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Sam can't exactly pinpoint when this... ugh, kink started. Yes, he likes a bit of role-play
now and again, but this is totally not what he meant. He's pretty sure he's scowling,
which is probably why Dean smirks, readjusts his grip, and clears his throat. "Hey, Baby
Sammy," Dean rumbles, all deep and growl-y, like some really dumb bear on those increasingly
stupid cartoons. It's his 'Deanpala' voice, and Sam really does not want to be looking
at this train wreck that's about to happen. He flops backwards onto the bed, flings an
arm over his eyes, and braces himself for the worst. "D'ya know why Sam is in such a
pissy mood?" Dean clears his throat again, and then an incredibly high-pitched, really
*** annoying voice grates over Sam's ears. "Why, no, Mr. Deanpala. But if you ask me,
I think he's just on his period." Sam snarls, snapping his head up to glare at his grinning
older brother. "Okay, my *** would notsay that. For one, it's a ***. And dicks. Do.
Not. Talk." "Ours do," Dean says, emphasizing his words
when he uses his hands to swing their junk around. His eyebrows do that self-satisfied,
half-joking and half-flirty wriggle, and Sam chooses to completely ignore that fluttery
feeling he gets in his chest while he addresses his second point. "For two, it's MY ***,
and I'm pretty sure that MY *** would not say anything that makes me seem like a girl
because I have a ***. Which girls do not have." Dean just stares at him flatly, unamused,
and the motel is quiet for a few moments beyond the rattling of the A/C. Sam groans, drops
his head back down, and shoves the heels of his hands against his eyes. "If you're gonna
do it, then just do it already. Before I kill myself. Or castrate you. Jesus." He pauses
slightly, then adds, "Jerk." "***," Dean says, under his breath like
Sam doesn't hear him anyway, then goes back to whatever the heck he's doing, this time
jerking his hand to move their dicks, like... Like dolls. "Kill me now," Sam moans to the
ceiling. "I don't know why he does that," Dean says, trying to sound innocent while
using that high-pitched voice again, but he pretty much sounds like a ***. Or something.
Okay, maybe Sam's a little biased. But his *** is not small, or innocent, or cute, or
anything that that comes to mind when Dean calls it 'Baby Sammy'. Christ. Why does he
even let Dean call it that? "Do you think... maybe he doesn't like me?" Dean continues,
with an exaggerated sniffle. His thumb flicks down to rub against Sam's sac, and suddenly
Sam's shifting his hips in response to the sudden *** he's popped. He peeks an eye
open to see Dean slowly stroking his own ***, and a wink is tossed his way before his
brother keeps going. "That maybe... he acts that way because he wantsto be a girl?"
Sam groans, half because of the utter ridiculousness that has just spewed from Dean's mouth, and
half because Dean's finger is teasing his slit, smearing precome around the head before
scraping a fingernail oh-so-gently against it. Sam shivers, bucking into his brother's
grip when 'Deanpala' starts to talk. "Well, I dunno," 'Deanpala' muses. Sam jerks and
curses breathlessly when he feels Dean's *** bump into and slide along his own. He spreads
his legs a little, and Dean shuffles forward on his knees, greedily taking up every bit
of space Sam has to offer. "Does he like to use you very often?" Dean is steadily jacking
Sam off now, wrist twisting deliciously with every upstroke, and Sam's hands stray to his
nipples. He pinches and twists them with his fingers, rolling his eyes at Dean when he
insists on talking. Roleplaying. With their dicks. Alone. And his brother called hima
geek. "Well, he uses me to ***," 'Baby Sammy' says
thoughtfully, and Sam grunts when Dean's thumb makes itself comfortable at his glans. "But
I guess he has to, huh?" Dean's hand is moving faster, gripping harder, and Sam is shamefully
close to blowing his load already. "I mean, he..." Dean stops here to really get the fake
waterworks started, but Sam is kinda too *** to care right now. At least Dean's hand hasn't
stopped. Dean's voice is still annoyingly high and unnatural when he continues, not
choppy or different at all, and Sam glances down to see Dean's hand on his own *** is
moving slower than a snail. "He didn't really like getting laid in school. College-I don't
want to talk about that." Sam winces at how true that is, and then goes back to being
distracted by Dean's ridiculously incredible hand. Dean is looming over him now, pulling
out all the stops, and he breaks down into high-pitched tears with a ***-eating grin
on his face. "Maybe... Maybe he really doesn'twant me!" His brother pulls off this really epic,
mind-blowingly awesome maneuver, and Sam is coming, just like that. Dean milks him all
the way through his *** and, at the end, in a husky, aroused, but thankfully normal
and one hundred percentDeanvoice, says, "Fantastic timing you've got there, champ."
Sam blinks lazily up at him. "Are you finally done?" he asks, relieved. It's not often that
Dean gets bored enough with the trifles of hunting to actually do something like this,
but when he does, it's kinda impossible to get him to stop before he's ready. The only
thing Sam can think of off the top of his head that'll do the trick is dying from embarrassment,
which he comes pretty close to doing every time his brother pulls out his "special voices."
Dean just chuckles and clears his throat. His voice is growl-y again the next time he
talks, and Sam wants to slam his head against the wall a few times. "Oh, no!" he cries out
in mock distress. "Did you just cry, Baby Sammy? I'm so sorry; here, I'll make it up
to you!" His own *** gets rubbed into Sam's ***, and he flinches at the oversensitivity.
"Oh, God. You are not serious," he groans, but apparently Dean is, because 'Baby Sammy'
is up and ready to go for round two in just a few minutes, which should be almost impossible.
Ah, *** it. Sam has learned long ago to just accept that anything is possible with Dean.
His eyes lock with mirthful green, and Dean's hands abandon their dicks to settle onto Sam's
hips. He rocks against Sam's groin, grinding their erections together, and Sam can already
feel his control slipping through his fingers. Dean nips his left pec, then the base of his
neck, his jaw, and finally his earlobe before whispering in his normal-thank God!-voice.
"So good for me, Sammy. So pretty when you come and let me... mmm! handle you like that.
Nngh, ***, baby boy, so close. C'mon, sweetheart, come for me. Come." Sam tosses his head back
and comes, just like his big brother tells him to, helpless to resist. He grips Dean's
biceps and feels his muscles shake as Dean follows right behind him. Air whooshes out
of him when Dean collapses, but his warm, comforting weight is better than any blanket.
Sam sighs contently and wraps his arms around his brother, nuzzling his cheek as Dean snuggles
him back. After a moment, Sam snorts. "How was that not making my *** 'cry' again?"
Dean huffs a laugh into his hair. "Happy tears, Sammy," he says. "Haven't you ever heard of
happy tears?" Sam can feel a faint smirk against his skin, and he finds himself half dreading
and half curious about what Dean has to say next. "You obviously haven't. It's okay, though,
little bro. Deanpala will make Baby Sammy cry happy tears for as long as they'll be
alive." Okay. Yeah, um. No. "You're unbelievable." "*** can't get enough of me, Sam," Dean
says, teasing. "Like you." "Jerk," Sam grumbles. A comfortable silence settles over them while
Sam mentally replays what just happened. He frowns. "I do like my ***," he says. "And
I don't wanna be a girl." Dean's silent, but Sam wants to kick himself because he knows
his big brother is just trying not to laugh out loud. "Then, uh," Dean starts, pausing
to make a little cough that sounds suspiciously like laughter, "you should make sure Baby
Sammy knows that. We should set up group therapy sessions, so he's not-" "Dean," Sam interrupts.
He loves his brother, but not that much. "Stop. Just... No." Dean finally gives in to his
urge and laughs, and Sam knowsthat if his brother should ever want to do this again,
Sam definitely won't be the one stopping them. "Jerk." end.