Who's the Boss?

They are not mine, I've only borrowed them, please don't sue.

Not sure where this story is going, I was just struck by how much of their sparring in the series seems like foreplay and hey we all know where foreplay leads... and it seemed like fun to flip their roles too.


Sam stared at Dean with quiet concern as he moved around the motel room packing his stuff. Gradually his movements became more and more aggressive until eventually he threw his bag to the floor and shouted at his brother. “Would you just stop looking at me like that? I am fine. I do not want you to call Dad. I don’t need a doctor. Or a shrink … and I am not being irrational, I’m just sick of you treating me like some kind of freak. I AM FINE! I'm just finding it difficult to sleep.”
Sam swallowed and took a step back, looking away, trying hard to think what to say. “Dean, I …” his voice faltered as Dean shot him a look full of venom, snatched up his bag and headed for the car.
Sam grabbed his own things and hurried after him, feeling every bit the baby brother, just as he had when they were children. This is ridiculous, he thought to himself, I am not a little kid anymore. I’m the tallest now for fuck’s sake.
“Get in the car, Sam,” Dean ordered, “and don’t say another word.”
Having only uttered two words in the whole argument so far, Sam blinked and started slightly, gasping at the unfairness of the remark. Dean was already in the driver’s seat and turning the ignition, causing him once again to rush clumsily to catch up.
Slumping into his seat, Sam bit his lip and began to play with his phone, studiously reading his e-mails, pretending to ignore the uncomfortable tension in the Impala. Dean was drumming his fingers on the wheel, still extremely agitated. Sam dropped his head further and scooted down the seat. Dean turned on the stereo and slammed in a Black Sabbath tape, allowing it to blast from the speakers. Sam hated Black Sabbath and Dean knew it. Sam risked a brief glance at his brother’s face and it was all the excuse Dean needed.
He slammed on the brakes and swung the Impala off the road onto the dirt verge. He cuffed Sam violently across the side of the head and reached over him to open the passenger door, before shoving him out. Not letting up for a second he leapt out after him, landing on top of Sam, punching and slapping. They rolled across the ground, fighting. Initially, Sam defending himself only, but as the unfairness of it all began to rankle he started to fight back.
They rolled over and over in the dirt, scuffling, neither really gaining the upper hand, until they fell into a gully. Sam landing heavily on top of Dean, winding him. Seizing the advantage Sam grabbed each of Dean’s hands, pinning them to the ground with his own, hooking his feet over Dean’s knees to prevent him from kicking his legs and throwing them over.
“Would you just stop, god damn it,” Sam growled.
Dean gasped for air, lungs burning, as Sam stared down at him, hazel eyes blazing with anger, panting and fucking irresistible. Dean moaned, the desire uncontrollable as he felt the heat of Sam’s breath on his cheek, felt his brother’s weight across his body, the sensation of being pinned by Sam too familiar from his dreams. Sam’s mouth was a thin line, until he saw the tears glistening in his brother’s eyes, chin dimpling, the corner of his mouth pulling away uncontrollably.
“Dean…” voice full of compassion as he released his hold on his brother. Stroking his cheek with hesitant fingers, watching with heart breaking sorrow as Dean flinched away from his touch. Dean rolled into a ball and began to sob. Sam moved carefully, before lying down beside him, spooning him, wrapping long arms around him and murmuring meaningless, but comforting noises.
The soft short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck bristled under the hum of Sam’s voice, the tingle of arousal increasing the agony in his heart. This was sick, so sick, how could he explain this to Sam, but God, he didn’t want to move, needed this contact, felt the undeniable tightness of his jeans, the urge to rock into the feeling, to allow himself … He froze as Sam gently closed his lips onto the back of his neck, nipping at the point where the curve of neck and shoulder joined. His mouth and eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Did you think you could hide this from me,” Sam whispered quietly, “I’ve been sharing your dreams for weeks.” He shifted his weight again, rolling Dean onto his back, hazel eyes dark with arousal, gazing down into deep green pools, which flicked nervously across his face. Dean’s expression a mixture of confusion and hope.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Sam closed soft dry lips over his, tongue meeting tongue, the shared heat intoxicating, sending jolts of ecstasy through his groin. Sam drew back, smiling at Dean’s confusion. How sweet it was to finally be the one in charge. “Not another word Dean, I know exactly what you need.”
He dropped his knee between Dean’s thighs, pushing his firm leg muscles against the bulge of Dean’s crotch, raising his knee slightly to gently massage his cock through two layers of denim. Dean arched, and moaned again, lost in the delirium of the moment. Heart pounding, mind beyond rational thought, utterly lost in the wild agony of need for Sam.
“Oh, God, Sammy…” those lips sealed his words back into his mouth, as soft hands pulled his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, trapping them by his sides, before gentle fingers crept across his stomach, scratching lightly, leaving trails of fire across the skin, which prickled, goose flesh and a pulse of pleasure that he thought for a moment would finish him. His groans and mewling were lost in the soft sweet heat of Sam’s mouth. He struggled to free his hands of his shirtsleeves, desperate to touch; only to feel Sam draw back, pushing him down. He opened his eyes in time to see Sam, sat astride him, T-shirt half over his head, the ripple of muscle under the skin, before he threw it behind him. He smiled his crooked smile at Dean, the look of triumph on his face amazing his brother.
“What, like I can’t want this, too. Why didn’t you talk to me? Why do you always have to keep up the moody self-contained shit? Can’t keep stuff from me, I’m ‘psychic boy’ remember? Oh fuck you are so hot when you look like that.” He leant forward, harsh whispers tickling Dean’s ear and neck. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, that you come screaming.”
Dean pulled his ‘what the fuck’ expression, and Sam could contain himself no longer, he dragged Dean’s jeans and shorts down over his hips and down towards his feet, leaving them pooled at his ankles. Dean kicked his feet, tangling his jeans on his clumpy boots, until Sam dropped against his chest, teeth nipping at his jaw and neck. Hands roving over every inch of skin he could find, teasing and scraping, hard muscles pushing Dean’s rigid erection against his own stomach, the pressure and friction tearing another guttural groan from his throat. Teeth catching his lip attempting to hold back the surge of orgasm which threatened to overwhelm him.
Sam kissed him bruisingly, teeth clashing against his lips, tongue aggressively assaulting his parted lips. “Dean,” he gasped, “On your knees.”
Without really thinking about it Dean rolled over, hands and feet still trapped in his own clothes, face pressed into the dirt. The cool air flowing over his rock hard cock, pre-cum feeling like antifreeze. Sam pulled him upright, drawing his t-shirt over his head and throwing it to one side, pushing Dean back onto his hands, feather light kisses tracing the smooth bumps of his spine, sucking, scolding hot mouth and tongue, moving lower and lower. Dean arched hard as Sam lapped around the soft puckered opening, tongue gently dipping in and out, pausing to say, “Don’t you even think about touching yourself.”
Dean stopped, hand mid air. He placed his hand back on the ground. “Sammy, please,” he begged, pushing back towards him. “I won’t do it again, just please don’t stop,” Sam smirked, he wished he had a recorder for that. Dean begging, so sweetly. “Back to the car,” Sam ordered, “I’m not finishing this in the dirt. I want you on your back screaming my name, and this dirt is murdering my knees.” He giggled hysterically at his own boldness. I’m turning into Dean, he thought idly.
He hauled a shocked Dean to his feet and watched as he drew his shorts and pants back up over the smooth curve of his ass. Sam licked his lips, drawing his bottom lip through his teeth, pushing Dean ahead of him back to the car.