Dean ghosted his fingers across Sam's entrance. Sam writhed, hands gripping the wooden slats of the solid oak headboard.
"Christ. You want me to finger you so bad, Sammy. Look at you." Dean gazed at his baby brother, spread out for him without a shred of inhibition.
Sam's voice turned petulant. "Come on, Dean. Stop fucking teasing and do it."
Dean smirked. "Wrong tone of voice, baby boy."
Sam's face fell.
"You love it so much. Having something in your ass. Don't you."
Sam whispered, "You know I do."
"Love having me inside you. Love it when I finger you nice and slow, stretch you open. Love it when I fuck you and fall asleep inside you."
"I bet you wish you had something in your ass all the time. Filling you up."
Sam made a noise very close to a whimper.
Dean petted Sam's hole with two fingers, toying with him. "'S what you want, baby boy?"
"Magic word?" Dean circled the rim with his slicked-up fingertip.
"Please. Jesus. Dean. Please." Sam arched his back, trying to press down on Dean's finger, make it slide inside him. Dean laughed and pulled his hand back.
"Uh-uh, sweetheart. Gotta earn it."
Sam bit his lip. "Anything."
Dean leaned in and brushed his lips over the head of Sam's cock. Sam shivered.
"You go one week without anything in your ass. Not my cock. Not my fingers. Not YOUR fingers. Not a toy. Not a fucking zucchini. One week. Nothing."
Sam's eyes went wide.
"Oh, we'll fuck. We'll fuck plenty. I don't have to fuck you in the ass to fuck you. I'll make you come so good, baby brother, you won't be able to stand it. But not a damn thing in your ass for a week. You do that for me, I'll give you what you want. Get you a nice big plug, make you wear it all day for me. Give you my cock. My fingers. See how many you can take." Dean lapped at the droplets of pre-cum welling up on the head of Sam's cock. "Mmm. You taste good."
He peered up at Sam. "So… deal?"
Sam exhaled. "Deal."
They made it five days.
Dean was enjoying teasing Sam, watching him squirm, knowing what he wanted, knowing how desperate he was for Dean to give it to him. "How you doin' there, Sammy?"
Sam glared at him. "Shut up."
Dean pouted. "You know you love me."
Sam stalked to the dresser and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. "Not in the fucking mood, Dean."
Dean blinked, surprised.
"No, I'm not kidding." Sam heard the unspoken statement.
Dean tried to joke his way out of it. "What's with the stick up your ass?"
Sam sent him a look of death.
Dean winced. Wrong choice of expressions.
"Hey. We can let the deal drop. I just… you know, we like doing stuff like that."
Sam poured a generous shot of whiskey into the plastic cup and drank half of it in one go. "No. You like stuff like that." He downed the other half and poured himself some more, then sat down heavily on the bed-for-gear. "You get off on torturing me."
Dean sat down next to Sam, who immediately stood up and walked to the other end of the room.
"Sam." Dean's voice was soft.
"Dean." Sam's voice was hard.
Dean said nothing. Just sat there, letting the silence build up pressure. Sat there, waiting. Listening.
Finally Sam broke. "My body isn't your little game, Dean." Sam wouldn't look at Dean. "You don't get to… you can't just…" Sam couldn't even find the words. "I mean, you just pull something like 'a week!' out of thin air, like, sure, that'll work, Sam can just fucking HANDLE that, and I can watch him squirm and beg because that fucking amuses me. Needy fucking Sammy." Sam's voice was bitter.
Dean got up and went to Sam. "Hey." Sam recoiled, just a little, but Dean saw it.
"Hey." His voice was soft and low. "I'm sorry."
Sam stared at his glass.
"I mean it." Dean brushed his hand against Sam's arm. Sam didn't throw him off, but he remained tense and unhappy.
Dean knew the only way through this was pure honesty and self-reflection. Two things he wasn't always good at.
"It's just that… when I can get you all desperate. Begging. It's…"
"Yeah, I know. Fun for you."
"It means you really want me. Want to be with me."
Sam's gaze flashed onto Dean's face. Searching. Evaluating.
Dean swallowed and continued. "I mean. Dude. You could be with anyone. You should be with—"
"Should be with someone better."
Sam closed his eyes, the weight of understanding sinking in. He turned, pressed his forehead to Dean's.
"There isn't anyone better than you."
The day had started off so simply for Dean. Keep Sam rock-hard and aching for him all day, make him come at least three times at night, enjoy the delicious anticipation of waiting to be inside him another two days before the deal was up. And now, somehow, he was wrapped in his brother's strong arms, crying into his chest. It was amazing how quickly porn turned to chick flick.
"Need you, Sammy. Need to be inside you." And the doubt flared, hot and stinging. Maybe Sam didn't want to. Didn't want to let Dean in. Maybe his stupid little game had fucked it all up.
"Yeah. I need that too." In the interest of parity, at least Sam was also crying onto Dean. For world-saving, monster-slaying hunters, the Winchester boys sure cried a lot.
"I just… don't do that to me again. You know I'll do anything you want. But I fucking NEED you, Dean. Need you inside me."
"Ok, baby boy. S'ok."
And Dean threw his porntastic master plan to the four winds, laid his sweet baby brother out on the bed, stripped them both bare, and Sam, tearful and breathless, let him come home.