Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/185308.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Unresolved_Sexual_Tension, Weechesters, Pre-Canon, Pre-
      Slash
  Series:
      Part 1 of Indirectly
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-08-19 Words: 1035
****** Glimpsed in the Mirror of His Bright Shield ******
by keerawa
Summary
     Some things aren't safe to look at directly.
Notes
     Thanks to my betas,
     [[info]]
thevinegarworks and Steven. Picture me waving goodbye to another fannish line I
Would Not Cross in the rearview mirror. There are implications of Dean/Sam UST.
(Dean is 16, Sammy's 12.)
Dean kicked the bedroom door closed behind him and locked it. He bent down and
unlaced his boots, feeling a few aches that would be bruises by tomorrow. Sammy
was getting better. That hard, unexpected elbow to Dean’s solar plexus had
knocked the wind out of him. It’d be enough to take down most people. Of
course, the things they hunted were stronger and faster than people, and Dean
had dumped Sammy on his ass for it, but still. Pretty good for a chubby little
twelve year old. Dean had given him the first shower as a reward.
It also meant he finally had a little time to himself. Dean stepped out of his
boots and pulled his t-shirt over his head, automatically keeping his amulet
from snagging on the material. Sammy was always clingy when Dad was away on
hunting trips, but this week had been worse than usual. Dean wiped down with
the t-shirt and tossed it into the dirty laundry pile in the corner. He’d had
been horny all day, skin humming with the need to fight or fuck. Dean had
thought a sparring session with Sammy might help burn it off, but it’d just
made everything worse. He needed to jerk off right the fuck now, before he
jumped out of his own skin.
Dean settled onto his bed, propped up a pillow up against the wall, and leaned
back. He popped the button on his jeans and let his fingers press lightly
against the base of his dick, already half-hard under the denim. He poked
through his spank bank, looking for just the right fantasy. Dean had some good
ones – it was all about the little details. The exact color of the teacher’s
lipstick. The temperature of the water at the sorority car wash. The dimple on
the inside of the cheerleader’s thigh. The taste of the girl’s cheek, all salty
tears and gratitude. But none of it was flipping his Bic. None of it was really
working for him, and Dean was starting to feel a little rushed for time.
So, keep it simple. Last week he’d brought home that girl from his history
class, Katie. She was tiny and plump. He’d picked her up and moved her right
where he wanted her, right on this bed, and she’d squealed like his mouth was
the best thing ever. Dean fumbled his dick out of his pants, getting a little
friction on the way. Yeah. He turned his head and sniffed for Katie on the
pillow. Only it didn’t smell like her. It smelled like Sammy, where he’d
crawled into bed with Dean after a nightmare last night. Dean swallowed.
Maybe not Katie. She was kind of a skank. But someone. Someone here, in his
bed. In the dark. Dean’s dick twitched. That was … kind of kinky, in a really
good way. Dean got up, took off his jeans, boxers, and socks, turned off the
light, and lay back down on the bed naked. The curtains let in a yellow glow
from the streetlight as he closed his eyes, focusing on the fantasy.
Someone. Warm little mouth and a wet tongue. Fuck, yeah. Dean’s right hand was
around his dick, moving slowly, jerking him through this. The left he brought
to his mouth, brushed over his lips. Shivered. Wet two fingers and trailed them
down his neck, over his collarbone, past his amulet, leaving a cool trail like
someone was blowing over his skin. Jesus. Down to his nipple, where the mouth
circled slowly before closing in. Dean moaned as his fingers pinched gently.
Moved further down, pressed into the sore spot on his chest. He threw his head
back at how that felt, bit his lip against the, please, that wanted to come
out.
Soft hair, brushing down his stomach. Dean was breathing hard. He reversed his
grip, like it was someone else’s hand on his dick. The callus on his thumb hit
that sensitive spot, right under the head. Fuck. And, yeah, no girl would have
that callus, the one that came from loading thousands of rounds of ammo into
clips over the years. No one did, except … except this was his fucking fantasy,
and that callus felt awesome, and he was keeping it. So, little hands, that
callus flicking over the head of his dick, rubbing against the slit, spreading
the wetness around, making it good. His hips thrust up into his hand, looking
for more.
Dean made himself slow down, not quite hard enough, not quite the right rhythm,
like someone who didn’t know how to do this, like it was his first time, and
fuck, he was close, so fucking close. Hot breath on his dick, eager little
pants, like someone was gonna … like someone really wanted to …
The doorknob rattled. “Dean?” Sammy called.
And that was it, he was coming so hard it almost hurt, spurting, body curled
around his dick. “Sa-Sammy,” Dean choked out, stroking himself through the
aftershocks. “Jesus. Sometimes a man needs a little privacy.”
There was a pause, and then a high, childish voice filled with scorn informed
Dean, “Well, next time a man shows up to jerk off in my bedroom, I’ll keep that
in mind.”
Dean lay there on the bed, covered in his own spunk, heart pounding.
A soft thump – Sammy’s bare foot against the door. “When’s dinner? I’m hungry.”
Dean forced his brain into gear. “Okay, Sammy. Just give me a minute. I’ll take
a quick shower, then make us some Kraft macaroni and cheese.”
“Great!”
Dean made himself roll off the bed and clean up with his sweaty t-shirt. Damn.
He’d come so hard his lips were still tingling. Fucking awesome. A little
warning bell went off in the back of his head. Because maybe, maybe it wasn’t
natural for a date with his right hand to be that good. Dean ran through some
possibilities: ghost lover, succubus, spells powered by sexual energy. Lots of
things had a taste for hot, virile young guys like him. Maybe he should ask Dad
about it when he got back.
And until then, he’d just have to try out that fantasy a few more times. For
research purposes.
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