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Bite	By : rae_roberts Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4187 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and make no profit from this story. Just borrowing Sam and Dean for fun.

Chapter List
- 1-Bite
- 2-Ring
- 3-Rape
- 4-Taken
- 5-Finished
- 6-Grind
- 7-Ride
- 8-Submission
- 9-Sixty-nine
- 10-Flashback I
- 11-Mirror, Mirror
- 12-Hoodoo
- 13-Confession
- 14-Flashback II
- 15-Home
- 16-The End
- 5
- 6
- 7
Shower time was becoming Dean’s time to take stock of life in this new, weird universe he’d been thrown into. In the plus column this morning, he’d already survived two attempts on his life. First the werewolf attack, and then the cursed ring that had forced him and Sam to mate or die.
On the minus side… Mating with Sam. Dean’s stomach gave a queasy lurch and his mind rapidly skimmed past the events of last night. Waking up this morning—and here were more details Dean would just as soon forget, such as Sam’s morning wood snugged up tight against the crack of his ass and Sam’s cum still leaking from his raw, sorely abused hole—both hunters had silently agreed to go on about their day as if nothing had happened.
Plus side, Dean couldn’t help but remember as the shower ran over the impressive length of his still-sensitive cock, werewolf sex included mind-blowing multiple orgasms. ...Totally awesome, he had to admit.
Minus side, Sam’s multiple orgasms. In Dean’s ass. Dean didn’t begrudge the man his enjoyment, it was just the location of that enjoyment he objected to. Never again, he vowed as he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist.
Oh, and another one for the minus column, Sam had completely destroyed Dean’s clothes in his cursed-heat-induced frenzy. He’d already been borrowing Sam’s shirts since arriving in this universe with nothing but the clothes on his back. Now his only pair of jeans were lying in a useless tangle of shredded denim on the motel room floor, a painful reminder of Dean’s humiliation.
“Dude. We have to find an army surplus or something,” Dean groused. Going commando in his not-brother’s too-long designer-label jeans was so not his style. Dean was a Levi’s man, plain and simple.
...
“...Dean, about last night—”
“Don’t,” Dean growled, although he had to admit he was a little impressed with this universe’s version of Sam. They’d made it through breakfast, a shopping trip to replenish Dean’s wardrobe, and more work on their current hunt before his not-brother had given in to his inevitable need to discuss their feelings about the rape of the night before.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” Dean said again. “One, we were under a curse. Two, we lived through it. And three, it’ll never happen again, right, Sam?”
“We’re still cursed,” Sam pointed out, twisting the silver ring on the fourth finger of his left hand, an obscene parody of a wedding band.
Dean’s hand still sported the matching ring, no longer causing him pain, but still stuck firmly on his finger. “So we’ll get some bolt cutters or something and cut them off,” he insisted, strongly suspecting that wouldn’t end any better in this world than it would have back home, but unwilling to consider the consequences just now. “Please, Sam, let’s just work this job.”
...
...And minus side, now the damned cursed ring was hurting again. Dean looked over at Sam, who was driving, noting the sweat that beaded the big hunter’s forehead, his rapid, shallow breathing, the way he cradled his hand in his lap. “Pull over, man, you’re in no shape to drive.”
“I’m fine,” Sam gritted, stubborn, but when a rest stop came up he pulled in, parking the Mustang at the end of the empty parking lot.
Dean stepped out of the car, his own hand and arm throbbing with pain, unsure what they were going to do about this latest, unwelcome twist. Sam slammed the driver’s side door behind him and met Dean at the front of the car. He held his hand out and Dean reluctantly placed his palm against Sam’s. The two rings touched and the agony burning through his hand and up his arm swiftly ebbed away. Dean could tell Sam felt the relief, too, but his not-brother’s forehead remained wrinkled with concern, the lines of his shoulders taut under his canvas jacket.
“You’re still in heat.” Sam’s voice was hoarse as he dropped his hand and stepped back. He ducked his head, not meeting Dean’s eyes.
Dean’s cock hardened instantly and a faint whimper escaped past his lips. Sam wasn’t making any move to touch him, in fact the other hunter was very obviously struggling to keep his distance, but Dean could feel the werewolf’s need and it awakened a deep-seated instinct in him to tend to it. Maybe it was because a part of him still considered this Sam the little brother he’d always taken care of, or maybe it was an echo of the submission he’d felt last night while Sam’s cock had torn into his virgin ass, opening it wide for his own pleasure.
Whatever it was, it had Dean moving to close the space Sam had put between them. He took Sam’s chin in his hand, raising his head, forcing the taller man to look at him. “Hey. It’s going to be all right.”
Sam’s pupils were dilated, his golden eyes darkened with lust to the color of whiskey. His chest heaved with rapid, panting breaths as he struggled for control, his hands fisted at his sides. “I promise I won’t hurt you. Never again,” he murmured brokenly.
“I know.” And he did, somehow, even knowing Sam easily had the strength to tear his new clothes off and subject him to another brutal rape, but that hadn’t really been Sam, Dean told himself as a shiver of anticipation ran down his spine. That mindless violence had been the curse compelling Sam to mate, and once he’d gotten a handle on it the alpha had done his best to mitigate the effects. “I know, Sam.” Dean threaded his fingers through his not-brother’s ridiculously long hair and pulled his head down, brushing his lips against Sam’s in a kiss that was gentle but insistent. His cock stirred restlessly, pressing tight against the stiff, new denim of his jeans.
Sam growled deep in his throat and the kiss instantly turned wanton and wild, his tongue pushing past the soft, pliant barrier of Dean’s lips and wrestling Dean’s tongue into submission. A heated moan tore from Dean’s throat as he felt the press of Sam’s fangs against his mouth, the faint rasp of his not-brother’s skin, clean-shaven but still rougher than the soft, smooth skin of the women Dean was used to kissing back home in his own world.
Dean gasped as the werewolf picked him up as effortlessly as if he was a woman himself and not close to two hundred pounds of solid muscle.   Sam carried him to the hood of the ‘67 Mustang and laid him out on it almost reverently, following him down to grind his hips against Dean’s and claim his mouth in another blistering kiss. Dean couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his legs around Sam’s waist, tilting his pelvis for a better angle to grind against the hot, hard bulge of Sam’s cock. He couldn’t stop the fevered growls and whimpers that tore from his throat, his heightened senses making the thrust of Sam’s tongue into his mouth feel almost as good as sex itself.
“Sam…” Dean pushed him back, but only so he could fumble open the buttons of Sam’s fly and let the magnificent length of his cock tumble out of its denim prison, pre-cum already glistening on the head.
Sam let out a low, strained growl and his hips bucked as Dean gripped his cock, slicking his palm with Sam’s pre-cum and stroking him firmly from base to tip and back again.   “Please, Dean… I just want to touch you, I promise,” he begged.
Dean felt another shiver run down his spine and his cock strained harder against the confines of his jeans. Unable to trust his voice, he simply nodded, lying back on the sun-warmed hood of the classic muscle car and letting his not-brother do what he would to him. Sam’s fingers dug into his waistband and for a frantic instant Dean thought the big alpha was going to rip yet another pair of jeans to shreds. Sam stuttered out a laugh, harsh and broken, and recovered himself, carefully undoing the buttons of Dean’s fly and sliding the rough, new denim down just far enough to free his cock. The fabric bunched over Dean’s balls, coarse and constricting but oddly comforting as he realized Sam was deliberately keeping a barrier between his monster cock and Dean’s still-sore and tormented ass.
He threw back his head and moaned as Sam leaned over him, bringing his cock to lay alongside Dean’s and gripping them both together in his long, strong fingers, giving both a couple of clumsy, lust-addled strokes before abandoning the idea and bracing his hands on either side of Dean’s shoulders and grinding his hips down on Dean’s.

Sparks flared in Dean’s vision and he moaned again, reaching up to clutch Sam’s broad shoulders, grinding his cock against Sam’s, both hard and thick and slick with ropes of pre-cum. Sam quickened the pace, taking Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and worrying it, making Dean growl with the intense sensations of mingled pain and pleasure as Sam’s fangs drew blood. Dean could feel his balls tightening under the tangle of denim, his cock hardening even more as his climax built. Sam kept grinding into him, frotting their cocks together, growling and whining as the delicious friction drove him on toward his own fierce climax.   Dean arched his back, heels drumming against the hood of the Mustang as his cock pulsed.   He felt the heat of Sam’s cock, throbbing against his as it pulsed out its own sweet release, and with a final howl of ecstasy Dean blacked out.
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Bite