"Your fucking sandwich is slowly killing my brother, you fucking asshole," Sam growled at Dick, who was on his knees with his hands cuffed behind his back.
"You like specialty sandwiches so much," Sam continued, gripping Dick by the hair and wrenching his head up, "why don't you enjoy this cockmeat sandwich?"
Sam unzipped his jeans. Dick opened up wide.
"We should fuck Dick," Lucifer said to Sam one day, casually leaning against the bathroom counter while Sam brushed his teeth. He was amusing himself by squeezing all the toothpaste out of the tube, waiting for Sam to acknowledging him.
Sam spit and rinsed twice. And then he said, "Okay."
Lucifer blinked. "What, you've been holding out against me all this time but you'll finally break for Dick?"
"I like seeing an expensive suit get messed up," Sam said, shrugging. He let Lucifer in.
"Wait, so, to clarify," Dean said, "When you say you love Dick a lot, do you mean just dick in general, or, you know, Dick Dick?"
"I mean dick," Sam said. (Or maybe: "I mean Dick," Sam said.)
"Dude, are you for serious? I can't even tell. Sammy, this isn't funny anymore."
"I am completely serious. This is how serious I am: I'm going to marry Dick." (Or maybe: "This is how serious I am: I'm going to marry dick.") "We're going to consummate our marriage on the bodies of those who try to stop us."
Sam had been a hooker ever since he failed out of Stanford and found himself with no work experience and no marketable skills he could write down on a resume. But in all that time, he had never had a client as expensive as Dick.
Dick was willing to pay a lot, but it didn't take long to figure out why. The things Dick wanted to do, the things Dick wanted done to him--you HAD to pay a lot. Whips, chains, ball gags, watersports, scat, that was all just foreplay. What Dick really liked was vore. He liked to cut up little bits from Sam's skin, the tough skin on his calloused hands and heels, nothing too painful, and he liked to eat them. Nothing got him harder than that, except when Sam ate some of his flesh in return.
It was a little weird, but Sam wasn't going to say no to that kind of money, and after a while he grew kind of...not fond of Dick, exactly, but got used to him enough to mistake familiarity with affection.
So when Dick said "Can we try something new tonight?" Sam said yes. Sam kept saying yes even after Dick's whole face turned into nothing but gaping mouth and glistening teeth.
In some other universe, Sam works as a barista in a local coffeeshop owned by rich entrepreneur Dick.
They fall in love over biscotti and have a lot of healthy sex.
This is not that universe.
And one time:
"JESUS CHRIST, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"
"Fucking your brother," Dick said casually, hips not even stopping as he kept pumping away into Dean. Dean moaned around the expensive silk tie stuffed into his mouth. He wasn't trying to get away.
"How could you--" Sam's voice wobbled, but he refused to cry. He was angry, goddammit. Not hurt, not betrayed, not sad. Angry. "You're a real dick, Dick."
"Thank you," Dick said.