Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8255264.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean, John, Sam
  Additional Tags:
      Kinks
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-10 Words: 3591
****** A Bubble in the Froth of Life ******
by pinkwithoutplot
Summary
     Sequel to A Form of Chemical Madness. Sam is very good at getting
     what he wants, and what he wants is to lose his virginity. To his
     brother.
 
 
They don't talk about it. Sometimes Sam is tempted to bring it up, but he knows
Dean has said all he's going to on the matter. It's still new and fragile, this
thing they've got going on, and he doesn't want to spook his brother and bring
it all crumbling down around them. Sam knows Dean worries. Sometimes weeks go
by without them laying hands on each other, save for in ways which can be
written off as familial, and it's agony. Sam can see the way Dean looks at him,
half craving, half afraid he's some kind of monster for wanting him. Like he's
maybe thinking about putting a stop to it. Going cold turkey. Sam has to remind
him then.
“You said whatever I want. You said it. And I want it. So bad, Dean. I want it
so fucking bad.”
And the next time Dad leaves them alone for a while, he sets to making sure
Dean never doubts that again.
Dean still flirts with girls, still collects phone numbers like they're going
out of fashion. Dad shakes his head, but Sam can see he's proud of his eldest –
the lady-killer. Dean takes them out, buys them drinks. Sweet-talks them and
even kisses them from time to time. Sam doesn't mind it these days. Dean has a
reputation to maintain, and it gives him a twisted sort of thrill to watch his
brother press some waitress up against the wall of a roadside diner and suck
gently on her bottom lip, knowing she's probably wet for him but that Dean is
thinking of him. Occasionally Dean will bring a date back to where they're
staying and sit out in the Impala with her, making sure it's parked up close to
the window so Sammy has a clear view. The rush he gets when their eyes lock as
he licks into the mouth of the unsuspecting girl, maybe bringing a hand up to
gently squeeze a nipple through her shirt, is usually enough to keep Sam hard
for hours. Dean's a tease. A heart breaker. These poor girls don't understand
that they're conduits. Dean leaves them with a term of endearment, a pleasant
memory to masturbate to and false hope. He belongs to Sam. Always has, Sam
realizes now.
It's six months after it all started when John leaves them in a rented house
just outside Cleveland. There is a bite to the air, and the leaves on the
surrounding trees are turning shades of russet and yellow. Sam knows it's not a
run-of-the-mill hunt. He'd have told them about it, maybe even taken them
along. No, this is something else. Something personal. Something Dad doesn't
want his boys anywhere near. He's planning on being gone a while, hence the
house, and Sam being allowed to enroll in the local school, although he's
missed the start of term.
Dad's absence weighs heavily on Dean, but he calls most nights, chats to them
both for a few minutes and reassures them he's OK, that he'll be back when he
can, and as the days and weeks pass, Sam and Dean find themselves relaxing into
a routine. It's nice, this little slice of domesticity. It's not normal and
it's probably not healthy, but it's so damn good. Sam can let his gaze linger
on Dean's ass, while he sits at the kitchen table with his school books spread
in front of him, as his brother bends to get a pizza out of the oven. They can
trade long, languid kisses on the couch, legs entwined and hands wandering
under their shirts. They can climb into one bed, shuck their shorts and slot
their hard bodies together, combined heat trapped underneath the coverlet,
motion working them both into a sweat as they grind and push, not having to be
mindful of squealing bed-springs, loud moans or the headboard knocking against
the wall. They can shower together, sliding soapy hands over every inch of
slippery skin, towel each other's hair, bump elbows as they brush their teeth
over the sink and jostle for mirror space.
They are watching spaghetti western one night on the small, portable TV in the
lounge. Dean is transfixed, but Sam finds the jangly music and badly dubbed
dialogue grating. He jiggles his foot up and down on the couch cushion,
jouncing Dean's leg. He doesn't seem to notice at first, so Sam smiles to
himself and does it harder.
“Quit it, Sam!”
“Quit what?” Sam asks innocently.
Dean's hand slaps down on his thigh, holding his leg still, but he keeps
staring ahead at the screen.
Sam bites his lip, waits for Dean's hand to lift and then starts up again with
the bouncing.
“Sam!”
Dean looks at him this time and Sam smiles sweetly.
“Yes, Dean?”
“I'm trying to watch the movie, and that's really annoying!”
“What is?”
Sam knows he's being childish and Dean will probably take his skinny butt down
if he persists, but he can't help it. He enjoys getting under his brother's
skin.
“You know what, douchenozzle! Stop tapping your foot. Go do something else if
you're bored.”
Sam sighs and makes out like he's watching the film. He gives a minute or so
before he starts up again.
“Sam! If you don't quit being such a little bitch, I swear to God I'll...”
“You'll what?” Sam asks, arching his brow.
“I'll pound your ass.”
He's sure Dean means the term in the more traditional sense, but just like
that, Sam is transported back to the guest room at Pastor Jim's, Dean between
his thighs, his weight pinning him to the mattress. He can even feel the rough
cast chafing his raw skin, a phantom ache in his healed wrist. He remembers the
moment just before he came for the second time, before Dean spurted hot and wet
between their bellies, when he'd moaned moist and warm into the crook of Sam's
neck,
“Wanna be inside you so bad. Wanna fuck you.”
Sam's cock starts to fill, the sense memory flooding over him. Dean is watching
him carefully. Sam knows there's no hiding from his brother. Every thought he
has may as well be scrawled across his forehead in magic marker. Hell, Dean
probably knows what he's thinking before he's even thought it himself. A slow
smile eases over Dean's face. He winks.
“But you'd probably enjoy that, right Sammy?”
Sam's suddenly too turned on to even think about saving face. He swallows and
nods.
Dean smirks, holds Sam's gaze for a few more heartbeats and turns his attention
back to the television. Sam licks his dry lips.
“Dean!”
Dean doesn't answer him, just furrows his brow in fake concentration.
“Dean!” Sam tries again. No way Dean is bringing that idea up again and not
seeing it through. “I know it was a heat of the moment thing, when we were –
y'know, but I was serious. If you want to do that to me...I'd let you.”
Sam lets that touch of unworldly little brother creep into his voice, makes his
eyes go soft, because he knows that will mess Dean up. While his first instinct
is always to protect him, Dean has never been able to say no to Sam when he
wears that expression, and sounds so needy, so unsure of himself. Sam knows the
wrongness of it all, the conflict of interest, gives Dean's arousal a razor-
edge. He knows it because he feels it too.
Dean lets his head thunk back onto the couch.
“Jesus, Sammy.”
Sam's got him.
“I want it Dean. Want you inside me. Want you to fuck me slow and deep. Wanna
feel you come in my ass.”
Dean closes his eyes and lets out a low moan.
“Sam! Stop it. Don't tease me.”
Sam snuggles closer to Dean and runs his finger lightly along the inseam of his
brother's jeans where his legs are splayed, feet resting on the floor, butt on
the edge of the seat.
“Not teasing, Dean. Why not now? I'm ready, and you want it just as bad as I
do.”
Sam can practically see the emotions warring in Dean's head. He wants it. God,
he wants it. But this is another line to cross. Rubbing off and sucking is one
thing. Perhaps one day, years down the line, they could play it down. Remember
it as a phase. A protracted, late-onset period of experimentation. They are a
little old for playing doctors and nurses, but still... Taking his little
brother's cherry, however, is a whole new ball game.
Dean might be talking himself out of it. Sam decides to up the ante. He slowly
removes his hand from Dean's thigh and starts to unbuckle his own pants. That
gets his brother's attention. He slips his hand inside and begins to jack his
swollen cock nice and slow, making sure Dean is watching, the cowboy movie
quickly forgotten.
“Get it out, Sammy. Wanna see it.”
Sam smiles and shimmies half way out of his jeans and boxers. He knows Dean
takes a weird sort of pride in how well endowed his baby brother is. He reaches
his hand out, an awed expression on his flushed face, and gently brushes the
backs of his knuckles up and down the length. Sam shudders out a sigh and
pushes his pants down his legs, giving Dean better access to play. He watches
as Dean spits into his palm and smears the saliva over the fat head of Sam's
dick, getting it nice and slick so he can jerk him off in earnest.
Sam lets him for a while, hips canting up to meet each down stroke, and he
thinks about letting Dean finish him like this, perfect, slippery tightness of
his fist working him off just the way he likes. Dean can get him there in no
time at all. Sometimes just seeing Dean's eyes on him, dark with lust and
veiled with those long, thick lashes is enough to have him leaking all over
himself before his brother even gets a hand on him. But this time he wants
more. He covers Dean's hand with his own, halting his motion.
“Dean!” he says, breathless. “Dean, stop! Not like this. Wanna wait. 'Til
you're in me.”
Dean curses and reluctantly uncurls his clenched fingers from around Sam's
shaft.
“Sam, I can't. It's not – I don't -” he blows out, exasperated. “It's a big
deal, OK? I'm not sure we should. Not yet.”
Sam blinks, pushes his bangs out of his face and sucks on his bottom lip. He
could call Dean out for the hypocrite that he is. A long line of bartenders and
waitresses from here to Oregon could attest to the fact that sex has never been
'a big deal' to his brother. He could beg. He could babble on about how he's
sure, how much he wants this. How's he's ready and he knows it will hurt a
little, but he doesn't mind. He could tell Dean that he's scared. So fucking
scared that any day now Dean will freak out and say this is has all been a
mistake. That he's met someone he's serious about and this can never happen
again. Or maybe that he'll lose Dean to something worse than a girl with soft
curves and pretty ways. A set of teeth and claws. A ghost with a vendetta. A
misfired gun.
That when he trawls his back-catalogue of firsts – step, word, bike ride,
drink, kill, blow-job – they all orbit around Dean, the biggest and brightest
and most pivotal object in his universe. And if there's one thing he's
absolutely, one hundred percent positive about, it's that he wants Dean to be
his first – and only - in this too.
But Dean has never been much for deep and meaningfuls. Most of the Winchester's
communication is unspoken. Sam feels the connection deep inside, written in his
blood and bones. It shows in the way the boys mirror each other unthinkingly,
two halves of a well-oiled machine. Sam thinks sometimes it unnerves their
father. Their synergy is one thing on a hunt, but in the quiet confines of a
motel room it becomes too intimate. Especially now when they have to try so
hard not to let any of this new-found feeling bleed out. No, they don't need
words.
Sam leans in and presses a chaste kiss to his brother's soft lips. Just enough
to let him think he's acquiescing. Then his kicks off his jeans and underwear
the rest of the way and flips over, chest resting on the arm of the couch, ass
bare-naked and tilted up towards his brother.
“Sam, what're you -”
But Dean's question dissolves into a moan when Sam reaches behind him and uses
both hands to spread his cheeks as wide as he can, making sure his brother gets
a long, hard look at his pink little hole.
“You sure Dean? Sure you wanna wait to sink into this?”
Sam brings a finger back round to his mouth, sucks it wet and seeks out his
opening again. He rubs little circles over it, knowing Dean is watching, rapt,
his resolve in tatters already.
“Fuck, Sam! No fair. I swear you're the most sinful sight on Earth. So help me
God, I'm going to fuck you now, Sammy. Gonna get you wet for me and slide it on
home. That what you want?”
Sam feels tears of desperation welling up.
“Yeah,” he whines, humping the couch and arching his back like a cat in season.
“Do it, Dean.”
Sam hears Dean's zipper, the soft rasp of worn denim on skin. He feels his
brother's weight shifting behind him, and his brain shorts out when he feels
hot breath on the small of his back. He panics for a second that Dean's too
close, that he's not clean enough. He knows Dean's not squeamish and he's
learned to enjoy the attention he lavishes on his scrawny body despite his
self-consciousness, but this is too much, surely? He nearly scrabbles right
over the arm when he feels Dean's tongue probe lightly at his asshole.
“Dean!” he all but squeaks. “Dean stop! You, can't – you don't have to -”
Dean grabs his hips to still him and shushes him with a chuckle.
“Relax, little bro. You asked for this remember?”
Dean licks a slow, deliberate stripe from just behind his balls, all the way up
to his entrance, and lets his tongue rest there, flat and wet and squirming
gently against the sensitive pucker.
“Oh my God!” Sam gasps. “Oh God! Yeah. Feels amazing, Dean. More. Please lick
me.”
Dean moans his approval and moves his tongue in broad, up and down sweeps,
pausing now and then to push the tip of his tongue right inside.
Sam thinks he might honestly cry from how good it feels. He tries to keep his
cock from making contact with the cushioned arm because there's a real danger
Dean might make him come with that talented tongue of his, and he really
doesn't need any more stimulation threatening to tip him over too quickly.
“Dean! Please! You gotta stop, man. I'm close.”
Dean extracts his tongue and drops a couple of light kisses along Sam's spine.
“Already, Sammy?” his tone is teasing. “Thought you wanted this?”
He punctuates the question with a jab of his straining cock against the back of
Sam's thigh.
“Yeah,” Sam breaths. “I do. Put it in.”
“Patience, little brother,” Dean says in the same maddening voice. “Gonna get a
couple of fingers in there first. Make you squirm on them. Get you wanting more
- pleading for my nice, fat cock to spread you wide open.”
Sam pushes his sweaty face into his forearm and grunts as his wet hole starts
to spasm wildly. He screws his eyes shut and drags himself back from the edge,
pretty sure Dean's words almost made him come without being touched.
“Look at that!” Dean says, breathing ragged. “God, it's twitching like it can't
wait to swallow my dick. So pretty, Sam.”
Sam lows as Dean licks him again before pushing one finger right in to the
knuckle.
“That's right, baby boy. Take it. So good. So tight.”
It feels kind of weird, but Sam is so turned on, so loose from Dean's mouth
that it doesn't hurt at all. He feels Dean spit on his crack and work the
finger in and out, pushing the saliva in and easing the way. Dean withdraws his
finger, and Sam hears more moist sounds before there's another touch at his
rim, two fingers this time by the feel of it. There's a slight burn, but mostly
the sensation is just alien.
“OK, there?” Dean asks, and Sam nods vigorously.
Dean pumps his fingers in and out, faster and faster until Sam relaxes
completely and starts thrusting back to meet his hand.
“Like that?” Dean asks and Sam can only groan in response.
Dean twists his wrist and presses something deep inside which makes Sam buck
like a broncho.
“What was that?” he asks, shaking.
“Whoa. I think we found your g-spot, Samantha,” Dean laughs.
“Amazing,” Sam pants. “Just, right there! Yeah! Do it again!”
Dean bumps it over and over, and Sam realizes he's perilously close to coming
again.
“Now, Dean. Please. Seriously. You have to fuck me right now because I can't
hold it anymore.”
“OK,” Dean whispers, gently pulling out his fingers. His voice is wobbling a
bit.
Sam feels the heat radiating from him as he snugs up behind him. Sam hears him
spit again, and spreads his knees just a bit more, making space, pushes his
butt out.
The blunt head of Dean's cock against his hole seems impossibly large. Sam
tenses up before he can stop himself, and Dean kisses the side of his throat,
smooths a hand down his chest, teasing at his nipples, his navel, before
dipping his fingers into the mess of precome drooling down his raging hard-on.
“Mmmm...so wet for me.”
Sam takes a deep breath and concentrates on opening up. He lets out a surprised
yelp when Dean pops past the tight ring of muscle, and his brother stills
immediately.
“It's OK, Sam,” assures him. “Keep going.”
Dean pushes in achingly slow. Sam feels each hard-won inch filling him up,
stretching him out. There is a little pain, but it's nothing compared to the
rush of power he gets as Dean whimpers and murmurs behind him, biting back
curses.
Dean is finally buried to the hilt, and they both wait, breathing harshly. Sam
wriggles his hips a little, testing the sensation and then clenches around his
brother.
“Jesus!” Dean, grits out. “Gimme a sec or this is gonna be over before it
starts.”
Sam smiles and twists his head to kiss Dean's bicep.
“You feel so good, Dean. So fucking big. Love the way you're filling me up.”
It's true. The pleasure-pain of it, the way Dean is shoving his way inside, raw
and unspeakably close is taking Sam apart.
“You're so tight, Sam. Gripping me, pulling me in. Pretty pink hole sucking at
my dick.”
“Move, Dean. Fuck me.”
Sam exhales long and hard as Dean pulls out, nearly all the way, leaving him
empty and loose-feeling, before he rams back in hard, punching the last bit of
air from Sam's lungs. He does it again, easier this time. Again. And again. And
soon Sam's mewling with pleasure as Dean's cock works him lax, finds that magic
button inside him. Dean rolls his hips, sinuous and clever as he starts to
chant,
“Oh yeah. Oh yeah, take it, Sammy. Take it.”
Sam clasps his aching cock, only for Dean to bat his hand away.
“Like this. Come on my cock. I know you can.”
And at that, Sam throws his head back against Dean's shoulder and howls as his
orgasm rips through him. It's like nothing he's ever felt before, starting in
his guts, the base of his spine, his scalp tingling, thundering through every
part of him before he gets the familiar tightening in his balls, and his dick
starts to jerk and spray the couch with pulse after pulse of come. In some
small corner of his subconscious he wonders if this is what it feels like for a
girl.
Sam goes limp, slumps over the arm, and hears Dean's shout as his hips stop
churning and he locks up, filling Sam with his seed. They stay frozen for
endless moments, trying to catch their breath, while Dean softens and
eventually slips out of Sam's slick hole.
“I...did I...was that...OK?” he asks tentatively.
Sam feels a dribble of something warm roll down between his legs.
“OK? I think attained Nirvana, man.”
Dean laughs and scruffs up Sam's hair with a slightly sticky hand.
“Memorable then?”
“Oh yeah,” Sam mumbles into the cushions. He feels sated and sore in the best
possible way. Sleep is threatening to tug him under, although he knows he needs
a shower and to clean the upholstery off as soon as he can move.
“So,” Dean says, voice seeming far away. “You think maybe...you wanna de-
virginize my ass sometime?”
And Sam's back in the room. If he hadn't just had the most awesome climax of
his young life, he'd probably be creaming himself at those words.
“Gimme, like, twenty minutes.”
Dean grins at that and swats his ass as he disentangles himself from his
brother and hops off the couch.
“That's my boy.”
 

 
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