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Dean might have laughed if he didn’t know what was coming. Sam stood, a forlorn expression on his face, covered head to toe in glittery motes. He looked like a giant fairy. The stuff seemed so innocuous, but Dean had seen the aftermath of exposure to the pollen and it wasn’t pretty. Unlike Sam’s hair right now.
Dean prodded the huge, fleshy head of the plant with the tip of his boot and it rolled over, the long obscene-looking stamen which had just spat pixie dust all over his brother lolling out like a lascivious tongue. Its golden sap sparkled on his blade and oozed out of the cut end of the thick stem.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean said.
“It got me, Dean.”
“No shit, Sam. And here I was thinking it was Mardi Gras come early.”
“What do I do?”
“It get on your skin?” Even as he asked the question, Dean could see the pollen glinting on the hollow of his brother’s throat and on the tip of his nose.
Sam licked his lips.
“I can taste it,” he said, voice wavering. “It’s sweet. Like honey.”
“Jesus Christ! Don’t eat it!”
“It’s too late anyway, Dean. It’s…it’s in me. I can feel it.”
Dean swallowed.
“You’re gonna be just fine, Sammy.” He flipped the top off the can of lighter fluid and poured it all over the prehistoric-looking flora before striking a match and dropping it on the ground. The plant caught and sputtered out another puff of the sickly pollen as it began to curl and blacken. Dean could have sworn it screamed as it burned.
“Fuckin’ enchanted plant. Now I’ve seen it all,” he said.
Sam stood stock still, watching Dean work, eyes fixed on him, his tongue darting out now and then for a taste of the pollen.
“You still with me, kiddo?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded but his expression was glazed. Dean had to get him back to the motel and hosed down as quickly as possible before even more of the evil plant spooge could leach into his skin and poison his blood.
As far as Dean could tell, the plant was imbued with the same kind of venom as incubi and succubae, and the last time they’d met one of the former, he and Sam had nearly finished each other. If he focused, Dean could still feel the flutter of Sam’s pulse under his fingers as he held a knife to his brother’s throat. It was a source of endless shame to him that he’d fallen under Nick’s spell, so far gone that he drew Sam’s blood without question or hesitation. But they’d been possessed before, poisoned, or just plain angry. It was an occupational hazard. They’d bloodied each other’s noses and damned near killed each other more than once, but there had been something else that the incubus stirred up, something dark and warped and lingering which Dean found it impossible to forget. The monster’s words—directed at Sam—still surfaced sometimes, like old bones, and sent a jolt of sickening realisation to his brain.
I gave him what he wanted, and it wasn’t some bitch in a G-string. It was you.
Dean could have done without Sam hearing that particular nugget. It should have stayed where it belonged, safely confined in his 3 am mind, thank you very much.
The pollen wasn’t fatal in itself. It seemed to affect both men and women, making them woozy and intoxicated and lowering their inhibitions. It made them feverish and horny as hell, incapable of controlling their most base desires. It had landed people in jail and wrecked relationships. There’d even been a suicide, a teenage girl who had been filmed masturbating with a wine bottle on her college football field by a gang of drunk frat boys and couldn’t take the shame of all her peers knowing about how she’d begged each one in turn to take her right there.
The vics had all visited this particular greenhouse in the botanical gardens, and finding the plant wasn’t difficult. It had sprung up pretty much overnight, according the groundskeeper and it looked grotesque and carnivorous. But they still had no idea who or what had put it there, or to what purpose. At least it was crispy-fried now. Dean just hoped there weren’t any seedlings scattered about the place.
“Come on, Sasquatch,” he said, herding his brother towards the exit. “I’m gonna clean up the remains of Audrey Two here. You go outside and brush the worst of it off before you get in the car.”
Sam went, checking back over his shoulder every couple of steps, eyes tracking Dean’s movements, his lips parted and chest heaving, panting like a dog on a hot day. He stood just outside the greenhouse while Dean swept the ashes and charred remnants into a refuse sack, and set to ruffling his hair and shaking out his jacket, all the while watching his brother wolfishly through the glass.
Back in the car, Dean cranked up his music so he didn’t have to listen to the little moans Sam made as his neck arched back over the headrest, or the wet click of his throat working. His tongue darted out over and over to slick his drying lips and lap at the last vestiges of the pollen no doubt. Each time Dean braved a sideways glance at the passenger seat, Sam’s eyes were on him, ravenous and dark, and it made Dean uncomfortable in ways he’d never considered possible. Sam’s big hands curled into fists and scrabbled against the worn denim of his jeans. His left knee bounced up and down, brushing against Dean’s knuckles when he went to fiddle with the cassette deck or rest his hand on the bench. Dean tried not to tense up each time it happened, but he couldn’t pretend this was normal.
Back at the motel, Sam started tearing at his clothes the minute he was inside their room.
“Easy tiger!” Dean said, and immediately regretted his playful choice of words as it earned him a long sweep of Sam’s eyes up and down his body. “Let me get the door shut at least.”
Sam stood in the middle of the room, taking up too much damn space, his hands on his belt buckle, shirt discarded at his feet. Dean dropped the keys on the table beside his bed and walked over to the bathroom, Sam’s heated gaze dogging his every step.
“I just need to piss, then it’s all yours,” Dean said.
Sam was silent, fingers twitching on his belt, flecks of pollen glinting on his sweaty skin. Dean walked into the grotty bathroom and kicked the door closed behind him. He wouldn’t usually have bothered, but Sam was freaking him out. With his sweat-soaked hair, his constant lip-chewing, blown pupils and glittery skin, it was like he’d stumbled straight out of gay club having dropped the biggest E on the planet. Dean chuckled to himself. He should take a picture and show Sam when this was all over. Maybe he’d see the funny side. Maybe.
Dean’s dick chubbed up as he eased it out of his fly. He checked his body for signs of the offending dust. He couldn’t see anything but that didn’t mean he hadn’t inhaled some. The car was contaminated. He’d have to give her a valet in the morning. He finished peeing, shook himself off and zipped up.
“Okay, Sammy. It’s all yours.”
Dean stopped in his tracks as he re-entered the bedroom and saw Sam sprawled on his bed. Sam’s jeans and briefs were down around his ankles, and he was jacking his swollen cock so hard and fast that it must have hurt. His face was covered with something black and lacy. Dean swallowed and a sick thrill skittered around inside his belly as he realised what it was. A pair of panties.
“Sam, stop!”
He sprang forward and grabbed his brother’s veiny forearm, stilling his hand. It was more involvement than he’d ever anticipated having in Sam’s ‘alone time’, but he’d never forgive himself if Sam’s freakishly large—figured he’d be massive there too—manhood was irreparably damaged, and the way he was beating it, that seemed a very real danger.
Sam stopped and pulled the panties off his face with his other, less sticky, hand.
“Dean! I’m so sorry. But you gotta help me, man. I can’t—it’s like I’m burning up. I’ve never felt anything like this. I know it’s bad but I can’t stop. I have to get there.”
He tried to twist out of his brother’s grasp but Dean tightened his grip. Sam was flushed and he stank like sex.
“Oh God, please strike me blind. Where did you find those?”
He nodded toward the women’s underwear.
“In your bag. Everything is like—oh God—I can’t describe it. I can smell everything and feel everything and I caught the scent of these and I had to have them. Jesus, help me, Dean.”
“Shhh, it’s okay, Sammy. I got you.”
Dean backed away slowly and went to soak a towel in cold water. Sam had smelled the panties in the bottom of his bag? That was…worrying. And a little gross. They’d been a souvenir from a policewoman in Illinois who had a thing for authority. She’d cuffed Dean and kept her underwear on the whole time, just hoiked it to one side and rode him like a champ. Afterwards, she’d slipped them off and pinged them at him like an elastic band and Dean had pocketed them, remembering how much he’d enjoyed the feel of Rhonda Hurley’s pink satin against his throbbing dick.
He wasn’t exactly planning to make a habit of wearing them, but in the heat of the moment, the idea had made his heart beat a little faster. He’d been carrying the soiled trophy for a fortnight now. Almost forgotten about the whole thing, truth be told. But now his drugged and terminally horny little brother was rubbing those panties all over his fevered face, breathing in the ripe smell of that policewoman’s cooch and maybe even a smear of Dean’s own juices from where he’d bumped it up against her gusset before rubbering up.
Dean adjusted his rapidly fattening cock in his jeans, now convinced he had been exposed to the pollen too, and returned to the bedroom to see Sam’s anguished face, his fist squeezing the purple head of his boner like he was trying to choke it dead.
“Here.” Dean smoothed the cool, wet towel across his brother’s forehead. “Just try to relax, Sammy. The symptoms will pass in a few hours. You think you can make it to the shower? We need to get this sparkly shit off you. Okay?”
Sam nodded and growled, his frustration palpable. He pawed at Dean, leaving his hands on his brother’s skin for a little too long. Dean manhandled him up and tried to avert his eyes from his brother’s straining erection. They’d been in some ridiculous situations in their time, done some undeniably fucked up things, but this was a whole new level of oh HELL, no as far as Dean was concerned. When this was all over, they would probably have to take a few days apart. Until the invention of brain bleach, Dean would have to try and scrub the image of his brother whacking it while sniffing a policewoman’s panties from his mind with other methods. Preferably ones which involved a lot of alcohol and a nice big pair of breasts. And he'd have to avoid looking Sam in the eye for a good long while.
Dean heard the faucet squeak and the hiss of running water. Sam’s gargantuan body stumbled around the bathroom like he was drunk, knocking tiny bottles of off-brand shampoo and shower gel from the shelf over the sink into the bath.
“Can you manage in there?”
In the heartbeat before Sam answered, Dean realised he had essentially offered to soap his rampant, naked brother’s back, and silently berated himself.
“No. M’fine. You shouldn’t come in, Dean. I don’t…I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be in the room with me.”
A fierce heat crawled up Dean's neck and stained his cheeks. Of course Sam didn’t want him watching as he played with himself. Jesus. A pained moan came from the bathroom and Dean fought the hardwired instinct to run in and check on his brother. Some of the vics had roughed other people up a bit in their frenzy, not wanting to take no for an answer while they were under the plant's influence, but Sam wouldn’t do anything nuts like snap his own junk off, surely. He was just loud, that was all. Dean swallowed as a series of grunts and curses from the shower turned the air blue.
Dean’s own dick was pressing out the seam of his fly. He eyed the panties on the bed and stuffed them into his back pocket. When he found the sick fuck who’d planted that thing, he was going to mess them up. Big time.
There was a loud, sharp cry from the bathroom and then the water shut off.
“Sammy?”
“M’okay.”
The door opened and Sam stood, head skimming the lintel, a towel wrapped around his slender hips, the hefty shape of his cock tenting the front. Dean’s gaze raked guiltily over his brother’s sculpted body before he could stop himself.
“I, uh, I think I got a little bit of the pollen on me.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m going to take a shower myself. You okay now?”
Sam’s expression was pinched and his brow furrowed as if in pain.
“You need to get away, Dean. I mean it. Tie me up and go for a drive or something. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back…”
He turned away and Dean’s heart palpitated.
“Just relax, brother. I’m going to take a shower and you stay in here and watch some TV. I’ll give you some more private time. Not a problem. Just call me when you’re done, but I’m not leaving you and I’m not tying you up. Look.” Dean snatched up his keys and locked the front door. He grabbed a pack of salt from his bag and laid a thick line of it across the threshold, along the window sills and along the skirting boards. “All secure. I’ll keep this with me.” He slipped the key into his pocket. “So you can’t get out, all right? It’s just some stupid dust from a stupid plant. You’re stronger than that.”
Sam nodded, but his brow was stilled furrowed. His finger kept inching towards the opening in the towel.
Dean shut the bathroom door behind him and bolted it. He leant back for a second, eyes closed, and listened to the slap-slap-slap of Sam jerking off. He shrugged his jacket off and pulled the panties out of his back pocket. He’d just stay in here and take care of his own symptoms while listening out for Sam to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything more harmful than chafe (not so) Little Sam something terrible and wake the neighbours with his groaning.
Dean toed off his boots, loosened his belt and unzipped his pants. He pushed them down his legs, taking his boxers with them and stepped out of them. He caught sight of himself in the dirty mirror over the sink. His hair was mussed, his cheeks blushy and his nipples hard under his tee. He fingered the scrap of lace in his hand. A particularly loud moan emanated from the bedroom and Dean’s cock gave an answering twitch. There wasn’t enough therapy in the world to wipe this night away. But Sam was preoccupied, so Dean figured he might as well get his rocks off hard and fast so he could get back to taking care of his brother without his own stupid libido putting all sorts of twisted pictures in his head and heat in his blood.
Dean brought the panties up to his face, inhaling the musky scent before stepping into them and smoothing them up over his ass. He adjusted his hard cock so that the head was tucked into the waistband, peeking out and sticking him in his bellybutton, the engorged flesh visible through the sheer lace panel at the front. He tucked his tee up under his arms and studied himself in the mirror. He looked like someone else entirely. He felt filthy and wrong and hot. His dick leaked a few drops of slick onto the front of the panties. He ran his finger around the tip, smearing the wet welling in his slit around and around, painting the smooth, flushed skin shiny.
Another strangled cry came from the other room, and Dean’s hips stuttered forwards. He rubbed his cockhead against the rim of the sink, the cool porcelain against his fevered skin making him shiver. The elastic of the panties rolled down the hot, swollen length of it. He bit his lip and humped the basin, letting his hands roam over the satiny material stretched over his firm ass.
“Dean!”
A pounding on the bathroom door startled him.
“Dean! Let me in. I can’t…I need…I need your help. Please.”
Dean froze. Sammy was suffering. He caught sight of his depraved reflection again and went to strip off the panties, but the banging on the door started up, harder and faster this time.
“Dean! Come on, man. I’m burning up. This is bad. Really bad. Just let me in.”
“Hold your horses, Sam. I’m getting dressed.”
“No!”
Sam’s tone frightened him.
“Open the fucking door, Dean. Or I’ll break it down, I swear.”
The door rattled on its hinges as Sam thumped it repeatedly with his fist. Dean grabbed his jeans off the floor and managed to wrestle one leg on before there was a huge thud, a splintering sound and the door flew open and bounced off the bath panel.
Dean stared wide-eyed at his naked brother. He stood, wild-looking, his muscles and sinews well-defined like he’d been pumping iron. His chest heaved, his hair plastered to his forehead in damp strands. He could have been a monument to some ancient warrior or demi-god. And he was hard, his monster dick jerking minutely in time with his frantic heartbeat.
Dean held one hand up in supplication, the other in front of his junk in a futile effort to hide his straining erection and the soiled women’s underwear barely concealing it. His face was on fire, mortification blazing a trail through his body. His mouth opened and closed again when he realised he couldn’t think of anything to say.
Sam’s gaze got stuck on his crotch.
“Jesus, Dean. Are you…did you…?”
He stalked forwards and pushed Dean’s hands out of the way, gasping when he saw that Dean was hard and dripping on the lacy garment.
“Oh my God. You’re wearing them. How long have you…I mean…how often do you wear them?”
Dean cleared his throat.
“It’s not what it looks like. Damn plant must’ve got me when I-”
“Bullshit. They were in your bag. This was premeditated. You get off on it, don’t you? Kinky, Dean. Very kinky.”
Dean shook his head, but Sam advanced, backing him into the sink. The press of cold enamel on his back came as a shock.
“Sam. This isn’t you. It’s the pollen. Just calm down and we’ll get you-”
“I know it’s partly the pollen, Dean. But the drug only makes you hot for it and lowers inhibitions. This,” he gestured between them, knuckles grazing Dean’s chest, “this is all us. Don’t act dumb with me. Not with me.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Sammy.”
Sam gripped the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and ripped it all the way up to the collar with one brutal yank.
“I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m going to take what I want and give my big brother what he needs.”
Sam leant in, forcing Dean back over the sink, and licked a rasping stripe along his jaw line. Dean shuddered.
“You’ve always looked after me, no matter how many times I let you down. Even at my worst when I was hopped up on demon blood and you could hardly bear to look at me. You know deep down it’s fucked up. We're fucked up. You tried to break away, get some distance, but you can’t do it, can you? No more than I can. We both play our parts. You always have to be the big brother. The fixer. The care-giver. You just can’t let go, huh?”
Sam pulled at the elastic of Dean’s panties and let it snap back against his skin. His breath was hot and ragged in Dean’s ear.
“But these…mmm…these tell a different story. You look so hot like this. So pretty. Vulnerable. Like you're just waiting to be ravished. How many pairs have you stolen over the years, huh? You ever wear them when we’re working? You slip them on while I’m out getting coffee and wear them under your jeans when we’re on a hunt? Under your suit when we’re playing FBI? C’mon, you can tell me. No point hiding anymore.”
“Twice. This is only the second time. I swear. I’m not into that, Sam.”
“But you like it?”
Dean closed his eyes and tried to turn away as Sam kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“Wanna give it up for me? Let me drive for once? Let your little brother take good care of you. Just take your foot off the brake and lose control.”
Dean tried to shake his head, but the lie wouldn't come. He did. God help him, he did want that.
Sam kissed him then, wet and deep. Sam’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and he sucked on Dean's tongue. It was nothing like kissing a woman. Not the sort of kiss he’d be able to forget come morning. Sam’s powerful arms bracketed him and his brother’s sharp hips rocked against him.
“Never figured you for a biter,” Dean mumbled against Sam’s lips and felt his brother smile before he nipped at his swollen mouth.
“Jerk.”
A rush of familial recognition shot through Dean like a lightning bolt and he shoved at Sam’s chest.
“Can’t do this.”
“Yes you can.”
“We’re brothers, Sam. It’s the pollen. It’s…I can’t think straight.”
“Don’t think. Just feel.” Sam grabbed at Dean’s hard-on through the lace. “Just let me give you what you want.”
Sam sucked on his right index finger and Dean felt the wet tip worm up and inside the leg of his panties and probe between his buttocks. Dean flinched, but then Sam was moaning into his mouth again and Dean found himself arching his back to give Sam better access to his hole.
“Put your hands on me, Dean,” Sam whispered, and Dean let his treacherous hands up from their white-knuckled grip on the sink to stroke his brother’s flank and then to gently knead the firm muscles of his ass and pull him into the roll of his hips.
“Yeah. Just like that, Dean. Make the front of your panties all messy, huh?”
Dean drew in a harsh breath as the tip of Sam’s finger breached his tight asshole. He felt himself clench around the invasive touch and Sam groaned and spun him, belly to the porcelain while he groped for something on the side of the bath. Dean saw himself, his pupils huge and dark, face slack with pleasure as his brother fumbled the cap off a bottle of hair conditioner, making choppy little thrusts against Dean’s ass the whole time. He slumped forward, forehead against the cool, mottled glass as Sam sunk a thick, slippery digit deep inside him.
“Feels weird, Sam, don’t!”
“Just wait,” Sam said, a low growl, holding Dean in place with a firm hand on the back of his neck. It was both a threat and a promise.
Sam fingered him with long, slow strokes, and somewhere in the midst of Dean’s sweaty hands sliding on the mirror glass, his breath fogging it, Sam licking a trembling trail up the bumps of his spine and rubbing his throbbing cock between Dean’s spread thighs, it started to feel good. Really good. Dean would die of shame to admit it, but he wanted more. He felt like maybe he’d been missing out big time, and now he understood why guys did this because maybe, just maybe, he could come from getting fucked. Come like a girl with his brother’s monster dick nailing him, bent over the bathroom sink, whorish. He twisted his head for a bruising kiss.
“Put it in.”
It was out, smeared against his bracing arm before he could stop it.
“Yeah, Dean, yeah. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna fuck you now. I can’t wait any longer.”
Hot tears leaked from Dean’s eyes, and his hole twitched as Sam pulled out, yanked the lacy fabric of the panties to one side, and replaced his finger with the fat, greased head of his dick. He found his mark and surged forward, faster and harder than Dean was expecting, and the shock made him cry out.
“Gentle, Sam. Take it easy.”
He slapped his palm against the mouldy tiles and gritted his teeth as the hot ache receded and Sam mouthed impatiently at the scruff of his neck.
“Oh Jesus! You’re so hot inside. So tight and good, Dean. Fuck, why haven’t we done this before?”
Dean almost laughed at that, but the inexorable push of hard flesh, Sam burying so deep inside, stole his breath away. He started to worry that Sam’s horse-cock was stretching him so wide that he’d never feel normal again.
“That’s it, Dean. That’s all the way in. Take it.”
Dean wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Sam’s thighs were flush with the backs of his, his hips slotted to the swell of Dean’s ass. Sam bent over his brother to drop a kiss on the back of his neck, and Dean felt every ounce of all that hard muscle and supple flesh bear down on his back.
“Fuck, Sammy. So big. Give it to me. Give it to me hard.”
Sam sobbed and pulled out in a slow drag which Dean feared would turn him inside out. Then he was pushing back in and Dean’s dripping dick worked in a smooth glide against the underside of the basin. The elastic of the underwear bit into his flesh and Sam’s cock punched through his sphincter over and over, battering it into submission until he was loose and open, and every thrust made Dean’s cock pulse and jerk.
“That’s it. So good, Sammy. Fuck me. Oh God, fuck me.”
Dean knew it now. He was made for this. Built for getting fucked. For getting bent over by his huge, doped-up brother and banged like a chick in lace panties. He watched their obscene reflection, misted by the heat coming off them. Sam’s brow crumpled like he was in pain, damp bangs stuck to his face, his eyes screwed up tight and mouth open, little gasps and moans escaping him on every stroke. Dean was a hot mess. His lashes were clumped together with tears. His mouth was red and puffy, his hair sticking up in tufts where Sam had pulled it, his torn tee hanging off his shoulders in tatters. His wet, angry-red cock bumped and skidded around the rim of the sink as Sam – his brother - pumped sloppy wet sounds out of him. The whole thing was so debauched that Dean thought he might he lose it without a hand on his dick. Then Sam groaned,
“I’m gonna come. Oh shit, I’m coming, Dean.”
And it was all over for Dean. He spurted long and hard against the mirror and the tiles, scrawls of jizz landing in the sink and all over the taps. Thick wads of it soaked into the panties. Sam cried out as Dean’s climax sent his muscles into spasm and his asshole constricted around his brother’s pulsing cock. Dean felt Sam lock up, the final push and the way he stilled as deep inside his guts as possible. He felt the warm gush as Sam pulled out slightly and his brother’s sludgy come started to dribble out of his abused hole.
Sam’s sticky forehead rested against his nape, and Dean smelt the honey-sweet of pollen on his breath.
“You feel any better?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Sam panted. “You okay? Did I…hurt you?”
Dean shook his head. He felt raw and distended, but now Sam had slipped out of him there was no discomfort.
“Think you can sleep through the night now?” Dean asked.
Sam peered at him, his slanted eyes appearing in the mirror over Dean’s shoulder. He closed his teeth on the meat of his brother’s trapezius.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”
Sam’s hands pulled at the ruined panties, his tongue tracing patterns on Dean’s skin.
“Wanna move this show to the bed?” Dean ventured. “Switch it up a little bit?”
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “Yeah, Dean. Want you in me. Want it bad.”
Dean closed his eyes and let Sam drag him towards the door. He was almost ready to take the wheel back. Almost. But not quite.