Word Count: 5,415
Warnings: wincest, invisibility
Summary: Another hunt, another dead witch. And of course the witch cursed Sam before she died. Or maybe it’s a gift?
A/N: Written for December 2018 smpc. Inspired by a comment Jared made at a convention in answer to a question about which superhero he would be if he could. Set vaguely early in an alternate Season 14.
READ IT ON AO3
Dean rolls over, onto his stomach, and pushes his face into his pillow.
Somebody gives his shoulder a little shove, and Dean’s pretty sure that somebody is Sam, since it’s his voice calling Dean’s name. Also, Dean can smell him. Sam smells like sweat and soap and something fruity, either the candy he’s been eating or his shampoo. It’s nice.
“Dean! Wake up!”
This time Sam grabs Dean’s shoulder and shakes him. He sounds panicked.
Dean opens one eye. The room is dark, but not pitch-black. Dean can see Sam’s bed, the rumpled, slept-in sheets, the indentation where his head lay. But no Sam.
He must be in the bathroom, Dean decides, closing his eye again.
“Dean! Goddamn it, wake up!”
Dean’s eyes fly open. Sam’s voice is right next to him, but the room is empty. Nobody’s here.
Something touches his shoulder again and Dean practically jumps out of the bed. “The hell!”
“It’s me, Dean,” the voice backs off a foot or two. “I’m right here.”
“Sammy?” Dean looks around wildly, then reaches for the lamp on the bedside table. The room is flooded with light, but there’s still no Sam. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here, Dean.” Dean jumps, stares hard at the space at the end of the bed where the voice came from. “I — I think I’m invisible.”
“What? You’re — How the hell did that happen?”
Dean hears the huff of breath that sounds like Sam’s exasperated voice. “I guess the witch hexxed me,” he says.
Dean climbs out of bed, approaches the place where the voice is coming from, one hand extended cautiously. He can’t quite believe Sam isn’t pranking him somehow. “How are you doing this?”
Then his fingers touch warm, smooth flesh, and he jumps back a foot. “Ah!”
“It’s me, Dean,” Sam’s voice says sharply. He sounds frustrated. “It’s not a prank. I’m not throwing my voice. This is definitely a curse.”
“But — “ Dean’s still having trouble believing he isn’t being made the butt of some stupid joke. He hates that. “We killed the witch, Sammy. There’s no way.”
“So it’s a curse that survives the witch’s death,” Sam snaps. “Like the one that made you lose your memory.”
Dean hates being reminded of that. That curse made him feel like a helpless baby. He still remembers what it felt like not to be able to recall simple words, or to recognize Sam’s face.
And now that face is gone. Sam’s voice is the only thing left.
“You think this one will kill?”
Dean can hear Sam’s huffy breath, the one that he makes when he’s irritated. “Yeah, Dean. I do. I don’t know how, but I’m already invisible. Maybe it’ll erase me completely before it’s done.”
“Oh no,” Dean shakes his head. “That can’t happen. I’m calling Rowena.”
Dean feels a hand grab his arm as he picks up his phone from the bedside table. He fumbles and drops the phone, gasping. “Don’t do that!”
“Sorry.” Sam almost sounds contrite but not quite, the bastard. “I just think we should do a little research of our own first.”
His voice gets further away, and when the laptop on the table suddenly flips itself open and turns on Dean gasps again.
The chair moves, and Dean has to stop himself from reaching for his duffle to pull out his iron crowbar. As the laptop whirs on and the keys seem to depress themselves, Dean has to fight the the instinct telling him there’s a ghost in the room.
It’s such an old habit that he glances at the windows and doors, just to reassure himself that the salt lines are intact.
“I’m not a ghost, Dean,” Sam mutters crossly, as if he can read Dean’s mind. As if he knows that Dean automatically assumes the worst. “I’m not dead.”
“No. Of course not.” Dean huffs a breath, forcing himself to move up behind the chair, to bend down to look into the laptop screen just as he would if Sam were really sitting there.
When his chest collides with a solid, warm shoulder, Dean doesn’t gasp this time. Or scream. He puts his hands out, finds the contours of Sam’s broad, bare shoulders.
“You’re naked,” he declares, running his hands deliberately across Sam’s invisible skin till he feels something soft. Sam’s hair.
“I’m not, actually,” Sam mutters, clearly absorbed in whatever he’s reading about, mostly ignoring Dean’s touch. “I’m wearing the sweatpants I went to bed in.”
Oh. That’s right. Sam often sleeps shirtless. He gets overheated.
“Hey, if you ever want to stop feeling me up, you could go get us some coffee.”
“The hell?” Dean bristles, snatching his hands away. “I’m not your coffee-boy, bitch! Get your own coffee.”
The keyboard stops clicking and the chair moves just a little, enough to tell Dean that Sam has stopped typing and turned around to stare up at him. Dean can almost see that look on his face, the one he gives Dean when he can’t believe Dean’s being so stupid.
“Oh right. I’m just supposed to go out and get coffee looking like this.”
Dean narrows his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” he warns, and he can almost feel Sam roll his eyes. He can definitely hear him huff out a breath.
“Right. Like I’m looking at you like anything,” Sam says dryly. “As if I could, right now.”
Oh no. That is not okay. Sammy unable to cast his bitch faces at Dean isn’t fair. It’s the worst kind of punishment for both of them, if Dean’s honest.
“Never mind.” Dean grabs his jeans and aggressively dresses. “Coffee coming up.”
He tries not to think about how good Sam’s warm, smooth, invisible skin felt under his hands. He tries to ignore the tingle up his spine at the thought of Sam sitting there, invisibly researching this latest weird thing that’s happened. He ignores the tightness in his jeans as he thinks about how soft Sam’s invisible hair felt.
Perving on his brother isn’t new. Perving on him while he’s invisible is a little kinky, though. The brothers have given in to their mutual attraction for each other off and on for years. Sex happens, usually after a hunt, when they’re just grateful the other one’s still alive. It’s always adrenaline-fueled and thrumming with an urgency and desperation they can’t control. They don’t talk about it, they just chalk it up to another way they’re different, another way their lives are weird and more than a little messed up. Sex isn’t the primary dynamic of their relationship, but it makes for a nice erotic buzz that underlies everything they do together. It’s always there, under the surface, even when they’re not expressing it overtly.
It’s nobody’s business but theirs, Dean tells himself as he walks to the diner through the cold, dark parking lot. It’s just something they do, like laundry or sharpening their weapons. They do it to let off a little steam once in a while. It’s always consensual and non-binding. There’s an unspoken rule between them that they’re both free to have sex with other people. Not that they do, but they both know they can. It’s not like this thing between them is exclusive. Sam’s not Dean’s boyfriend, for Godssake. He’s his brother. With benefits.
When Dean gets back with the coffee, Sam’s obviously still sitting where Dean left him. The keyboard on the laptop is clicking away on its own and the chair keeps moving as if it’s shifting under Sam’s weight.
Dean has a sudden fantasy of being held down on the bed by all the warm, smooth skin he felt earlier, feeling and hearing Sam breathe in his ear as he moves and shifts invisibly on top of Dean.
“Here. They didn’t have those fruity flavors you like, but I made them put whipped cream on it.”
He sets the coffee on the table next to the laptop, his arm brushing against something solid and soft as he pulls it away. Sam’s arm. Clothed.
Dean watches as the laptop stops typing by itself, then as the paper coffee cup moves on its own. He stares as the top peels itself off and the chair slides closer to the table. When the cup tips precariously, Dean has to stop himself from reaching out to catch it before it spills. Then part of the cup’s edge disappears along with a small portion of the hot liquid.
“You got dressed,” Dean observes, recalling the soft fabric his arm just brushed up against as he put the coffee down.
“Everything disappears as soon as I put it on,” Sam’s voice notes.
“And as soon as it goes into your mouth,” Dean observes. Watching the hot coffee disappear into Sam’s invisible mouth is giving Dean’s ideas. “I wonder if everything that goes into you disappears like that.”
Sam’s huff of breath makes Dean smirk lewdly. He wiggles his eyebrows, just in case Sam’s watching.
“Oh my god, Dean. This is not funny!”
“It’s a little funny,” Dean shrugs. “Kinda sexy, to be honest.”
“Oh my god.”
“Also, it could come in handy,” Dean goes on. “On a job, I mean. Monsters wouldn’t see you coming. If we needed to search a house, I could keep the witnesses occupied while you took a look around...”
“Dean, I can’t stay like this!”
“Right. The whole ‘it’s probably killing you’ thing. Obviously. But it’s still kinda cool.” Dean takes a seat in the other chair, sips his coffee.
“Okay, get this.” The laptop turns toward Dean and Dean sticks his tongue out. “Dean, what are you doing?”
“Just checking to see if you’re looking at me.”
Sam sighs so loud and long Dean can practically feel it. “I’m trying not to,” he moans, and Dean grins. “Okay, look. There’s lots of lore on invisibility spells. Cuthbert Sinclair collected them.”
“Who?” Dean frowns.
“Man of Letters? Went rogue and built himself an invisible mansion where he collected supernatural objects? Including the First Blade?”
“Right. I killed him.” Dean grins again.
“Right. Anyway, there’s not so much on visibility spells.”
“Why am I not surprised? See, Sam? It’s way cooler to be invisible.”
“But this is really more of a reversal of an invisibility spell,” Sam muses, obviously ignoring Dean as he works the problem. “That Romanian witch who gave the visibility spell to Aubrey so she could see the Zanna? I think our witch knew her.”
“The Zanna? You mean that imaginary friend of yours?” Dean frowns again. Just thinking about Sully makes Dean jealous. The idea that Sam ever needed a friend like that when he had Dean makes Dean want to kill something.
It’s a memory that will always haunt him, that time their dad made Dean leave Sammy behind in a motel all by himself. It didn’t make him feel any better to know that Sully was there, giving Sam terrible advice, encouraging him to run away. Nine-year-olds shouldn’t be left alone in a dingy motel, but they sure as hell shouldn’t be out walking the streets alone at night. Dean had been in agony just knowing Sam had to take a bus by himself to come join him and Dad. Nine-year-olds should not hang out alone in bus stations. It still makes Dean sick to think about.
“Yeah. The Romanian witch’s name was Lucia.” The laptop keys tap busily for a moment, then an image of a dark-haired woman appears. “She had a sister named Tunibris, or Tuni for short. They were sworn enemies.”
“Wait.” Dean glares into the screen as another image appears. “That’s Tuni. That’s the witch we killed yesterday.” Dean looks up into empty space, expecting to see Sam’s approving nod. It makes him blink, makes his heart sink.
“Right. I’m pretty sure I know why I’m invisible, and I know how to fix it.”
The laptop moves again as Sam types, and Dean tries not to freak out. He never realized how much he depended on Sam’s facial cues, his little nods and frowns, the way his forehead crunches up when he’s thinking. Dean misses being able to see his brother.
“Whenever you’re ready to share with the class, genius,” Dean growls, disgusted with his own vulnerability. He’s just done with this whole thing, now that Sam has a solution.
“Lucia guarded her invisibility and visibility spells with her life,” Sam explains. “When Tuni tried to steal them, Lucia cursed Tuni with never being able to make herself or anyone else invisible. The spells wouldn’t work for Tuni as long as she lived.”
Dean nods, catching on. “But if Tuni died...”
“Then whoever killed her would inherit the spell.”
“The spell she’d never been able to use herself,” Dean adds. He thinks about this for a moment, then grins. “So it is a gift, Sammy. See?”
“Well, at least it isn’t a curse.”
“So how do we fix it?” Dean’s feeling better already.
“Apparently, the effects of the spell wear off on their own after twenty-four hours. I’m not sure if that’s twenty-four hours from the time Tuni died or from the moment I first became invisible, but either way, it looks like all I have to do is hole up here for the rest of the day, and I’ll be fine by a little after midnight.”
“Huh.” Dean sits back in his chair, watching as the laptop slams itself shut and the other chair scoots back from the table with a loud screech. “So we’ve got some time to kill. What do you want to do?”
“Well, I’m going back to bed,” Sam announces.
“Good idea,” Dean agrees. Sam hasn’t been sleeping well lately. He was getting two or three hours of sleep per night before they left the bunker for this hunt. Dean’s been worried about him. “I think I know just the thing to help you relax.”
“No, no, you just let big brother take care of you now,” Dean soothes. “I know just what you need.”
“No, you don’t,” Sam gripes, his voice moving away toward the bed.
Dean gets up to follow, reaching his hands out in front of him until they make contact with the warm, solid wall that must be Sam’s back. He closes his eyes to block out the sight of his hands pushing against something that isn’t there, and suddenly Sam’s all around him. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it before. It’s like touching Sam in the dark, with the lights off.
“Come on now,” Dean coaxes. “Let’s take this off.”
He tugs on the shirt and Sam lifts his arms obediently so that Dean can pull it off over his head. Dean opens his eyes as he tosses the shirt to the floor, notes the moment it becomes visible. He closes his eyes again and runs his hands over the tight muscles of Sam’s shoulders, pushes up close, brushing up against Sam’s jean-clad ass as he runs his hands down Sam’s arms to his wrists.
Sam shivers under his touch.
“Oh, that’s no good,” Dean mutters. “Too many clothes.”
He steps back and pulls his own t-shirt over his head, keeping his eyes closed, and he can feel Sam turn. Dean can feel rather than see Sam looking at him, probably smiling his funny little smirky smile. When Dean feels Sam grab his wrists, yank their bodies together, Dean’s eyes fly open wide.
Of course, there’s nothing to see. It’s disorienting, but kind of hot, too. He can feel Sam’s chest pressed against his, can feel Sam’s heartbeat.
“Really,” Sam’s voice snarls, so close Dean can feel his breath. “This turns you on.”
“Yeah,” Dean blurts out, blushing in spite of himself. “I guess it does.”
It’s weird to feel Sam’s big hands on his cheeks, to feel his long thumbs rubbing along his cheekbones. Dean closes his eyes again and everything normalizes. Sam’s thumb caresses Dean’s bottom lip and Dean imagines Sam staring at the effect of his invisible fingers pressing into Dean’s skin. When he feels Sam’s hips shift as he bends his knees, Dean can feel that Sam’s turned on, too.
“I never fucked an invisible man before,” Dean murmurs, and Sam chuckles, low and dark.
“I never fucked anybody while I was invisible,” he answers.
“I wanna see my dick disappear into you,” Dean says, going for sexy but probably coming off goofy. He feels Sam tipping his face up, feels Sam’s breath hitch against his lips.
“You’re a brave guy,” Sam mumbles as he kisses Dean. He feels Sam’s tongue, hot and persistent, prodding his lips apart, and he opens willingly, lets Sam kiss him long and deep and dirty. When Sam pulls back, releasing his mouth, Dean’s eyes flutter open.
“Damn it, Sammy.” Dean’s eyes slam shut again and he hears Sam breathing hard, feels Sam’s thumb on his lower lip again. Sam’s studying his mouth, Dean realizes, getting a good look at what Sam just did to it.
It’s hot as hell being observed this way. Dean feels like a science project being watched behind a two-way mirror. It makes him feel used. Exhibited.
“On the bed,” Sam says. Dean feels a little push, and he stumbles backwards, eyes flying open again. “Clothes off. Legs spread. Now!”
Dean grins. “Love it when you take control,” he teases as he starts unbuckling his belt.
Dean smirks as he bends down to untie his boots, wiggling his ass. He straightens again to kick his boots off, shimmies out of his jeans with exaggerated movements. He licks his bottom lip, then bites it as he lowers his lashes, flutters them deliberately.
“I’m over here, Dean.”
The voice is behind him now. Sam’s watching his ass as he undresses. Of course he is. Dean hears a rustle of fabric, turns in time to see Sam’s sweatpants puddled on the floor. Sam’s been barefoot this whole time, Dean realizes, and it makes his heart pound.
“On the bed. Spread your legs. Come on, Dean. Let me see you.”
“So bossy,” Dean grins, but he obeys. He makes a deliberate show of spreading himself out on the bed, playing with his nipples with one hand as he slides his other hand down his belly, bucking up as he bypasses his leaking dick to fondle his own balls. “Come on baby. You like what you see? Huh?”
Dean looks up into the empty room and imagines Sam staring down, holding his monstrous erect dick in his hands as he looks his fill.
“Pull your legs back,” Sam orders. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Wait a minute. Usually, this wasn’t how they did it. Usually, Dean gave the orders, even in bed. Dean’s not a bottom. That’s not the way this goes.
But this invisible version of Sam is different. He’s not playing by the rules because he doesn’t have to. He’s not exactly himself right now, and he knows Dean knows it. He knows it turns Dean on, this reverse of power. Sam’s in control because Dean can’t see him, and that’s just too hot for Dean to think about.
Dean’s breath hitches as he pulls his legs back, exposing his himself. The room is silent, and all Dean can think about is that Sam is looking, really looking at that darkest place, the entrance to Dean’s core.
“I’m gonna touch you now,” Sam says, and his voice is husky, like he’s trying not to moan.
“Okay.” Dean expects a hand on his face, or his chest. He’s completely unprepared for the feel of something wet and rigid against his hole.
“Oh shit!” Dean squeezes his eyes shut, lets the feeling of Sam’s tongue — his tongue! — overwhelm him. He can barely keep hold of his legs, feels them shaking under his grasp as he spreads himself wider. Sam’s big hands are holding his ass-cheeks, kneading them and pushing them apart so that Sam’s tongue can dig deeper. Dean whimpers as Sam suckles at his hole, then shoves his tongue inside again, getting a rhythm going. When Sam shoves a slick finger in alongside his tongue Dean whimpers again, bearing down uncontrollably, needing more.
Suddenly the tongue and the finger are gone. Dean gasps as he feels a puff of air on his empty hole.
“You like that,” Sam’s voice says.
“Shut up and do it again!” Dean gasps.
But Sam’s moved on. His warm, wet tongue drags up Dean’s perineum to his balls, suckles them thoroughly as his big hand gets a grip on Dean’s dick. He licks a long stripe up to the sensitive head. Dean’s eyes fly open just in time to see his dick disappear, starting with the head and moving down.
“Aghhh! Shit!” He squeezes his eyes closed again and it’s just Sam’s mouth, hot and wet, swallowing him down. When the head hits the back of Sam’s throat Dean moans. His eyes open of heir own accord because he usually loves this part, loves seeing his little brother’s dark head between his legs, his big body kneeling there, focused on doing this the right way. Dean’s taught him well.
There’s nothing there. And Dean’s dick is mostly gone, too.
“Fuck!” Dean can’t help it. He panics a little. ‘Sam!”
The hot, wet pressure on his dick goes away and his dick pops into view.
“Hey! It’s okay!” Sam’s voice is husky, like his throat’s a little sore. “It’s just me.” He chuckles, and Dean feels it like a tickle against his belly as Sam places warm, wet kisses on his skin. “That really freaked you out, huh?”
The kisses move up his chest. “Yeah, you’re not so sure about losing sight of your dick.”
Sam’s mouth closes around one of Dean’s nipples, and Dean gasps. He can’t resist glancing down. The nipple has disappeared, but the feel of Sam’s mouth sucking on it is so good he sighs, closes his eyes, and relaxes again.
Sam’s mouth moves to the other nipple, gives it the same treatment, and Dean looks again. Not quite as terrifying as losing sight of his dick. Weird, but in an almost-good way. Definitely more tolerable than losing his dick.
Sam’s mouth moves up his chest to his collarbone, kisses up the column of his neck to his ear. Dean sighs happily as Sam’s tongue and lips suckle at the delicate skin under Dean’s ear, as his big hand moves up the other side of his head, holding it there. Sam’s teeth pull Dean’s earlobe into his warm, wet mouth, suckling and nipping lightly.
“Wanna fuck you,” Sam’s hoarse, husky voice whispers in his ear. “Wanna fuck you like this.”
Lust swoops through Dean’s belly, dark and low. His dick is definitely interested again.
“Okay,” he chokes out.
Then, far too suddenly, Sam’s gone. Dean feels his absence like a shock of cold water on his overheated skin.
“Just getting the lube,” Sam’s voice says. Dean blinks into the emptiness of the room, his head turning wildly when he hears his duffle being moved. Violated.
“Hey, that’s mine!”
“You’re always the one who carries the stuff,” Sam mutters. “Just figured it’d be in here.”
Dean gets a quick glimpse of a tube floating in the air above his duffle, then a package of condoms.
Jesus. Sam’s serious.
“Hey, you’re not really gonna...”
“Not if you don’t want it.” The offending items vanish. Sam’s voice gets closer, and it’s his serious tone, his absolute refusal to do this if it isn’t what Dean wants, that crashes through Dean’s final resistance like a freight train.
They’ve never done it this way. Dean’s always topped. It never occurred to him that Sam might want to do it any other way.
Dean always gives in to Sam’s desires. How did he not know?
Too busy being the fuckin’ big brother who has to be in control all the time, his inner voice snarls.
Sam always let me because he knew I needed that, Dean’s other brain tells him. He knew how hard it was to surrender, after everything that happened. With Dad. With Alastair in Hell. With Michael.
“You might wanna turn over,” Sam’s voice warns. “On your belly. It’s easier that way.”
“Nah,” Dean scoffs. “I can take it. Give it to me missionary style.”
“Come on! I wanna not see your ugly face for once.”
It’s a calculated low blow, and Dean knows it. Sam’s beautiful. Dean’s told him so in a state of post-orgasm bliss on more than one occasion.
“Come on, bitch. Show me whatcha got.”
The bed dips as Sam climbs onto it, roughly pushing Dean’s knees open. Dean gasps and closes his eyes, surrenders to the feel of Sam’s big hands, to his bulk hovering over Dean’s chest. It’s like Sam’s inhibitions have collapsed, like he can do this because Dean can’t see him, can’t judge him. Invisibility has freed Sam from himself, or maybe it’s the thing that allows him to be himself, without all the expectations he usually sees reflected in Dean’s eyes.
Dean can feel something cold and wet, pressing against his hole. Sam’s lube-slick finger.
“Yeah,” Dean gasps. “Do it.”
Dean forces himself to relax as Sam pushes first one, then two fingers inside. He sucks in a breath through his nose, lets it out through his mouth, knowing Sam’s watching.
“Do it,” Dean growls, bearing down on the weird fullness in his ass, forcing Sam’s fingers in deeper. When Sam adds a third finger, the stretch becomes a burn. Dean moans despite himself, bears down as Sam tries to retreat. “No. It’s okay. Don’t stop.”
He keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the sensations, trying not to think about how Sam’s watching him. Sam doesn’t judge, Dean knows that, but he’s feeling incredibly vulnerable right now, and it’s almost a relief not to see his brother’s expressive face, filled with sympathy and wonder.
He can imagine, though.
“That’s good,” Dean growls, driving himself down on Sam’s fingers. “I’m good. Let’s get to the main event here. Come on!”
He practically cries at the emptiness when Sam pulls his fingers out. His eyes slide open and he stares up at nothing as he listens to Sam opening the condom package, the wet slap as Sam lubes up his invisible dick. Something flutters to the bed and Dean’s eyes follow automatically: the condom package.
“Pull your knees back,” Sam breathes. He’s panting, and Dean imagines the sweat curling his hair, making his neck shine.
Dean can feel it the moment Sam’s dick touches his hole. He tenses up, legs shaking as he holds himself open, clasping behind his knees to give Sam room to maneuver.
“Oh my god,” Sam whispers. “This is so weird.”
“You’re telling me,” Dean pants. He can feel Sam’s body heat, smell his sweat, but there’s nothing there.
“Okay, here we go.”
Dean takes a deep breath, bears down as Sam’s wet, slippery dick pushes against his impossibly tiny hole. He has a moment of panic when he thinks there’s no way it’ll fit, no way this is gonna work. Sam’s dick slips around the rim and Dean holds his breath, anticipating total failure.
Then Sam thrusts hard and he’s in.
Dean squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden intrusion, against the uncomfortable fullness. Tears leak down the sides of his face as he tips his head back, keening as Sam slides relentlessly all the way in, stops to let Dean adjust.
The sensations are overwhelming, and for a moment Dean blacks out. He comes to with Sam’s lips kissing the tears from his cheeks, Sam’s tongue licking into his mouth. Sam’s holding himself still, trembling with the effort. Dean knows that feeling, knows how good it feels to plunge his dick into his brother’s tight, hot channel. He knows Sam wants to pound into him.
“Go ahead,” he gasps, too far gone even to care that his voice sounds broken, wrecked. “Do it!”
Sam captures his words with his mouth and kisses Dean deeply as he starts to pump his hips. He swallows the sounds that punch out of Dean with each thrust, kissing his cheeks and whispering something that sounds like his name, or maybe a mix of Dean’s name and a curse. Dean fights the discomfort, the burn and fullness and strangeness of having his brother’s body moving steadily and rhythmically on top of him and inside him. He cries out when Sam’s thrusts cause little shocky sensations to go up his spine. More tears leak out of his closed eyes, and Dean can feel his dick leaking onto his belly.
Dean obeys without question, stroking his dick as Sam fucks into him. It’s beyond embarrassing, losing it so thoroughly to his brother this way. Sam’s got hold of one of Dean’s wrists, pinning it to the bed next to his head while he holds one of Dean’s legs back to get a better angle. Dean feels used, possessed, spread wide by the powerful, sweaty beast that moans and mouths at his jaw. When his eyes slide open it doesn’t even matter than he can’t see Sam. He feels him. Hears him. Smells him. Sam’s all around him.
“So good,” Sam whispers. “So good for me, big brother.”
Apparently that’s all the permission he needs. Dean comes with a howl like a wounded animal. Sam digs his teeth into Dean’s earlobe, suckles it as Dean comes down. In his post-orgiastic haze he can feel Sam pump faster, chasing his own orgasm, going still in the instant before it courses through him. Dean can feel Sam’s dick throbbing in his ass as he comes and it’s weird but good, too. It’s Sam.
He passes out immediately afterwards, barely notices when Sam’s dick slips free and his brother gets up. It’s usually Dean’s job to clean them up, but when a warm, wet washrag lands on his belly, Dean’s grateful. He hates waking up sticky and covered in dry come. So gross.
Sam knows. Sam knows him so well it makes Dean want to cry sometimes. He’s not at all sure that he knows Sam half as well. Since they scrambled and stumbled into adulthood, Sam’s always been bigger, braver, stronger in every way, his ability to survive everything he’s been through a mystery that Dean doesn’t like to think about too often. Sam’s an enigma wrapped inside the body of a Greek god. Dean’s always been a little intimidated, to be honest.
It’s already light when Dean wakes. He blinks his eyes open as memories from the night before flood his mind. His body’s sore, used in ways it’s not accustomed to, but he likes it. He thinks he could get used to this.
He turns over, expecting to see nothing in the next bed, but there’s Sam, naked and glorious and sleeping like a baby. His hair’s mussed and falls over one cheek, his mouth is soft, stubble darkening his chiseled cheeks. He’s got the sheet pulled up to his waist, but his eyes are closed so Dean can gaze for a while, drink in the beauty of Sam’s muscled shoulders, his arms, his chest.
Dean’s so proud of his little brother. He’s so lucky to have Sam by his side. He would never take that for granted, would never do anything to jeopardize that.
Sam’s eyes slide open, and for a moment they just gaze at each other. Then Sam looks down at his own body, takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. Relieved.
“You’re back,” Dean nods.
Sam huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. “I was never gone, Dean.”
“Yeah, well, good. Keep it that way.”
He rolls over to avoid the look of sympathy in Sam’s eyes, but he can almost hear Sam’s voice in his head anyway.
Love you too, Jerk.
Dean wonders if the spell can be repeated, if Sam has the ability to turn invisible at will now.
That would be cool.