Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's dark when Sam wakes up at…God only knows what time. 

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep. This motel room had a complimentary alarm clock but the backlight was dead, rendering it next to useless. He isn't sure what caused his sudden consciousness as he runs through his senses to try and work it out. 

The room was dark enough, nothing that was obvious upfront. There was a dim light filtering in from the street through the moth-eaten, threadbare curtain, just enough to see dark shapes a few feet away from him in the next bed over. 

Creaking springs from the double bed across from him, hushed whimpers and rumbling growls making their way over to Sam's over-sensitive ears. His heart rate gallops and he tries to keep his breathing quiet. 

Had the salt lines that guarded the entry points around their room been broken and somehow allowed a demon into their room?

He cracked a single eyelid open and tried peering through his eyelashes while focusing on his hearing. There was a hulking shape, rolling rhythmically in the bed beside him. 

Up and down. 

Up and down.

Up and down. 

Nonsensical words were being uttered somewhere in the room, in a way he had never heard before. Gasping whines break the silence whenever there is a pause between animalistic growls. 

Where was Dean?

Where was Dad?

They had both been here when he had fallen asleep. Dad was on the couch nursing through his second 6-pack with Dean watching some sort of ancient black and white horror movie, while a pizza box lay empty on the little dining table.

Feeling even more curious, Sam carefully peeks a little more and notices Dean's face being crammed against the sheets with a heavy palm pressing against the back of his head, his mouth slack, eyes rolled up almost frighteningly. Just the whites are visible like something out of a horror movie as his older brother pants and groans. His weight is balanced entirely on his shoulders and head, his arms are pinned to his back as his butt is hiked up with a couple of pillows shoved underneath his hips. 

“...Dirty little… ugh!” 

Sam can barely understand the words that make up the sentence but the way his big brother whimpers confuses Sam. He wonders if Dean is scared or… something else. The sound that comes from Dean sparks a funny feeling low in Sam’s stomach, his mouth dry as a bone. 

“‘ore. Pleath. Ore.” Dean mumbles.

“Quiet, boy.” 

There's an exaggerated squeak of the bed springs as the thing above his brother drops its weight hard, a wheezing gasp from Dean follows.

“Don't wake your brother.” 

Finally, Sam can make out more than just muttered snarls.

The shape that looms above Dean's body curls over him and leans into his ear. It growls, “Or do you want him to see what a little slut you are for Daddy?” 

Dean shudders, groans, and shakes his head. He turns his face down into the sheets and gathers a bunch of the bedding in between his teeth. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, son. Takin’ Daddy's dick so– ugghh – good.” 

Sam tries to stay still in bed once he realizes the frightening figure above Dean is his dad. He experiences a flash of heat across his face. The needy sounds falling from Dean's lips are not just shocking but something Sam had never heard before. 

And…

Dad looks like he's doing push-ups over the back of Dean, but Sam knows you're supposed to do those on a solid surface, and a mattress isn't one. 

But why is he doing them over the top of Dean? 

Sam has so many questions that he is sure he is never going to be able to ask and understand. 

He feels his penis twitch to life against his shorts and he tries to ignore it.

When Dad grips Dean's throat, his long fingers encircling his brother's jaw, lifting him back to crash their mouths together, slick wet smacking of lips and tongues, breathy groans being sighed out, totally engrossed in one another for the moment. Sam takes his chance and turns over onto his belly. He quickly shuts his eyes and pretends he's asleep the best he can, knows he shouldn’t be watching, that this is a private moment between his father and brother, yet he’s desperate to watch.

The squeaking in the next bed over suddenly comes to a complete stop and Sam holds his breath, lying completely still, worried that he's caught. 

He hears his dad whisper ‘shhh’ against Dean's jaw. With his tangled hair hanging over his eyes, Sam adjusts to the darkness even better. Now he doesn't have to squint and he can make out more details. 

The way they kiss is something Sam has only ever seen in chick-flick movies, or when Dean brings a girl home when their father is gone. 

Their father growls low. “If you wake up your brother by being a noisy little slut, he's gonna have a front-row seat of what a fucked up little pervert his big brother is. Got it?” Just loud enough to be heard over the rhythmic creaks of the springs underneath their joined weight.

Dean whines low and nods. 

“Here. Suck on this.” His dad slips two fingers past Dean’s lips, “Keep that pretty little mouth of yours busy.” 

And Dean gratefully welcomes them, takes them eagerly, and moans. Sam can hear the enthusiastic way Dean hollows his cheeks and slurps around his father's knuckles, then a choking gag. He guesses that their dad’s too-long calloused fingers went too far down Dean's throat.

There's a chuckle from Dad. A low dirty sound, one that Sam is certain he has never heard during the day. 

He naively wonders if this is some kind of werewolf-type situation. 

Wonder if their dad exists in these two states. The normal, emotionally distant, drill sergeant during the day, and then on some nights, when there's something strange in the air, he morphs into this. 

“Clearly, we need some more practice deep-throatin’, huh sweetheart?” 

A part of Sam wants to call out ‘Christo’, almost certain that John's eyes would turn black as the starless night sky. He has second thoughts when Dean’s back bows, and pushes his butt into their father with a barely audible “Pleathe!” 

Helplessly, Sam rolls his hard-on against his own lumpy mattress and sucks in a quick intake of breath that he tries to smother into his pillow. 

He's heard the way Dean talks to his cute girlfriend-of-the-week, his voice low and smooth, a sly smile and a self-assured glint in his green eyes. 

Yet what Sam is witnessing now couldn't be more opposite. 

Right now Dean looks more like one of the girls he flirts with, all flushed and heart-eyes rather than his cocky older brother that dominates every school they become temporary intruders to.

“Ugh, Dean.” Dad grunts, “You fuckin’ love it, don’t you?” 

And all his big brother can do is pant and moan, there's a quiet rustling of Dean’s pillow like he's nodding furiously. 

“Made for this. Weren’t you, boy?” Dad hisses and Sam has to roll his lips between his teeth to stop from making embarrassing noises of his own. “Just a little slut for dick, huh?” 

Digging his hips harder into his bed, Sam cannot resist trying to grind his stiff prick into the sheets underneath him while biting into the side of his cheek, desperate to keep quiet. 

The tingling heat that is pooling low in his sensitive balls is overpowering. He feels helpless as he continues to chase the new yet confusing sensation. He’d only experienced one morning wood so far and he had just ignored it until it went away. 

The squeaking below Dad and Dean pick up speed. Sam can hear Dad saying something about how they should ship him to Bobby's for a weekend so that Dad can ruin Dean’s ‘tight little pussy’, how he wants to leave Dean dripping. 

And Sam can feel his cheeks radiating heat at the shocking way his father is speaking to his eldest son. Even more confused at the things he was saying, the words he was using.

Dean… Dean didn’t have a…a… 

Sam couldn't even think about the words his father was saying.  They were confronting and gross but at the same time, arousing. Sam continues to roll his hips. 

Dripping with what? Is he going to do so many push-ups on top of Dean that he's going to sweat all over him and leave him ‘dripping’? But if that's the case, Dad wouldn't be saying that Dean had a… pussy . 

Even when Sam thinks the word, it's a hushed thought. 

His big brother sounds wrecked, whimpering breathlessly, fingers twisted in the sheets by his sides. 

Sam eagerly tries to see better through the darkness, desperate to see the look on his brother's face. Could bet that Dean is covered in sweat, his face pink, plush lips drooling around their father's fat knuckles. 

Sam heard comments once or twice from random disgusting men about Dean’s looks and his lips, moments before John had broken their noses or knocked a few of their teeth down their throats. Now Sam wonders if John was acting like a protective father or a jealous boyfriend, how long this has been going on in the next bed over in the middle of the night, or when Sam had been staying with Pastor Jim or Uncle Bobby. 

Dean’s whimpers develop a frantic pitch to them, “ah, ah, ah. Ugh, more. Fuck. More .” he lisps.

“You about to come on daddy’s dick, boy?” John jeers and punches his lower half down harder. Sam is pretty sure they have completely forgotten his presence… which is fine with him.

Dad's grunting, Dean's choked-back whines, the rustling sheets, and muffled skin-on-skin slapping build to a crescendo, Dean is desperately pushing himself up while Dad swears and continues to grunt shocking and confusing things to Dean who is nodding and begging their dad to ‘do it’, ‘breed me’, ‘leave me dripping’, ‘ruin me’, repeatedly whimpering ‘daddy’ over and over and over.

And oh, God . 

It ends with screeching bed springs, a drawn-out “good boy, such a goooood boy,” from Dad, and an equally long whine from Dean as he squirms underneath.

Sam trembles and has to hold his breath when he feels an incredible build-up of bliss engulf him, pulling him under like a too-big wave at the beach, crashing over him. His mouth hangs slack as he does everything in his power to resist making any noise and he copies the way Dean was biting into his pillow. 

There's labored breathing and a bit of shuffling from the two of them rearranging themselves as Dean stands up, pulls his boxers back up, and tip-toes to the couch to fall asleep. 

***

Sam is left with conflicting feelings the following morning. He’d woken up with his PJs tented– his dick still hard, or more likely, hard again, and had rushed into the bathroom the minute Dad had left to pick up something for breakfast. 

He didn’t know how he was supposed to look at either of them in the eye after what he had experienced. There was one thing he knew, he would do anything to witness it again. 

Under the hot spray of the shower, he soaped up his palm and reached for his persistent hard-on. He was incredibly sensitive and he had no idea what he was doing. Last night had been the first time he had orgasmed, he’d never jerked off before so he tried to make himself feel the same as he had when he was humping against his mattress but whatever he was doing, he just… couldn’t. 

Even when the memories of the way Dean whined and whimpered and begged for their dad to do… whatever he was doing, harder, he just couldn’t duplicate the feeling from the night before. 

After Dean knocks on the door and asks what is taking him such a long time Sam gives up. 

The entire day is painfully uncomfortable around his father and brother. He can’t bring himself to look them in the eyes, instead pretending that one of his dad’s thick leather-bound mythology books, he's probably read cover to cover at least five times, was riveting enough to hold his attention for the entire day.

It's a good enough excuse to keep his nose buried when they try to talk to him. Then when they give up and continue about their usual routine: researching, cleaning the guns, and sharpening weapons, it gives Sam a good opportunity to glare at them over the edge. To watch them when they don’t know he’s watching to see if he can see something he must have missed before. 

But nothing. Sam would think it was a dream if it wasn’t so vivid. 

He manages to catch them once more in the middle of the night a week later. Once again, Sam grinds himself against his sheets while he watches John kneel behind Dean's offered-up ass, pulling his cheeks apart before spitting down between them and pushes his hips forward. Tries to imagine why his father is doing what he's doing and decides he must be rubbing himself off between Dean's cheeks. He listens to the filthy things his father growls into the back of Dean’s head while Dean mewls like a needy kitten under their father's palm wrapped around his mouth, keeping him quiet. 

He becomes obsessed with this new secret knowledge of his father and brother. Like they’re freakish duplicates of his family. Shapeshifters, that only reveal themselves at night time. But he is corrected when they arrive back at the motel after school one day and Dad instructs them to make some silver bullets for their next hunt. He knows Shapeshifter skin burns when it comes into contact with silver. 

He tries to imagine the things he witnesses under the cover of night during their mundane days and… he just. Can’t . The pieces of the puzzle don’t fit together. During the bright light of day, his brother and dad are just the same as they have always been–at least to Sam.

They work together on everything, they plan their next hunt, piece together their research, plan stake-outs, go through training drills, and work on the car to make sure it's running smoothly. Sam wonders if this close unity between them is normal. Even for their family. Are normal fathers and sons that close and reliant on one another? 

Sam hasn’t had a lot of friends to compare his family to, but most of his temporary friends considered their fathers as authority figures. They were people who provided guidance, protection, structure, and rules, who grounded their kids by not allowing them to go to their friend's houses, and who took away their video games if they didn't get decent grades. But Sam never witnessed many parents depend on their sons as their dad did with Dean. They were closer to equals than a child and parent. Partners in life. Hunting partners. Partners who… raised Sam. 

And that was a revelation that Sam was uncomfortably confronted by. Dean was less like his dad's other son, and more like Sam’s other parent… 

Like Dad's wife . 

When Sam comes home one day after school Dad is gone, and Dean has a tenseness to his shoulders, his face makes Sam uneasy. He had skipped school again, which wasn’t strange. Dean did that a lot. He never found school to be as engaging as Sam had, he said there were better things he could be doing with his time and energy. Now Sam wonders if that was code for ‘having alone time with dad’ and he feels grossed out, yet experiences another frustrating erection. Sighing, he awkwardly tugs the hem of his shirt over as he makes his way into their motel room. 

He asks where Dad is and Dean bitterly mumbles something about arguing before he had left him behind to go on the hunt that they had been working on. Sam wonders if the sullen attitude of his brother was because Dad left him to go hunting on his own, or if the fight was about something else . 

Sam tries to comfort his big brother in a completely innocent and caring way by cracking open a cold beer for Dean that John had left behind, offering it to him with a half-smile and a shrug. Dean knows that Sam never approves of his underage drinking but he takes it appreciatively and with a small ‘thank you’ then takes a swig. 

He'd only admit this to himself, in his most private moments, but a part of Sam wanted Dean a little loose and extra relaxed tonight.

Dean had sullenly made some mac-n-cheese and served it up to Sam while he finished off his third beer that Sam had been steadily offering him. Once the last one was almost finished, he was ready with another, cap popped off.  He purposefully didn’t bother his older brother and instead just carefully observed him. 

The idea that he was finally left alone with his stunningly attractive brother wasn’t lost on Sam. He had been waiting for this for days and finally, he had his chance. He plans to lie close to Dean, feel the warmth of his big brother next to himself, watch his face as he sleeps, and maybe rut into the mattress while he imagines the way Dean looked, how he sounded, under their grunting, snarling father. 

Sam obediently showers and gets ready for bed, studying Dean closely as he begins to get loose-limbed and clumsy. Sam suggests that Dean wheels the little stand that the TV is on closer to their beds so that they can watch a movie and his brother smiles lazily and warmly, ruffles Sam's damp hair, before he pulls the TV over. 

He cracks open his fifth beer for the night and gives it to Dean who eyes it dubiously, like he is unsure if he should keep drinking. But he accepts it, takes one large gulp, and puts it on the bedside table. 

Watching as Dean drops his jeans and strips off his t-shirt then falls heavily into the bed that is usually their fathers. Sam sighs sadly, and fidgets with his sheets, trying to think of a reason to ask Dean to share his bed. Over the last year, their father had been encouraging them to sleep separately. At first, Sam thought Dad was trying to make his sons a little more normal, and more independent, and now Sam wonders if it's because their father just wanted an easier opportunity to do those things with his eldest son. 

After an hour of some D-grade horror flick about mutants in a forest hunting down campers, Sam asks Dean to lie next to him, his blankets pulled up around his nose and with a pathetic little voice that he is sure if his big brother was more sober, he’d call Sam out on his awful act. 

Instead, Dean pouts at his little Sammy and chuckles, then moves over to fill the large empty gap next to Sam's little frame. Sam tries his best to smother his feeling of victory.

He waits. And continues to wait, every muscle in his body stiff as his dick is inside his shorts. 

Jerry Springer has begun to play when Dean is on his belly snoring and drooling into the pillow beside Sam. He breathes out a sigh of relief and turns over to lie on his belly and stare at his brother's unconscious face.

He looks so calm, so peaceful. 

Sam imagines the way his brother had sounded underneath their father during those nights and his stomach dips as his dick twitches. He bounces his weight on the mattress a couple of times and stills with bated breath. Dean's unconscious and limp body heavily bobs with the mattress and he doesn't wake up.

Sams exhales a relieved sigh and rolls his hips down onto the mattress testing carefully. Holds his breath and waits for his brother's eyes to snap open, asking what he’s doing, but instead Dean continues to snore. 

Spurred on, Sam grinds down with more enthusiasm. He feels a groan rumble from his throat suddenly and he stills when it falls from his lips, hoping that Dean didn’t hear it. 

But again, nothing. 

Sam allows himself to moan again and quietly stutters out, “Ugh, oh. Dee–Dean.” 

Still, nothing. Encouraged by this opportunity, Sam rubs his stiff prick against the mattress and shudders, whispering, “So, ugh, so damn pretty, Dee.” And he holds his breath, knowing that if Dean heard him, he'd shove Sam straight out of bed and probably lay a few solid punches into him. 

They're face to face. Sam can feel the pungent sour beer breath hot across his face and he leans forward. He brushes his lips over Dean's slack mouth, feather-light. So gentle that if Dean did feel it, Sam could say that it was an accident. 

Dean snores even louder and it's so unexpected that Sam almost jumps out of his skin. 

Now feeling even more confident, Sam lets the tip of his tongue trace Dean's bottom lip and he doesn't even know if what he's doing would be considered a decent kiss, but Dean doesn't know. Can't feel it. 

Sam circles his tongue over Dean's top and bottom lip and can feel his own heart hammering inside of his chest at the secondhand taste of beer on Dean's saliva. Sam doesn't even like beer or anything about it but the fact that it's currently an intense flavor of Dean, Sam thinks he could become addicted. Knows that he will always associate the bitter, yeasty taste with this moment. This shameful yet exhilarating moment. 

He keeps his eyes locked on Dean. His brother's face is so close, Sam has gone a little cross-eyed to make sure Dean doesn't flinch or react, but he gets so lost in the pillowy softness of Dean's lips under his tongue that he can't help the way his eyes flutter shut. 

Sam sucks Dean's bottom lip between his own just for a second but he wishes he could suckle on it through the night. He starts to understand why some people have made comments about his big brother's lips as he creeps his index and middle finger into Dean's mouth, caressing his tongue, while imaging Dean hollowing his cheeks and encouraging them in, not wanting to let them go. Wonders if he could replace his fingers with his dick but is too worried about what would happen if Dean wakes up. 

His dick is painfully insistent and demanding attention so Sam gets up onto his knees, palms himself, and rocks up into the pressure, whining at the too-good sensations. His eyes travel down Dean's shoulders, down his bare back that is frustratingly covered by the bedsheets. 

Gingerly, Sam drags the sheet down slowly, revealing the firm curve of Dean's brief covered ass. Sam chews on his bottom lip, entranced at the view. He shoves his hand down his waistband and strokes himself but it feels weird. 

Staring at the plump shape of his brother's ass, Sam shucks off his boxers and crawls over his legs until he's straddled over the top of Dean's thighs, his ass right in front of Sam's hard-on, and Sam can't resist inching closer and lining his length over Dean's crack. 

The two fit together perfectly and now Sam sort of understands what their father meant when he said Dean was “made for cock”. Sam thrusts it back and forth over the crevice of Dean's ass, and watches as it drags back and then pushes forward.

He hobbles a little closer until Dean's ass is pressed against Sam's pelvis and he just can't resist rolling his hips against the firm muscles. 

And, oh wow . It feels incredible. Better than a lumpy mattress.

Sam carefully pulls the elastic band of Dean’s boxers to sit below his firm, round cheeks and leans forward, resting his fists on the bed on either side of Dean's back. Gradually dropping his weight down onto his brother's ass, he takes in an unsteady breath and slowly humps and grinds down against Dean's naked butt. He knows he's in dangerous territory but he's too excited to stop. 

Dean was made for this he reminds himself. Dean loved making their dad feel good, so why not Sam too? Dean was such a good big brother, always wanting to make Sam happy and right now, he's making Sam very happy.

“Y–yeah, Dee– Dean .” Sam huffs, grinding himself down into the groove of Dean's asscrack. “Ta–taking it so good.” Doesn't even really know what ‘taking it’ means but it makes him feel big and grown up. He'd never been so vocal before but he's finding that it pushes him closer to that amazing internal explosion that he desperately wants, yet wants to resist. Doesn't want this over just yet. 

“You're our little sl–uhh–slut, Dean. Aren't you? Yeah .” 

Sam moans and trembles as he continues to rut against his big brother's butt, imagining Dean pushing back into him the way he did with their Dad, making the same sounds as he was that night.

***

Dean is barely conscious when he begins to hear a voice above him. He had drank far too much before he fell asleep and his mind was swimming.

The room feels like it's spinning and as much as he tries to pull his eyes open, they feel glued shut. There's a warm weight rocking against him and it's not helping how queasy he is feeling.

It takes a minute to decipher the words that are being said, and when he eventually does, he's sure he's dreaming it. 

“You're just a little slut, aren't you, Dean?” 

It's words Dean heard dozens of times but they don't sound the way he's used to. The voice muttering them is not the low, gruff-sounding voice of an adult man and the weight above him isn't the same either. His cock still begins to chub up underneath him and he swallows the bitter-sour saliva pooling in the back of his throat, can feel it drenching the pillow under his face.

“Dean. Ugh. You're made for this. Made to make me feel good. Ugh. Made to take our… co–co–cocks.” Then there's a whine that cracks from low to high as the rubbing against his ass speeds up. 

That voice… It belongs to his baby brother. And it shouldn't be saying such filthy things. 

“You love it. Love being used like this. Ugh. Love taking care of us. Do it so good.”

And the words hit Dean straight in the gut realizing that he's repeating the same things that their dad says to him when he's buried balls deep inside of him. He knows they have been reckless recently, Dean had been more demanding than usual and their father had been drinking more at night, his inhibitions lower than Dean's.

He can feel the stiff little length of Sam's prepubescent-sized dick fucking between his cheeks while he gasps and shudders over him. He feels disgusted. He feels like a dirty whore, a filthy slut, knowing that he couldn't resist getting fucked by their father while his little brother was right there in the next bed over. 

He's the reason why Sammy is doing this now. 

He's exposed the boy to something he shouldn't even be aware of and now the kid’s just re-enacting the things he witnessed. Trying to process the fucked up relationship between his father and brother. 

Dean deserves this. 

He deserves to be mounted and used like a lifeless toy. If he had more common sense, had been more rational, more considerate of the risks then he wouldn't be in this situation. 

The worst part is that Sam is confused and probably doesn't even know what he's saying–he's just repeating what he had heard while his brother and father fucked less than four feet away from him. Dean on the other hand, is old enough to comprehend how fucked up this all is, and despite that, his cock is achingly hard and throbbing.

He must be a sick pervert if the idea of being dicked-down by both his father and sweet baby brother is getting him off harder than anything else, but he can't deny it. 

Dean thought it was just a little bit of dirty talk from Dad, a bit of fantasy but now he's thinking it's all true. 

He keeps his eyes shut and continues to drool into the pillow under his face but when he hears Sam whine and say, “Ugh. You–you feel so good. So good, Dean. You–you fu–ugh–fucking love it.” Despite Sam thinking no one can hear him, he still whispers the swear.

He's more concerned about someone hearing him swear than rutting his hard little dick against what he believes to be his unconscious brother's ass. 

And shamefully, Dean does love it. 

The wrongness of this entire situation twists hot down his spine, into his balls and makes him leak. He'd never admit it to anyone and tomorrow when the sun comes up, he will pretend like nothing ever happened. And when their dad finally comes home, Dean is gonna drive the man wild until he can’t resist fucking him. Dean is gonna make sure he is just a little more vocal, a little bit more whiny, a little louder while his eyes are locked onto Sam, and wants to see what his naughty little brother does. 

Hearing Sam breathe obscenities down at him while he grinds himself on Dean's ass, pushes Dean up against the mattress in just the right way and he quietly moans. 

Sam stills, leans back and away for a second, his weight disappearing from him but Dean can still hear the boy catch his breath. He could (and should) roll over, get up, do something other than allow this to continue but he doesn't. 

Dean continues to lay there with his eyes shut, mimicking sleep the best he can, lolling Sam into a false sense of security. He even tries snoring a little, clenches his asscheeks together, digs his hips against the mattress below him, putting on a show, and sighs out another muffled moan before he arches his back slightly, hiking his ass up, silently offering himself back up for Sam to lay over him, to continue rutting against Dean.  

Sam hums and his hips jerk forward, his hard-on jabbing Dean in the back of the thigh. 

“God, first a sl–slut for da–ugh. Da–daddy and now a slut for me.” Sam murmurs, the filthy words sounding wrong in the boy's immature voice, and somehow, that just makes it even hotter. “Just gonna take It. Take it like such a good boy for me.” 

Dean's cock dribbles against the fabric of his boxers, causing them to cling to his dick uncomfortably but he doesn't care. He believes every degrading thing that Sam hisses down at him without a clue what he is saying, how degrading yet accurate it is. He feels weirdly thrilled that his baby brother is that hard up by what he saw that he encouraged Dean to get drunk just to take advantage of him. 

He should be sickened but it ticks more of his boxes than he ever thought possible. It’s not like the incest thing was a problem with him considering he already gets thoroughly and sinfully fucked by their father regularly. 

Hell, the idea of being the family bike makes his balls draw up tight and his toes curl in his threadbare socks. 

And that is when Dean feels Sam's small palms on his cheeks, fingertips pointed towards the center of Dean. Then curiosity wins and Sam pulls them in opposite directions.

Dean has to do everything in his power not to jolt away suddenly.

He is completely exposed to his little brother's inquisitive eyes and Dean's face is burning with humiliation. He wants to bury his face further into the pillow and hide himself from being scrutinised like some freakish specimen but he knows the boy is just trying to understand. He was always too eager to learn about things that were too advanced for him so of course he's taking his time to piece the puzzle together. He digs his molars into the inside of his cheek and clenches his hands into fists under the pillow. 

“So pretty. So–so pretty, Dean. Ugh.” Sam whispers, and Dean feels the boy's warm breath against the delicate puckered skin at his center. “lo–lo– oh my god– love you like this, Dean. So good for me,” 

Sam re-adjusts the positioning of his hands closer to Dean's crack and gently pulls outward again, the pad of his thumb tentatively sweeps over the partially red and inflamed muscle. When Dean learned the earth-shattering bliss that could be had from that secret place deep inside him, there was rarely a day that he or John wasn't abusing that poor hard-working sphincter. 

John had already fucked Dean raw once before he stormed off earlier today and hadn't spent much time prepping Dean, so he guessed it probably didn't look like Sam was expecting. 

It takes everything in Dean's power not to suck in a desperate gasp as Sam pokes once, twice, three times against the middle of Dean's opening and it is a struggle to not push back into the teasing pressure. 

Dean is silently begging Sam to put two and two together, to realize that that is where he could replace his finger with his stiff prick and experience absolute bliss. To use Dean the way he was born to be used. 

Dean is sure that he probably would barely even feel it yet he would still cream himself anyway.

A part of him wishes he could bark, “Take a picture, it'll fuckin’ last longer.” Since Sam is trying to memorize every wrinkle but Dean swallows it down. He's so fuckin’ hard it's painful. 

After what seems to be a goddamn eternity, Sam finally releases the globes of Dean's cheeks and leans his light weight back against Dean's pelvis, and moans when his dick finally gets a little bit of pressure against it.

It doesn't take Sam's movements long before he becomes more eager. He's thrusting desperately, rocking them both and if Dean was asleep, he's sure he'd be woken up by the jerking movements but he keeps pretending, his cock dragging against the lumpy mattress, and it's so fucking good but just. Not. Enough. 

He wishes he could move, to push back into his little brother, to show him how to fuck for real in hopes that he might be able to finally get off. Wonders if the boy's cock would even be able to reach that satisfying place inside of him that their father is a pro at hitting. He probably wouldn't even need any prep from the way that John has been keeping him stretched and wet. 

Imagines himself skewered between the two, his father and little brother. Dad filling his ass the way he aches while explaining to Sam the mechanics of gay sex as if he isn't even there, like he is nothing more than a toy to be fucked, as Dean sucks Sam's dick and holy shit.  

That pushes him closer to the tipping point and he has to sleepily turn his head into his pillow, just for a moment, to smother the broken noise that would give away what a slut he truly is.

Dad was right. 

He is a depraved little pervert if those thoughts turn him on rather than make him sick. He was born to crave cock however he can get it, from whoever he can get it from, and feels a pathetic spike in his self-worth when he is being used in the shameful way he craves. 

There's a frenetic edge to Sam's breathy little whiny grunts now as his hips pick up the bunny-rabbit pace, rocking and bouncing mindlessly, “Wanna ruin y–you, Dean. So good for me, wanna make you all mine.” His panting speeds up and then Dean can hear a choked-off yet surprised sigh from over him as the muscles in Sam's wiry thighs stiffen and the boy spasms. Dean wonders if he's going to be left with a wet patch or if Sam is even able to ejaculate like that yet. 

Dean is speechless. His meek little brother was already showing a surprising side of him with barely any understanding of what he was doing. He's already a pint-sized baby Dom and Dean is drooling for it. He has a feeling this boy could evolve into an absolute fucking beast given the right guidance. 

Scrambling to put Dean back together the way he had been before Sam had practically mounted him like a horny puppy who doesn't even understand why his instinct is driving him to behave this way. Sam pulls the covers back over Dean once he's fitted the waistband of his boxers back where they started. The satiated boy rolls off to the side and within minutes is sleeping heavily. 

He waits, wanting to make sure Sam isn't going to wake up before he rolls over and jerks off with his hand down his pants under the covers. He stifles the sound that tries to escape when he comes far sooner than he would like to admit and doesn't even bother to wipe himself off. The cooling sticky feeling of spunk drying on his skin after he was used for the sole purpose of someone else's satisfaction, feels right. 

***

John takes weeks to give in to Dean's flirting and finally fucks Dean again. John had increased Dean's P/T activities every time he attempted to entice his father into fucking him while Sam is sleeping in the same room. He had hoped to leave his son's muscles strained and aching, to drain Dean's excess energy so that he passes out before John and leaves him be.

But John finally gives in when he's half a bottle of Jack's deep and just can't take it anymore. Dean runs his palm up John's jean-clad thigh and gropes his cock while batting his eyes at his father who, when the light hits them just right, looks too similar to his beloved late wife. The boy's green irises are full of mischief and hunger. 

“Need it, Daddy .” Dean coos, eyes darting to the closed bathroom door where Sammy's having a shower. “Been too long. Achin’ for you. Nothin’ feels as good as your dick reamin’ me open, destroying my tight little pussy. Need you to leave me messy and gaping.”

John clenches his eyes shut, tips his head back, “You're a filthy fuckin’ brat, boy.” he groans, fucks up against the weight of Dean's hand. “When Sam's asleep, we'll go for a drive, hey?” 

Dean's breath catches,  “Let’s just do it here. Tonight. Sam had a nightmare while you were gone last.” He lies, hoping John falls for it. “If Sam wakes up and we're gone, he will absolutely freak.” 

John swears, wraps his fingers around Dean's wrist, and pulls it away. “Not happening, Dean.” 

Dean leans in, “I'll be a good boy, I swear. Quiet as a church mouse. Please ” He whispers. “Been fingering myself every single night and it's just not the same. Need my daddy's big dick. Want you to push my panties to the side, feel you all the way up in my guts.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Dean. You're going to be the death of me.” John groans but he jerks his face to the side to glare at his son. “Wait, what ?” 

Dean bites his lip, innocent and seductive all at once, flicks the button of his jeans, pulls the zipper down, and opens the V of his fly just to offer a peak to his father.

“Pink and lacy. So pretty and soft.” Dean whispers, his fingertips skirting over the material.

He's pretty sure he hears a low guttural growl rumble out from his dad's throat before he knocks back another mouthful of whiskey. 

This is how Dean ends up belly-down, ass-up with his father's cock pile driving into him, the now pre-come stained pink panties expertly removed, balled up, and made into a makeshift gag when he couldn't stop running his mouth.

“Are you that cock-drunk that you keep forgetting that it's not just us in this room, boy?” John hisses, stilling his hips and trying to take several even breaths. “You can't seriously be that fuckin’ dumb.”

Dean's loosened cunt flutters around John's cock as the boy sobs and pushes back trying to get his father's cock in deeper. Carve out new depths inside of Dean. 

John pushes Dean's face into the pillow to muffle the noises the boy is making. “You better be quiet, because I will cram your face into these sheets until you pass out.” John gets in close behind Dean's ear, “Then I'll use this hungry little pussy of yours all for my satisfaction if it means you shut. The. Fuck . Up. so we don't wake your little brother. You understand me?”

Nodding, Dean cups his own hand over his mouth attempting to stifle his mewling whines. 

“You don't deserve to come, you little slut.” John sneers as he snakes his hand around Dean's hip and locks his middle finger and thumb around the base of his eldest son's cock and balls, encircling them tightly and halting the development of his orgasm. 

Dean bucks and sobs into the balled-up panties and his own palm as John fucks hard into Dean a few times. The stupid cheap box spring screams underneath their weight and that's when John hears it. Hears a stuttered moan and then a little squeak. 

Not directly below him, but behind him. In the next bed over. 

He slows the rolls of his hips– doesn't stop completely but just needs to be certain. He pulls his cock all the way out, slips his thumb into the slack muscle, and circles his finger around the gape, loving the way it struggles to tighten back up. He inches his fat bulbous cockhead past Dean's slack rim several times, slips himself in, and then back out. Dean turns his head into his pillow, arches his spine, and tries not to cry at the teasing edge. 

“Such a tight, sweet , little fuck-hole that daddy gets to ruin,” John mutters and then holds his breath, hearing a pitchy whine in response. “You love getting your ass fucked by Daddy, don't you boy?” John whispers down at Dean, thumbing his cock back into his boy's body and leaning in, pushing the entire 8 inches into the willing body beneath him. “Gaggin’ for it.”

John is rarely this verbal but Dean loves it, every filthy degrading thing that spills out of his father's mouth makes Dean fuck backward desperately trying to get his dad's cock in as deep as he can. His fat cockhead is slamming into his prostate and making his full balls ache. 

Rolling his eyes up behind fluttering eyelids, Dean finally looks to the side, sees two shining eyes staring back at him under too-long bangs, and locks his hand over his mouth harder. Can't look at those fox-slanted eyes for too long, knowing how wrong he was for wanting this moment and realizing how far it pushes him to the edge of climax, even with his father's thick fingers tightened around his genitals. 

John doubles down, punches his hips into Dean a handful of times, then leans over to Dean's ear that is furthest away from Sam, so that his face is shielded by Dean's shoulders and head. 

“You've done it now, boy.” John hisses, drives straight into the hilt, and stops, “couldn't control yourself. You’ve broken that promise ‘bout being a quiet little church mouse . Instead, you're under me needing more. Moanin’ like you're on goddamn heat or somethin’ and, now…” John grazes the sharp edge of his canine along the shell of Dean's ear. 

His forehead is pressed against his pillow to prevent him from suffocating against the mattress. He needs to ground himself, his heart pounding, can't stand that expression on Sam's shadowy face, but it doesn't matter. John is drunk enough and pissed off enough to make sure Dean can't escape this moment. 

“ Now , we got ourselves an audience member, Dean,” John growls. “Think he's scared of what we're doing?” His dad slows the rolls of his hips and tries to minimize The sounds of the springs below them. “Or think his prick is hard under those blankets while he watches his big brother getting fucked like the needy slut that you are?” 

“Mmph..” Dean tries but it's muffled. He wants to tell him to stop. It's too much. 

“Think he wants to take my place, Dean?” He drops his hips, and thrusts in hard. “Wants to poke in that tiny little boy-dick and try to do to you what I do?” 

He shudders, knowing that's exactly what Sam wants. 

“Don't know if I'm ready to share this pussy of yours yet. He's gonna have to fight me for it. Prove he's man enough to give you what you want.”

Dean clenches his eyes tight, that thought causes a chill to run down his spine. There was no way that Sam could win against their father. 

“Think that little pencil-dick can make you feel how I make you feel, huh? Think he even knows what his cock is for, Dean? Or is it something we’re gonna have to show him?” John whispers, “Look at your little brother, boy.”

Dean hesitates for a second but finally gives in, turns his head, and locks eyes with Sam who snaps them closed, and knows he's been busted. 

John circles his hips precisely, keeping his eyes locked on Dean. He doesn't want to give it away that they both know Sam was trying to covertly watch the dirty display next to him. The eldest hunter searches for Dean's P-spot, grazing it torturously while taking a couple of moments to stroke his son's erection. “Is he still watching?” 

Dean can't help but whimper, moaning an “uh-uh,” and John instructs him to move his hand away from his face. 

“No point being quiet now. May as well put on a show for our Sammy boy. Don't make him think that you ain’t a willing participant, boy. You're the one who started all of this.”

When Dean doesn't remove his palm from his lips, John drags it away, digs the panties out from between his teeth, and then pins Dean's wrist to the bed. “You're the one that forced himself on me, remember? Crawled into my lap when I was drunk and high on pain pills. You begged me to let you make me feel good. You made me this way.” John undulates his hips and makes Dean gasp ragged. “Now, you're doin’ the same to Sam. Exposing him to your slut-ways. Corrupting him too. Couldn't just be satisfied with your daddy’s dick fucking you raw, had to go ruining Sammy's innocence too.” 

Dean can hear the condescending smile in his father's tone and he flushes hot as he drills into his prostate again, “Probably doesn't even know how to jerk off yet. Should make you go over there and take care of his little problem, seal that slut mouth around him, and fix what you caused.” 

Fuck, Dean would. He fucking would . And the image of Sam's skinny little bird-bone thighs hugging the sides of his head makes Dean buck wild, it drags out an embarrassingly wanton, ‘Sammy.’  

And that's when Dean sees the shine of Sam's pupils uncovered and staring back at him. Dean's mouth drops open in a silent plea as he hears John laugh dirty against his ear. “That's my boy.” He growls, “How did I end up with such a depraved, cock-hungry little slut for a son, huh?” John asks, gut-punching Dean from the inside, and Dean groans in response. “One who craves nothing more than to be a hole for men to come into. For boys to use and learn what feels good.” 

Dean shudders and almost wishes he hadn't let John discover this side of Sam, of himself. John was going to take him apart, lay out every single disgusting, shameful kink and fantasy he had dared to think of or dared to imagine even in his most secretive moments. Moments when that post-nut clarity made him feel sick with guilt. John has absolutely no filter when it comes to laying Dean's desires out to study and critique. 

“Oh, God.” Dean mewls. “ Daddy .”

He can feel the warm puff of John huffing against his cheek, alcohol pungent on his breath. 

“Quit actin’ like you aren't dyin’ to be our little fucktoy, Dean. Bet you'd love for me to hogtie you, ass up, and teach Sam all the fucked up ways you love to be defiled. Wouldn't you?” 

Dean shudders, sweat dripping down from his hairline, muscles quaking at the overstimulation from being kept on the edge for too long while John spews out his most sinful desires. 

“Drop the innocent little angel act, Dean.” John fucks in deep, “C'mon, I know you want it. You know you want it. Just. Admit. It. You want us to be just as bad as you are.”

Dean’s mouth is gaping, swinging on a loose hinge as he tries to string together just enough brain cells to form a sentence. He nods, teeth grinding into his bottom lip but he can feel his little brother's gaze into his soul. “I want it. I–I want to take care of both of you.” He begs, half to his father but also hopes it's loud enough for Sam to hear. “I’ll do whatever you want, you can use me however and whenever you need.” Dean groans low when he hears Sam’s little whining gasp, the rocking movements of his little brother’s body under his sheets. His balls pull tight against his body threatening to come at just the thought of being ordered to suck or be fucked whenever they like. 

Dean can feel the snarl rumble out of his father's chest, “It's gonna be a while before he’s gonna get any pleasure from this ruined little cunt. Boy’s gonna have to go through a growth spurt or two before his dick is gonna be able to touch the sides after I have stretched it out night after night.”

His fathers had one of the filthiest mouths on him, not even porn could compare. It should make Dean angry, it should make him thrash and curse John out but he’s begun to accept that his wires were irrevocably crossed in ways only his father can truly understand. 

“Mmph, fuck yes..” Dean whimpers, and pushes himself back, the slapping skin-on-skin loud in their dark room. “I’ll be so good for you both. I will. ” He pants.

“Shhh,” John whispers and slows his thrusts to a slow roll, tells Dean to ‘listen’ and they can hear Sam’s little puppy whimpers as he humps his mattress. “Poor boy sounds like he’s havin’ a tough time…” 

His brain is sludge and it's slow to follow where his father is going with this, he’s too caught up in listening to the delicious little sounds coming out of his brother.

“Sam…” John begins and both Dean and Sam stop dead. Dean’s pretty sure that they both stop breathing at the same time as well. John groans surprised at the sudden tightness around his cock when every muscle in Dean’s body locks up. 

“Dad, no. I–I don’t think…” But Dean is silenced by John’s palm slapping across his mouth. 

“Exactly right Dean, you don’t think.” John sneers, snapping his hips forward, “Now we’re in this mess, it's now your responsibility to fix it.” John instructs. He leans up and his weight disappears from Dean's back but Dean remains frozen, eyes wide with uncertainty. 

“Sammy boy,” the older man coos. “No point pretendin’, kid. We both know you were being a peepin’ Tom and tryin’ to get your rocks off.” 

The little shape in the next bed is completely still, almost curled in on himself.

“C'mere. Ya not in trouble, Sam.” John tries but his tone is anything but soothing and Sam doesn't budge. “Dean's gonna help.”  Dean turns his head and tries to move away from John's palm. 

Understanding the hint, John removes his hand, and Dean swallows and takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” Dean croaks, “Sammy. C'mon, let big brother help.” 

There's a hitch in the boy's breathing that Dean can hear over John's low chuckle as he runs his calloused palms down the skinny frame of Dean's back, down to his ass cheeks, and pulls them apart, grinding himself against his son's taint. 

Gasping, whimpering Dean continues, “C’mon, I–I know you're curious, dude.” He pants a couple of times and tries desperately to make sense, “I know what you did that night Dad went on his last hunt, I was awake.” 

Sam's head slowly turns and despite the shadows, Dean can make out the guilt that is tainting his expression. 

“M’not mad,” Dean says quickly, but remembers the frantic ways Sam thrust himself against Dean, the sweet noises that came out of him, and he absolutely wants to be responsible for making that happen again.  “Fuck, I was so hard listening to you say the same things to me that dad does. wan–wanna make you feel good, c'mon, Sammy. Please.” Dean untucks his arm from under his chest and holds it out to Sam, motioning for him to come closer. He feels John still, probably processing the information he was getting before he goes back to rhythmically slapping into Dean's body.

Several tense moments pass before Sam finally kicks down his covers, and rolls over. Hesitantly sitting up and crossing the space between the two beds, wringing his little hands together. His cheeks stained deep red and unsure where to look but Dean can clearly make out the straining little stiffy poking out of his loose sleep pants. 

“Drop them pants and then up you get, boy.” John orders picks Dean up by the hips so that he's on his knees, and hauls him back to drive his cock in. 

Dean shudders his cock drooling, “Oh, fuck. C’mon, baby boy. Please.” 

Sam fidgets for a minute but finally climbs up on the bed after he yanks his PJ pants down, leaving them in a pool on the ground. Dean tosses his pillow off for Sam to sit where it had laid, right in front of Dean's face, His skinny legs spread with one little foot on either side of his big brother's head. 

The boy has his hands cupped over his dick.

“Don't be shy, we all got ‘em, kid.” John jeers as Dean nuzzles against his little brother's knuckles like an affectionate kitten, looks up at Sam, and says “Please, Sammy. Let me.”

Chewing on his lip, Sam finally uncovers himself and Dean doesn't waste a second. He flattens his tongue and licks a long wet line from his brother's balls to his tip. It feels completely different when he does this to his father's girthy length. Sam damn near yelps and levitates off the bed, his knees snapping shut around Dean's ears attempting to protect himself from the newly intense sensation. 

It's like licking a finger but just as hard as any other dick should be. His hips buck up with a crying outburst. “Oh, Dean!”

John picks up his pace behind Dean, dragging his ass back with his steady thrusts, his short grubby nails biting into Dean's waist, grunting loud. 

Dean pulls Sam's thighs away and army-crawls closer, “You okay?” he asks, trailing another slow wet line from his sac to his slit.

Nodding, Sam whines, his face flushed and uncontrollably jerking up. His hands scramble before his fingers twist in the sheet folds. 

Dean smirks up at his brother, gently teasing the tip of his tongue under the boy's cock head, taking a moment to let him breathe and calm down, to get used to this overwhelming feeling. 

“Ugh, Dee!” Sam sobs, his legs snapping shut again and this time, Dean doesn't know if it's to push Dean away or keep him right where he is. 

Suddenly there is an oversized, heavy palm on the top of Dean's head shoving him down, “Quit teasin’ the boy, Dean. Do it properly.” John demands and Dean concedes, taking Sam straight into his mouth, his nose grinding against Sam's pubic bone, chin against the smooth balls and taint. 

The boy squeals, back arching as Dean slurps around the rigid flesh of his brother's cock. John slips his hand down from Dean's skull, down to where his neck meets his shoulders, and keeps a grip on him so he has enough leverage to jackhammer into his son the way he knows Dean likes best. 

Every time John pulls Dean back, counteracting his thrusts, his lips slip up and almost off of Sam's dick which makes the youngest Winchester whimper and desperately lifts his hips to push his dick back into Dean's mouth with needy little noises. 

John drills into Dean's prostate, making him jump and gasp. His hands curling into fists so he can breathe and focus. He wanted Sam to feel good before this was over.

“C’mon, show him what a talented mouth you got,” John demands. “Lucky little man’s never gonna need to jerk off since his big brother craves being used like a sex toy.”

Dean's eyes roll back into his head, it's humiliating but it's true, he's nodding to anyone paying enough attention. His face radiates heat at the realization that he is going to come from just his dick dangling and grazing against the sheets. Then he looks at his precious little brother, his eyes are heavy-lidded, his thick fan of eyelashes grazing his cheekbones under his curtain of hair. The cute little mouth parted as he pants erratically and shallowly. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think that this would happen so soon.

Dean soothes his hand up the outsides of Sam's thighs, “Shh. Just breathe, I got you.”

Sam whimpers, his knees clutching at the sides of Dean's head, locking him in place as Sam tries to rut up and bury himself back into the wet heat of his big brother's mouth and he welcomes the eager boy happily.

“Ugh. Plea–please, Dee. More.” Sam begs. “Fe–feels good, Dee.”

John rolls his hips, searching for the spot inside of Dean that makes him leak and shake and Dean bows his spine, widens his legs, and fucks back. His cock head dragging against the cheap motel sheets and it's torture on His over-sensitive dick but Jesus, it's good. 

He curls his tongue around the prick in his mouth and alternates the suction like he's nursing on it. 

Sam huffs frustrated and grips Dean's ears trying to tug him back. The sharp pain plus the constant targeted prodding against his prostate is pure bliss. 

He knows he doesn't have long but he wants to feel both his brother and his father driving into him with everything they got. Dean grips the boy's waist, drags him closer so that he's easier to reach, his back flat against the bed and Dean corkscrews his lips up and down and smothers a smile when Sam stammers and whines, knees dropping out wide until Dean increases the suction, sinks down to the base, takes in his balls into his mouth as well. 

Sam arches, and shouts, “Oh!” His skinny little legs wrap around his shoulders, his ankles locking around Dean's back. 

Dean has his father's hands roaming his body, around to his chest, scraping across his nipples, his brother's thighs clamped around his ears and heels digging into his back. He feels enveloped, engulfed, consumed, desired, needed. And he loves it. Wants to make it so good for Sam that any time he needs release he turns to Dean. To make him addicted to what Dean can give him. Wants Sam's first instinct to be Dean, to crave Dean like Dean dreams of being craved. 

Lifting his hips, tucking his ass up using the leverage he's got around Dean's shoulders, he bunny-fucks himself in and out of Dean's lips with stuttered grunts. 

“Dee–Dean–oh, god.” 

And Dean fits his hands under the boy's firm little ass and helps to lift the boy's weight. 

“Look at you, Dean.” John growls, leaning his front against Dean's back to speak directly into Dean’s ear, “Such a starving little cockslut, you're willing to spoil Sammy’s innocence. One cock not good enough for you. You couldn't even wait for Sam to hit puberty, lose his virginity normally or have a fully functioning cock. You just needed both your holes filled just to be satisfied. ” 

Dean gurgles and mewls, his cock drools as Sam bucks against his face. 

“Since this is what you wanted, every single time Sammy needs you to drop to your knees and suck that little dicklet to make him feel good, you do it. Since you're an attention-seeking little slut, you're gonna start and finish the day with my cock down your throat or balls deep in this fucked-out pussy. It doesn't matter if your knees are bruised, your throat is swollen, or your pussy is sore. You. Wanted. This. You. Got. It.”

Dean mumbles something and lifts his head, slurps the mess of saliva up off his chin, and nods, “Ye–oh, fuck. Yes. Yes.” 

John pulls out to the tip, mushroom head spreading his lubed-up, pre-come-filled asshole before ramming back into the hilt. “Say. It.” 

Trying to piece more than moans and obscenities together, Dean desperately attempts to remember what his father had said. 

John pulls out, shoves in his fingers instead, crooks them down, and rubs against that gland inside that makes Dean see stars. “I said, say it… you belong to us.”

Dean swallows and stutters, “I–I belong t–to you.” 

“Whenever Sammy wants you… you will?” John hints. 

“Oh, fuck. I–I will drop to my knees, sir. Ma–make him feel good.” Dean whimpers and Sam whines  humping up urgently against Dean’s collarbone while he tries his best to follow his father's instruction. 

“And what about me, hmm?” 

Dean's cock is leaking a damn pool underneath him, “Morning and night. Whenever and however you want it. Down my throat, or my p–pussy. Does–doesn’t matter if my knees are bruised, my throat is inflamed, or my cunt is sore.” 

“And why is that?” John asks. Drilling down one last time.

Sobbing and chewing on his lip, “I got what I asked for.” Dean moans, “Please. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please.”

John groans and slips his dick back into place and drives in with renewed energy, “That's right. Good boy. Now,” he twists His fingers into the back of Dean's hair and directs him back onto his needy little brother’s straining erection.  “Finish what you started.” 

Dean sucks Sam's over-sensitive dick, moaning every time John pushes in and grazes his prostate. He laps at the rigid flesh and swirls his tongue around its length, staring up at Sam who writhes under his attention. 

Gasping and groaning, Dean asks, “Say what you said to me that night, baby boy.” And Sam flushes even deeper pink.

 “Please, Sammy. I need to hear it.” 

The boy hesitates and sucks on his lip for a moment, looks at his father pounding into Dean. 

“Go on, Sam. Tell him what he needs to hear.” John urges. 

“Ugh, so pr–pretty, Dee,” Sam whispers shyly. Dean smirks around his dick and Sam smiles right back. “Ma–made for this. Made for our….um…” 

Shuddering, John huffs. “Yeah. Made for our cocks. ” Thrusts in hard. “Isn't that right, son?” And both of John's sons nod in unison. 

Sam gets a little boost in confidence with the support of his father and brother. “Yeeaah. You love it, Dee. Ahh.” he bucks again, throwing his head back, little toes curling,  “Love ta–taking care of us. More Dee, more.” 

John chuckles, nods approvingly and his thrusting speeds up, gets rougher. 

“You're our little –ughh–slut, Dean. Aren't you?” Sam continues and Dean sucks enthusiastically, eyelids fluttering as he nods. Moans.  “Slut for daddy and–ahh, ugh, sl–slut for me.” 

Sam begins to seize and muscles contract, orgasm rushing over him, his thighs snapping shut and his little hand gripping the top of Dean's head to hold him there. As Sam gasps and thrashes from the overwhelming sensations, Dean slurps and lifts his little brother's hips to envelop his entire dick and balls back into his mouth, desperate for his throat to be filled. 

“Yeah–ah, he is.” John snarls. “One day he's gonna beg us to fuck this starving cunt of his with both our cocks. At the same time. Probably gonna be the only way he will be able to get off.”

Feeling his little brother descend into cascading spasms over his entire body, bucking uncontrollably against his chin and whining while his father grunts is music to Dean's ears. Feels John slamming against his prostate and it's enough to kick Dean into his own climax, shaking and groaning, eyelids fluttering as he babbles and mumbles “ore, ore! Ore!” Around Sam's twitching and jerking little dick as he continues to jerk once the intensity of his orgasm begins to wane.  

Dean tightens around his father’s still-pistoning dick. He loves nothing more than coming while getting fucked, comes more than ever when his prostate Is being hammered, and leaves his balls drawn tight and empty. 

Sam goes limp under Dean after a minute or two and lays dazedly underneath Dean. He rests his head against his little brother's stomach, mouth slightly parted as he drools into Sam's navel high on endorphins and dopamine, while the kid strokes his fingers through Dean's hair. 

“Jesus fuck .” John grunts, nostrils flaring and his chest heaving. Slapping skin on skin as he fucks into Dean until he finally is able to release his own load into Dean, filling him until it's dribbling out of his loosened entrance, his bulky muscular frame convulsing as he rides out the blissful pleasure until it tapers out into jolts of electric aftershocks. 

Dean is only semi-conscious when John pulls out. He fetches a wet face cloth from the bathroom and cleans himself, then Dean's inner thighs, his sensitive balls then gently around the young man's ruined hole. He's gonna be limping in the morning but John doesn't have much sympathy for his precocious eldest son.

Finally, John unwraps the boy's from one another, moves them one by one from the soiled sheets of John's bed and into Sam's mostly clean bed, tucking them in next to one another. No point trying to keep them apart now that Sam has fallen into Dean's magnetic temptation. He just hopes that the young boy is going to be able to keep this fucked up secret of theirs behind closed doors. He plans on having the talk with his youngest son tomorrow morning. 

Once he strips the sheets and flips the pillows that Dean had chewed and drooled all over, he collects a spare blanket from the living room and throws it over his bare mattress, turns off the light and gets into his own bed to sleep. 

The end.