All Dogs Don’t Go To Heaven

Sam/Dean. NC-17. ~1500 words. Bestiality (because no one should ever tell me I can’t do something).
“In the meantime, you could go chase some pussy.”

For the fifth time, Dean shoves Sam’s nose out of the shower. “This is what we call private time. You switched species, not brains, you dumb mutt.”

Sam bares his teeth. Admittedly, it’s pretty god damn intimidating, even without all of Dean’s favourite parts just a couple feet away from those pearly whites. Sam makes one fuckass huge Doberman. He’s all pointy angles and sharp edges, which isn’t all that different from the usual, except now it involves teeth.

Grabbing up the shampoo bottle in a fit of desperation, Dean levels it straight at Sam’s face. A weird knot of tension builds between Dean’s shoulders before Sam finally gets bored. He lets out a quiet whuff and leaves, nails clicking on the cheap linoleum.

Two point five minutes later, Dean’s out, in boxers and a tee and flopped on the bed for some quality time with the television.

Sam jumps up on the bed, snuffs at the pillows and Dean’s neck until Dean shoves him off, then settles down against his side with a disturbingly familiar sigh.

“Look, man,” Dean says. “I’m sorry you got cursed. But you know how these things work, we’ll find the trigger or it’ll wear off in like, a week, max.” Not really thinking about it, he reaches over to scratch behind Sam’s ears. “In the meantime, you could go chase some pussy.”

Sam gives him a look that’s pure doggy poetry.

Sometime between pulling Sam’s tail–figuratively speaking–and the Late Show, Dean falls dead asleep. They’d been out hunting the whole night before and trying to break the shiny new curse they’d gotten out of the deal since morning, so it’s not all that surprising.

It’s still dark when he wakes up groggy, his cock pleasantly heavy and the vague notion of taking a piss slogging around the dream-steeped sludge in his head. There’s a quiet noise beside him, something between a sniff and a whine, and then Sam’s cold, wet nose is up the leg of his boxers.

“Jesus Christ, Sam! Personal space!”

In the middle of scrambling away, lots and lots of really, really sharp teeth graze his thigh. He freezes automatically and feels the points dig in a little harder, Sam’s tongue a sloppy, warm weight against his skin.

“C’mon, Sam.”

Sam just digs in harder, growling.

“Ow, Christ, okay.” Raising both hands, palms out, Dean lays back down against the pillows. “What the fuck’s your problem?” he hisses.

Slowly, Sam releases. He noses at Dean’s thigh for a second, like he’s scenting for blood, then rests one paw over the mark. He lifts it again and bares all his teeth before setting it firmly back down.

“Uh. Okay?”

Which is apparently all Sam was waiting for, because right after that his nose is stuck in Dean’s goddamn crotch.

“Hey, hey-”

Sam snaps at the air above Dean’s dick, which is without a doubt the quickest way anything’s ever shut him up in his entire life.

Point made, Sam goes back to nosing around where he’s got no business nosing. Trying to make sense of exactly what’s going on here hurts, because as far as Dean can tell, his brother, turned Doberman, is currently trying to poke his nose through the slit in Dean’s shorts.

That makes the kind of sense that isn’t sense at all.

When Sam nips the elastic between his teeth and gives it a vicious tug, yanking Dean more than a couple inches down the bed, Dean yelps. All Sam does is growl deep in his throat and tug again, ripping at the seams.

And Dean’s had enough of this shit. He rolls up and away, getting a hot swipe of nails across the back of his thigh for his trouble. He doesn’t get far, Sam digging in and putting all his weight behind it. Then the little shit lets go in a move that’s all Sam and jumps him, a hundred pounds of snapping, snarling weight bearing him straight down into the lumpy mattress.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Sammy. You got some weird territorial shit you need to work out, okay, but I’m sure as hell not the bitch in this room,” Dean says, and he knows he’s rambling like a motherfucker but seriously, seriously.

His pulse is racing doubletime, waiting for Sam’s next move.

Sam’s weight shifts, both front paws heavy on his back, and Sam noses at the inside of his thigh again, nipping.

On reflex, Dean jerks out of the way–Sam’s teeth are way too close to something important there–and Sam nips again, and again, until realisation dawns sickly black in the pit of Dean’s stomach.

Careful and even, Dean says, “This isn’t funny.”

Sam lets out a quiet whuff of air that slides warm over Dean’s bare ass.

“Sam,” Dean tries again.

Sam licks him.

From balls to tailbone, right between the cheeks, Sam licks him.

Dean is shocked absolutely fucking speechless.

Then Sam does it again, slow and wet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Dean rasps.

Sam growls warningly, the mattress dipping as he shifts to plant a huge paw on one cheek. He licks the back of Dean’s thigh, his hip, his ass, all long and lazy, and starts nosing at Dean’s dick again, trapped against the mattress.

The next lick turns into the scrape of teeth, which is more than enough to get Dean edging up and away. He’s stopped thinking about what the hell’s going on. Thinking about it isn’t helping, and it’s far more prudent to work on how to end this with his balls still safely attached.

One thing he’s definitely not thinking about is the wet heat between his legs. So it’s a tongue. Tongues in certain places feel good. So it’s his brother’s tongue. Whatever. Laugh it off in the morning.

Except his brother’s currently a dog and his brother’s tongue is currently doing things tongues don’t normally do, and it’s maybe pushing up inside him a little in a way that shouldn’t feel like it does.

Sam licks down lower, tongue flicking out to graze his cock. On a curse, Dean jerks and Sam growls in response, quieter than before. He nudges at Dean’s cock, pressing it up against his belly and starts licking in earnest.

Blood pounds through Dean’s veins in a dizzying rush. He’s going to come. From this.

Sam bites at his hip. The mattress dips again. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean tries to control his breathing, tries not to make a sound as Sam’s warm belly fur rubs over his back, as Sam’s wet cock pushes between his legs.

This is going to happen and he’s going to let it. If he ever thought about Sam like this, he’d have guessed Sam would go slow, easy. He’d have pictured Sam human.

This isn’t like that.

This is Sam rutting up into him, lots of slick along the way but it’s fast, rough, nails scratching over his back and sharp-edged teeth closing over his neck. It’s nothing but fucking, Sam driving into him over and over, sliding out once when his paw slips and surging right back up, driving straight back in.

Dean feels it when Sam comes and his stomach lurches violently. Still, he holds himself up as Sam lets out a choppy howl, doesn’t try to pull away when he settles back down, paws skidding along his sides.

Just to make sure, Sam takes the back of Dean’s neck between his jaws and pushes down. Dean goes, already feeling the knot buried inside him grow larger. It presses against things inside him that don’t need more stimulation. His hips jerk, his cock rubbing against the rough coverlet.

Sam eases up, making a soft noise. Hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, Dean rocks down again and groans at pull of the knot against the stretched rim of his hole.

He gets himself off like that, with Sam giving his shaking shoulders encouraging little licks.

When dawn comes, he wakes to a fingertip rubbing gently over his hole and a very human Sam staring down at it, wide-eyed and scared, nostrils flared on a sharp breath.

Dean’s pulse picks up as his eyes slam shut. Sam’s touch settles but something still isn’t right. Shivers kick up under Dean’s skin, skitter up his spine and dig in deep, claw at the jumbled mess inside him made up of the throbbing bite at his throat, the scratches on his back, his fucked-out hole and his brother’s come.

Dean rolls onto his side away from Sam, head bowed, knee sliding up the sheets, hips tilted just so. One long finger pushes up into him, slick and easy, and Dean shakes, hates and wants and burns red with the shame he tries stupidly to hide from Sam by turning his face from lips grazing his jaw and offering everything else instead.


5 Responses to “All Dogs Don’t Go To Heaven”

  1. gestaltrose Says:

    uh hot damn… that was wrong and hot and just wrong. Great job!

  2. z. Says:

    this was disturbingly hot. really, really disturbing but also REALLY, REALLY hot. *keels over*
    thank you for this.

  3. Votaku Says:

    I have to agree with the above…That was totally wrong and disturbing but really really hot too. damn.

  4. meandsesshy Says:

    LOL! OMG< I didn’t even know that there was Sam/Dean Bestiality out there… but in any case, I do love me some dominated Dean, by Doberman-Sam or not.

  5. SlashAddx Says:

    Well fuck. wow. Way to combine crazy eroticlit fetishes. After knotting up, Dean’s never going to be the same. This was brilliant.

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