Sam knows this is going to end badly. It has to.
There’s some karmic law that guarantees repercussions for fucking your brother without his knowledge.
Wolf whistles echoed off the cheap tile when Sam pulled his cock out, and Sam could see hair rising along Dean’s spine when the comments started.
Sam was big, but Dean could take him. Had taken him.
Loved taking him, if they were honest.
Sam could see his brother’s face in the cracked mirror, his mouth panting open beneath the blindfold. He could see tension melt into ecstasy when Dean’s body stretched to accommodate his cock.
That expression, that reaction- that’s why Sam did this. Kept doing it.
At least, that’s what he told himself at night, rock-hard while Dean slept in the next bed.
Dean liked it. And it was his idea, after all.
It all started when a businessman-type had parked next to Sam at the bar and suggested a more colorful venue. Sam went, of course. He wasn’t gonna say no to free drinks and a quick fuck, and he wasn’t picky about the flavor of either.
The bar was unapologetically flamboyant, but it was clean, which was why Sam let the guy maneuver him into the bathroom about four drinks later.
He was only a little surprised to see a naked man bent over the bathroom counter, being enthusiastically fucked by a twink in a tulle skirt.
And, to be honest, he was only a little surprised when he realized that it was Dean.
His brother’s hands braced against the mirror, giving him leverage to grind back against the guy behind him.
Sam’s first instinct was to apologize and leave, but he instantly realized that the blindfold meant Dean didn’t know he was there.
It would be far less awkward to leave saying nothing. Pretend it had never happened.
“Take a go?” Sam’s friend said, and it took a second for his meaning to take root.
And then it was rooted. For good, as it turned out.
That’s why Sam’s in a bathroom with plywood stalls, squeezing bruises into Dean’s hips as he fucks him for an audience.
For the seventh time.
Because Dean has a habit of putting out for crowds of strangers.
And now, Sam has a habit of following him.
Dean comes home with a limp and a wince and Sam pretends to be researching. Pretends it wasn’t his cock that fucked his brother open.
He beats off while Dean’s in the shower, imagining come dripping from Dean’s gaping, abused hole.
He pretends he knows nothing- and then he follows Dean again.
Dean thinks maybe he’s going crazy.
He doesn’t live in the fucking secret, and if wishful thinking could actually change anything in his fucked up life, it sure as hell wouldn’t be this.
Sure enough, though.
Purgatory Miami, seven hundred and ninety two miles from the last place, and it’s the same guy.
The same flannel, pressed against his back. The same giant hands, stroking his cock and forcing his face up toward the mirror.
And the same cock, so big it feels like Dean’s gonna have to beg off, until suddenly it’s inside him and he realizes he can just handle it.
Dean’s squirming and writhing and begging the guy to go faster and the guy doesn’t- never does. He fucks Dean slow and leisurely, using Dean’s body for his own pleasure and Dean loves it.
He loves it from the minute the guy shows up. Before he even lays a finger on Dean, Dean knows it’s him because the other guys start making comments.
They always make comments- they push fingers into Dean’s ass and groan because he’s so tight. So eager. So fucking hot.
And Dean cants his hips up and takes their cocks and their praise and pretends he’s not fantasizing about his brother.
Three guys wanna go before the new guy ruins Dean’s ass with his monster cock, and Dean isn’t complaining.
He’s trying not to pretend that the hung guy is Sam.
It would make sense- who else would show up everywhere Dean did?
Or, Dean could be being stupid. There were big dicks everywhere. Maybe everybody with a giant cock fucked slow. It would make sense.
He shudders and tries to enjoy the stretch of the man fucking him- tries to listen to the others still waiting their turn.
Tries not to remember details from the last time, tries not to compare.
He has to know.
It’s driving him insane.
Someone pulls Dean away from the counter, guides him onto his hands and knees. He opens instantly, tongue out to accept what he’s given. Someone’s cock pushes into his mouth and he sucks eagerly.
“Fuck yourself on it,” someone says, and the man behind him strokes his thigh. Dean obliges, his hips undulating as he works himself up and down that impressive length.
Someone comes on his face, warmth dripping over his cheeks. A thumb rubs through it, spreading it across his skin.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” someone murmurs. The cock in his mouth pulls back and is immediately replaced by fingers, salty and wet.
The grip on his hips tightens, and Dean grinds back, harder.
He sucks the come off the fingers in his mouth, and is rewarded by a grunt as another man dribbles come onto his mouth. He can feel a cockhead spreading it across his cheeks and he turns, licking at the weeping slit.
There will be bruises on his hips tomorrow, Dean knows. Little sore patches to match the stretched-out feeling in his ass. It keeps him focused on his favorite fantasy, the one where Sam sees those bruises, and Dean has to tell him everything-
Someone presses against his lips and Dean licks against the mushroom head. In his mind, he’s on the side of the road somewhere, his knees on the gravel as he sucks Sam off. Sam’s fingers are in his hair, holding him down while he plays with Dean’s ass.
Dean’s erection bobs against his stomach, wondering what Sam would think if he could see this now. See how much his brother loved it -
He moaned, pushing back against the stranger behind him, feeling that thick shaft stretching him open.
He imagined Sam would be that big.
“Fuck me,” he demanded, his ass grinding against the stranger’s hips. He knew what a cock like that could do, and he wanted it.
The stranger fucked him slow, dragging it out, sliding tantalizingly over Dean’s prostate until pre-come was drooling from Dean’s cock. Dean whined, resting his face on his forearm and reaching between his legs. He could feel the stranger’s balls bouncing against his, and his fingers ghosted over them before settling around his own cock.
He was so close- there were people standing around watching, waiting their turn, murmuring encouragements and praise. Dean was putting on a good show but dammit, he wanted to get fucked.
“Fuck me!” he said again, louder. The stranger went a little faster, trying to draw it out longer maybe. Dean’s hand stripped over his own length, getting him close but not close enough.
He wasn’t in the bathroom, he was bent over in the mud in some cornfield somewhere, traffic racing past fifty feet away while Sam fucked him into the ground. He wanted that, oh fuck, he wanted that, he wanted it, he wanted-
“ Fuck me, Sam!” he demanded, and then he was coming so hard he didn’t even notice that the man behind him had gone dead still.
He shuddered through it, forgetting to breathe as he spent himself across the tile floor.
“Uh-oh,” someone said, and Dean shook his head, panting. He’d clean it up, he picked clean places and he wasn’t gonna fuck ‘em up-
“How did you know?” the guy asked, and Dean’s blood turned to ice.
That wasn’t Sam’s voice. No possible way.
Very slowly, he reached up, pulling the damp blindfold away from his eyes.
He dropped it and considered not turning around. Just, burying his face in his arms and waiting for everyone to go away.
People were staring.
Dean steeled himself, and turned his head.
There was no mistaking his brother’s face, Sam’s hazel eyes wide as dinner plates.
“Oh,” Sam said. Someone coughed.
Dean felt like he should grab for his shirt, try to cover himself- it was ridiculous, Sam was still inside him , which-
“What the fuck?” Dean squawked.
“I can explain.”
“Was Denver you, too?”
“Was that the one with the little-”
“The anchors, yeah.”
Dean nodded. At least he wasn’t going crazy.
“You said my name,” Sam said slowly. Dean rolled his eyes.
“Like you can bitch about secret fetishes.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably, causing his cock to move inside Dean’s ass. Dean groaned, shoulders dropping until his face rested on his forearms.
“Get on with it, Sammy. You’re holding up the line.”