puddles of slick and come seeping into the mattresses.
Sammy was getting wetter by the second and Dean was starting to slip out of his pussy with each thrust, but that meant he only had a few more moments until the big finale. Sammy’s pussy was clenching tight around Dean’s fingers and his moaning had devolved into panting and begging: “Dean, fuck, it’s too much, keep going!” From his wrist up to his shoulder was aching something fierce, almost rivaling the stiffness in his cock and the tightening of his balls, but Sammy’s pleading was pressing all the right buttons. Dean’s cock leaked precome and he slipped his pinky into Sammy’s pussy, arching his fingers and scraping at his walls.
Dean’s fingers slid out with the final clench of Sammy’s pussy, and following after it was a heavy stream of clear slick that soaked the front of Dean’s shirt. His thighs shook and he exhaled breathily as he doused Dean in his come. It never got old seeing Sammy’s mouth hang open as the last of his slick squirted and dribbled out of him, soaking Dean, the bed, and his clothes without mercy. His chest rose and fell quickly before it started to settle into long, deep breaths that drained the red from his dewy face.
While Sammy went lax and recovered from his orgasm, Dean unbuttoned his jeans and freed his restless cock, sliding it in between Sammy’s swollen lips to lube himself up.
“Not on my face, jerk,” he breathed roughly, getting a goofy smile out of Dean.
“No promises, bitch.”