Chapter Text
"Are you telling me that in those woods," Dean pointed to the encroaching trees to emphasize his point, "Right here, next to Bumfuck, Oklahoma, are flowers that will make you horny? This is our problem, why?"
Sam sighed. He really hated when Dean got like this. "Dean, not just that. You basically have sex until you die from dehydration and fatigue."
"Fuck flowers?"
Sam exhaled again, long and slow. "Look, Dean–"
"Sam, let's get this straight. I kill things. Things with horns and fur and teeth, for Christ's sake. There is no way I'm hauling my ass into that forest to trim some goddamned hedges that make people bang."
"Dean, no one else knows how to do this. They were planted by that incubus we just killed, okay? Besides being the only ones who know the risks, we have a responsibility to– "
Dean held up a hand. "Just stop. Before you finish that sentence."
Sam snapped his mouth shut, but looked at Dean askance through his bangs, letting his eyes go liquid.
Dean squirmed. He never could resist Sam's puppy-dog face, dammit. Glaring at the impala, he tried to think of a plausible, not at all lame reason for staying the hell out of the woods. One that showed he was most definitely not caving to Sam's fucking puppy eyes.
Sam shifted, clearing his throat. Dean exploded, "All right! Jesus, Sam, don't twist my arm or anything."
Sam raised an eyebrow, "I wasn't–" but Dean was already at the trunk, pulling open the secret compartment and shifting through the mess of weapons inside. Running a hand over the barrel of his favorite shotgun, knowing it would be useless in a hunt like this, if it could even be called a hunt, Dean grabbed two gas masks from the shadows of the trunk's deep interior and tossed one to Sam.
"Put it on, Sammy. I know you have a hard time resisting my body on a regular basis, but this sex pollen'll make you crazy, man."
Rolling his eyes, Sam fiddled with the strap of the mask while Dean pulled out the basic essentials: Salt, holy water, Dad's journal, gardening shears… aw, fuck. This was going to be the crappiest job he'd ever done. A frustrated slap of his hand and the trunk slammed shut. Dean turned to Sam, resigned. "Let's do this."
Sam already had the mask on, the two jutting filters making him look like a mutated walrus, and he nodded to show he understood. Grabbing the machete Dean handed him, he turned to walk away.
"I don't get why we couldn't just call Steins for this shit. Don't they specialize in weed removal, or something?"
Sam's back stiffened, but he didn't reply, ducking under a low branch and disappearing into the heavy foliage. Dean's lip pulled sideways in a smirk, and then he shook his head, chuckling, and fitted the gas mask over his face.
He didn't notice it was cracked until it was too late.
***
Upon reflection, they were the most obscene flowers Dean had ever seen in his whole damn life. It was like a field of tiny vaginas, on stalks, with these crazy, curly stamens growing off the top that looked so much like pubic hair even Dean wasn't laughing. And, my God, was that… the pistil?
"Now, that's just wrong," Dean muttered, staring down what was unquestionably a clitoris, but wasn't. Sam let out a muffled laugh and raised a hand to rub the back of his head. "Well… not quite what I expected but. It makes sense."
"Yeah, I can see that. So, genius, what now?" Dean said, wrinkling his nose when it abruptly started to itch. No fucking way was he taking off his mask, though. Not with these beauties around and no willing women within an eight mile radius.
"Give me a second, I brought the journal."
Dean stared. "You telling me that you dragged my ass into the middle of a grove of girly parts and you don't know how to get rid of them?"
Sam looked sheepish and shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't think there'd be this many, anyway."
"Sam!" Dean exclaimed, "Then figure it out! I don't want to be around to see what pollinates these things!"
Dean felt the beginnings of unease ooze in over his usual bravado. He knew nothing about these flowers, didn't even know if the gas masks would work against the pollen, or if it was even pollen at all, and not some kind of magical spell or parasite.
Ok, ew, magical crabs.
Dean shook his head, and then squinted at Sam, trying to figure out if he thought his brother was any more fuckable then he'd been two minutes ago.
Not that he'd been fuckable at all.
Oh, shit.
"Uh, Sam."
Sam waved a hand dismissively at Dean as he peered at Dad's journal, trailing a finger along the words.
"Sam," Dean tried again, noticing the way Sam's hair fell into his eyes, and the inviting, tensile strength of his neck.
Oh, shit shit shit.
"Sam!"
Sam finally looked up. "Fucking hell, Dean! What?"
"I think. Do I look. Um. Are you having any… inappropriate thoughts about me, Sam? Anything to do with, say, my cock? Hypothetically, of course."
Sam looked surprised, and then disgusted, his forehead wrinkling accordingly above his mask. "Dude, I have a gas mask on, and for the record? So did not need that right now. Would you please shut up?" And with that, Sam turned his back.
… his broad, tapered back and unfairly tight ass. God, why had Dean never noticed Sam's butt before? Especially in those jeans, because the way they draped was incredibly sensual and just begging for Dean's touch.
Especially that one spot, where Sam's shirt was sticking to the sweat between his shoulder blades and tugged up to reveal the ridge of Sammy's spine and the elastic edge of boxer. Dean noticed he was close enough to reach a finger out and trace it along the exposed patch of skin, so he did.
Sam jumped about a foot, and then came down only to leap away from Dean.
"Dean! I thought you were… a flower. Man, you scared me." Sam's eyes narrowed as he marked the heated look in Dean's eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that, what's wro–" and then the answer hit Sam over the head like the proverbial ton of bricks.
Well fuck.
"Dean? How do you feel?"
"Sammy, I don't know, my head hurts like– and I… think the masks aren't working."
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, a frisson of dread trickling down the back of his neck. He already knew.
"I am this close to fucking screwing you unconscious," Dean ground out, his eyes widening like it was as much a surprise to him as it was to Sam, and then Sam watched the pupils bleed outwards like watercolor paint. Dean blinked, shaking his head, and this time when he faced Sam, his gaze was dark and predatory, assessing.
"Sam," Drawled out in slow drips of molasses and sex, Dean's ultimate bedroom voice, and Sam felt his skin start to warm, blood rushing to places it had no business being, "You'd better leave before I do something stupid."
Sam's entire body went hot, cold, and then he broke into a sprint away from Dean. He could hear his brother crashing through branches behind him, cursing every time he tripped or had to slow down, but still steadily gaining. It seemed like forever before, almost sobbing with relief, Sam burst out of the woods and reached the impala. Vaulting over the hood to the other side, Sam whirled to face Dean, who came to a panting halt on the wooded flank of the car.
Dean's mask was gone, Sam didn't know when that had happened, but he wrenched his off, too.
"Dean! Dean, it's me, Sam! Look, I don't know how it happened, you fuckwit, but you're infected."
Dean didn't reply, started slowly circling the car instead. Sam scrambled in the opposite direction, still babbling.
"Come on, Dean-o, you don't really want this. It's only the pollen. Your mask must have been broken, or something, that's all. You can't have gotten that much, we were only in there a little while, I mean–" And that's when Sam stepped on his own shoelace and faltered, like an idiot.
Dean was there so fast it made Sam's head spin, fisting a hand in Sam's shirt and hauling him upright.
"God, Sammy, do you know what girly fucking lips you have?" Dean breathed against Sam's ear, voice sultry in the heat. Sam's heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest.
"I, uh, what?"
"Girly. Fucking. Lips." Dean repeated, slowly, as he pressed Sam back against the car with his hips. "Cock-sucker lips. What do you say, Sammy? You wanna be a dirty slut for your big, bad brother? You wanna taste me? Bite me, maybe?"
Sam was completely speechless, helplessly aware of the heavy erection pressing against his thigh. And Dean's voice, his burnt sugar, come-fuck-me voice, was burning and pillaging its way through Sam's body like it owned the place.
And then Dean's hand got a good grip on Sam's cock through his jeans and Sam went from half-hard to motherfuck! in less time than it took for him to throw his head back and gasp desperately to the indifferent clouds.
"Christ, if you knew how you looked, Sam," Dean dropped his lips to the pulse in Sam's neck, sucking hard, claiming him, before pulling away, keeping his fingers carefully tangled in the stretched cotton of Sam's T-shirt.
Sam took a moment to breathe, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. Unfortunately, the first thing he settled on was, Oh my God, my brother is going to make me blow him, and then his brain went haywire again. Next thing he knew, the whole world went haywire as Dean yanked him roughly off the rear bumper and marched him to a back door, reaching around Sam and pulling it open.
"Gonna make you my bitch," Sam heard Dean mutter, and while he was processing that, and how totally alarming it should be but wasn't, Dean thumped a large hand on Sam's head and forced him into the car.
***
Dean couldn't think beyond Sam's skin under his hands, silk and rough all at once as his palm traveled from stubble to cheek to gauzy eyelashes. He crawled in after Sam, hooking a foot in the door and jerking it shut, before turning hot eyes to Sam, his Sammy, lying on the seat with his legs open and his cock hard and Christ, if he only fucking knew, if he could only see.
No way the pollen made him do all this, think his brother was beautiful, see the sweep of high cheekbone and the intimate whorl of his ear as art, a masterpiece and a beginning all at once. No fucking way.
"Dean," Sam said, voice loud in the silence of the car. The impala was empty without her engine running, and Sam's voice echoed low and uneven, "Dean, this isn't you. You don't really want this."
Dean ignored Sam, pushing his hand under a pant leg, around an ankle, rubbing his thumb gently over the bone. Leaning down, he breathed a damp spot on the inside of Sam's knee and felt Sam's trembles ratchet up another notch.
"Sure I do," Dean soothed, smoothing a hand up Sam's calf, over his kneecap, digging fingers into his quad and shoving him up the slippery leather of the seat. Dean shifted forwards a little more, sat down, and grinned at Sam in the dim light. Dean's hands moved to unzip his fly, and Sam let out a choked off moan, his eyes riveted to the straining placket of Dean's boxer briefs that popped forward.
"Yeah, you want that? 'Cause it wants you, Sammy. Wants to fuck you. Can you imagine that, what my sack'll feel like slapping your ass? What it'll feel like to be bent in half while I work you over?"
Sam's eyelids fluttered, eyes rolling back, showing the whites, and Dean freed his cock, sighing, before reaching a hand out and lacing his fingers in Sam's hair.
"C'mere."
"Dean," Sam moaned jaggedly, a last token protest.
"I don't have lube, so either you suck me and make it easier on yourself, or you take it dry like a little whore." Dean tightened his fingers around Sam's skull. "What's it gonna be, Sammy?"
"Oh, god…"
"Does it turn you on when I talk like this?" Dean asked suddenly, changing the subject faster than Sam's confused and horny brain could follow.
"Shit, yes," Sam answered without thinking, and Dean flexed his arm swiftly, dragging Sam in so their lips were brushing, brushing, touching.
"Good," Dean hissed, before sucking Sam's lower lip between his teeth, pressing his face forward and greedily biting into his brother's mouth, curling their tongues together. He pulled away with a soft, moist sound and Sam whimpered, but when Dean started to push Sam's head down, Sam went willingly.
The way Dean's head slammed back into the seat when Sam licked a blistering line up Dean's dick and sucked the tip into his mouth, Dean was surprised he didn't snap his own neck. And then it was all he could do to hold on, hold out, while Sam went at it like he'd wanted to do this since the day he first learned what a cock was.
"Jesus, Sammy. Yeah," Dean sighed, his abs tightening as he tried not to thrust up into Sam's hot mouth, tried not to just grab onto Sam's skull and fuck his face until he came. But then, Sam did this thing where he tightened his lips, flattened his tongue against the vein on the underside of Dean cock, and twisted his head on the upstroke, and Dean had to grab Sam's head and stop him. Sam's mouth came free with a wet pop that arrowed straight to Dean's balls, and Sam was struggling downward, trying to get away from Dean's hands, trying to get back to my dick, Dean realized, and completely lost it.
Dean's hands clawed into Sam's shirt ripping it off, and Sam, Sam was helping, hands scrabbling at his own fly, wrenching the button free, the zipper down. His hair was wild and his lips were swollen, glossy with spit and pink with blood, and Dean had time to think, Jeez, was I the only one who got hit with this shit? before Sam's pants were off, thrown into the front seat. Sam's boxers went next, a long rip up the side, before Dean grabbed Sam around the waist, flipped him over, hauled his hips upward, and shoved into him, Sam's drying saliva just barely easing the way.
"Ah…!" Sam yelped, sounding strangled, but he pushed back into Dean, rolling his hips as his fingers twisted against the seat, searching for a good grip. Dean slapped a hand into the middle of Sam's back, between his shoulder blades, and loved the feel of muscles bunching under his palm as Dean held Sam down and fucked him hard and slow.
"Dean, Dean it hurts, don't stop, ah, fuck, it hurts, don't stop, don't you fuckin' stop," Sam panted, trying to spread his legs more in the back seat, trying to get more friction against his cock, and Dean snaked a hand under them, wrapped his fingers around Sam's length, and laughed into his hair when Sam stiffened and came, his body uncoiling as he shuddered his way through orgasm.
"You really are a total slut Sam, you know that?" Dean said into Sam's ear, voice strained and amused as he humped Sam into the seat once, twice, three more times, before coming so hard he passed out.
***
Sam came to with his face smashed against the impala's leather, Dean's weight heavy along his back, and when he flexed just enough to shift Dean, he felt a tingle of pleasure run through him at the fact that his ass was still full of Dean's cock.
I mean… what?
Sam's eyes snapped open. He'd just let his brother fuck him, while under the influence of sex pollen, in the back seat of the impala. And, hang on a second, wasn't Dean supposed to keep going until he died? Sam panicked, noticing that Dean was lying absolutely still on top of him. There was no way to tell how long he'd been out, what if Dean had just not stopped…?
"Dean? Dean! Wake up!" Nothing. Sam pushed up on his hands, clenching his teeth when Dean's dick slipped free, and then wrestling himself onto his back, cradling Dean in his arms.
"Dean! Oh my God, Dean! Please tell me you didn't fuck yourself to death, you idiot!" Sam whispered, shaking Dean, slapping his face, pinching his arm. Sam almost collapsed with relief when Dean's eyes opened and he frowned. "Oh, man, you're ok."
"I… what… dude. Did I imagine that, or did we just…"
Sam looked away, blushing, and Dean let his eyes roam, taking in their nakedness, the foggy windows, the sweat plastering Sam's hair to his forehead.
Dean shot upright and was out the car door, struggling into his jeans, before Sam could even blink. "Sam, I can't believe that just… oh fuck. Fuck! Get out of the car, Sam, I need to take you… somewhere. Rape center?" Dean's actions came to a halt as he looked at Sam, horrified. "Sam, do I need to take you to the hospital?"
"Dean, no. Calm down. Listen, it was just the pollen, all right? Relax."
"Relax! Look at you! You're sitting well-fucked in my backseat, because I, your brother, just screwed you into next week! How can you tell me to relax?"
Sam looked up at Dean, trust written onto his face. "Because you didn't mean to. And you're not dead."
Dean's mouth hung open. "Dead? Why would I be dead?"
"You're supposed to have sex until dehydration and fatigue kill you, remember? You must've only gotten a small dosage, enough that one orgasm," Dean flinched, "Got it out of your system. Your gas mask was broken, but not drastically."
Sam smiled tentatively, got up and held out a hand to Dean, "Come on, Dean. At least we're both ok."
"How's your ass, Sammy." Dean said harshly, the weight of his self-loathing behind the words, and then he turned away and went to the driver's side door, sliding in behind the wheel and carefully hiding his face. "Put some clothes on, Sam, we're going back to town."
"But, Dean, we didn't finish the job," Sam said, grabbing for his jeans obediently.
"Yes we did."
"Dean, obviously we didn't–"
"You want me to go back in there and rape you again?"
Sam was silent. There was no way to say that, yeah, he did kind of want Dean to fuck him again, and that it wasn't rape if Sam liked it.
"That's what I thought. Get in the car, Sam. We're going back to the motel."
Sam got in the car.