Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/459946.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Character, Sibling_Incest, Weechesters, Weecest, Frottage, Hand
      Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Barebacking, Wincest_-_Freeform, dean/ofc_-_Freeform,
      Somnophilia
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-15 Words: 2674
****** Cowboys and Indians ******
by saltandbyrne
Summary
     An account of the times Sam jizzed himself while Dean pinned his
     hands down, starting with a game of cowboys and indians.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
The first time Sam creams himself while Dean's pinning him down, he's 12. It's
fucking horrifying.
They're playing cowboys and indians, really too old for it at this point, but
they've been stuck in this motel for three days straight waiting for dad, and
they're both getting pretty squirrely. Nevermind that cowboys and indians
requires other people, and space, and sort of being outside, they could make
do. Sam had finally goaded Dean into it, because saying you wanted to play a
kid's game was a lot less weird than saying, hey, let's wrestle, cause I sort
of like it when you touch me and I don't want to wait until tonight when I
crawl into your bed and act like I miss dad.
Dean had humored him, like he sorta always did, rolling his eyes, “As long as I
get to be the cowboy, Sammy.” Dean is always the cowboy.
They draw a line between their beds, intersecting with the line of salt already
around the both of them, because that's how hunters sleep, Sam knotting one of
Dad's fed ties over his forehead because Dean says he has to if he's gonna be
the indian. They fight for their territory, whoever gets to the other's bed
winning that round. Dean lets him win the first few, lets Sam knock him over to
jump onto his bed with a fake tomahawk dance and war cry, Dean rolling his eyes
and smiling. Sam likes it when Dean plays like this, when he smiles that
crinkle-face smile that makes him look like a kid, not the grown-up face he
usually puts on when Dad's away and Dean has to take care of Sammy.
Dean doesn't let him win the next few rounds, blocking Sam easily, flinging him
onto his own bed like it's nothing. Sam feels so small next to Dean, so puny,
an ocean of hormones and muscle away from Dean's sixteen-year-old godhood, his
quiet strength and the easy smiles he throws at everything in a skirt. Sam will
never be like that, he's sure of it, but he doesn't want Dean to think he's
useless, think he can't help him hunt and do all the cool things Dean does.
Sam really tries hard the next time, tries to sweep Dean's legs out from under
him with the side-kick that Dad had drilled him on relentlessly the last time
they'd trained. It actually works for a second, Dean going down on his knees as
Sam scrambles for his bed, Sam going right down with him a moment later when
Dean turns and grabs his wrist, twisting his arm so Sam jerks back towards him,
Sam kicking his leg out again in a valiant attempt to free himself, Dean
pulling him into his own kick so he lands on Dean's lap, holding him there
while Sam struggles until he finally gets in a head-butt and rolls off him, mad
dash for the prize ended when Dean tackles him, pinning him face-first to the
floor.
There's salt everywhere, they're both sweating and breathing hard, Dean
laughing as he leans his full weight on Sam, and all Sam can feel is how strong
Dean is, how he feels so big and hot on top of him, how safe he feels, how he
smells kind of good even when he's all sweaty like this, and Sam keeps
struggling against him even though he's clearly won, because he doesn't want
Dean to let go, because if he lets go he's gonna see that Sam has a boner, and
that would be the worst thing in the world.
So Sam keeps squirming, “No fair, Dean,” coming out about an octave higher than
he'd like it to, “Oh, please, Sammy, you lost, give it up,” barked back at the
pitch Sam wishes his stupid, cracking voice could emulate, and then Sam can't
even think about his voice because holyfuckingshit he can feel Dean's dick
pressing into his butt cheek, sort of hard and so much bigger than Sam's and he
can feel it, feel his brother'sdick and it makes him feel sort of dizzy and
sick like when you spin in a circle too many times and then he just … oh fuck
no nonononono ... everything's a little fuzzy around the edges for a second,
feels so good, terrible wonderful horrible feeling of everything being right
where it belongs before everything snaps back into focus and Sam realizes that
he just jizzed himself at the thought of Dean's dick, the one that's pressing
into him, the one he kind of hopes stays there but doesn't as Dean starts
rolling him over and asking if he's ok.
Nevermind, this is officially the worst thing in the world.
“Sam, Sammy, hey, did I hurt you, for real? Are you ok, Sammy?” Sam just
blushing and stammering, “I'm fine, fine, m'fine...” as Dean looks down at him
and sees the giant wet spot oh fuck fuck fuck there's a huge fucking stain on
his pj bottoms and there's no way he's hiding this now. “Sam, did you fucking
piss yourself?!” Sam can't even answer that one, genuinely can't decide which
is worse at this point, just kind of stares back up at Dean and wills himself
to sink into the floor and die, can't believe he doesn't actually do it as
Dean's eyes widen a little as it dawns on him that his little brother just
fucking came in his pants while they were horsing around because clearly Sam is
the biggest freak in the universe.
Dean pulls away from him, so quickly, too quickly, “Better, uh, get to the
bathroom, there...” Dean just looks mortified, which is really what Sam should
look like because he wants to fucking die right now, right now when Dean walks
away from him and stands at the sink pretending to do something.
Sam shuts himself in the bathroom for as long as he can stand, not wanting to
go back out and face Dean, who'll find a million ways to tease him about this,
he's sure.
Dean's just standing at the counter, cereal boxes in front of him as he opens
the milk. He looks at Sam and blushes a little, which is sort of funny because
Dean's not the one who just creamed his pants like a freakazoid spazzcase. Dean
just smiles at him, grabbing two dingy-looking bowls from the cupboard.
“No harm, no foul, Sammy, let's just act like it never happened, ok?” Sam just
nods his head. “Now, let's make dinner. Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms? Or, the
Sammy special – half Fruit Loops, half Lucky Charms?”
Sam still crawls into bed with him that night.
*
The second time Sam jizzes himself while Dean's holding him still, he's 13.
It's sort of exciting.
Sam had pulled the usual wait till Dean's asleep then creep into his bed
routine, same routine they've been doing since forever, unspoken rule that
nothing counts while Dean's asleep.
This time Sam's on his back, asleep, really asleep, blissfully asleep in one of
those amazing dreams that don't come often enough when he feels something,
something warm hard soft pressure so good on him, wakes up humping himself up
on it, doesn't stop doing it when he sort of half realizes that it's Dean's
leg, splayed in between his own while Dean lays on his side. This happens often
enough, both of them waking up with sticky shorts the next morning, one of
those you don't talk about it things, half-awake moments when one of them finds
the other rubbing up against him forgotten when daylight comes. Besides, it
doesn't count if Dean's asleep, that's the rule, and it feels so good, Dean's
strong thigh snugged just right against Sam's hard-on, perfect groove of it
between his belly and Dean's leg for him to rut right into.
Sam lolls his head to the side, so good, it feels so good and he's really
close, really really close fuck fuck oh god what...
Dean's definitely not asleep, green eyes almost glowing in the dark as he lays
on his side and stares at Sam, Sam going totally still under him in panic.
Dean's gonna kill him, gonna kick him out and Sam just ruined everything and
he's so fucked up and fuck fuck...
“Shhh...” Dean squeezes in closer, trapping one of Sam's arms under him as he
reaches out to circle his hand around Sam's other wrist, holding him there
while he shifts his hips and rocks himself onto Sam, “S'ok, Sammy, shhhh...”
mumbled against his neck as holyfuckingshit Dean's dick presses right against
Sam's, Dean's hard, really hard, really big dick right next to Sam's really
hard but not as big dick, god, Dean is sobig, looks right at Sam as he rolls
his hips and rubs them together, speeds up until Sam's biting his lip to keep
quiet, convinced Dad will hear them from two rooms away, and Sam tastes copper
in his mouth when he comes on himself, keeps biting his lip as Dean rubs into
the hot wetness seeping through his shorts until there's another sticky feeling
against Sam's crotch.
Sam comes in his shorts a  lot  that way after that night, but Dean doesn't
need to hold him still any more, going to bed each night turning into something
they do in their own way, with a lot less sleeping for both of them.
*
The third time Sam comes without a hand on his dick while Dean holds his arms
behind him, he's 14, and he's soaking wet.
“Hey, Sammy, didn't you need to take a shower?” Dean stumbling into their room
with some girl, another girl, “take a shower” the new signal for “give me half
an hour to hit this.”
It could be worse. They're in a nicer place than usual, actual paying job for
once, and Dean's taking full advantage of the hotel lobby bar and the
apparently endless stream of eager, giggling women that inhabit it. At least
the shower's nice, fancy sort of thing with glass walls and a big bench, state
of the art steam shower deal that Sam has gotten to know intimately. Also has a
detachable shower head, so that's helped.
Leave any 14 year old boy alone in the shower for long enough and he'll start
jerking off, so it's hardly out of the ordinary for Sam to have his hand on his
dick while Dean's making what's-her-face titter so loudly Sam can hear it over
the water. Sam wishes it didn't get to him, wishes he didn't spend so much time
thinking about just what Dean does with all those girls, because he knows 
exactly  what Dean does with them.
The only thing Dean seems to like more than fucking girls is telling Sam all
about it while they're all sweaty and pressed up against each other in the
middle of the night, crawl into bed ritual still intact every night when Sam
slips out from under his covers and lays himself next to Dean, both of them
already hard, way past the grinding crotch stuff at this point, jerking each
other off with military precision, knowing just what the other likes. Sam wants
to do more, thinks about it constantly, asks for it in desperate little
whispers in the middle of the night, but Dean seems to have drawn the line at
hand-jobs as an appropriate limit for what you can do with your little brother
in bed. Sam spends too much time jerking off in the shower thinking about what
it would be like to suck Dean off, get on his knees for him like all those
girls do, taste him …
Sam's thinking that Dean could do this better, why can't it be later already, 
when Dean's right up behind him, naked and more than kind of drunk based on the
way he's staggering a little bit, pulling Sam's arms off his dick (and his
balls, Dean taught him that trick too) to pin them behind his back and press
Sam up against the shower wall, Sam's cock hot and hard against the cold tile,
Dean breathing into his ear.
Why does Dean have to smell like that, like whiskey and cigarettes and leather
and sweat and warm pie crust and like he just got a lap dance from an entire
stripclub, lethal combination the only thing Sam can think of when he comes any
more?
“What'cha thinkin' about, Sammy?” Jesus, Sam can feel Dean's cock pressed
against him, only half-hard because he presumably just came for giggles out in
the other room, which means his cock probably has jizz all over it from wearing
a condom for her, and Sam wishes that didn't make his own cock twitch so hard.
“Thinkin' about pounding that hot little piece of ass I just picked up? Bet
she'd do you too...” Dean pressing himself in closer, more friction for Sam to
rub himself against but not enough, he needs a hand on him...
“C'mon, Sammy, tell me... what're you rubbing one out to while I'm in the next
room, huh?” Dean's cock is way past half-hard now, pressed right into Sam's ass
once again, full weight of his older brother pushing Sam's cheek flush against
the tiles, harder twist at his arms. “What do you get yourself off to, Sammy?”
Sam's never had much control when it comes to Dean, and he has even less as he
grinds himself back against him. “Fuck you, Dean, what do you think, you
fuckin' know...”
“C'mon, Sammy, wanna hear it...” Everything narrowed down to the press of them
together, Dean hot against his back, perfect fit of him behind Sam.
“Think about sucking your dick, Dean, think about you coming in my mouth while
I'm on my knees, think about you...” And that's all Sam can take, breath coming
out in some guttural, wet noise against the tiled wall as he feels himself
seize up and paint the walls white, hot spurt of it against his belly, sliding
down the shower wall to swirl down the drain.
“Fuck, Sammy, holy shit...” Dean spins him around while he's still dizzy, last
twitch of come leaking out of his dick as he feels Dean's hands on his
shoulders, pushing him down to his knees.
Dean changes his policy on blowjobs that night, and showering becomes one more
thing they do together in their own way.
*
The fifteenth time Sam creams his pants while Dean's wrestling him down, he's
at Stanford, and about two seconds ago he thought someone had broken into his
house.
“Whoa, easy, tiger...” And it's Dean, Dean on top of him like every wet dream
jerk-off session formative sexual memory Sam has, Dean rubbing his thigh
against Sam like he's 13 again, and fuck if Sam doesn't have an instant boner
from that, face hot with shame as he feels himself thicken under Dean, wicked
little smirk at Dean's mouth cause he knows what he does to Sam, always has,
always will, even with Sam's girlfriend in the next room, perfect in every way
except for the one big problem of not being Dean. Sam loses it and loses it
quick, knows he'll let Dean talk him into anything, knew he'd come for him one
day.
*
The next time Sam comes without a hand on his dick while Dean pins his wrists,
the monster's dead, they've had pie for dinner, and they're back in a shitty
motel in the middle of nowhere, Dean's dick so far up Sam's ass he can
practically taste it, can taste his own come on Dean's neck as he sucks a
bruise on him.
“Hey, Sammy … remember when we used to play cowboys and indians?” Sam just
smiles at him and brings his hands up, Dean's fingers circling around his
wrists to pin him down. “I still jerk off thinking about that.” And Sam comes
with his mouth on Dean's, sticky wet heat between their stomachs, and
everything's right back where it belongs.

End Notes
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