Work Text:
Dean groans in discomfort in an attempt to get Sam to stop kissing his neck, shifting his shoulders forward. He can't go anywhere of course, stuck to Sam for the damn hour his over-achieving knot lasts. It makes him feel vulnerable and naked to the soul, and makes him think what the fuck they would do if there was an emergency. Ask for a raincheck because sorry that thing's not gonna even start to go down for another twenty minutes?
But Dean loves Sam, loves his knot too because it makes his orgasm feel like fucking magic, but it's the post part that he's not crazy about. Just, stuck to Sam, who's high on the resultant endorphins and turns into a complete mess of sap and sweet and soft kisses and words pressed into Dean's neck. Sam suffocates him with it, and Dean more than once comes close to snapping out give me some fucking space Sammy, which is kind of a ridiculous request considering Sam can't get away either.
Sam's mindful at least to wait until he's rolled them onto their sides to start in the afterplay—Dean doesn't know how he'd begin to deal with Sam's body actually still covering his while he cooed away and ran light hands down his flanks. But still, Sam's sweat-slicked chest is plastered to his back, arms wrapped around his torso, left over his waist and right wedged under Dean's side; Sam apparently doesn't care about circulation. Dean can feel Sam's heartbeat thump against his shoulder blade, can feel the flex and jump of muscles whenever Sam shifts, can feel Sam all around and inside him and it should be perfect but Dean hates it.
"Love you s'much Dean," Sam whispers, soft like feathers. His hand finds Dean's and his long fingers fit into the spaces between. Sam's palm is hot on the back of his. Dean folds his fingers in involuntarily, then lifts them back. Sam doesn't notice, like he doesn't notice Dean's annoyance.
Dean stares through the nightstand table. He wants to tell Sam, he should, but can't even really think of the words he needs, especially if he doesn't want to hurt Sam's feelings, or maybe worse, his Alpha sensibilities. Sam's his mate, and Dean knows he's the odd one out here. He should be having the same endorphin rush as Sam; post-knotting should be an hour long chick flick starring the both of them instead of just one.
But Dean knows he's gonna have to break it to Sam. He can't stand many more nights like this.
"...Dean?" Sam's voice filters through his ears. The ends of his hair tickle Dean's cheek as he tries to peek over at his face. "Are you asleep?"
Dean clears his throat and turns a little to blink up at Sam. "Do I look asleep?"
Sam smiles a little, eyes roaming around Dean's face like he's never seen it before, teal irises damn near twinkling. Dean swallows. Sam asks, "what're you thinking about?"
How I'm gonna break your heart, Dean thinks.
"Nothin'," he says.
***
Sam's fucking him on his back, Dean's legs twisted up around his ribs. Sam's hands are bunched into ugly checkered motel blankets and Dean's are wrapped around Sam's elbows, thumbs dug into the creases.
Dean's come already, so the mindset he's in right now isn't too blinded my pleasure, isn't too distracted to forget about what he needs to do.
A few minutes later, when Sam pants and hangs his head and his thrusts stutter, about to start the grinding motion to lodge his knot inside him, Dean waits for the slight swell of it before he pushes on Sam's deltoids and says, "don't."
Sam must think he's kidding because he just ducks down to peck Dean's lips with a huffed laugh. "'s okay, Dean."
The knot starts catching on every thrust, pretty soon it'll be too big to pull out, and Dean panics. "I'm not kidding Sam! Stop!"
That makes Sam pause, and Dean takes the chance to unwrap his legs from Sam and use them to literally push Sam out of him. Sam lands back on his haunches, chest heaving and sweaty hair clinging to his flushed face, knot half-formed.
Sam just doesn't seem to want to back off though, because he holds Dean's knees and scoots forward. "C'mon Dean, what're you doin'? Let—"
Dean growls at him, with all the ferocity his Omega vocal chords can give. It's no Alpha Voice, but the threatening sound, rare from Dean, has Sam letting him go and sitting back once again.
Dean closes his legs and just breathes a minute, scrubs a hand down his face. Past his fingers, Sam's still hovering there, lips pursed. Dean's surprised he hasn't gone into the bathroom to jerk himself off yet. Dean wishes he would. Dean wishes his own dignity didn't keep him from running in there himself and locking the door.
"What?" Sam asks eventually, more a statement than a question, but quiet with nervousness that makes Dean hate himself just a little more.
"I—I can't, Sam. I just can't all right?"
Sam looks like he wants to touch Dean reassuringly but doesn't move a muscle. "Can't what?"
Dean exhales a frustrated breath and flings his hand off his face into the mattress. "Tie with you. I just can't do it anymore Sammy."
Sam blinks rapidly, then laughs like someone who's forgotten how to. "What? C'mon Dean, what's the real problem?" He grins cheekily and rubs Dean's shin. "You sore from this morning?"
"You're not hearing me man. I'm not playing around," Dean says firmly. He sits up so he can face Sam and looks him in the eye.
Sam's hand slides from his leg like the smile slides off his lips, replaced with a desperately searching look.
Dean does his best to harden his heart. "I don't wanna tie anymore," he tells Sam. "Okay. Can't put it any plainer."
Sam shakes his head minutely. "Dean, I'm—Dean. Uh." Sam's fingers twitch, then fold into a fist. He peers at Dean with critical eyes. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing. I'm awesome."
"No, there's something up. What is it? You can tell me."
"Nothing's up, Sam," Dean says slowly. "I'm just, ah. I'm not a big fan of being stuck to you a damn hour."
Fuck. Fuck. Dean bites his stupid tongue and wants to chew those words back into his mouth.
"I mean, sex is fan-fucking-tastic, we'll keep that up," Dean continues. No use slowing his roll now, even though he's hating himself more and more with every word. "But your knot ain't gettin' in my ass anymore."
Dean pointedly cuts his eyes to Sam's cock, which is a pretty useless gesture considering it's wilted like a neglected flower between Sam's legs.
"You're fuckin' serious," Sam states without inflection. He shakes his head slowly at Dean. "You're serious."
Dean nods.
Sam's shoulders slump. He rubs his eyes and clears his throat. "Okay, I. I'm doing something wrong, right? Just tell me what it is. Do you wanna try—"
"I wanna get some sleep," Dean hedges, moving back to get the covers over himself.
"Dean." Sam grabs his arm, constricting and warm. Dean stops. "You didn't have a problem before," Sam says tightly. Tight as ropes. Tight as Dean's throat.
"Yeah, I did," Dean says. He eyes the keys on the nightstand a second, musing on whether it'd be worth it to get dressed and head out somewhere until the sun comes up. He feels the same way he does when he's knotted to Sam, just wants to run away.
Sam lets Dean's arm go but shakes his head hard. "That's a lie. No way. You like tying; you're an Omega! And my mate. There's no way... it's impossible."
"That what they taught you at Stanford?" Dean retorts, can hear the sneer in his voice. He's getting increasingly pissed because not all Omegas are the fucking same and if there's one person Dean would think wouldn't fall prey to media babble it's Sam.
Sam looks at him with a kicked-puppy expression for a silent moment, then his throat clicks with a few consonants before he presses his lips tight and swallows them. He gets up from the bed and starts rooting around for his clothes on the floor.
Dean watches him roll his jeans up his legs. "What're you doing?"
"You know Dean, if you wanted to put an end to this, you could've just said so. I don't know why you—" Dean watches Sam's fingers, trembling, zip and button up his jeans. "Why you'd..." Sam swallows his words again. He bends to get his shirt.
Dean straightens. "That's not it Sam. Jesus, didn't I just say sex is still on the menu? What the hell is your deal?"
Sam points at him with his shirt dangling from his fist. "My deal? My deal? What the fuck's yours Dean? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Slow your roll a damn second," Dean growls. "Look, this doesn't have to turn into the Springer show. I'm not trying to break up with you or whatever you think this is about. It's not."
"You don't want to tie with me, your mate, Dean, don't you think that's a big glaring sign that something's messed up? Just tell me what I'm doing—"
"It's nothing to do with you, it's me, all right! Now could you just get back in bed?!"
"I'm trying to understand—"
"You don't need to understand—"
"—why you're acting like this—"
Dean lets himself fall back on the bed and pulls a pillow over his face, smothering his frustrated groan. Red fireworks burst on the black of his closed eyelids, and a headache is starting to grip his temples.
Sam says nothing, little sounds of movement telling Dean he's probably doing up his shirt buttons.
Dean exhales into the pillow, his breath hot. He thumps his foot on the mattress. "Sam, just get back in bed," he says, voice muffled by the pillow. "It's three in the morning. Drinkin's bad for your liver."
He hears Sam snort at that, can hear the you're one to talk on Sam's lips.
Dean rolls over, keeping the pillow pressed to his face with one hand and using the other to fish for his keys on the end table. He gets his fingers around the tinkling metal and curls his arm safely into his chest. "You ain't takin' my car."
"Yeah, real mature Dean."
Dean waits for him to leave anyway. Moments later, Sam makes a frustrated sound, and Dean feels his weight on the bed. Dean smirks behind his pillow.
"Move over," Sam grits, pushing on his back. Dean squirms closer to the edge of the bed and resets his pillow, sneaking the keys under.
Sam jerks the blankets over himself, and when Dean turns to look at him, Sam's on the very edge of the bed, his back to Dean in a silent fuck you. Dean rubs his eyes and stretches out his legs. This'll blow over soon, like all their disagreements do, Dean's just gotta wait it out and hope he hasn't ruined their sex life.
***
Predictably, Sam warms up to him after his few obligatory days of being a bitch.
And Sam listens to him. Next time they have sex—a motel in Brownfield, Maine—Dean barely feels the swelling before Sam's pulling back and stilling and contorting his arm between their bodies to wrap his hand around his knot. Sam jerks forward into his own touch, but it's only the seal of his fingers that hit Dean's rim where the rest of his cock's buried. Most of Sam's weight is on him, collarbone digging into his own, but Sam doesn't last long. He buries his face in the covers next to Dean's neck and shakes and snarls.
Dean's so used to being tied with Sam that when the Alpha pulls back—quick, quick—Dean's legs tighten around him instinctively.
But no knot tugs painfully. Sam's cock slips from him just like that and the younger man ducks out from the cage of Dean's legs and sprawls out on his back.
Dean watches him milk his knot with his hand, white blurts of come sliding down his dick which is shiny with Dean's slick, watches Sammy pant and rock his hips into his hand, and tries to tamp down the inexplicable feelings that course through him.
First, there's jealousy that Sam's hand is the thing to be tight around his knot, and not Dean's ass. Dean's stupid Omega hindbrain looking at all that come and thinking it's wasted not being inside him.
And Dean's laying there, confused and angry and feeling used and empty while Sam seems to be having the orgasm of his life from his own damn hand.
Fuck. The emptiness claws in Dean's stomach, Sam's scent, thick cinnamon and fougere, like cement in Dean's lungs. Teeth sunk into his lip, Dean watches Sam finish himself off, long fingers tugging up under his knot then smoothing over the rest of his cock, Dean's slick and his come getting all over his hand.
Dean exhales shakily. He's not hard again, but he almost, almost, lets his fingers go between his legs and push inside, just to feel a little fuller. If he could curl his fingers tight and close his eyes and imagine...
Sam's come and slick covered hand hits his thigh, making Dean jump. "All right?" Sam asks, breathy, knuckles rolling over Dean's skin.
"Awesome," Dean mutters, trying to dredge up some humor, trying to glue his eyes to Sam's face instead of his knot. "You know, I almost thought you'd do it anyway."
Sam shakes his head, sitting up, back muscles moving under his skin. Dean wonders not for the first time if Sam knows how many twitches and flexes go on without him even noticing. "Jeez Dean, you gotta know me better than that."
"Alpha instincts not gonna get the best of you?"
"No," Sam reaches over to the nightstand to yank out a few tissues, "they're not. You don't want to tie, then we won't," he says as he cleans himself up.
Dean finds himself looking for the anger in his tone, but only hears blitheness. Sam drops a tissue his way, and it flutters down and lands over Dean's cock.
Dean uses it to clean up his come on his stomach, which is just this side of still wet. Usually Dean just lets it crust while they're tied and showers it off in the morning.
Sam takes the dirty tissue from him and tosses it and his own in the trash, then shifts around on the bed to get under the covers. Dean sneaks another peek at his cock. The knot's deflated with nothing tight around it to keep it pumped up.
Dean cuts his eyes away quickly and tells himself to get his shit together. He has no right to feel mad, especially when Sam seems just fucking fine, burrowing under the covers and turning onto his side to go to sleep.
The whole thing feels clinical and cold, such a contrast to before, where Dean would be wrapped up in Sam's arms now and listening to Sam's soft sappy endearments.
Dean tells himself that this is better.
***
Dean would be lying if he said he's been in a sex shop before. Before him and Sam mated, and after as well, Dean's always been vanilla at heart. Rhonda Hurley and the pink panties she made him put on was as far as he was willing to travel on the road of sexual adventure. Dean's never understood the appeal of fetish wear or handcuffs and definitely would never let Sam put a collar on him, which is the first thing the bright-eyed sales assistant points out to him.
"No thanks," Dean says and scratches the back of his neck. There's not many other people in the shop, which is nice. The problem is it's too dark for him to make out where they keep their dildos.
"That's too bad," the girl says. She's a fellow Omega, but tiny and sweet-looking, looks painfully out of place in the rows of whips and black PVC. "It's a very popular practice, you know," she continues, like Dean's in shameful denial about his kinks.
"I'm sure it is," Dean smiles, shuddering on the inside. "But I'm actually looking for, uh. I'm looking for a..." He trails off, hoping she'll fill in the blank, because suddenly dildo sounds like the naughtiest word he could utter.
She clasps her hands and leans in. "Butt plug?" she whispers, and smiles gleefully.
Dean's neck needs another scratch. "Uh no. Well yes. Kind of. But—look, could you just tell me where the toys are? I'm on a time schedule here." He's not. Him and Sam had cleared up a salt and burn and passed out in their motel room after. Or Sam had passed out. Dean had waited until his breaths slowed before sneaking out.
Sneaking out to buy a dildo.
Dean suddenly feels very dirty. He wonders if Sam had heard him and would be waiting when he came back. Would be waiting and would see and know.
"Right over here," the other Omega chirps, leading him around the shelves, to the back corner of the store. Dean flushes at seeing the wall of colorful packages. The rack's backlit, and at least half the packages are transparent, giving him a good view of what's inside.
Dean skates his eyes over labels, feeling overwhelmed.
"I guess I'll leave you to it," the girl starts. Dean grabs her arm to keep her there.
"I could probably use some help," Dean admits. His eyes catch on a few pink toys. "Are these all for guys?"
"...no, but these are all geared towards anal use, which I assume you're looking for."
Dean chuckles nervously. "Right. Okay. Um. Do you guys have ones with, ah," he gestures with his hand, squeezing around air.
The Omega girl blinks at his hand, then enlightenment makes her nod rapidly. "Knot?"
Dean deflates, his face growing hotter. "Yeah."
"For heats?"
"No, no. General use, I guess."
Her nostrils flare, probably checking again that he's mated. Dean expects questioning on why he needs a dildo when he's got access to the real thing, but she asks, "Is your Alpha in the military? We have a discount for that."
"No, he's. We're having problems right now and," Dean fumbles out, and the girl leans in expectantly, like Dean's her gossip rag. Dean huffs. "Look, I'm not looking for anything fancy or expensive. Just give me a recommendation."
The girl rocks back, looks momentarily disappointed before her face brightens all over again. "How big?"
"Big," Dean says immediately, feeling a little more relaxed now he's on the right track.
The girl gives him a knowing turn of her lips then stretches up on her toes to get a package from above. She gives it to Dean with a nod, "standard deal. Just squeeze to inflate."
Dean studies what he can see of the dildo in its plastic. It's a beige flesh color, smooth with some veiny detailing. There's a cartoon of a quintessential naked Alpha on the front, hand on his knot. The wavy bolded font says Get Knotty!
Dean balks at the listed circumference of the knot. "I said big not dangerous."
"Oh, that's max inflation, you don't need to pump it up that much if you don't want to."
Dean chews his lip and turns it over, eyes scanning cursorily over the fine-print. He turns it back over and taps the plastic against his hand. "Uh, well," he says, "I guess I'll get it. How much?"
"Ten dollars."
"A dollar an inch," Dean cracks. "Hey, thanks for your help." He gestures to the rack. "You know, I might try one of those egg things next time. They any good?"
The girl nods. "Oh yeah... they make a little noise though. Not good if you're trying to be discreet."
"Huh."
Discreet, Dean thinks on the drive back to the motel. That's the whole aim of his game now. He's bought a dildo discreetly and he's going to discreetly fuck himself with it.
Dean—discreetly—lets himself into his and Sam's room, dildo package hidden behind his jacket. He fully expects Sam to be up and waiting.
But no, Sam's still sleeping, curled up in the same position Dean left him in. Dean shuts the door as quietly as possible and locks it, before he damn near tiptoes across the carpet to the bed. He pulls out his duffel from underneath, keeping his eyes on Sam. Dean unzips his bag one-handed and quickly shoves the package under his clothes, zips the bag back up and slides it under the bed again.
Sam's still sleeping.
Dean feels a dirty, forbidden thrill shoot from his head to the tips of his toes. He just snuck out to buy a dildo. There's a dildo in his duffel bag along with his guns and knives and clothes and his Alpha's oblivious.
The thought gets Dean so keyed up he paces around the motel room without realizing, dick straining against his zipper. The desire to crack open the package and use it right now wars with the desire to preserve the novelty.
In the end, the latter wins. Dean wants the urge in him to grow and fester so he can get the most out of it when he does go to town.
For now, Dean settles with going into the bathroom and jerking off, slips four fingers inside himself, and thinks about what the dildo would feel like, wonders if he could inflate it to its full girth. Sam's knot is huge, but Dean doesn't have to measure it to know the fake knot could be blown up bigger.
Dean keeps his lips closed to stifle his cry as he comes, and reminds himself he's gonna have to be quiet when he uses the toy.
He can't have Sam walking in on him.
***
Dean's heat comes around four days later. The symptoms he gets are mild, tamped down because of the supps he takes. Sam ends up being more affected than himself, Alpha nose easily picking up even the watered down scent of Dean's heat, so fucking and sleeping become the only two things Sam can muster up brainpower for.
After the last salt and burn there's not any immediate things that need their attention, so Dean doesn't feel guilty about just shacking up in the motel and getting fucked.
And even though Sam's running on takeout and hindbrain, he still doesn't knot Dean. He's attentive enough that he lasts long enough to make Dean come on his cock, then Dean barely gets the beginning swell of his knot before Sam pulls free and strokes and tugs himself through his completion. Dean thinks about offering him a hand, but Sam's out of reach of his arm and comes too quick for Dean to maneuver around.
It's still pretty mechanical. Dean thinks maybe he just needs to get used to it, and tells himself it's better than feeling helpless and stripped to his wires on Sam's knot.
On the fifth night of his heat, Sam's fucking him traditionally—a position that Dean kind of resents—face down, ass up on the mattress. The breeding position, and Sam never lasts long this way. Neither does Dean, but he rationalizes that as the change in angle and not the implications.
Tonight's the night Dean almost breaks. Sam has his big hands just below his ribs, pushing him down, pushing in and out in deep rolling thrusts that feel like they're crowding up against Dean's uvula. He turns his head into the sheets and licks his lips, close to coming, and the words just fuckin' do it Sammy might be whispered or they might just be a thought, but either way Sam doesn't hear him.
"Dean," Sam says, urgent and quick, and his dick rubs right over Dean's sweet spot. Dean's balls draw up tight and he mashes his face in the bed as the waves of pleasure coalesce into a force that has him crying out into the mattress, untouched dick spitting liquid warmth up his stomach and spraying onto the sheets below.
Dean wants to grab his cock to wring out the aftershocks, but he can't make his arms move. He hears Sam's familiar snarl and feels him pull out and away, and just desperately wishes he hadn't. There's a clawing ache in him, in everything that makes him an Omega, that demands a knot. The only thing that keeps Dean from rearing up and working himself down on Sam's is that he has another option.
When he feels more like moving he rolls over. Sam's cleaning up, eyebrows lowered in his characteristic brood.
"My heat should be over tomorrow," Dean says, still slightly breathless. He wipes the sweat off his forehead, thinking about how long it takes Sam to fall asleep. Soon as his little brother's dead to the world, Dean can sneak himself and his dildo into the bathroom and work out the itch between his legs.
Sam makes a non-committal sound. He's rubbing the tissue on his cock pretty roughly. Dean taps Sam's side with his foot. "Hey, careful with that," he says lightly. "'s your—our—most prized possession."
Dean dissolves into laughter at his joke. Sam doesn't join in. If anything, his expression darkens. Dean trails off with a sigh. Sam swipes the tissues over Dean's own stomach then tosses them in the trash.
Dean puts an arm behind his head and considers his mate when Sam just stays there a few moments, still frowning. Dean kneads his toes into Sam's oblique and tries to come up with something to wipe that moody expression off Sam's face. "You know Sammy, you're really hot."
Sam bats his foot away, rolls his eyes and lays down, burying his face in his arms. "Shut up Dean," he says lowly. He's obviously pissed, to Dean's frustration. It's amazing how fast Sam's mood can change, considering five minutes ago he was coming.
"What's your issue?" Dean asks.
"Shut up," Sam repeats, Alpha Voice coloring his words. It snaps Dean's mouth shut.
Dean clenches his teeth; Sam knows better than to try that shit with him. But his Omega instinct to obey won't let him say anymore, so he settles for glaring soundlessly at Sam, wondering what his fucking problem is.
Minutes later, Dean realizes Sam's breathing has slowed down, in a way that only means he's fallen asleep.
"Bitch," Dean mutters at him, before he rolls out of bed. He brings out his duffel and rummages inside till he finds the plastic package, grabs his knife too. He makes himself not think about Sam. Pretty soon he's gonna have a knot in his ass and be coming his brains out and Sam's bullshit is not gonna ruin his good time.
In the bathroom, Dean flicks the light on with his pinkie finger before he sets the package and knife on the sink. From the doorway he can see the bed, and scans Sam's sleeping face and wills him to stay that way before he closes the door. Dean locks it, checks it twice, three times, and almost goes for a fourth before he tells himself to fucking relax.
Scowling at himself, Dean grabs the knife and starts working it into the clamshell packaging, trying to ignore his reflection in the mirror because he feels sweetly dirty all over again.
"Child-proof crap," Dean mutters as he tries to keep the sound of knife sawing into thick plastic to a low roar.
The dildo and the attached pump are set into a plastic tray inside. Dean puts his knife down and wraps his fingers around the toy to pull it out. The material has more give than a real dick, and the rubbery surface catches against his palm. It comes out with a jerk, and Dean uses his thumb to get the pump out as well.
The length of tubing is folded and tied with a white twist-tie, a delicate bowknot that looks like it's mocking him. Dean rips it off and unfurls the tube, gets the kinks out.
He squeezes the pump a few times experimentally and watches in abstract amazement as the base of the dildo grows, filling with air. He presses into the knot and it gives under his finger. A real knot's rock hard, but Dean supposes this one's more flexible to allow for more flexible uses.
Dean makes the mistake of catching his own eyes in the mirror, his eyebrows lowered in serious consideration.
"Christ," Dean whispers, letting the pump go to scrub a hand down his mouth. The way his own fingers are curled around the thickness of the toy looks absolutely porny.
He picks up the pump again and thumbs the dial to deflate the knot, turning his head to scan the bathroom to find a good place to make his Dean-solo clip.
The first thought is to bend over and lean his torso on the sink so he can have easier access to himself. He tries that, but the counter is stone cold, and he just knows it's gonna be a bitch curling his arm back to use the dildo. It goes against his instinct anyway to stand, hindbrain urging him to get on the ground.
The bathroom floor is no warmer on his back, but it feels better. The space between the sink and wall is thankfully just enough to scrunch himself up in. He fits with his feet up against the sink cabinets, and his head pushes into the wall, but he fixes that by curling up tighter, almost bent in half, but that's all right. He's been in more cramped positions.
Even though he feels like an idiot, Dean starts pulling on his already semi-hard cock, coaxing it fully erect, willing himself to hurry up and get wet. He's probably slick enough from earlier, but the more slick he is the more his muscles'll relax, and he's gonna need all the relaxation he can get to fit the fake cock and knot inside him.
Dean closes his eyes, humming in pleasure as his cock fills out in his hand. He swipes his thumb over the head on every pass, and when he feels pre-come moist on his finger, he lets go and lets his fingers move down.
He pushes the heel of his hand into his balls as he strokes his middle finger around his entrance. His hole's slicked up good, and Dean can't resist pushing the digit inside to the second knuckle, exhaling sharply as he feels his own body clench around it.
It's not as good as when Sam fingers him of course, but it feels fantastic even in its predictability, and Dean's been getting himself off his whole life; knows how to crook his finger just right and how his body likes it.
He wants to add more fingers, but tells himself not to get carried away, or he might forget about the dildo all-together.
He takes his finger out with a slippery sound, lifts it up to his mouth and sucks off his own slick, viscous and coppery-tasting. That's Sam's move right there; Dean never tried it before he mated with him. Sam used to tease him by sticking his fingers inside, pulling them out to suck off Dean's slick, then push them back in and repeat, like Dean was a damn honey jar.
Dean squeezes his eyes shut harder, willing the thoughts of Sam to go away. He resettles his feet on the cabinets and resumes stroking his cock, lifting up the dildo with his left hand.
He hikes his hips up a little bit more, and presses the head of the toy against his hole. The clear tubing lies up his stomach, pump next to his side on the floor.
He holds his breath as he pushes the dildo in. He accidentally overestimates the force needed; the head pops past his rim, then the rest of it slides in all at once. Dean barely muffles the sound he makes, toes spreading wide against the cabinets.
It doesn't hurt, feels great to be filled, but it's colder than a real dick would be, and even with its relative pliability it feel huge inside him. Dean feels nearly uncomfortably stuffed, like a Thanksgiving turkey, and he hasn't even inflated the knot yet.
Letting out his breath, he lets himself get used to it, lets his body warm up the rubber as he idly tugs on his cock. He can feel some of his slick burble out past the toy, tickling as it runs down. Apparently his hole's enjoying the fake dick stuffed inside it.
Dean's shoulder starts aching from the angle of his arm, so he takes his hand off the base of the dildo and fumbles for the pump, thumbing over the dial absently.
The need to jerk himself faster swells up in him, and he works his dick quicker to keep up with the tide. As he gets closer to coming the stretch of the toy inside him starts to feel amazing, and what had previously been too much starts to feel like too little. But Dean doesn't bother moving the toy, just holds the pump with one hand and uses the other to jerk himself hard and fast.
He resettles himself at one point, skin making a sucking sound as his back comes unstuck from the floor, but the pain is drowned out when the dildo jolts up into a deep place inside. Dean can't help the resultant moan, fireworks exploding behind his closed eyes. His hand even stills on his dick to enjoy the feeling fully. He has to drop the pump then and reach to grasp the base of the dildo, working it around to try and get the tip to hit—
"Ah!" Dean jerks, inadvertently slamming his foot into the sink because of the current that makes his leg shake and want to kick, like a dog getting their spot scratched.
Dean knows what it is, his cervix, but usually it doesn't feel like this. The few times Sam's cock had hit it Dean had grimaced at the raw sensation. But now, because of the angle or the shape of the toy or maybe because he's in heat, it feels so fucking good Dean's seconds away from coming just like that.
Dean positions the dildo so it's pressed against that spot and lets it stay there, grabs the pump again. His hand's so fast on his dick now it's almost a blur, pre-come getting all over his fingers.
He feels a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and into his hair as he gives the pump a few squeezes, palm slippery with sweat, and God he's just so wet everywhere, he's gonna need a shower after this, if he can pick himself up off the floor—
He feels the increasing pressure of the knot inflating, and his breath hitches, then he moans loudly, and it doesn't matter how loud he's being, if Sam's woken up and can hear him, let him fuckin' hear, because Dean's about to blow up all over himself any second.
Impatient, Dean squeezes the pump faster, wanting the stretch of a knot, panting and moaning for it, down to nothing but his instincts, and his dick's a fucking afterthought at this point, just gripped tight in his hand as tight as his ass grips the knot.
Dean mindlessly keeps squeezing the pump, wanting all of it, not caring about the first threads of pain, telling himself his ass is made for this anyway and he wants to be as full and stretched as possible and a little pain is nothing.
"Ungh, fucking Jesus Christ," Dean groans, not knowing how loud he says it, what the hell he's even been saying, because he's lost in a rush that muffles everything around him, all senses brought down to the knot in his ass. And it feels so good, so mind breaking, to have that thick fullness back after the last few weeks, Dean can't even begin to handle it with any sense of dignity, he's fucking twisting around on the floor at this point, calling out god knows what and there's a muffled thumpthumpthump which must be his feet kicking at the sink.
And he's gonna come, so fucking hard, and hopes he doesn't black out because what a position Sam would find him in come morning, and, and—"Sam!" Dean hears himself call out, doesn't know why, the hand holding the pump hitting against the floor, pain singing up his knuckles but it doesn't matter—
Something pushes against his shoulder, and Dean jumps maybe at that or the first spurts of come from his cock, but either way his eyes spring open and Sam's there, unbelievably, looking down at him as Dean looks through him and shakes and comes apart, moaning through his teeth, vision swimming.
"What the fuck, Dean?" Sam asks him while he's still jerking with aftershocks.
Dean pushes away from the door edge that's digging into his shoulder. With Dean in the way, it could only open half-way, but now it clears him and swings wide open.
"I locked, I fuckin' locked that door," Dean mumbles uselessly, throwing his arm over his eyes as the first strings of humiliation take over prior pleasure.
Fucking Christ he doesn't think he's ever been so embarrassed. Here he is, curled up on the floor with his legs up, come splattered on his stomach and the dildo with its huge knot still lodged inside him and Sam's there, Sam heard him, Sam saw him come for Chrissakes—
"Yeah, had to pick it," Sam says. "You woke me up."
"Get out," Dean grits, anger mixing into mortification because Sam would fucking know what Dean was doing and he should've stayed the hell out. He throws his arm at Sam's ankles, "get the hell out!"
Sam just steps over his body, and Dean feels the displacement of air as he crouches down, feels him take the pump out of Dean's weak fingers, and definitely feels it when Sam gives it a squeeze.
Dean grunts as the knot gets that little bit bigger, the fullness clogging up his throat.
"Really, Dean?" Sam asks, tone conversational. "You have the real thing for free and you went and spent money on a fake?"
"Get out Sammy."
"How's it compare?"
"Shut up—"
"How big does it go?"
Sam pumps it again, and Dean yells, fingernails scratching Sam's hands as he yanks the pump away from him and dials it down. The knot deflates with each turn, brings it down to bearable levels, then it's small enough to be pulled out.
Sam does that for him. He reaches between Dean's legs and pulls, and Dean hates the shiver that makes his nipples stiffen as it rubs against his prostate on the way out.
Sam holds the dildo up. It's shiny with Dean's slick, covered in it, dripping past Sam's fingers and stringing off onto the linoleum. "So this is the piece of rubber that's replaced me, huh?"
"It gets bigger," Dean snarks. He doesn't like the look on Sam's face. Doesn't like it at all. He uncurls, sits up, groaning at the stiffness in his back, the cramps in his legs. He tosses the pump on the floor and wipes the sweat off his forehead.
"Good to know I can't have any time to myself," Dean says to Sam. "You knew I wasn't having an aneurysm in here; you didn't have to barge in."
Sam snorts a laugh, but there's a tightness around his eyes. "You were calling my name, Dean."
"Yeah, still not an invitation for you to come in." Dean grabs the edge of the sink and pulls himself up. Sam stands up with him, dropping the dildo on the floor.
Sam doesn't waste any time starting in. "Just what the hell is your deal, Dean?" he questions, following Dean out into the room. Dean yanks his underwear up his legs, then grabs some tissues and goes into the kitchenette to wet them under the sink.
"What's your deal," Dean mutters as Sam rages on. He's tired, supposes he'll hop into bed after he cleans himself up. Maybe put some clothes on and go sleep in the Impala.
Before he can even start taking the soaked tissues to the dried mess on his stomach, Sam yanks on his shoulder, jerking him around. "Fucking answer me, Dean!"
Dean snarls, throwing the tissues at Sam. They plop against Sam's bare chest and fall onto the floor.
"Tell me!" Sam shouts. The shove's unexpected, because Dean's eyes had followed the tissues down. The force propels Dean back into the counter, edge digging into his lower back.
It's a quick escalation from there. Dean responds with a punch to Sam's jaw, kicks him in the solar plexus, which careens him into the fridge. Bottles of beer within rattle dangerously.
"It's you Sam!" Dean spits viciously, a whole cocktail of emotions ramping up inside him. "It's fuckin' you!"
Sam recovers, comes at him, and they make a mess of the small kitchen, throwing each other into appliances, knocking things off the counters and the table.
When Dean gets some space between them, he grabs a frying pan and swings it at Sam's head. It connects with a solid thud, rocking Sam to the side, but he doesn't go down. "You ever put your knot in me again, I'll cut it off, you hear me?" Dean seethes, chest heaving.
Sam turns back, spits a mouthful of blood in front of Dean's feet. "Oh yeah? Whatsa matter, 's not big enough for you?" Sam takes a step forward. "That it? Are you so much of knotslut you need something enormous up there or it just doesn't do it for you? Slutty Dean just can't get by on real Alpha dick, no he's gotta have more, bigger, a fuckin' fake knot to satisfy him?"
"Fuck you!" Dean raises the pan again, prepared to wallop Sam hard enough to knock his ass out, but he underestimates how close Sam is.
Sam yanks the handle away from him, lets the pan fall. It lands on Dean's bare feet and he just starts to hiss in pain before Sam grabs him and surges forward, pushing Dean into, onto the counter.
Sam's mouth meets his with a clack of teeth, the counter creaking under the weight. Dean bites at Sam's lips, his tongue, coppery taste filling his mouth, both of them growling low in their throats. Dean claws his fingers into either side of Sam's spine, doesn't know if he's pushing him away or pulling him in, lost under the assault. Sam has his hands on Dean's thighs, keeping them pinned. If they weren't, Dean might try to kick him, might try to get off the counter, but Sam's keeping him right here.
"Why do you care," Dean rasps when Sam stops devouring his mouth to bite at his neck, teeth scraping over vulnerable jugular. "Why do you care? You—fuck—you were fine, you had no fucking trouble."
Sam's growl lengthens and raises into something sharp, fingers flexing into Dean's quadriceps. "You don't know hard it was, to pull out of you. You have no fucking clue. But I did it, I did for you, just because that's what you wanted me to do. And this whole time," Sam raises his head, predator-slant of his eyes pinning Dean in a whole new way, "you've been just as knot thirsty for a piece of rubber."
Sam ruts against him, sleep pants falling down his hips. "My Omega loves a rubber knot more than mine. Ask me why I should care, Dean. Why would I fucking care about that?"
"I only used it that one time," Dean says, because that seems like something Sam should know. His over-sensitive dick's starting to respond to the friction, and Sam's skin is slippery under his hands.
That just seems to make Sam angrier. He thrusts against Dean hard, lip curling up, spicy scent of pheromones turning darker. "I could've done it better than any toy can, you fucking asshole." Sam's hands leave his thighs to start pulling on his underwear. "I will."
Dean growls at him, digging the heels of his hands into Sam's sides and pushing. "No! Get the hell off!" His hips twist, trying to get away from the hands, but it just aids in getting his underwear down quicker. "Fuck! Get off! Get offa me!"
Since his hands aren't doing any good at pushing Sam away, he starts beating on Sam's shoulders instead. "Shut up," Sam hisses at him, "you shut the hell up, Dean. This is what you fuckin' want."
Sam leans away, pulls the underwear down and off Dean's ankles with a snap of elastic. The change in position gives Dean an opening, and he raises his knee and kicks Sam in the face.
Sam stumbles back, falls down with a smackthud, head narrowly missing the lip of the counter opposite.
Dean hops off the counter, looking down at Sam, who's groaning and holding his nose with both hands, blood running between his fingers, dick still tenting his pants.
"You fuckin' bastard," Dean says, watery-voiced. He steps between Sam's knees and leans down to tug off his pants, just enough that his dick springs free, then throws his knees over either side of Sam's hips. "That's not what I want. You think I'd want rapist Sam more than gooey chick-flick Sam?"
Sam makes a sound of protest, hand moving from his face to try and touch Dean. Dean grabs it and holds it away. "Let me fucking say this Sammy."
Dean takes a deep, shaky breath, forcing air past the aching lump in his throat. "Don't think I don't love you, don't love your damn knot," Dean continues in the same vein, locking eyes with Sam. "But it's that mushy crap I don't like. All right?" Dean laughs. "It's how you are after, Sam, that made me not want to get stuck with you."
Sam blinks hard a few times, wrist twitching in Dean's hand. "'at?"
"Yeah. I know it's fuckin' stupid. See, this is all my fault. 's my fault I don't like it, when I should. I'm sure anyone else would. And you're just, you're in that headspace after, I get it, and you're all clingy, but I just want to go to sleep." Dean closes his eyes. "So yeah. My issues fucking things up again."
Sam says something, but it's too muffled for Dean to understand. He opens his eyes. "What?"
Sam pulls his other hand away from his face, revealing a nose that's very bloody but doesn't seem broken. "You could've just told me," Sam croaks, eyes watering. "I would've stopped."
"I didn't want to hurt you," Dean laughs. "Lotta good me keepin' my mouth shut did, huh? Just made things worse."
Sam visibly relaxes into the floor, fight drained out of them both. "Dean, I'm sorry for... I'm sorry for scaring you. I wasn't really gonna do it—force you like that. I don't know what got into me. I thought I was trying to prove something, but..."
"And you're sorry for barging in on me," Dean supplies.
Sam reddens a little. "Yeah."
"I'm sorry for being an ass," Dean says. Sam sits up and kisses him gently, gingerly. There's blood on his lips, but Dean kisses back, aware of Sam's cock hitting the inside of his thigh, evidently getting enough stimulation there to stay hard.
Dean wraps Sam close and shifts his hips up a little, and then it's nothing to sink down on Sam's cock. Sam gasps hoarsely into his mouth, lips slipping away. He clutches at Dean's back. "Dean..."
"Quiet," Dean whispers. "Just be quiet, Sammy. Let me do this." The kitchen floor's hard on his knees, and Dean's hole is sore from earlier, but Dean's aching for it all the same. His slow movements eventually speed up, become urgent and frenzied, all the more hurried when he feels the beginning of Sam's knot start tugging at him.
Dean holds onto Sam's shoulders tight, grinding down encouragingly. "Do it, c'mon Sammy. Want it."
The last comparison being to the fake knot, Dean's struck by how much better Sam feels, warm and alive and organic, his mate, the testament to how much Sam wants him.
Sam grips his undulating hips tight, huffing hot air against Dean's neck as his knot finally swells enough to get lodged inside Dean.
Filled up again, this time by his Alpha, filled up right, Dean pants loudly as he comes, pulsing up Sam's stomach and his own, adding to the come already dried there.
"Dean," Sam groans deeply, lengthening out the vowels. He leans forward, taking Dean down to the floor, and ruts until he can't.
Soon after, he'll roll onto his back so Dean's on top, and Dean and Sam'll smile at each other, bloody and bruised and tied together on the kitchen floor.
And Sam won't say anything too gooey, but Dean might.
Dean might say all the gooey things.
End