Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6602530.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Sam_Winchester/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Original_Male_Character
      (s)
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Fluff_and_Angst, Prostitute_Sam, Possessive_Dean, Mutual
      Pining, Top_Dean, Bottom_Sam
  Collections:
      Wincest_Reverse_Bang_2016
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-08 Words: 10402
****** Candy Apples and Sunshine ******
by Astus
Summary
     Sam and Dean go to the desert and live in a trailer park. John is on
     a hunt somewhere. Things happen. Good things. Bad things. Sexy
     things.
Notes
     So, this is the longest thing that I have ever written. It's for the
     Wincest Reverse Bang. My talented artist is salmondeane. All credit
     goes to her for the idea, since I was inspired by her art. Go check
     out her tumblr for more! The dubious consent in this fic is coercion,
     there is no violence involved with the sex.
See the end of the work for more notes
This fic has a soundtrack! It was created by my brilliant artist. Here it is:
Songs by Lizzy Grant (Lana Del Ray)
Yayo
Trash
Hundred_Dollar_Bill
                                      SAM
It could have been worse. The trailer park was in the desert, and spread out.
Each trailer had their own yard. Some were even fenced in. The trailer their
Dad drove them up to was, of course, the most rundown trailer among them. It
was a dingy gray that had once probably been white. Some of the windows were
taped up, and the stairs that led to the door were cracked from expanding and
contracting from the heat and the cold.
They were about an hour and a half away from Los Angeles, in a little town in
the high desert of the Mohave. Sam liked the heat of California. He liked the
vastness. He liked the way the snow-topped mountains surrounded them in the
Valley. It felt like he had space. It was an illusion. He would never have real
space. There would always be too many nights in the claustrophobic confines of
the Impala, trying to sleep scrunched up in the backseat, long legs pressed up
against Dean's body. But it was an illusion that Sam appreciated. Sometimes, he
enjoyed the lie. No, it was more than that. He needed the lie. Like he needed
the lie of a mother's love, when he had never remembered experiencing it.
“Home, sweet home,” Sam muttered in the backseat of the Impala, with the smoke
of Dean's lit cigarette floating back from the front seat. At least it was a
real house this time and not some cockroach infested hotel room with
suspiciously stained sheets.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said as he got out of the car. “Help me get our bags.”
Sam got out, and stretched, his hands flexing as he reached as high as he could
upwards. He lowered his arms, rolled his shoulders, and looked over at Dean.
Dean was looking back, and there was something in his eyes that Sam couldn't
place. He cocked his head at Dean, who shook his, and looked away. Sam felt
like he had missed something important.
His dad was unlocking the front door. “Get the bags, boys,” he called out.
“Even yours?” Sam couldn't help but ask. He doubted his dad was staying longer
than he had to. The hunt, the mission came first. He always made it clear that
strangers were more important than his own sons.
“Sam,” Dean's voice was admonishing. And Sam felt petty, like a pouting child.
“I'm staying a few days with you boys. Got to get you settled in school, Sam.
See about getting a car.”
“You're gonna leave the Impala with me, sir?”
Dad smiled. “I can trust you to take care of her.”
It wasn't a question, but Dean answered anyway. “Yes, sir.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but he was happy for Dean.
The trailer had two bedrooms, and two beds. Sam and Dean had shared beds
before, but that was before. Before Sam had started to have feelings about his
brother. Feelings that made Sam's cock hard, and left him aching. It was cool,
Sam could do this. Their dad would mostly be away, anyway. Dean could sleep in
his room. Yeah. It was going to be fine.
It was not fine. That night Sam slept beside Dean. Or more accurately layed
awake beside Dean. He tried to take up the least amount of space that was
possible. He didn't want the temptation that was Dean's skin touching him. He
didn't want the feelings that branded him a freak. All he wanted was peace.
Sleep eventually came for him, but peace never did.
The next day Sam started school. It was just like any other school that Sam had
gone to over the years. His dad dropped him off at the entrance.
“Have a good day, Sam. Stay safe.”
Sam nodded. There were groups of students standing around the dusty yard. Sam
could already see the cliques. The popular kids huddled around the parking lot.
They were pretty, with perfect teeth, and perfect cars. Sam felt himself
sneering. These kids had no idea how hard everybody else had it. They showed
off their privilege like jewelry, it glittered in the sunlight. The nerdy kids
were grouped by the school doors. They carried their books, and slouched in
their unfashionable clothes. Sam wished he fit in with them. Wished he fit in
with anyone.
Instead, Sam took his place with the loners. The freaks. They disappeared into
the brick walls, into their cars, hoping no one saw them. Then no one could see
their worthlessness. Sam leaned against the fence that surrounded the school,
and waited for the doors to open. He hoped this school would be different
despite appearances. He hoped he could breathe here.
The bell rang, and the students filed in. Sam followed. It seemed like he was
always following.
The office was small with a woman in a pantsuit that manned the desk. Sam
smiled at her, and gave her his best innocent puppy dog look. “Hello, ma'am.
I'm Sam Winchester, a new student here.”
“Of course. We've been expecting you, Sam. Your father called us a few days
ago,” she smile crookedly at him. She handed him a few papers. “Here's your
schedule. Your transcripts were sent over yesterday, and I must say, we were
impressed. You'll notice you're mostly in advanced classes. There's also a map
of the school, the cafeteria menu, and a little information about the
activities we have to offer, like sports and clubs. Oh, and your locker
assignment and combination. We hope your happy here, Sam.”
Sam felt a little overwhelmed, but pleased.
“I'm Mrs. Sawyer. Come see me if you have any questions.”
“I will,” Sam responded.
The school wasn't that hard to navigate. It was small. Sam appreciated the
small class sizes, and the more challenging subject matter in the advanced
classes. There was a guy in his chemistry class, Tom, who seemed pretty cool.
He was a bit of an outcast too. Sam had sat next to him, took notes, and tried
to ignore everyone else. Tom would have none of that.
“Pssst,” the kid next to him had whispered.
Sam ignored him.
“Hey, new kid,” he had whispered again, then started making clicking noises
with his tongue.
Sam had been annoyed enough to look over. “Yeah?”
“My name's Tom.”
“Sam.”
“Well, Sam, everybody at school pretty much sucks. You wanna be my lab
partner?”
“Don't you already have one?” Sam asked. He figured he must, since it was the
middle of the year.
“Yeah, but he sticks me with all the work. And you'll need one. I'll tell Mr.
Matthews that I'll volunteer to be yours.”
“What will your partner do?”
“He'll be fine. I promise,” Tom smiled at him.
Sam had agreed. Overall, it had been a pretty good day. Much better than Sam
had expected.
Sam walked home. The wind was gusting. Tumbleweeds were blowing across the
green fields on Sam's route. The desert was more green than Sam had expected.
There were even flowers. Little yellow ones, and purple ones. They filled in
the spots between the green. There was still the sand that Sam had expected,
but it didn't take up the whole space. Didn't spread as far as the eye could
see. Didn't engulf Sam in a vast, arid wasteland. Sam felt hope. Maybe life
here wouldn't be bad. Maybe it would even be good.
When Sam got home, his father was already gone, and there was a note on the
kitchen table. So much for his dad staying for a couple of days. He read the
note. 
Sam,
Got a job at a mechanic's. I'll be back in time to make dinner.
Dean
Sam sighed. Another town, same old shit.
As the days passed, Sam got closer to Tom. He was funny, and he liked Sam. That
was enough to build a friendship on. Tom also seemed to be somewhat of an
outcast. He was poor. His shoes were scuffed, his clothes a little too big. He
didn't fit in with the shiny white sneakers that walked around the school. But
he fit in with Sam's hand-me-down boots pretty well. They talked about movies,
books, and the sub par cafeteria food that they both secretly liked.
One day, Tom invited Sam over to his house, while they were eating overly
salted spaghetti. “You can meet my brother. He's pretty cool,” he coaxed. It
didn't take much for Sam to agree.
Sam was surprised to find out that Tom and Richard, Tom's brother, lived near
him, in the same trailer park area. Their trailer was up the road a little from
Sam's. Sam pointed out their trailer to Tom.
“We're neighbors,” Richard exclaimed. “How cool is that? I'll have to come over
to your place sometime.”
“Sure,” Sam grinned at him.
Tom's trailer was better looking. It was wide, and the color of the desert
sand. The windows were clean and unbroken, and the trim looked like it had been
freshly painted a dusky orange.
They went in to find a man spread out on the couch.
“Richard, this is Sam,” Tom said, gesturing between Sam and the man on the
couch.
Sam thought Richard was pretty. Not Dean pretty. Dean had a feminine quality to
his features, with his long dark eyelashes and his full pouty lips. Not
Richard. Richard had a chiseled jaw, and a broad nose. He was pale. But his
complexion did not serve to make him look delicate. It just emphasized the
harshness of his features. Brought them into stark relief, rather than shadow
them with a tan. He looked at Sam like Sam was worth knowing. Like Sam was
someone important.
“Hey,” Richard said.
“Hey,” Sam muttered, and looked down. His hair fell into his eyes. 
“Guess what, Richard? We're neighbors with Sam,” Tom said.
“Is that right?” Richard said, while he was looking at Sam.
Sam shivered.
“Come on, Sam. Let's go to my room. I've got a ton of video games,” Tom said as
he started dragging Sam into a hallway.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Sam,” Sam heard Richard call out.
“Yeah, you too,” he was able to get out before Tom shut the door of his room,
and demanded all of his attention.
After that, Tom started to come over to Sam's house more. It took a few weeks
for Dean to meet him.
“My brother's home,” Sam told Tom as they walked up to Sam's house.
“Dean, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I should meet him. You met mine. A brother for a brother,” Tom said.
Sam grinned over at him. “C'mon, man,” he said, as he pushed Tom up the steps
to the door.
When the door closed behind them, Dean called out, “Sammy, c'mere!”
Sam motioned for Tom to follow him, as he went into the kitchen where Dean's
voice was calling for him. His head was buried in the fridge.
“So, I was thinking we'd order in a pizza. There's nothing in here,” Dean said.
“Dean,” Sam said.
Dean poked his head out of the fridge. “Yeah?”
“This is Tom,” Sam said, gesturing to his friend.
“Hey, nice to meet you,” Dean nodded to Tom. “Pizza?”
“Yeah, Dean. Pizza.”
“Can I stay for dinner?” Tom asked.
“Sure, man. The more the merrier,” Dean answered.
Sam and Tom went into Sam's room.
Later, when they were having a Hawaiian pizza (the only way Sam could get Dean
to eat fruit except for pie, which totally didn't count), there was a knock on
the door. When Dean answered it, Richard was standing on the other side.
“Who are you?” Dean asked.
“That's my brother,” Tom responded.
“Richard,” Richard said, as he held out his hand for Dean to shake.
Dean did. “Dean,” he reciprocated.
“What are you doing here?” Tom asked his brother.
“Wanted to tell you that I wasn't going to be home tonight, and to find your
own dinner. But I see you already have that covered.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, keep eating. I'll see you tomorrow,” Richard said. Before he left, he
looked at Sam. “Hi, Sam. I'll see you soon.” Then he left.
Dean frowned after him, and Sam shook off the weight of his stare.
The next time Sam went over to Tom's, Richard insisted that they stay in the
living room with him and watch a movie.
“You never spend time with me anymore,” he said to Tom, with his eyes on Sam.
“All right,” Tom agreed.
“You should go make the popcorn, and bring us some sodas,” Richard ordered Tom.
Tom rolled his eyes, but obeyed.
Richard motioned to the couch. “Have a seat, Sam.”
Sam sat, and was surprised when Richard sat down beside him. Right beside him,
with his thigh pressing up against Sam's. His stretched out his arm behind Sam,
and propped it up on the back of the couch.
“How's school going?” Richard asked.
“Fine,” Sam answered.
Richard leaned in, breathed in Sam's ear, “just fine?” His hand went to Sam's
upper thigh.
Sam shifted on the couch, and tried to put a little space between them, but
found he was right up against the arm. “Yeah, just fine,” he snapped a little.
Sam thought Richard was attractive, was a little flattered by his interest, but
he did not like his personal space infringed on.
“Could you back off a little?” Sam asked.
Richard laughed. He lifted his hand, and ran his fingers through Sam's hair.
“Of course, darlin,” Richard drawled. “All you had to do was ask.”
By the time Tom came back in the room, Richard was sitting on the other end of
the couch, at a respectable distance away.
“You guys ready?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, man. I'm ready,” Richard replied, eyes again on Sam.
Sam was uncomfortable the rest of the night.
Sam blew Tom off at school the next day. He didn't feel like seeing Richard's
sprawling form. Didn't feel like feeling Richard's eyes on him. He just wanted
to be with Dean. But when he got home, Dean wasn't there. Probably still at
work. Oh well. Maybe he could he have dinner waiting on Dean. Not that he knew
how to cook much. That had always been Dean's job. Maybe boxed mac 'n' cheese.
He could handle that.
He put his stuff by the kitchen table, and searched the cabinets. He found the
box and carefully read the instructions. It didn't seem too hard, and while he
waited for the water to boil he could start on his homework. When he was
getting the butter out of the fridge, he found a half pack of hot dogs. Score.
He added them to the pasta. By the time he was done making dinner and doing his
homework, Dean still wasn't at home. No way he was still at work, it was going
on seven. Decided to hit the bar then.
Sam ate in front of the television, and left Dean's share on the stove. He
could eat when he came back. Sam went to bed early.
He woke up around two, and Dean was in bed beside him. He must have drunkenly
stumbled into bed. Not thinking about the other empty room. He was shirtless,
tousled, beautiful. He was like a god. Loki, if Sam had to pick one. The god of
fire. The god of Sam's fire.
Sam slid his hand under the covers, as he tried not to jar Dean laying next to
him. Once he had his hand under his pants, on his dick, he looked over at Dean
to make sure that he was still sleeping. He was. His long eyelashes were
resting against his freckled-dusted cheeks, his chest was moving steadily up
and down, and his arm was resting in between them. Sam's gaze was drawn to
Dean's hand resting loosely curled up beside him. It contrasted with the dingy
sheets with its creamy porcelain appearance, the nails were short, practical.
They reminded Sam of Dean cleaning his gun, fixing his car, and swinging a
shovel to dig up graves. They reminded Sam of competence. Sam held his breath
and slid one of his fingers of his left hand (his right was still holding his
dick) into the palm of Dean's hand. It was callused, rough, and Sam's breath
hitched, and he grew harder in his fingers. He watched Dean as he started to
stroke his palm. His dick was pulsing now, demanding his attention, and Sam
gave it. Now he was stroking with both hands. It was the barest of touches, the
softest of pressures, but it only took him a few minutes to come into his palm.
Sam took his hand out of pants, and imagined Dean's grassy eyes open and
watching him when he licked it off.
The next morning Sam was ashamed. He forgot all the poetry that he had
surrounded Dean with. Instead, he came up with a reasonable explanation. He was
pretty sure that he was just gay. Just because he jacked off to Dean didn't
mean anything. Didn't mean he wanted to fuck his brother. He just wanted to
fuck a guy. It was natural that would transfer to Dean. Dean was a guy, he was
sexually experienced, and he was close. They never had any privacy, never had a
space to call their own, it made sense that Sam would get that mixed up.
Weren't most teenagers big bags of hormones? Sam was like any other normal
teenager who just so happened to be gay. He needed to be around other boys.
Boys that weren't related to him. Boys he could date. He would stop blowing Tom
off.
                                     DEAN
Dean knew that there was something going on with Sam. He just didn't know what.
He was always over at that Tom's house. Tom was okay, but he didn't care much
for Richard. Something about him was off. He was too familiar with Sam. Touched
him too much. Dean had seen them once when Richard was talking to Sam without
Tom around. Richard had been close to Sam, with his hand on his shoulder. Sam's
body had been a little tense. Dean had just gotten a weird vibe.
Dean knew he was biased. He might not have seen what he thought he had. His
jealousy might have influenced him. He ached with love for his Sammy. He wanted
to skim his hands over his long legs, wanted to taste Sam's tongue with his
own, wanted to cuddle up to him and breathe in the scent of his hair. He didn't
think it was wrong. How could it be? Sam was his, and he was Sam's. He was just
waiting for Sam to catch up. Because as much as he wanted Sam, he would never
make the first move. He would never pressure Sam. It had to be Sam's choice.
But on days like this, he couldn't help but want Sam to go ahead and make that
choice already. Days when he was off work, and able to persuade Sam to hang out
with him. They were out in the yard, sunbathing. Dean was drinking a beer. Sam
was shirtless. Sweat was dripping down from the nape of his neck, sliding down
his spine, disappearing into his shorts. Dean wanted to follow it with his
mouth. Wanted to drown in Sam's sweat, his scent, his taste. His cock started
to stiffen in his jeans. He eased up from his chair.
“I need to go use the can,” he told Sam.
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Too much information, Dean.”
“I'd thought you want to know about my bowel movements, little brother. Don't
you care about my health at all?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam said as he waved Dean off.
Dean took his time going inside, ambling without hurry. But when he got in the
trailer, he moved quickly to the kitchen window and opened the blinds. Then, he
unbuttoned his jeans, and took his cock out. Sam was in the same position,
sprawled over the patch of sand that was considered a lawn, with his back to
the sun and long legs stretching on into forever. Dean started to stroke his
cock. He thought about what it would be like to suck Sam's cock. Sam would have
his hands in his hair, and his mouth would be open in pleasure. He would tell
Sam how good he tasted, how well he fit into Dean's mouth. He would tease Sam,
bringing him to the edge over and over again, until Sam was begging. Begging
with the same voice that used to beg him not to go to school. Not to leave him
at home with Dad. And Dean would quit teasing, and tell Sam to fuck his mouth.
Sam would be reluctant at first. He wouldn't want to hurt Dean. He would have
to coax him into it, reassure him, and finally Sam would let go. He would fuck
Dean's mouth, hit the back of Dean's throat, and Dean would swallow around him.
Swallow his come when it spilled into his mouth, swallow all of Sam.
Dean groaned. His balls tightened. He started jacking his dick faster, his eyes
focused on Sam. He came over his fist, Sam's name exhaled on a sigh. He went to
the bathroom, washed his hands, tucked his dick back in his jeans, and told
himself to be satisfied with the fantasy.
                                      SAM
Tom hadn't been at school today. Sam was worried, and felt a little guilty for
ditching him the day before. He decided to go check on him at his house. He
could catch him up with chemistry at least. But went he got there, Tom wasn't
there.
“He's out,” Richard said. “Doing a few things for me.”
“Okay, I'll just come back later.” But when Sam went to leave, Richard grabbed
him by his wrist.
“You should stay,” Richard coaxed. “We could get to know each other.”
“I'm not sure. . .” Sam trailed off.
“C'mon, Sam. I don't bite.”
Against his better judgement, Sam went inside.
It didn't take long for Richard to get him on the couch, pressed all up against
him. Sam knew what Richard wanted from him.
He wasn't a boy, though. A boy like Tom. That was Sam's first thought. This was
a man. A man that was currently running his large hand over the inside of Sam's
thigh.
“C'mon, Sammy, let me make you feel good,” Richard purred.
“Don't call me Sammy.”
“Whatever you want.”
Maybe he could close his eyes, lay back, and think of Dean. Maybe he could
forget Dean entirely. Sam nodded.
“Can I kiss you?”
Sam nodded again. Richard leaned forward and pressed his mouth into Sam's.
Right away Sam knew that he couldn't pretend this man was Dean. His mouth was
wrong. The lips were too thin, too dry. He kissed too softly. Dean would be
possessive, forceful. Sam opened his mouth allowing Richard's tongue inside. He
tasted like wine. Richard pulled back.
“See. Not too scary, babydoll.”
Richard took his hands in his, and placed them on the buttons of his shirt.
“Undress me.”
Sam's hands were shaking. It took him several seconds of fumbling to get the
first button undone. All the while, Richard was silent, watching him. Sam
unbuttoned the rest of the buttons as fast as his shaking hands would allow,
revealing a narrow strip of pale hairless skin down Richard's chest.
“Good boy,” Richard praised as he again took Sam's hands. “My turn.”
Richard's hands were far more efficient than Sam's had been. Practiced and
concise. Sam felt exposed as a novice as his body became more exposed. Richard
went a step farther than he had allowed Sam, and pushed the shirt from Sam's
broad but thin shoulders. Sam wanted to look away, wanted to cover himself, but
he forced himself to stay still, to meet Richard's eyes.
“You're so beautiful, honey. I knew you would be,” Richard said as his eyes
roamed over Sam's chest. “Take my shirt off, Sam.”
Sam brought his hands up, and pushed the shirt off of Richard's shoulders. For
the first time, he felt lust go through him, as he saw the wide muscled
shoulders that the shirt had concealed. Sam wanted to touch them.
“Can I touch you?” Sam wasn't sure why he asked, but for some reason it felt
necessary.
“Of course. I would like that very much.”
Sam ran his hands over Richard's shoulders. They were warm and hard. Sam leaned
forward and put his mouth on them. Tasted them by running his tongue over the
swells and dips across his shoulders, over his collarbones. They tasted liked
salt. Richard moaned. Sam felt himself harden in his jeans. He started to drag
his mouth farther down, over his stomach, but Richard pushed him away.
“Not just yet, honey. Let's get you out of those jeans first.”
Richard took Sam by the hand and led him to his bedroom. It was a dark room,
full of grays and blues. Soothing, Sam thought. Like a thunderstorm. Richard
pushed him onto his big bed. It engulfed him with its size, with its softness.
Richard grinned at him.
“Now for those pants.”
He untied Sam's shoes, pulled them off, and gently pulled off Sam's socks. His
fingers touched the arches of Sam's long, narrow feet. “Beautiful.”
Richard knelt at the end of the bed, grabbed Sam by his ankles, and pulled,
sliding Sam across the bed toward him. It made Sam feel small. Richard's
fingers found the button and zipper of Sam's jeans, and undid them.
“Lift up for me, darling.”
Sam did, and Richard pulled down his jeans. Sam wasn't wearing underwear
because none had been clean. Laundry day was tomorrow.
“Aren't you a naughty boy?” Richard said with his eyebrow cocked. Sam blushed,
certain that it looked like that he had planned this. That he was a seducer of
men. Aphrodite rising from the oceans. Sam rising from the bed, when Richard
skimmed his mouth down his chest. He felt beautiful. Wanted. Cherished.
Then Richard's mouth was on his cock. His tongue wrapped around the head, his
mouth made an obscene slurping sound that Sam loved. Sam whined in the back of
his throat. His eyelashes fluttered. The warm suction on his cock was the best
thing that Sam had ever felt. It only took him a minute or so to come, spilling
his seed in Richard's mouth. When Sam looked down and saw that Richard
swallowed as he came, it was like he was swallowing Sam's impurities.
Swallowing Sam's sins. For a few seconds, Sam felt cleansed. He closed his eyes
and relaxed back against the mattress.
“Don't get too comfortable, honey. We're not done yet,” Richard drawled.
Sam heard the click of a bottle and then a long, thin, well-lubricated finger
penetrated him. It was uncomfortable, and he squirmed against it.
“Shh, darling, just relax,” Richard's voice whispered. He moved up Sam's body a
little, still working his finger inside of him, to kiss him. Their tongues
tangled together. Another finger went into Sam's ass. He bit Richard's tongue.
“Fuck,” Richard muttered as he pulled away, his fingers stilling.
Sam was horrified. “I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.”
“I can't believe I did that. I am so sorry,” Sam said, panicked.
Richard looked at him. His brown eyes sincere, intense. “It's fine, Sam. You
just gotta relax for me.”
Sam nodded.
“Okay, let's try this again.” Richard lowered his mouth again and gently kissed
and nipped at Sam's lips. His tongue swiped across them. Sam parted his lips,
and Richard's tongue swept inside, only to withdraw. His mouth then moved over
Sam's jaw, nipping with his teeth, and then soothing with his tongue. Sam's
world became Richard's mouth. Richard's teeth. Richard's tongue. And then he
felt Richard's fingers start to move inside of him again. This time it just
felt like fullness. Not uncomfortable, not pleasurable, just there filling him
up. It went on for a few minutes, and then Richard added a third finger. The
pressure increased, but it wasn't painful. And then Sam felt a spike of
pleasure. It startled him. He moaned, and squirmed, and tried to force
Richard's fingers deeper into his ass.
“There you go, honey. So beautiful on my fingers. I can't wait to see how you
look on my cock.”
Sam whimpered. “Yeah, please.”
After a few more thrusts of his fingers, Richard pulled them out. Sam panted
and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Richard putting on the condom, and then
he felt Richard's cock nudging his ass. He closed his eyes and waited. Then
Richard's cock was in his ass. Filling him up more than his fingers had. He was
going slow but steady. Slow and steady wins the race, Sam thought. He giggled.
“You alright, darling?” Richard's concerned voice asked.
“Yeah,” Sam managed to get out. Then Richard was in him. All the way in him. He
bent down to kiss him.
“You feel so good, Sam. You take my cock so good. Like you were made for it.
Such a good boy.”
Sam felt pleased. Almost proud. He might not hunt as well as his family, but he
could take a cock. He could make someone feel good. He could do something
right. He smiled up at Richard. Richard smiled back and began to move. It was
good. Richard's cock hitting his prostate over and over. Sam wrapped his legs
around Richard's hips, and titled his own hips up a little more and rocked. He
was hard again. He reached for his cock, and Richard batted it away.
“I'll take care of you, Sam. Let's see if you can come from my cock.”
And all Sam wanted was to please him, so he agreed. After a few more strokes,
Richard's hips started to stutter, and slam harder into his.
“I'm close, honey. Come with me.”
Sam tried, he really did, but by the time Richard had came, Sam was still hard.
He had failed, and hadn't managed to reach orgasm on Richard's cock alone.
“I'm sorry. I didn't come,” Sam admitted.
Richard smiled down at him. He reached down and palmed Sam's cock. “That's
okay. We'll work on it.” And then he jacked Sam off. Sam promised himself he
would do better next time.
Sam kept seeing Richard. He tried to forget Dean in Richard's arms. Tried to
convince himself that all that was between them were hormones. Whenever Richard
called, Sam showed up. Whenever Sam showed up, Richard was willing. He knew
Richard was too old for him. He knew that Richard manipulated him into that
first time, a little. But he also knew he went willingly. He begged for
Richard's cock. He didn't even like Richard most of the time, even though he
liked what Richard could do for him. It made him feel dirty afterward, in the
aftermath of orgasms and come. He had stopped hanging out with Tom. He always
made an excuse. He never saw him when he went over to their place. If he was
home, they went elsewhere. Like the park, or the movie theater, or some
deserted parking lot. He had started snapping at Dean. It seemed like he was
always angry with his brother. The bitch of it was, Sam didn't even know why.
Sam came home from school one day. Dean was already there. He was going to go
to Richard's later, but he wanted to see his brother, hang out with him.
“Hey, Dean,” he yelled out as he came in.
“Hey, I'm in here,” Dean yelled back.
Dean was laying in their bed, reading one of Sam's books. His shirt had ridden
up a little, and Sam could see a sliver of freckled skin above his waistband.
It was all Sam could see. He wondered what his brother would do if he licked
him there. Just let his tongue glide back and forth over the exposed skin.
“Sam,” Dean said. It sounded like it wasn't the first time that he had tried to
get his attention.
“Yeah, sorry,” Sam said.
“You okay, man? Seems like you've been off for a few weeks. Something going on
at school?”
“No, everything's fine.”
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Dean asked.
“I said nothing's wrong, Dean,” Sam raised his voice.
Dean held his hands up. “All right. Sure.”
Sam took a deep breath. It wasn't fair to take out his frustration on Dean.
“I'm a freak,” Sam found himself saying without his permission.
Dean sat up on the bed. “You're not. You're just not like other people.”
“Yeah, an abnormality. A freak. Other people don't want what I want.”
“And what do you want, Sam?”
“You wouldn't understand. You would hate me.”
“No matter what you told me, I could never hate you.”
“You'll be furious at me. Disgusted by me.”
“I'm not gonna promise to not get mad. But I can promise to listen. Trust me.
Please.”
Sam figured he would start with the lesser of the two evils, see how Dean took
it, and go from there. “I'm gay,” he said, looking at the ground.
“Okay.”
Sam's head popped up. “What do you mean okay?”
“I mean okay. I suspected. I don't hate you. I'm not mad at you. Not even a
little.”
Sam was relieved. But he knew he wasn't done. He had to get it all out. “I'm in
love with you.”
Dean turned his face away. Sam could feel himself starting to cry. This was it.
He had lost his brother. He started for the door. He didn't know where he was
going. Just that he had to get out. He had to be able to breathe.
“Sam.”
Sam's hands were on the knob. He paused.
“Sam,” Dean's voice was more insistent. Sam didn't turn around. He didn't think
he could handle whatever Dean was about to say. Then, Dean's hand was on his
shoulder, turning him around.
“Fucking finally. I've been waiting forever, sweetheart,” Dean breathed. Dean
bent to kiss him but Sam turned his face away. He had thought that Dean's
rejection would hurt the most. He was wrong. Dean feeling the same was way
worse.
“Sam?”
“We can't do this, Dean,” Sam said. He hated saying it. He wanted to curl up in
Dean's arms and let him take the pain away. He wanted to go back in time before
this moment so he wouldn't feel this loss.
“Why not? Is it the incest?”
“No. Well, yeah. A little. But I kind of accepted that a little while ago. It
makes sense, you know? Psychologically. We went through puberty trapped in
small motel rooms together. We were encouraged to not form any lasting
connections. It makes sense that that this might happen.”
“Yeah. But I know how you always wanted normal. I don't think this qualifies.”
“No. Might as well drown in ten feet of water than six right?”
“Then why can't this happen?”
“Because you don't know everything about me. You wouldn't want this, wouldn't
want me if you knew,” Sam confessed.
“I want you even though your my brother, dude. I don't anything can trump
that.”
“Trust me. This does.”
“Sam-,” Dean started.
Sam shook his head, and walked out the door. He couldn't drag Dean down to hell
with him. His sins were his own. Sam went to Richard.
Richard met Sam outside of his trailer. There was a strange car parked in the
driveway. Sam figured that Richard had to cancel.
“Hey, honey. I've got company inside,” Richard told him.
“That's okay. I can come back later,” Sam turned to go.
Richard caught his hand. “No, babe. Come inside. Stay. I told Jeremy all about
you. He really wants to meet you.”
Richard was introducing him to his friends? That was like an actual
relationship, right? Maybe Richard did see him as a boyfriend. Sam flushed.
“Okay,” he said.
“You're so adorable. Such a good boy for me.”
Sam was happy with the praise. He hoped Richard would keep holding his hand.
Richard tugged him up the stairs and into the house.
Jeremy was sitting on the couch. “You weren't lying, Rich. He's beautiful.”
“And all mine,” Richard smiled. He turned Sam's face toward him, and kissed
him. His tongue battled with Sam's. Sam leaned into the kiss, and then
remembered the stranger on the couch. He pulled back, embarrassed. When he
looked over, it was to Jeremy stroking his cock through his jeans.
“You don't mind if he watches do you, honey?”
“I. . .I don't. . .”
“Come on. He'll just watch. Isn't that right, Jeremy?”
“Yeah, man. Of course. No plans to touch,” Jeremy said as he held his hands up.
“It would make me so happy. Don't you wanna make me happy?” Richard asked.
“I'm not sure if. . .” Sam stuttered out.
“That's okay. You can go home, Sam. I should have known better than to get
involved with someone so young. You can't handle an adult relationship yet.”
“No! No, I'll do it,” Sam agreed.
“There's my good boy,” Richard whispered into his ear.
“You wanna move this into the bedroom?” Richard asked Jeremy.
“Hell yeah,” Jeremy answered.
Sam told himself that when Richard kissed him, that this was nothing he hadn't
done before. He would just forget that Jeremy even existed. He could pretend
that they were alone. He could do this for Richard. So, when Richard took off
his clothes, he ignored the sound of a zipper going down in the corner. When he
sucked Richard's cock, he blocked out the sound of flesh stroking wet flesh.
When Richard ate out his ass, he acted like he couldn't hear the quiet moans
that weren't his. But he couldn't ignore the warm hand on his back.
Sam startled, and tried to sit up, but the hand kept him pressed down. He heard
Jeremy's voice. Richard was still eating him out.
“I just wanna make you feel good, man. You look too good to not touch you.”
“Richard?” Sam asked.
The tongue in his ass was taken out. “Come on, honey. Be my good boy. We just
want to please you. Nothing will happen that you don't want,” Richard coaxed.
Sam paused, which Richard must have taken as consent, because his tongue went
back into his ass. Jeremy's hands stroked down his back, over his hips, and
then underneath him to fondle his cock. And Sam let his protests die. It was
just one time. And Jeremy's hand did feel good.
They had him multiple times that night, in multiple ways.
Richard fucked him, while he sucked Jeremy's dick. Jeremy fucked him, while he
sucked Richard's dick. Sam liked that. He liked having a dick in his mouth. He
liked the feeling of power it gave him. In the moment that Richard or Jeremy
came down his throat, he felt vindicated. He felt worthy. He also liked the
feeling of being filled up, like if they went any deeper, they would come out
of Sam's belly. At some point, they were fucking him at the same time. Two
cocks were in his hole. They were behind him, and occasionally Sam could hear
mouths meet mouths in between groans.
He looked over his shoulder and saw them kissing, as they were moving in Sam's
body. One of Richard's hands was behind Jeremy, and Jeremy was groaning every
time he pulled back from Sam. Sam realized that Richard's fingers must be
inside of Jeremy, stretching him open. Hitting his prostate. Sam didn't know
why, but he felt jealous. He wondered if Richard had been fucking anyone else
beside him. When they broke apart, Richard saw him looking at them, and he
grinned at Sam.
Sam turned around again, but he could still hear Richard's voice. Hear him
talking to Jeremy.
“You like that? My fingers in your ass while you fuck his sweet hole?” Richard
asked.
“Yeah,” Jeremy groaned.
“Maybe I should fuck you next. Sam can suck you off. What do you think?”
“Yeah, yeah. Please,” Jeremy answered.
And Sam knew it would happen, and he was turned on despite himself.
“Come for me, honey,” Richard whispered.
And he came screaming.
“Good boy.”
Later that night found Sam passed out in Richard's bed. He was awoken by
Richard calling his name. Sam was groggy, and looked around to find Jeremy
gone. He was covered in come. When he rose from the sheets, they stuck to his
body.
“Time to take a shower, honey. Don't want your brother to worry,” Richard said.
Sam nodded, peeled the sheet off, and walked to the bathroom. He threw up in
the shower. Heaving into the drain, while he sat on his knees, shivering
despite the warmth of the water. Even though his trailer was close, barely a
three minute walk, it still felt like it would take a long time to get there.
He knew Dean would make everything better. He just had to tell him, and Dean
would take care of everything. But he would also see Sam as he was. Tainted.
Impure. Sam knew that he would never tell Dean.
When Sam got out of the shower, Richard was waiting for him.
“Here's your cut, Sam,” Richard said as he handed him a fistful of dollars.
“My cut of what?”
“Don't be stupid, Sam. You know what for. You know what you're good for.”
And Sam did. He was cold on the walk home, despite the warmth of the night.
Richard was right. It was all that Sam was good for.
                                     DEAN
“You okay, man?” Dean asked one day after Sam got home from school. The kid
looked a little broody, staring out the window.
“Yeah,” Sam muttered.
“You sure. Haven't seen Tom around much.”
“I'm fine. Tom is fine. Everything is fine.”
What about Richard?” Dean asked.
Dean thought he saw something in Sam's eyes. Something that flickered when he
mentioned Richard's name.
“Do you know something about Richard?” Dean asked.
“No. Why would I know something? I've hardly spoken to the guy.”
Dean studied Sam. He wouldn't quite meet Dean's eyes. He was looking somewhere
past his shoulder. And Dean understood that Sam was lying. Now, to figure out
why.
“You know you can tell me anything right, Sam?”
“Of course.”
“If Richard's been bothering you-”
“No,” Sam interrupted, “nothing like that.”
Sam was flushed. Sweating. His eyes turned to the ground, and he hid behind his
hair. And Dean knew. Or was pretty sure he did. He knew Sam would never tell
him. He was determined to be a grown-up, to not need Dean. No way he would
confess to something like this, an adult man preying on him. He had to talk to
Richard.
Dean leaned against the wall of Richard's trailer. His eyes were narrowed
against the smoke of the cigarette that rested in his short, work-roughened
fingers. He stood there for a few minutes studying one of the neighbors pink
plastic flamingos. They formed a flock around a cheaply made sand box. No, not
a flock, a flamboyance. That was what a group of flamingos were called. Sam had
told him that. He was such a little nerd.
The door of the trailer squeaked, causing Dean to look over in its direction.
Richard was emerging. Dean rolled his shoulders like a prizefighter, and then
stepped up to do battle.
“You fucking my little brother?” Dean asked. All he needed was the
confirmation. The confirmation that this man had had his hands on Sam. His cock
in Sam.
“That's none of your business,” Richard responded.
“Considering my brother is underage, I'd say it's very much my business.”
“You would need proof to get me arrested. Which you don't have.”
“I've got Sam.”
“No, Dean. I'm pretty sure I have Sam.”
Dean wanted to hit him. Punch him right in his grinning face, but he knew that
wouldn't help him win any points with Sam. It wasn't just that Sam was his,
although he was, it was that Richard was taking advantage of him. Whispering
things in his ears, coercing him. If it had been someone else, someone Sam's
age, Dean would accept it, he told himself. But he was always a good liar, even
to himself. Maybe even especially to himself.
“You need to leave Sam alone,” Dean said.
“That's Sam's decision.”
“No, it's not. I'm in charge of him. He might not like it, but he'll do as I
say.”
“I don't think so, Dean. In fact, he does what I say now,” Richard smirked at
him. “Everything that I say.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asked.
“Just that your brother's a really exceptional student. He's learned to perform
so well for me.”
Dean didn't like the words. Didn't like the images they brought up. But it was
the smirk that pushed him over the line that he had drawn for himself. He moved
away from the wall, took three long steps, and swung out his fist. It hit
Richard's nose with a satisfying crack. Richard fell to the ground. Dean
reached down and hauled him up by his black button down shirt. He made sure to
meet his eyes.
“You touch my brother again, I start cutting off body parts. It will be slow
and bloody, and it will end with you unable to ever fuck another boy like Sam
again,” he sneered. He threw Richard back down on the ground, turned his back,
and walked away, shaking out his bruised fist.
Dean followed Sam that night. He had a pretty good idea where he was going, and
there was no way that he was letting that shit happen anymore. In his book,
Richard was a monster. He would have no qualms about killing him. But Sam
didn't go to Richard's trailer. He went past it, toward the main paved road.
Dean watched as he took out his cell phone, dialed someone, talked for a few
minutes, and then hung up. Nothing happened for a little while after that.
Then, about twenty minutes from when Sam had walked out the door, a black car
pulled up to Sam, who was standing on the side of the road, where the pavement
and the dirt kissed each other.
The window of the car rolled down, and Dean caught a glimpse of a man before it
rolled back up, and Sam got in the car.
“He does what I say now.”Richard's words came to Dean then, and he knew it was
connected. But he had no way of following Sam. The car had too much of a head
start. Dean wouldn't be able to catch up. He would just wait for Sam to get
home. He would confront him. They would argue. Maybe it would get physical. And
they would get past it. He had waited this long. He could wait a couple of more
hours.
                                      SAM
Sam's hands were nothing like Dean's. Sam's hands were soft, uncallused, quick
to show the cold. Dean's hands were tanned, freckled, work roughened, quick to
soothe Sam's distress. Sam thought about this as he blew on his hands. They
were cold. Red, and stiff. Sam's hands would never measure up to Dean's. His
were dirty. Unclean. Could never be scrubbed enough to absolve him. Could never
be pure enough to touch Dean's honest skin.
"Hey, baby. Looking for a date?”
Sam stopped curling and uncurling his fists, and looked up at the intruder. He
was pretty, polished, smooth. Sam smiled, and looked down coyly, letting his
hair fall in his face.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.”
The john took Sam by his slender dirty hand, leading him to the car that was
idling on the curb. In the backseat of his polished big black car Sam's hand
acquired one more unremovable stain.
                                     DEAN
 
When Sam came home, Dean was waiting for him. It was dark in the living room,
except for the lamp that was turned on. Dean was sitting on the couch, beer in
hand, and legs spread open. Sam couldn't help the way his gaze darted downward
toward Dean's crotch. He looked up, and found Dean looking back at him.
Studying him.
“Those are some impressive hickeys, Sam. I hope he wore a condom,” Dean said.
Sam hands went to his throat. They fluttered like a hummingbird, fast and
nervous, as he tried to hide the marks that he didn't know he had.
“Were you with Richard?” Dean asked, and his voice was even. Mild.
“No,” Sam answered.
Dean nodded, and stood up. “Who, then?”
Sam shook his head.
“You don't owe me loyalty, if that's what you're worried about. Your body is
your own. And you made it clear we aren't together. But I'm worried.”
“There's nothing to worry about.”
“No?” Dean approached him then. He put his hands on Sam's throat, and Sam felt
his fingers ghosting over his carotid artery. “Did you want this?”
Sam couldn't answer.
“Did you want this?” Dean repeated.
Sam shook his head. “No.”
“Did Richard make you do this?”
“No. He. . .He told me about this guy. But he didn't force me to do it.”
Dean nodded. “It was just a suggestion, right? Did you get paid for this?”
Sam nodded. He closed his eyes like a child playing peekaboo.
“And does Richard get paid?”
Sam nodded again, eyes still closed.
“You're not to blame here, Sam. You ain't done nothing wrong. This is all on
Richard.”
“It wasn't Richard sucking some dude's cock in the back of a car,” Sam
retorted. He wanted Dean to know everything. He wanted him to know how far he
had come from the little boy who only wanted more Lucky Charms.
Sam turned away. He heard Dean sighing behind him, and then felt Dean's hands
on his shoulders.
“Look at me, Sammy.”
Sam didn't turn around.
“Please, Sam.”
That bastard. Dean knew that Sam could never resist his tenderness. Sam turned
around, keeping his head down, unable to meet Dean's gaze.
“I want you. I wish I could say that the hooking didn't matter. But it does. It
does cause I'm selfish. I don't wanna share you.”
“I know. . .” Sam trailed off. He started again. “I know that I'm. . .dirty.”
“No. No, Sammy. You did what Richard told you to. What you thought you had to.
So have I. My hands ain't clean either darlin',” Dean said as he held out his
hands, palm up towards Sam. And they weren't clean. There was grease in the
creases. But Sam knew there was a difference. Come soaked hands were
disgusting, grease stained hands were honorable.
“It's different.”
“Maybe the stains are different. But we're not so different. You don't think
I've had sex with people I wasn't in love with? That I didn't care about? Not
so different, man.”
Dean lifted Sam's chin, turning his face up. And then Dean's lips were on his.
So soft. Dean's lips were so soft. Dean's tongue swiped across Sam's closed
mouth, and Sam opened to him. Desperate for the taste of him. Cigarettes, beer,
hard cinnamon candy, and something milder underneath. Something that Sam
suspected was just Dean. Sam wondered what he tasted like. Did he taste like
the ashes of other men? He had to know. He separated from Dean.
“What do I taste like?”
Dean smiled. “Like candy apples and sunshine.”
                                      SAM
Dean sat down on the bed, Sam was standing in front of him. He opened his legs
wide and Sam stepped between them. Dean's hands went up, curled around Sam's
sharp hipbones that his too short t-shirt exposed.
“Do you want this?” Dean asked.
“I've always wanted this,” Sam answered.
Dean nodded. His thumbs rubbed circles on Sam's skin, his calluses scraping
against the jutting bones. Besides the movement of his hands, Dean was still,
looking up at Sam, and Sam understood that Dean was waiting. Waiting for Sam to
decide. Waiting for Sam's choice. There was no hesitation when Sam bent down
and kissed him.
At first Dean was gentle, letting Sam lead, then the pressure increased. Grew
firm. Hard.
Sam fell against Dean, and his weight tumbled them onto the bed together. It
was awkward. Their boots were still on, weighing down their legs, probably
bruising skin when they tumbled against splayed legs. They both laughed. Sam
was sure that this was what sex was supposed to be. Joyful. Intense. Lustful.
“One second,” Dean murmured. He moved Sam to the side, sat up, and stripped off
his shirt. Sam had seen Dean shirtless countless times, had even been pressed
up against him shirtless when they had to sleep in the same bed and the nights
were too hot for anything but boxers. But this was Dean shirtless with his
mouth on Sam's, and Sam thought he could come from that alone.
Sam sat up and took off his own shirt. He needed to feel Dean without barriers.
He leaned back down and took Dean's mouth, groaned into it when he felt their
skin collide. Sam thought that, if he could, he'd like to be even closer to his
brother. He'd like to crawl inside Dean's skin, become melded with him, like
melting wax.
Dean's hands skimmed down his back, over his ass, and stayed. They felt like
fire. Sam didn't know how long their tongues explored each other's mouths,
before they started using their mouths to explore necks and chests. He did know
that Dean liked Sam to use his teeth on his nipples, to tug at them playfully.
He also knew he liked Dean's tongue dipping into his bellybutton. Then Dean's
hands were on the button of Sam's jeans.
“You sure, Sammy?”
“Yeah.”
Sam's jeans were unbuttoned by Dean's competent, but trembling, hands. His
hands were reverent, worshipful as they slid inside Sam's jeans. He didn't
touch his cock, but his hips, his hands splayed over them, fingers stroking.
“Wait,” Sam said.
Dean withdrew his hands from Sam's jeans. Sam rolled off the bed, stood up, and
stripped his jeans and boxers off the rest off the way.
“Easier access.”
Dean laughed. Sam started to climb back on Dean again.
“Wait,” Dean stopped him. “Come here,” he said, as he sat up.
Sam went over to him, and stopped a few inches in front of him. Dean's hands
curled around Sam's cock, and Sam was lost. They slid up and down Sam's length,
and Sam thought he must surely have died, because nothing could feel this good.
He was wrong. Dean's mouth replaced his hands. It was obvious Dean had never
had a cock in his mouth before. He was sloppy, unpracticed. But his green eyes
looked up into Sam's as he slid Sam's cock in out of his mouth, and Sam thought
he was going to come right fucking then.
“So good, Dean,” he whispered.
Dean stopped for a second to grab lube out of the beside table.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked Sam.
“What?”
“Do you want to top or bottom?”
“Bottom.”
“Are you sure? I could bottom if that's what you wanted.”
“No, Dean. I want your cock inside of me.”
Dean blushed. Sam didn't know it was possible that Dean could blush.
“I've watched some, uh, porn. So I think I know the basics. But I've never done
this before. You know, with a dude,” Dean trailed off.
“Are you asking me what to do?”
“Yeah, I guess. I just. . .I want it to be good for you,” Dean mumbled and
looked at the floor.
“Okay. I can do that. Lube up your fingers. That's the first rule, lots of
lube.”
Dean nodded, opened the bottle and spread lube on two fingers.
“Good. Now, you're going to put one finger in me at first, and work it in and
out of my ass. Eventually, you'll get up to three or four fingers. I'll tell
you when I'm ready. Make sure to scissor them a bit so my hole stretches. And
as a personal preference, it would be nice if you were sucking my cock while
you were doing this.”
“So fucking hot, Sam,” Dean groaned.
Sam grinned. Dean's mouth found his cock again, while his finger played with
his hole. He eased his finger inside. Sam spread his legs to make it easier for
him. His finger felt thick as it started to move in and out of him at a steady
pace, matching the pace with his mouth going up and down on Sam's cock. He
curled his tongue around the head just as he added in a second finger.
“Fuck, Dean.”
“Feel good, sweetheart?” Dean stopped sucking his cock long enough to ask.
“Yeah.”
Dean stroked in and out with his fingers several more times.
“Another finger, Dean.”
Dean complied and added another thick finger into Sam's ass.
“Bend your fingers,” Sam panted.
Dean did.
“Do you feel anything? Like a gland?”
“Yeah.”
“Rub it with your fingers.”
Dean did this too, and Sam started fucking himself on Dean's fingers, with
enthusiasm. Dean had stopped sucking his cock but Sam didn't care.
“Do you need another finger?”
“No. No. Take off your pants.”
Dean pulled out his fingers, unbuttoned his jeans, and wriggled out of them.
Sam got a little distracted by the way the muscles of Dean's stomach flexed
when he tugged off his pants.
“Sam?”
“Yeah,”Sam responded, eyes still glued to Dean's stomach.
“How do you want to do this?”
Sam considered for a few seconds.
“Lay on your back.”
Dean stretched out on the bed. His cock jutted up, and Sam almost started
salivating. He sat down on the bed, and straddled Dean's thighs. He grabbed the
lube from where it had been tossed.
“Condom?”
Dean reached over to his jeans, pulled one out of his pocket, and handed it to
Sam who quickly opened it and put it on his brother's cock. He then coated it
in lube. Dean groaned as Sam's hand stroked up and down his cock. Them Sam rose
up and impaled himself on Dean's cock. They both moaned.
Sam started riding his brother's dick slowly. Dean's cock was so thick and
filled Sam so well.
“Your cock feels so good,” Sam let Dean know.
Dean's hands were resting on Sam's hips, letting him set the pace. Sam started
moving faster and faster till he was bouncing on Dean's cock.
“Fuck. Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned out. One of his hands moved to Sam's cock
that was bobbing up and down between his legs. He stroked Sam' the same pace as
they were fucking. It was too much for Sam, and then he was coming all over
Dean's hand.
“Yeah. Yeah. That's it, sweetheart.” Dean continued stroking Sam's cock until
Sam was wrung dry and shuddering. He fell against Dean's chest. Dean waited a
second and then flipped them over, and began thrusting into Sam. After just a
few thrusts he was coming too, his eyes closed and faced scrunched up. He
collapsed, rolled away from Sam, and disposed of the condom.
“Well. Weren't you my good little soldier?” Sam asked.
“So fucking wrong, Sam,” Dean laughed.
                                     DEAN
Dean picked the lock, and walked into the trailer. Their dad came back
yesterday. They were moving on this weekend. This had to be done now. Dean
withdrew the gun that rested in the waistband of his jeans. The house was
quiet. He moved silently through the living room towards the hallway. He
checked the first closed door he came to. It was Sam's friend, Tom. He was
sleeping curled up in bed. Dean stood in the doorway for a second, watching
him. Poor kid. Wasn't his fault that his brother was a piece of shit.
He moved on. A few feet down there was another door. Dean opened it. Richard
was in bed. He slid into the room, and closed the door behind him.
“Richard,” he called softly.
Richard stirred, and then seemed to settle back into sleep.
“Hey, Dick,” Dean said a bit more loudly.
Richard's eyes blinked open.
“There you are. You see me? Know who I am?” Dean asked.
Richard nodded.
“No. Tell me. So I know you know.”
“Dean, Sam's brother,” Richard responded, his eyes on the gun that Dean was
holding.
“That's right. You can probably guess why I'm here.”
“Yeah.”
“Good. That's good. You're a monster, Richard. And it's my job to kill
monsters. This is me, doing my job.”
“No. I'll do anything. You want money, I'll-”
“Too late,” Dean interrupted. “You'll never touch anyone else.”
Dean raised the gun, aimed, and shot Richard right between the eyes. The sound
was muffled by the silencer.
Dean found Richard's phone. He dialed 911.
“911. What's your emergency?” the voice at the other end asked.
“I'm at 331 50th St. Someone's been shot.”
“Okay. I need you to stay on the line and-”
Dean hung up the phone, and wiped the prints off with his shirt. He then made
his way out of the house, and back to Sam.
When he got back, Sam was rubbing his eyes, standing out on the stoop with
nothing but his purple dog t-shirt on that swallowed him.
"Where were you, Dean? I missed you.”
Dean leaned down, and kissed Sam. “Just something I had to do. C'mon, Sammy,
let's go back to bed.”
                                      SAM
From then on, it was Sam and Dean. When their dad came back, Sam thought that
Dean might end it, might feel shame in his idol's presence. Might feel confined
by monogamy. It didn't end. It just changed. Instead of loud moaning, and
shouted proclamations, it became dirty whispers, and hands pressed up against
mouths to stifle groans. Their dad kept the truck that he had gotten, giving
Dean the Impala, and Sam was grateful. It gave them space. Dean never kept too
close behind their father, and Sam would sometimes worship at the altar of his
big brother's cock.
They left the desert behind them, wound their way back through Texas. They
hustled pool in bars with their fake ID's. Dean flirted a little, but he never
touched anyone else. And neither did Sam. They were both happy.
End Notes
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