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Title: The Devil Loves Good Intentions
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: First time Wincest, dubcon, object insertion (medicine)
Summary: Sam had no idea he wanted this, but now that he's started he can't seem to stop.
Written for the Blindfold prompt: (approximate) Sam has to give Dean a suppository, and is surprised by how much he likes it.

"No way." Dean's shaking from the fever, teeth clacking as he tries to shove Sam's hands off him.  "No way in HELL are you shoving anything in my ass!"

"I don't have a choice, Dean, we're out of everything else!" Sam can feel a headache of his own setting in.  Dean is the worst patient ever and Sam is half tempted to just let him suffer. But they'd finally gotten a break on this case, and damned if Sam is going to let Dean's stubbornness get someone hurt or killed--and he knows Dean would feel the same way if he could think straight.

"Just lay back and let me get it over with," Sam growls impatiently. Dean twists around weakly, still fighting him, and Sam gives in to his exasperation. He gets a hand on Dean's chest and shoves hard, pinning Dean to the bed until he lies still.  "You'll thank me when this is over," Sam mutters.  He can feel Dean's heart thumping frantically under his hand as he yanks Dean's boxers off none too gently.

"So kicking your ass later," Dean mumbles groggily. Sam ignores him, thankful that Dean isn't fighting him any more, even if he won't hold his legs up. Sam pushes Dean's thighs up and apart, trying not to look anywhere but the tiny pink opening where the suppository has to go but unable to miss the fact that yes, his brother has freckles everywhere or that Dean's skin is soft

The flare of heat that discovery sends through him is a surprise. He'd experimented while he was at Stanford, but this...Jesus.  He flushes and looks up, a quick rush of shamed relief flooding through him as he sees that Dean is barely conscious again. His eyes drop back to the space he's made between Dean's legs and his breath catches as he reaches out slowly, lets his fingertip just graze the space under Dean's balls before pulling back.

Now that he's not fighting Dean just to do this, Sam wonders if he should use the lube hidden in his duffle. He doesn't want this to hurt, and the suppository should probably go as far in as possible.  He flushes again at the thought and gets up before he can change his mind, lets the throb of his pulse drown out the tiny voice screaming NO in the back of his mind.

Dean moans when Sam rubs a slick finger over his hole. The sound goes straight to Sam's cock, and he bites his lip as he pushes his finger slowly inside. Dean tenses at the intrusion but doesn't wake, and Sam doesn't stop. He gets a shaking hand on Dean's thigh and pushes it higher, opening Dean up even more, and Sam can't even pretend he isn't doing this now. He eases his finger in and out, groaning a little at the hot tug of Dean's body, fascinated by the way Dean's tight pink hole gives and stretches around his finger.

He's up to three when Dean shudders and tries to sit up.

"Lay down, Dean," Sam says hoarsely, pushing him back against the pillow. "I'm almost done." He fumbles in the blanket for the suppository, unwilling to look away from where his fingers are buried in Dean's body.  His cock is a hard, aching line of heat, reminding him of exactly how long it's been since he's done anything, and he wants--God, he isn't even sure what he wants, just knows he's not ready to stop.

Sam works the medicine as far into Dean's body as he can, realizing as he does so that he must have brushed against Dean's prostate a few times.  Dean's hard, and he's panting a little, sinfully hot little moans escaping every time Sam pushes in, driving Sam crazy with the things he can't believe he wants to do.

Sam can't resist curling his fingers inside Dean, looking for that spot again. The sound Dean makes when he finds it sends a delicious thrill up Sam's spine and Sam resolutely doesn't think about what he's doing as he shoves his sweats down until his cock springs free.

The first hard stroke bows his back and Sam groans, eyes fixed on Dean's red, stretched hole. He drives his fingers in harder, faster, rubbing over that sweet spot inside Dean again and again as the heat inside him builds. He's barely aware that Dean is writhing underneath him, hands clenching and twisting in the sheets. He hears it when Dean's voice changes, though, when Dean gasps <i>Sam!</i> and comes, body clenching tight around Sam's fingers. Pleasure spikes through Sam and his hips jerk helplessly as he comes with a ragged, bitten off cry.

When he can move again, Sam half stands, half falls off the bed and staggers to the bathroom. Dean is either deeply asleep or unconscious and Sam tells himself his brother won't even remember this tomorrow. He cleans Dean up and pulls the blanket up over him, doing his best to wipe away the mess they made.

When he's done, Sam collapses wearily on the other bed. He watches his brother sleep for a moment, then his eyes wander to the box of suppositories on the nightstand. Administer every six hours, he reads silently. Sounds like a good idea.
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