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"What the hell are you doing!?" Dean struggled as he was pinned against a bed.

"Relax." Sam gave him a cold, cruel smirk. "You're lonely, right? With Lisa throwing you out."

Dean tried to kick him, enraged, disgusted by this creature that just... wasn't Sam, but the taller one evaded it, slammed Dean into the smelly bedding. "You've gotten rusty," he mocked. "Now, play nice, and it won't hurt. Much."

Dean cursed and thrashed, trying to get away, but there was no denying that Sam was stronger now, and he wasn't holding back. He pushed all of his weight against Dean, fumbling between their bodies to open Dean's jeans, then slid off to tug at them, roughly, Dean's shoes hitting the floor somewhere behind them.

"Cut it out! You don't know what you're doing, trust me." Dean tried to reason, but Sam just regarded him calmly, lips stretched in a parody of a smile and eyes cold. "You'll regret it when you get your soul back," Dean tried again, but only got a snort as an answer.

"I'm not sure I want it that much anymore," Sam said and pounced back, grabbed Dean's hands to pin them above his head as he settled on top of him.

"Sam, let me go now, or I swear..." He left the threat hanging, not sure himself what he would do if (when, really, if he was honest with himself) Sam didn't comply.

"Or you swear what?" Sam taunted. "Blow my brains out? You talk too much, you know." He shifted so he could hold both Dean's wrists in one hand and grabbed the first cloth he could feel on the floor (if it was a sock, Dean was going to kill him. Seriously) to stuff it in Dean's mouth. "Now that's better."

Dean tried to curse, but with the gag it sounded incoherent and pretty pathetic.

"Now, here... we go." Sam manhandled Dean, still struggling, even if it was futile, turning him to his stomach with his hands pinned under his chest. Uncomfortable would've been a big understatement, and Dean groaned, bucking.

Sam plastered himself against his back, and a moment later Dean was terrified to feel a hand pulling his underwear down, and then Sam's stiff cock against his ass.

"Don't... buck so much," Sam warned, his teeth gritted. "But your choice. It'll be more painful for you, not for me." He huffed a laugh as he positioned himself, pushing inside Dean without any preparation.

It burned. It was at least as bad as a gunshot wound, and Dean had never been shot in that place, and he moaned, desperately, pathetically, as Sam thrust into him, hard, ruthless motions ripping Dean's insides.

His eyes burned, too, and Dean was terrified to realize that there was moisture dripping down his cheeks that certainly wasn't sweat. It was humiliating, even more so that his ass being plundered by his brother, and he sobbed quietly, unable to stop himself.

Sam groaned above him. The contractions of Dean's body felt good, wonderful even, and he let himself drown in the sensation, riding the pleasure that was spreading from his dick through his whole body. Dean was whimpering under him, small, pained sounds, and Sam couldn't quite believe the rush, the power it gave him. With a loud groan he stuttered into Dean's body, coming, his vision turning white. It made him feel alive somehow. It made him feel. And that was fascinating and terrifying all at once.

He let himself slump against Dean, taking a minute to let his breath even out, then rose from the bed.

"I'm taking a shower," he announced, and a few moments later the bathroom door slammed shut.

Dean lay where he'd been left, panting, unable to move. It was the worst case scenario he hadn't wanted to think about, and now... even if he managed to get Sam's soul back, he wasn't sure it it would be the same anymore.