ohsam | The Gift of a Curse

Title : The Gift of a Curse
Author : Meigun-Blaze
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Word count : 2324
Rating : NC-17
Warnings : Spell-induced Porn
Disclaimer : I OWN NOTHING BUT THIS STORY
Summary : Dean offends a witch and as a result, him and Sam get slammed with an interesting curse.

    Dean hates witches. It’s not a secret. He makes his feelings quite clear to any and all who will listen, and that’s really the main part of the problem. Dean ran his mouth off to the wrong person.

    “How was I supposed to know she was a fucking witch?” Dean demands when they get back to their room.

    “Once you found out, don‘t you think you should‘ve kept your opinions to yourself instead of smack-talking her beliefs and the rest of her kind!” Sam yells, hand coming up to rub at his mouth. Ever since they left Jolie’s house; or, the Wicked Bitch Witch from Hell, as Dean had called her, he’s been feeling funny.

    “Do you feel strange?” Dean asks, hands coming up to itch irritably at his skin and all Sam can do is nod.

    “She was muttering something in Latin when she flung us out of her house.” Sam whispers, eyes suddenly wide. “She cursed us!”

    Dean’s body starts to tremble, and he’s hunching in on himself as his eyes go half-mast.

    “Hey? You okay?” Sam asks, moving closer to Dean, who only backs up till he’s out of reach again.

    “You keep your distance!” He demands and Sam’s eyes narrow in confusion and worry but he stays where he‘s at.

    “This is bad, Sammy.” Dean says, breath labored and sweat running down his face. “This wasn’t some Stepford wife stumbling across a book of spells and muttering a few incantations. Jolie’s the real deal.”

    It makes sense to Sam. They haven’t come across a real witch in a long time, but he can already feel the strange tingling sensations traveling from his lips to his jaw, and Dean doesn’t look much better.

    “Why’d she curse me?” Sam mutters indignant. “It’s not like I said anything to offend her.”

    “Sam…just…stop talking. Please.” Dean begs, moving towards his bed to collapse onto the over-used mattress.

    “I mean, I know you hate them, but I’ve actually kind of always respected witches. Not the cheap impersonators that only use magic to get what they want, but actual honest-to-god witches. They have a connection to nature and their craft and everything has to be balanced-”

    “Sam!” Dean interrupts, staring at him wide-eyed. “Why in the hell are you telling me this?” He asks, body trembling, pupils blown wide and Sam stares back just as shocked.

    “I…I don’t know?” He answers honestly. “It just felt…really important.”

    The tingling dances across Sam’s gums, sending pinpricks down his teeth, moving up higher until he can feel his nose tickling with it before it shoots straight up to his brain, and then…

    It’s like a dam breaking.

    “You know you’re like, my hero, right?” Sam asks, taking a seat in one of the crappy motel chairs.

    “Hey, thanks, Sammy. That’s great.” Dean answers sarcastically, flinging an arm over his eyes as his breath hitches and his body arches up a little.

    “You don’t look so good.” Sam says absently before continuing. “I’m being serious by the way. I’ve always looked up to you and I-”

    “Sam! I really appreciate you saying that, but right now, I just want you to stop talking.” Dean practically begs and Sam sighs.

    “I can’t, Dean.” He admits on a whisper. “I’m pretty sure Jolie got me with some kind of truth spell, only her version feels like it’s on steroids.”

    Dean moans then, body arching off the bed as his hands come up to futilely cover his mouth.

    “Damn, Dean. What’d she do to you?”

    “Shut up, Sam! Just shut up!”

    “I can’t, Dean. I already told you. Every time I stop talking I get this compulsion to tell you things. This sucks. Why do I get the truth spell!? Come on, Dean, what’d she curse you with? You look like you’re about to come or something!”

    “Oh Jesus!” Dean mewls, eyes fluttering, hands running down to press against his cock; which is so hard, Sam doesn’t know how he missed it. Dean’s hips move, pumping up until he collapses back on the bed, a boneless heap.

    “You did just come, didn’t you?” Sam asks, eyes narrowed and Dean‘s body twitches.

    “What the fuck, Dean! You’re the one who throws the insults and all she curses you with is mind-blowing orgasms?”

    “Sam!” Dean pleads, voice shot and gravelly. “Please, just- duct tape your mouth, or something!”

    “You might want to take those pants off. I know I feel gross whenever I cream my jeans.”

    “Oh fuck.” Dean growls through gritted teeth, hands scrabbling to unbutton and unzip his pants, yanking them down and kicking them off his legs.

    “There, feels better, doesn’t it?”

    “Sam!” Dean whimpers, hands pulling his boxers from his skin before removing his shirt till he’s naked, and Sam watches, not looking away as Dean grabs his angry red cock in his hand and goes to town. He should find this weird, but instead, he feels his dick hardening in his own jeans and can’t help but dig the heel of his palm into the hardness.

    “God, Dean, you just came and you look like you’re about to blow again.” Sam notes and Dean arches, chest heaving, breathing in pants and gasps, fingers slipping in all the sweat and slick that covers his skin.

    “Sammy, please! Stop!”

    “Why is it so important for me to stop talking? Is it ruining your mood, cause from over here it doesn’t look like you’re having any problems keeping it up.”

    “It’s what keeps putting me in the mood!” Dean bites out, stroking hard and fast along his swelling cock.

    “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    “The curse, damn it! She…she did something to my head.”

    “Like…?”

    “Every time you talk…I see these things.”

    “What things?”

    “God, Sammy, don’t make me say it.”

    “Come on, Dean. What do you see.”

    “You…and me. And you’re doing things…to me.”

    “What am I doing to you, Dean?”

    Dean shivers, body wracked with pleasure, head shaking back and forth like it can stop the build-up and Sam can‘t help it any more. He undoes his jeans, reaches a big hand inside and strokes to the beautiful image Dean‘s giving him.

    “You’re everywhere. All over me. In me. Making me do these things and putting me where you want me and it’s…it’s your fucking voice man! Every time you talk, I get hard! That bitch did this on purpose. Made you run your mouth, knowing that every time you do, it makes me wanna-”

    Dean’s done then. Back bowing, mouth open in an ‘O’ as he lets out a harsh yell of completion, and Sam’s eyes take it in.

    “Fuck, Dean. You’re so hot when you come. You’re making me wanna come just watching you.” Sam’s a little horrified saying it out loud, cause Dean musters up the strength to crack an eye open and see that he’s; in fact, jerking off while he watches Dean writhe in unwanted pleasure.

    “Christ, Sammy! Put that thing away! And stop fucking talking! If you can’t, go in the bathroom, or go out. Something!”

    “Don’t wanna Dean.”

    “What?”

    “Wanna stay right here and jack off while I look at you!”

    “Oh my-fuck!” Dean cries as his body wakes up again to full arousal, dick standing up proud until it’s leaking and bouncing against his stomach.

    “Yeah, that’s it Dean. Stroke it for me.”

    Dean mewls and whimpers and Sam speeds up, cock twitching at what those sounds do to his body.

    “God, wanna fuck you so bad.” Sam admits on a sigh.

    “Don’t say things like that, Sammy.” Dean responds breathless, not at all sounding sincere.

    “It’s okay to be turned on by all those images in your head. I mean, look at me, I’m turned on from watching you, and you’re my brother.”

    “You’re not helping, Sam.”

    “All I’m saying is, I got turned on by a gay porn once.”

    “What?” Dean demands, teeth biting into the bottom of his lip, and Sam watches the bulbous shiny head peak out from Dean’s fist as he quickens his strokes.

    “Yeah, I was watching this guy get head, and he was really into it. None of that crappy-line delivery that always kills the mood for me in porn. Anyway, the camera was doing that thing where it doesn’t fully show who’s between the guys legs, and when it did, it was another guy.”

    “No shit? The girls never came?” Dean asks, voice molten heat as he strokes faster.

    “Nope, but I was already half-hard and it didn’t go down at the sight of two guys fucking, so I jerked off to it. It‘s was actually really hot. Not as hot as you right now, though.”

    Dean moans, saliva running down his lips, mingling with the sweat.

    “Shut up, Sam!” Tears of frustration and over-whelming pleasure leak out of the corners of Dean’s eyes as he wraps his hand around his cock tighter.

    “You know, I cried during sex once, too.”

    “Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean grits, lids squeezed tightly shut.

    “No, I’m not gonna lie, if the sex is good enough, I might shed a tear or two. But it’s only happened the one time.”

    “Oh yeah? Did you let some chick peg you or something?” Dean asks, self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he continues to twist his fist over his dick.

    “No, I was thirteen and I was jerking off thinking about you while I held your boxers up to my face.”

    “Holy-fucking-God!” Dean’s coming for the third time, long streaks of white hit his chest to join his previous release. Sam watches as the pleasure makes his body seize and he wants to be there so badly, but he wont go. Not without-

    “Sam! Come here and fucking touch me already!”

    Sam goes eagerly, losing his clothes until he arrives by Dean’s side, naked. Dean pulls him in and Sam falls on top of him.

*

    In the morning, Sam wakes feeling used and sucked dry. His ass is burning, his head is pounding, and he’s surprised his dick is still attached. Every time he’d said anything or made any type of noise, Dean got hard. And it wasn’t like Sam could stop, either, what with his mouth being looser than a gossip whore. He had lost count of exactly how many times they went last night, but he was sure it was somewhere in the high double digits before their fuck-a-thon ended as the sun began to rise.

    Sam had sat on Dean’s chest while he slowly fucked his mouth, watching as his long cock disappeared in and out down Dean’s throat, red swollen lips wrapped beautifully around him and Dean had taken him all. Swallowed every drop of Sam‘s come like it was a treat! Dean had ridden him fast and hard, as if he was in some kind of race to an invisible finish line, all the while singing a different tune from earlier.

    “Christ, Sammy! Open your mouth and say something! Anything!”

    And Sam had. He’d talked and talked and talked some more. Sometimes, he would move out of Dean’s reach, lean up against the wall and talk until Dean came again from his words alone.

    Sam had Dean on his knees, fucking him from behind, and when he couldn’t move anymore, Dean had his fun, taking all his magic-induced stamina out on Sam’s ass, and Sam had lain there, unable to shut up, feeding Dean’s desire while he moved Sam’s body in whatever position or angle he wanted, pulling out only to ram back in until Sam rested up enough to make Dean take it, and the cycle repeated itself.

    Dean stirred on top of him and groaned, slowly blinking his eyes open.

    “Fuck.” He muttered, voice sounding like someone had run sandpaper over his vocal chords.

    “Already did that.” Sam answered automatically and it’s a horrible joke with horrible timing. His voice sounds worse than Dean’s. Mostly from all the talking he did last night. And the screaming.

    “Jesus, Sam. My ass feels like a bulldozer is shoved up it.” Dean complains as he reaches for one of the many glasses of water on the nightstand. They had to do something last night to keep the fluids coming and the dehydration away. Dean takes a big gulp and hands it to Sam before trying to get up, skin pulling painfully against Sam’s just as he takes a drink, making him choke and splutter.

    “Ow, Dean! What the fuck!”

    “Sam…we’re stuck together.”

    Sam looks down, wide-eyed, and sure enough, their skin is covered in dry come, flaking off in some places, making their skin stick together in others.

    “How are we even alive after all that?” Sam asks, voice revealing how awe-struck he is.

    “Maybe I should just do it quick like a band-aid…rip it off.” Dean mutters to himself, still contemplating how he’s going to get up.

    “Don’t! Do that.” Sam yells, panic clearly evident and Dean’s green eyes look up to meet Sam’s.

    Slowly, they manage to peel away from each other.

    “That’s gross.” Dean says, looking down his chest at all the dried come from him and Sam.

    “Is it over? Are you still…”

    “Getting a hard-on for your voice? No. This is normal morning wood, just like yours.” Dean answers, motioning towards their matching erections.

    “So I guess this means-”

    “It means that we need a shower, Sammy. So move your ass!” He demands, shooing Sam towards the bathroom, and Sam goes a little giddily.

    “You’re not gonna molest me in the shower, are you Dean?”

    “I didn’t hear any complaints last night.”

    “I was too busy being cursed.”

    “Shut up, bitch. I rocked your world.”

    “Don’t brag, Dean. All that stamina you had was just the spell reacting to my voice.” Sam argued, climbing into the shower and turning on the spray until it heated.

    “Wanna test that theory, Sammy?” Dean asked, pinning Sam to the cold tile of the shower wall, and oh, did Sam wanna test it.

    “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He challenged, and Dean smirked before moving in.

    Maybe not all witches were bad.

THE END