Title: So I Know You're Mine
Author: ThatBeckygirl
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Note: "Before He Cheats" belongs entirely to Carrie Underwood, folks. And Sam and Dean belong to Kripke & Co. Written for wendy over at LJ because she wanted it! :)
Summary: Sam gets a wee bit jealous and there's a karoke machine....after a version of "Before He Cheats" and a panic attack, porniness ensues.

***

It started off innocently enough.

 

At the end of the day's work, Sam and Dean headed for the nearest bar to ease some of the kinks before hitting the motel room and...er...working on some more kinks.

 

Sam, being the workaholic and nerdy brother he was, took the laptop into said bar to look for their next gig. No big deal. It was typical Sammy, after-a-hunt behavior.

 

Dean, never being able to truly sit still, mingled with the locals, hustled at pool for some money to support his M&M habit. No big deal. It was typical Dean, any-time-of-the-week behavior.

 

But, apparently, it wasn't innocent in Sam's eyes.

 

Dean was just standing at the bar, having a nice chat with a blonde girl "“ what was her name again? Sandy? Sabrina? Carmen? "“ when the karaoke music started up. He turned around to smile at Sam and give him that "look what some drunk ass has gotten himself into now" look.

 

But, Sam wasn't at their table. In his place were four empty beer bottles. And, oh Dear Lord, this couldn't be good.

 

He groaned inwardly, possibly out loud, and hesitantly looked up at the karaoke stage. Yup. His worst fears were realized: there stood Sammy, with a total bitchface and a microphone gripped tightly in his right hand.

 

He was about to run up and grab his not-so-little brother off of the little platform when Sam started singing and Dean had to take a long pull from his new Budweiser just to stop from laughing hysterically.

 

Right now, he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blond tramp and she's probably getting frisky.

 

Sam wasn't the best singer under normal circumstances, but add alcohol into the mix and it could go one of two ways: he was freakin' Josh Groban or turned into William Hung. Luckily for everyone in the bar, tonight was more towards the Josh Groban end of the scale.

 

But, still...the song? Awesome. Sammy was jealous and Dean couldn't be happier. A jealous Sam could turn out to be very interesting...

 

Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink "˜cause she can't shoot whiskey.

 

Dude, Sam couldn't even handle whiskey!

 

Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick showing her how to shoot a combo.

 

And he don't know...

 

Oh, shit. That was all Dean could think. Oh. Shit. Sam wouldn't do...no. Sammy wouldn't hurt the Impala...would he? He was obviously pissed enough to let the whole bar know they were fucking each other. But, seriously...Sammy couldn't...there wasn't enough time...How long had it been since he'd walked away from Sam? Didn't matter...right?!

 

Dean gulped. It was a good thing he was frozen to the spot otherwise he'd have bolted out the door the second the chorus started up. By the second chorus, he was gripping the bartop so hard he was getting weird looks from the blonde and the bartender.

 

I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four-wheel drive,

Carved my name into his leather seats...

I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,

Slashed a hole in all four tires...

 

Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.

 

The song ended and Dean bolted out of the bar, barely remembering to throw money down for the drinks, as every single person in the bar applauded his brother. He muttered under his breath the whole forty-five second run to his baby.

                          

"I swear to God Sammy if you fucked up that car I will fucking kill you and hide the body so that even the dogs can't find it you'd better have just been venting so help me God I'll do it I will "“"

 

He let out a massive sigh of relief as he saw the Impala sitting there, intact. He walked the last few feet, adrenaline fading and leaving a terrible stitch in his left side. Mental note: Do NOT run after three beers.

 

He slid into the driver's seat "“ onto Sammy-carved-free leather, thank God "“ and just sat there, breathing in the scent he knew so well. He lovingly caressed the steering wheel. He apologized to her several times, for any future infringements on her beauty.

 

After a few minutes of no drunken Sammy sliding in next to him, Dean made his way back to the bar, glancing back at the car every few feet "“ ya know, just in case. He found Sam sulking at the table, staring blankly at all the empty bottles.

 

"You all right now, Princess?" he said with an irritated smirk, invading Sam's personal space.

 

Sam glared up at him with much more animosity than he should have been able to muster with twice his personal alcohol limit thrumming through his body. But, there was no mistaking that look. Sammy was jealous.

 

And hurt.

 

"M'tired of you fuckin' "˜round with e'erybody," he slurred, turning his attention back to the bottles.

 

Dean sighed and dropped his head so that it was level with Sam's ear. "Sammy. Now is not the time or the place. Now, grab your laptop and let's go."

 

He didn't wait for Sam to comply, just turned around and walked back to the Impala. He'd barely slid behind the wheel before Sam was sliding in next to him and then they were off. Back to the motel where it was slightly more private and Dean could show Sam just how much fucking around he was doing.

 

Sam stalked in and Dean had to hide the smile on his face as he followed. Sam flung himself down on his bed, hands behind his head, and stared angrily up at the ceiling. Dean dropped his keys, his jacket and his cell phone on the other bed, while toeing off his shoes and socks, and climbed onto the one Sam was occupying, slowly crawling up his brother's body.

 

Sam was too tired, too drunk or just too pissy to push him away, so he didn't stop, just dropped a kiss every couple inches. By the time he reached Sam's mouth, his dick was achingly hard in the confines of his jeans. All the same, this wasn't about him; this was about Sammy and proving exactly where they stood.

 

He placed his right hand over Sam's heart while he braced himself with his left and leaned to whisper in Sam's ear.

 

"Why don't you get it, man? There's no one but you," he said, his tone very easy-going, complacent, most certainly not meaning to annoy anyone.

 

That would explain why he was a little surprised when Sam flipped them so that he was staring up at his baby brother "“ his none too pleased baby brother, at that.

 

"You're the one who doesn't get it, Dean, not me."

 

Sam had a downright predatory look on his face that Dean had to admit was a major turn-on. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were already lust-blown. A slight twist of the hips and Dean could tell that little Sammy was more than ready to play.

 

He smirked up at his brother, thrusting his hips so that their erections met through layers of denim, getting the friction that was so obviously wanted. Sam's eyes fluttered closed and he groaned at the contact, moving his hips in tandem Dean's. This worked for all of five seconds before Sam was in control again.

 

Sam's eyes flew open and he stopped the movement, splaying one large hand on Dean's hip. "You're mine tonight, Dean," he said, half-angry, half-turned on. "I am going to mark every fucking inch of you so that you never, ever, look at another person without thinking of who you belong to. I am going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to feel anything but my dick in your ass for a week. Understood?"

                                                             

Dean was going to answer, but then Sam bit down on his collarbone, simultaneously grinding his dick down against Dean's, and his snarky, prepared "yessir" came out as a long moan instead. He was perfectly okay with the whole possessive Sammy thing; to say it was fucking hot would be a massive understatement. And he'd learned that it was better if you didn't lie to yourself.

 

Sam suddenly stood up, leaving Dean to lie on the bed and not lose consciousness from lack of blood to the brain. He walked across the room and started rummaging in their bags, presumably for lube, throwing a single word over his shoulder:

 

"Strip."

 

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He immediately shot up off the bed and pulled his T-shirt, tossing it over into the corner. He shimmied out of his jeans and boxers in one full swoop and they joined the discarded shirt in a heap.

 

By the time Sam had found the lube and rid himself of his own clothes, Dean was spread out and waiting. His dick was arching up towards his stomach and he knew it must be an angry red and leaking, however he was much more concerned with the image of Sam walking towards him.

 

He loved Sam, which was not a secret. But his favorite type of Sammy was definitely the naked one. Sam was all toned muscles and tanned skin. The abs on the man were only comparable to his biceps and Dean found himself on the verge of drooling every time he got to look. And the fire burning in Sam's eyes at the moment only made everything stand out that much more.

 

Dean blinked and then Sam was leaning over him, sitting across his thighs. Their mouths collided as Dean arched up and Sam leaned down. It was more about the clashing of tongue and teeth than actual kissing but, as a slick finger was pushed into his ass, Dean found he couldn't complain.

 

Sam moved away from his mouth as he slid another finger in. This was, apparently, going to be quick, down and dirty and Dean was loving every second of it. Especially when his brother started nipping at his throat.

 

Sam moved down and bit at his Adam's apple. Then he moved over to his right collarbone, biting down hard and drawing a couple drops of blood, which he quickly lapped up, ripping a half-scream-half-moan out of Dean's throat. His two fingers started scissoring back and forth, getting him good and ready, and Dean would have gladly told his brother to quit playing around and just shove in if he could have formed coherent words. Words were beyond his grasp though, since all he could think was "Oh fuck Sammy more."

 

Sam stopped his consuming of Dean's flesh, causing Dean to let out the girliest whimper ever, which he would so deny later, and sat up long enough to slick his cock up with lube. With no warning, Dean felt the intrusion of Sam's dick in his ass and he arched up, tears in his eyes because he wasn't near as ready as he thought he was.

 

Sam, never one for being totally heartless, leaned down and kissed Dean again, slipping his tongue into his brother's mouth. After a few seconds to get used to the feeling, Sam started to move, ignoring Dean's mouth once again.

 

Every thrust was accented with a sharp bite to some spot or other on Dean's torso and quickly followed by Sam's perfect mouth sucking on the same spot, lapping over it. More than once, blood was drawn again.

 

Dean could feel when Sam started to get close by the loss of rhythm in his thrusting and he suddenly realized that both he and Sam had largely ignored his dick, so caught up in the marking. So, he did what was natural: reached down in between their bodies and took care of himself.

 

Sensation overload was the only way to describe what Dean was feeling. There were simmering bite marks all over his body that he knew would be scars in the weeks to come, Sam was twisting his hips in such an erratic way that his prostrate was getting plenty of attention and he was pumping his hand almost desperately to cum somewhere around the time Sam did. The mixture of pain and pleasure was almost too much to handle, but damn if Dean wasn't trying his best to keep up.

 

He heard Sam let out a slight groan above him and looked up just a split second before his brother bit down on the side of his neck, luckily missing his jugular because he could feel blood pooling quickly underneath Sam's teeth, and then Sam came with a guttural, animalistic sound that rattled every fiber of Dean's body.

 

The pain was so intense, followed immediately by the feeling of Sam's tongue, that his own orgasm tore through him unexpectedly. He arched up into Sam, hand still working furiously to milk out every last drop, and Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders. The closeness made the feeling on Dean's dick almost painful as the haze wore off and the skin became more sensitive.

 

Dean was pretty sure he blacked out at some point because the next thing he was aware of was Sam gently tracing a washcloth over the multiple battle wounds and placing a quick kiss on each mark. He was too dazed to do anything but murmur Sam's name on repeat and he faintly heard Sam chuckle each time.

 

Sam tossed the washcloth away and softly pulled Dean towards him. Dean cuddled into Sam's warmth, mindful of stretching his skin too much. He laid his head onto Sam's chest and, right before he fell asleep, Sam kissed the top of his head in a move that was too tender to be from the man mauling his body just seconds before.

 

All the same, Dean whispered, "Yours Sam...always yours."

 

* * *

 

When Dean woke up the next morning, he was instantly aware of his upper body. He grimaced and gently pushed himself up out of bed. He padded to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror above the sink.

 

And he smiled, a move that would have seemed a little insane to any normal person.

 

There were at least five bite marks, including the one on the left side of his neck from when Sammy came, that had scabbed over in the night. There were many more bites that were mere bruises in the shape of teeth. He ran his hand over each one, remembering what they meant and trying desperately not to get hard at the stimulation.

 

He was Sam's. Of course, he'd always known that he belonged to Sam, since the moment Mom and Dad had brought the wrinkly bundle home. Sam was the only one who'd ever doubted it. And he still wasn't sure what had brought the whole thing on last night, but at least now they both had physical proof.

 

He heard the motel door close a minute before Sam appeared behind him in the mirror with squinty eyes and a more-than-apologetic smile. Dean let his hand drop to his side as Sam raised his to mimic Dean's prior movements.

 

Sam gently ran his big paw over his brother's chest and stomach, both sets of eyes following the action. He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to the worst of them, the one next to his jugular, causing Dean to shiver. "I'm sorry," he whispered against the skin.

 

Dean let out a small laugh and turned around to face his brother. "It's okay, Sammy. Trust me, no harm done," he said, reaching up to kiss the younger man quickly.

 

Then, he added, "Well, other than the obvious."

 

Sam smiled down at him sheepishly and wrapped his arms around the older man. "We're cool, then?" he asked, as leaned his cheek on top of his brother's head and pulled him closer.

 

"S'long as you never scare me half to death like that again. If you ever think about doing something to my car..." he trailed off, knowing Psychic Boy could fill in the blank.

 

Sam laughed. "Then we call a truce. You don't freak me out with the prospect of a skinny little blond chick taking away my brother and I won't give you a heart attack about your car."

 

"Sounds good to me, Little Brother."

 

Sam nodded. "Alright...how bout we get something on those battle wounds. I can imagine that my mouth's not the...um...most sanitized of places."

 

Dean laughed, nodded in consent and pulled away from Sam. He walked out into the main room and settled back on the bed. Sam grabbed the first-aid kit and sat down on the edge next to him. He was avoiding Dean's eyes like the plague as he got the supplies out.

 

Dean sat up and turned his brother's face towards him, forcing their eyes to lock. "Sammy. Stop. Okay? Stop beating yourself up, man. "˜Cause seriously? A jealous you is the hottest thing I've ever seen, first off. And, second, now you know. I'm yours. I've always been yours and now you've got proof. Honest-to-God, physical scars that prove it. If this is what you needed, then I am more than happy to provide it."

 

Sam's eyes began to well up with tears as he leaned in and placed his forehead against Dean's. "Thank you."

 

Dean smiled. "Anytime."

 

They didn't come out and say it, but they were thinking the same thing: Love you...thanks for being mine.

***