In their kitchen, Dean made Sam a strawberry milkshake. With their duct tape-wrapped blender. While he drank that, Dean got started on the burgers. Dessert was already in the fridge. He'd bought everything that made it up, but he was regretting that now, after Sam had told him he preferred the pies that he made himself.

"You really shrunk down while you were asleep," Dean commented as he was shaping the patties. He'd shredded a block of cheddar and kneaded it into the ground hamburger, really wanting to emphasize the "cheese" in "cheeseburgers." He'd thought about putting in bacon bits, too, but hadn't, not sure the flavor would come through. The strips that he was gonna lay on top of the patties would have to be enough. "I'm gonna blow you back up."

"You want me fatter?" Sam asked. Dean glanced over his shoulder at him.

"You're not fat."

"I feel fat." Sam sucked on the straw in his milkshake, slouched against the counter he was leaning on. It pushed his belly out. "I feel huge."

Dean threw the patties into the frying pan he'd had heating up on the stove, since they didn't have a grill. They sizzled as soon as they hit the metal. He swallowed then, suddenly, blurted, "I love running."

"What?" Sam sounded about how Dean had felt when he'd admitted he loved pie out of the blue.

"Running. I love it." Dean planted his hands on the counter, hunching his shoulders and leaning over the frying pan. "It sucked ass at first, but now I get why you do it every day. Or at least as often as you can. I've really kinda missed it since my legs...y'know." He flapped a hand at them. "Still fuckin' hate kale, though, I gotta tell you."

Sam was smiling when he looked at him. "I can't stand chili fries."

Dean shook his head, rummaging in the drawers to find a spatula. He finally came up with one, then used it to flip the patties. "No accounting for taste, I guess."

Nothing too interesting happened for the next hour or so. Dean made four bacon cheeseburgers, kept one for himself (seeing as Sam hadn't said anything about him having pizza and pop for lunch, he assumed his part of the bet was over), and served the other three to Sam. They ate together at the small table in the kitchen proper, each of them chasing their burgers with a couple beers. Dean was embarrassed to admit it, but it wasn't until recently that he'd figured out certain types of beer went better with his favorite foods than others. For what they were eating tonight, he'd broken out something nice and dark.

"Good?" he asked Sam, who seemed to be having trouble with his third and final burger.

"This beer," Sam replied, swallowing a mouthful, "is awesome." He picked up the label-less bottle and squinted at it. "Microbrew?"

"No." Yes, but Dean would give up most of his fingernails before he'd admit it. "I meant the burgers."

"Wellll..." Sam paused, taking another small-ish bite. He appeared to savor it. "Yeah, they're okay. Not my favorite, but they do grow on you if you eat enough of them."

"I'll take the victories where I can get 'em," Dean decided. It wasn't the overwhelmingly enthusiastic answer he'd wanted, but considering how Sam had felt about bacon cheeseburgers prior to this whole thing, it was something. At least he liked pie as much as Dean would prefer for him to.

After dinner, Dean left the dishes piled in the sink to "soak," gathered up everything they'd need for dessert, and led a much-fuller Sam back to his bedroom. Dean's dick was aching, and he felt like he was gonna get boner whiplash. Every time it started softening up, uninterested, something would happen in the next few minutes to make him rock-hard again. He wondered if this was one of those things you were supposed to call a doctor about.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked as Sam settled himself onto his bed again, moving with all the awkward, bulky self-awareness of a pregnant woman.

"Full, but that goes without saying." Sam rested a hand on the side of his round belly. His shirt no longer covered him quite so well. "And I'm jonesing for something sweet."

"You're in luck." Dean set the cheesecake down on Sam's bed, popping the plastic cover off it and reaching for the knife he'd brought along. Sam watched him cut it into eight pieces and lever the first of them onto a plate that already held a fork.

"My bed's gonna be full of crumbs," he commented, accepting the plate as Dean handed it to him. "Should've put a blanket down or something."

"You can sleep in mine." Dean offered it up casually, without thinking, but froze as soon as it was out of his mouth. The happy peace that he and Sam had found lately, especially today, felt like a soap bubble to him, and he was pretty sure that he'd just popped it.

Sam didn't seem offended at all, though. "You're expecting me to be able to move after I'm done with dessert? You need to step up your game."

They watched more TV. Once Sam was done with the first slice of cheesecake, Dean sliced up the pie (apple-cranberry) and gave him a slice of that. He kept a steady stream of rich pastry flowing into his ever-expanding stomach, switching off between cheesecake and pie. Sam asked for milk to drink, and as Dean headed to the kitchen to retrieve that, he had a sudden and near-overwhelming urge to give him half-and-half or even straight cream instead. He just got the milk, though. First of all, he didn't have either of the other things, and second of all, he really didn't want to risk making Sam throw up.

Dean was just surprised over and over again by how much Sam could eat and keep down, though. Maybe it was just because he was a really big guy in general, maybe it was sheer stubbornness on his part, maybe he'd finally learned to enjoy eating. At any rate, he was pretty big and heavy by the time half of both the pie and the cake were gone, grunting with effort every time he had to move himself. Dean had rolled his T-shirt up and started rubbing him again. With Sam slumped against his pillow mountain, basically only sitting up enough so he wouldn't choke while he ate and drank, Dean figured out that it was best for him to lay down next to him. His head was right next to Sam's belly, one arm folded under it and the other stretched out so he could keep a hand on his brother, rubbing up and down in slow circles. The muscles and tendons in his forearms were starting to hurt, like he'd been kneading dough or clay for hours. It wasn't that big a deal, though. What was inside Sam felt silky, almost liquid. There was still a lot of give to him.

Dean could feel the heat of him against his face, smell his skin. He'd known what Sam's skin smelled like for basically as long as he could remember, intimately familiar with all the little variations it could go through. There was a little bit of sweat there, that girly moisturizing body wash he used, with his own unique scent underlying all of it. To Dean, it'd always been something kinda vanilla-y, maybe mixed with pine or...even the way a pine forest smelled right after it rained real heavy in it. Sweet, but still masculine, almost wild. He'd kill for a candle with that smell - or, even better, to be able to bake it into a pie.

Before he could really think about what he was doing, the skin of Sam's belly was pressed against his mouth. He kissed it, softly, then pulled back, trying not to jerk away and draw Sam's attention. Maybe he hadn't even noticed.

Sam definitely didn't say anything, but he did reach down and pull his shirt even further up, softly clearing his throat. And he shifted himself closer to Dean.

Dean licked his lips and swallowed, running his hand along the peak of Sam's middle. Stroking, not rubbing. Then he moved in again, kissing for a second time, then a third. He targeted Sam's moles, and then his scars. He kept his mouth closed at first, but slowly allowed it to drift open, leaving behind patches of wetness as he moved along the side of Sam's gut. Eventually, he used the arm that he had folded under his head to push himself up. His hand slipped down the opposite side of Sam's belly, cupping his love handle so that he was practically cradling the shape of him as he covered the top of his stomach with kisses.

"You know it's not actually your baby in there, right?" For having just cleared his throat, Sam's voice was pretty husky.

"It's a food baby," Dean replied, breath ghosting across Sam's bare skin. "And I made a lot of the food. So, technically, it kinda is my baby."

"You made some of the food in there." Dean felt cold and tingly all over with shock and excitement when Sam touched him, putting a hand on his head. Burying his fingers in his hair. Dean could feel Sam's blunt nails against his scalp. It was almost like he was pushing him down, holding him in place so he could keep worshiping his belly with his mouth.

Dean moved his own hand, the one on Sam's love handle. His forearm brushed a mound of denim, and he shifted to explore it with his fingers. As he palmed the bulge in Sam's jeans, below the larger one of his stomach, the hand on his head tightened and he both heard and felt Sam's breathing speed up.

"Oh," he said. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Sam grunted. "Like you haven't been hard for the past six weeks."

Sam's plate was empty, so Dean loaded him up again with another slice. Then he went back to his belly, using his hands and his lips. Every movement and sound inside of Sam echoed through Dean from those points of contact, and as Sam ate, washing every fourth bite or so down with milk, there was more and more of him for Dean to work with. He was pretty steady about it, just trucking along, not faltering until there was only one slice each left of the cheesecake and the pie.

Sam'd taken his hand off Dean's head a while back, so he could hold his fork, but now it returned as he set his empty plate aside with an awkward clatter. Cupping the back of Dean's head, he pulled him up until they were kissing for real, rather than just Dean having a one-sided makeout session with his brother's swollen gut.

This was nothing like the kiss they'd shared back in that motel room, after the buffet. This was hot, wet, hungry. Their mouths were open, and they tasted each other. Dean had held off on having a piece of pie, much as it pained him after six weeks without it, because he wanted it all to end up inside of Sam. And that was okay, because he got as much of the flavor as he could ever want just from kissing Sam.

"That was a hundred percent you," Dean said when they both pulled back, gasping for breath.

"You didn't have to come up here," Sam pointed out.

"Maybe we're both drunk. Definitely had a lot of beer."

"The two of us hold our liquor a lot better than that."

"So...what?" Dean didn't want to talk about it anymore. He felt like the more they scrutinized this, the bigger chance it had of all falling apart. "You done for the night, or...?"

"I'm full," Sam admitted. His hand had slipped from Dean's head down onto the back of his neck. The tip of his thumb ran affectionately up and down one of his tendons where it stood out. "I'm fuller than I've ever been in my entire life; I know that for a fact. And I know we've been joking about it all day, but I literally don't think I can move right now - I'm too heavy." He had to pause in order to burp. "And even if I could, I don't want to."

"You don't have to," Dean was quick to reassure him. He didn't plan on leaving him for the rest of the night unless he was specifically asked to.

"Be honest," Sam said, allowing his hand to drop even further, this time to Dean's elbow. Dean still had a hand on Sam's stomach, and he began gently stroking it. "Have you ever had this happen to you before? Y'know, the...immobility."

"Well," Dean hedged. "I mean, not often. Maybe once or twice a year?" Sam didn't say anything, and Dean could tell he wanted him to elaborate. He sighed. "You know I'm, uh, all about the comfort food. So when things totally go to shit for us, I'll just...eat. Makes me feel better, sometimes. Not the healthiest habit, I know, but it's better than some of my other ones, right?"

"You mean like trashing the bunker?" Sam asked. "Or drinking yourself into a stupor?"

"Anyway." Dean coughed. "I wind up pretty much trapped in my room. 'Bout this big." He patted Sam's belly, very gently. "Like you said, I can't move. I can't hardly even think. I don't wanna do anything but sleep. Food coma."

"When d'you stop eating?" Sam asked. Dean smiled sheepishly.

"When I run outta food and I'm too damn full to go get more."

"Well," Sam began, after burping again, "we are supposed to have switched lifestyles. And that's a part of your lifestyle. So I guess I'm not done until those..." With his free hand, he gestured in the general direction of the pie and the cheesecake. "...are gone." Smiling, he picked up his plate off his nightstand and offered it to Dean. "So to answer your question, no. I'm not done."

Dean assumed Sam knew his limits better than he did, so he took the plate and pulled away from him in order to put the last slice of cheesecake on it. When he brought it back up the bed, though, Sam wouldn't take it, shaking his head.

"I identify really strongly with that one thing you said, about not wanting to do anything but sleep," he said. "I don't even think I can pick up the fork again. You're gonna have to feed me."

Dean's mouth was dry. He swallowed, and spit flooded across his tongue as he picked up the fork and buried its tines in the cheesecake. It was soft, after having been out of the fridge for so long, and made a sticky sound as he speared it.

"You are one kinky son of a bitch, you know that?" he asked quietly.

"That's rich, coming from you," Sam replied, opening his mouth like a baby bird.

So Dean fed him, in his dark bedroom, lit only by the bluish glow of the TV (paused around the time they'd started talking and never turned back on). Some of the melted cheesecake fell off the graham cracker crust onto the plate as Dean lifted the last bite. He scraped that up with his fingers and let Sam suck it off those. His mouth, his tongue, felt exactly like Dean remembered. Warm, moist, and oh-so-talented, hitting the perfect balance of suction and tongue play. Dean's eyelids fluttered. He hadn't touched his cock or Sam's since he'd first noticed Sam was hard, and it was just way too difficult to keep his hand off them now. He managed it, though. There was still a slice of pie left.

Once that was gone, tucked safely inside of Sam's incredibly-overfed belly, Sam had stopped burping and started hiccuping. To Dean, that was a sign that there was no room whatsoever left inside him. After all, burping was getting rid of excess air, and hiccuping was something else entirely.

"Ohhhh, man," Sam said softly, stretching very carefully as Dean got up to throw away all their garbage and move the dirty dishes out of the way. "Oh, god..."

"Regretting those last couple slices?" Dean asked as he got back on the bed, being very careful not to jostle Sam with his movements. Not that that would even be an issue if Sam had a memory foam mattress rather than a spring one.

"On some level," Sam said, eyes closed, "some basic, hedonistic, totally - " A hiccup. " - animal level, this actually feels good."

"Oh, yeah." Laying down next to Sam, Dean ruffled his hair. "Definitely. Attaboy."

Sam rolled his head towards Dean's touch. "I feel like a beached whale."

"You look like one." Dean dragged his hand down Sam's chest, feeling the firm, sharp planes of his pectorals through the cotton of his T-shirt before he reached his stomach. "This is just incredible. You're so freaking big - you ate every single thing I put in front of you today. That's nuts." Dean felt along the waistband of Sam's jeans, picking up on how he was practically poured into them. "And you basically do this every day. No wonder you're getting fat."

Sam groaned. "Still don't understand what the difference is between you and me..."

"I still think it's just that you're a way bigger glutton than I am," Dean replied honestly. When Sam made a negative-sounding noise in the back of his throat, he kissed his temple to soothe him. "Yeah, I know, that's not what's going on." Sam's belly felt like a fully-inflated balloon, taut and, if he'd happened to turn on the light, probably shiny. Maybe even red, either with a blush or just from the skin being stretched so tight. "Guess we'll never know why eating like this makes you gain weight and not me."

Sam grunted in response. Dean kept his own face close to his, studying his long eyelashes, the point of his nose, his soft pink mouth. The color was washed out by the TV's light, but Dean knew it was there. He ran his fingertips over the wide expanse of Sam's belly, just barely letting his calluses contact Sam's skin as he traced feathery patterns around his flat navel. He was trying not to hurt him, but it occurred to him that touching him like this might make him itch, so he let a little bit of his hand's weight come down on him.

Sam's breathing was even, except when he hiccuped, and his eyes were closed, but Dean could tell he wasn't asleep by the way he reacted to his touch. The twitches, the muscles relaxing, the very slight shifts towards him. Dean would've turned off the TV, but doing that felt too much like admitting the night was over. Eventually, he asked, "Ready to turn in?"

"Sleep'd be the best thing for me right now, right?" Sam replied, puffing out a soft breath. It smelled sweet, fruity.

"Yeah, that's what you're gonna need to process these calories," Dean agreed, rubbing Sam's stomach to indicate the contents of it. Saying that triggered a pulse of excitement in his groin. After all, processing the calories, especially while he was asleep, meant swelling fat cells. A waist size ticking upwards. Clothes getting tighter.

"I'm not sure I can get to sleep right now, though," Sam said. "I'm..." He trailed off, then put his hand on the one that Dean had running around on his belly. It was easy to forget just how massive Sam's hands were until he literally engulfed Dean's with them. He guided it down to between his legs, and Dean sucked in a breath with understanding. He was still hard, too. Painfully so, felt like.

Dean cupped the shape of Sam's cock, immense inside of his jeans and boxers, even after Sam had taken his own hand away. He squeezed the bulge as he pushed himself up, getting a gasp out of Sam. He moved down, kneeling next to Sam, not quite sucking up the courage to straddle his thighs as he started pulling his jeans off. Sam grabbed his hands again as he did that.

"Wait, wait," he said, breathing heavily. "You can't fuck me."

Something withered in Dean's chest, but he did his best to push ahead and willfully ignore what Sam'd probably meant by that. "Well, you definitely can't fuck me, with this monster in the way." He gestured to Sam's gut, afraid to touch him all of a sudden despite having had his hands on him all day.

"No - I mean..." Sam swallowed and looked away, embarrassment cropping up on his face. "I've been eating all day, literally, and I haven't had a chance to...y'know, prepare. Pretty sure you haven't, either, and no offense, but you weren't ever all that great at it." He focused on Dean again, regaining a little of his confidence as he raised an eyebrow. "So unless you're actually into that all of a sudden..."

"Uh, no," Dean said, having caught Sam's drift. "Definitely not." He never thought he'd be relieved about Sam bringing up the hygiene issues associated with anal sex. He laid a hand on Sam's thigh, comfortable touching him again. "So...what d'you wanna do, then?"

"Have we talked about any of this?" Sam answered. "Up to this point? Let's face it: talking's never been our strong suit. So how 'bout we just...go with it and see what happens?"

"Sure you're comfortable with that?" Dean asked, moving his hand slowly up Sam's thigh. "You always gotta be the man with the plan." Whether they were hunting or making love. Dean was pretty sure he'd always been like that.

"It's been working out for me so far." Sam brought his elbows underneath himself and dug them into the pillows, pushing himself up so he was closer to Dean. Dean took the cue, leaning down to meet him halfway. He kissed him again as his hand made its way back to his dick, rubbing the curve of it through the layers of fabric with his thumb. He was rewarded by a twitch against his palm; he knew what he liked.

It was obviously tough for Sam to move. He couldn't do much more than lay there and let Dean do whatever he wanted to him. As hot as that whole idea was, it also made Dean extremely aware that he was gonna have to be gentle. This was entirely new territory for them, since they'd never fooled around while Dean was this full and definitely never while Sam was. Dean was honestly surprised Sam was up for anything right now, knowing what it felt like to be in this state. Wasn't like he was about to complain, though.

The first thing he did, between kisses that were getting heavier and more frantic, was take off Sam's shirts. Flannel and tee. He dropped them on the floor with one hand as he ran the other, palm flat and fingers spread, across Sam's chest. Maybe he couldn't feel his ribs anymore, but he definitely hadn't gained weight up here like he had around his waist. There were scars, of course - both of them were covered from head to toe in scars, even after receiving two square meters each of brand-new skin when Castiel broke them outta Hell. But there were also the hard, dark beads of Sam's nipples, the patch of thin hair between his pecs, and his anti-possession tattoo, recently re-inked after being burned off. The skin that it was on was still raised.

Sam tugged at Dean's shirt, and he took it off. He slipped two fingers inside the waistband of his jeans right behind the button, pulling at that even as his knuckles dug into Dean's cock. He pulled away rather than getting totally naked just yet, though. He moved his mouth from Sam's down to his nipple, running his tongue over it and picking up the taste of him. Sam's nipples were already erect, but the one Dean was working on seemed to shrivel up even harder when he pulled it into his mouth, sucking on it and just barely letting his teeth run over the pebbled skin. Sam grunted loudly and did something that probably would've been a thrust if his stomach (which Dean had a hand on at the moment, prodding and kneading) hadn't been weighing his hips down.

Sam had sensitive nipples, like the nerves ran straight to his dick and balls, and Dean had always loved that. It was so rare in a guy. He had enough experience to know that.

Dean pulled his mouth off Sam's chest, a string of spit connecting his bottom lip and Sam's nipple until he was far enough away for it to break. He went for Sam's pants, and this time, he let him take them off. His boxers, too. Dean cupped his ass as his cock - every bit as long, thick, and curved as Dean remembered it being - sprang free, squeezing the extra flesh. It spilled through his fingers, each cheek more than a handful now, and that had Dean dripping into his own underwear.

"C'mon," Sam panted, touching Dean's stomach for once. Dean almost reflexively tensed, and was sure that Sam's touching took on an appreciative feel. Maybe he did have a six-pack coming up. "I showed you mine. Show me yours."

Dean supposed that Sam deserved at least that much, seeing as he was the one who'd been making him hard all day, every day. He pulled his socks off as he slid off the bed and came around to Sam's side. He grabbed the remote off the nightstand and turned the TV off, but then switched on the lamp it'd been sitting next to.

"I don't have the patience to bring anything up on my phone right now," Dean said. "So you're just gonna have to imagine the stripper music."

That got a laugh out of Sam, who'd turned his head to the side in order to look at him, as Dean popped the button on his jeans with a flourish. He slowly dragged the zipper down as he began to swing his hips to a rhythm in his head, then cupped the bulge once it was free. He rubbed himself through the fabric of his underwear as he stepped out of his pants. He wasn't all that sure how much interest Sam really had in this kind of show, but right now, at least, he seemed riveted.

Dean had barely gotten his boxers off when Sam put out an arm, planting a hand on the small of his back and pulling him in. When he nuzzled the flushed head of his cock, Dean let out a throaty chuckle. "Damn, are you still hungry?"

"You said I'm a bottomless pit," Sam replied, and then proceeded to suck the precome out of Dean's slit. "Feed me."

With that said, though, Sam only managed to get about half of Dean in his mouth before he gagged a little, making Dean pull back. With how much food had gone into him tonight, he did not want him throwing up.

"Sorry," Sam apologized, licking his lips. "The angle's just awkward."

"I can fix that." Dean returned to the bed, and in a couple of minutes, he had the two of them in a sixty-nine position. It was awkward for him. His knees were on the pillows, so his ass was up in the air and blood was rushing to his head. Getting rid of the pillows wasn't an option, though. Sam was way too full to lay flat right now.

His chest was against Sam's stomach, his arms practically wrapped around it. His chin rested on the underside as he kissed the tip of his brother's erection, then licked it. He waited until Sam had taken him into his mouth again, this time with an enthusiasm that triggered a full-body shudder, to go to town on him.

Dean began bobbing his head, timing it with the automatic thrusts of his hips. His lips, wrapped around Sam's girth, felt stretched to their limit, and Sam's mouth and throat felt tight and slick around his own hardness. He felt something building in the pit of his stomach around the same time that Sam pulsed against his tongue. When that happened, he lifted his head and his hips, taking his mouth off Sam's cock and his cock out of Sam's mouth. Both popped wetly.

"What's the matter?" Sam sounded concerned in the way that usually meant he was trying not to sound annoyed.

"I don't wanna come," Dean replied, "without being able to see your face." It'd just been way too long since that'd happened. He wasn't sure what exactly he had in mind (maybe sitting on Sam's thighs and jerking them off together, using their shared saliva as lube), but as he was crawling down the considerable length of Sam's body, his dick happened to poke his belly, then slide over the top of it. Sam gasped, and Dean turned around to look at him. "That feel good?"

"It's just really...sensitive," Sam replied. Dean sat down next to him, an idea coming together.

"You got any lube in here?" Sam exhaled through his nose and groped for the handle of the one of the drawers in his bedside table, dragging it open. He lifted out a clear bottle and tossed it to Dean, who caught it and popped the top. He immediately squeezed a pile out onto Sam's belly like he was about to give him an ultrasound, and Sam yelped.

"Dude! That's cold!"

"Sorry," Dean replied. Normally, he would've held it in his hand for a while, let it warm up to body temperature. But after almost reaching climax in Sam's mouth and pulling himself away through sheer willpower, he just couldn't wait that long. He put a hand on the lube and started spreading it around as evenly as he could, ignoring the slight tremors that the temperature was sending through Sam. When most of his stomach was nice and slippery, glistening in the light from the lamp, Dean swung a leg over him. He got on all fours, straddling him, and lined his pelvis up over his midsection. "Lemme know if this hurts."

Sam, eyes fixed on Dean and mouth slightly open, nodded his understanding. So Dean dropped himself until his cock was laying on the expanse of Sam's generous belly. Then he began to thrust.

It was weird as all hell, he could definitely admit that. But it also felt good. Not as good as actually being inside of Sam would've felt, but still not bad. Weirdly enough, the closest thing he could compare it to would probably be dryhumping. Or rubbing off against the curve of someone's ass. What vaulted it into some next-level pleasure after Dean's first few strokes, though, was the mental aspect. Just knowing that Sam was so big, so full, that he could literally fuck his belly. He could feel the contents sloshing rapidly against the underside of his dick, and Sam's love handles wobbling with the force of his thrusts. It was awesome.

It must've felt good to Sam, too, because he started making his usual sex noises when Dean began moving. Moans, high-pitched cries. His head tipped backwards, driving into the pillows, both hands came up to clutch his headboard as it began to knock against the wall, and he arched his back, pushing his stomach forcefully against Dean's stiff cock.

"Hurts?" Dean asked, just to make sure it didn't. Like a lot of people, Sam looked roughly the same when he was feeling super good as when he was in agony.

"No - k-keep going," Sam panted between "aah"s and "ooh"s. "Harder."

Dean obeyed him, even though the muscles he'd pushed to the brink during the morning's push-up session were starting to hurt. The pleasure outweighed the pain. His balls, swinging freely, brushed against Sam's cock on every thrust, sending an electric shock of sensation bolting up his spine to the top of his head each time. In his current position, he could bottom out on Sam's dick and still keep humping his fat, stuffed gut. What he'd said earlier about prep still rang true, though.

With what looked like massive effort, Sam peeled one of his hands off the headboard and brought it down to start jerking himself off. Dean's balls started hitting his wrist every once in a while rather than just his cock. Both felt hot and damp.

Before long, Dean felt something building again. This time, he let it happen. He crested that wave with a grunt, squeezing his eyes shut and thrusting through it as he ducked his head. And...well. He definitely came, that was for sure. There was the rush of euphoria concentrated in his groin, the tingling in his face and the rest of his body. But something felt off. His balls didn't tighten and there wasn't a blurt of come from his cock. Most of all, there was no satisfaction. He was still desperately, painfully horny - he didn't even go soft.

"What the hell?" he mumbled, still pumping away because he didn't know what else to do.

"'S wrong?" Sam gasped.

"Think I just came, but - there wasn't any - shit. Sam. Sammy!"

It was like coming down a good-sized hill, reaching the bottom, and then realizing that there was a freaking mountain the size of Everest in front of you that you were about to go up. That was how Dean would describe his second orgasm to Sam later, but while it was actually happening, his thoughts weren't anywhere near that coherent. A tsunami of pleasure blanked out his mind, and all he could do was howl and laugh and mindlessly buck his hips. His vision fuzzed like it had when he'd been doing the push-ups, but for an entirely different reason.

He came so hard it made his balls hurt, like somebody was squeezing his sac to milk every possible drop out of him. There was definitely a lot of it; it felt like gallons of semen gushed out of him. Eggshell-colored puddles and ropes covered Sam's stomach and chest, and even though Dean hadn't been aiming for it, he still managed to get a fair amount on the lower half of his face, too. Dean had been spanking the monkey pretty frequently out of necessity, and he'd even come earlier that day, but this made it look like he'd been backed up for months.

Sam must've hit his orgasm around the same time Dean did, because he heard him groaning his name while he was still climaxing himself, and then hot come splattered across his ass and the back of his balls. If anything, that just made his ride wilder.

By the time he came down, Dean was totally flaccid. Thankfully, he'd managed not to sit down on Sam's stomach, but it was a real chore to swing his arm and leg back over and lay down beside him. He was shaking like it was thirty below in the room, and his joints seemed to creak when he moved. Again, it felt a whole lot like the thing with the push-ups, but in a good way.

As he flopped down next to Sam on his pillows, Sam turned his head towards him and they kissed. Long, slow, passionate. Dean tasted himself where he'd painted Sam's bottom lip. He knew they couldn't go to sleep like this; they were a mess. Hell, the whole bed was a mess. Sam had been right about the crumbs, and Dean had gotten water-based lube all over the pillows when he rubbed it around on Sam's belly and didn't wipe his hand off afterwards, and now Sam's thick come was leaking out of his ass crack to dribble onto the duvet. They were both greasy with sweat and spit and sex hormones. There was some serious clean-up needed, and Dean knew he'd probably wind up doing most of it himself, on account of Sam pretty much being anchored in place. For now, though, he let himself just enjoy the moment.

One of his hands had somehow found its way into Sam's hair. He curled his fingers into it and stroked the locks across his palm with his thumb, drowsily reflecting on what a good thing it was that Sam was a closet fatass. Otherwise, he would've had to shave all this off.

When the kiss ended, there were so many things Dean was dying to ask. If they were back together. If this had managed to fix everything that'd gone wrong between them. If Sam loved him even half as much as he loved Sam at that exact moment in time. Instead, though, he whispered against Sam's pointed nose: "Betcha can't do this for another six weeks."

Sam clasped Dean's free hand with one of his own, in something that might've been intended as a handshake but wound up being just a warm, affectionate grasp.

"Watch me."