Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4464893.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Weecest_Relationship/Wincest_Relationship, Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Light_Angst, Fluff, Just_an_excuse_to_write_porn_TBH, Sam_is_14, dean_is
      18, Bruises, Biting, Daddy_Kink, Pain_Kink, bruise_kink, handjobs, Anal
      Sex, Barebacking, Spanking, Light_Dom/sub, Name-Calling, Hair-pulling
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-31 Completed: 2015-09-11 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 7466
****** Ground-and-Pound ******
by therighteouswriter
Notes
     ...I tried to work on both of my WIP but I'm stuck. So, this is a
     result of my writer's block! Lol I blame this on my recent viewing of
     Southpaw, and a little bit on my extremely odd infatuation with men
     who beat the hell out of each other for fun and call it a profession.
     (As per usual, I don't have an editor so please forgive any mistakes
     I missed.) There isn't much to this story but the idea was rolling
     around in my head so I thought I might as well write it. :] I hope it
     doesn't utterly suck.
     Enjoy!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Dean loved to fight.
 
Ever since he could remember, fighting had been his solution to most
situations. Hell, it was downright therapeutic as far as Dean was concerned.
Like every punch he threw or took chipped away at the weight he carried on his
shoulders. Or every victory he attained helped him feel joy, rather than the
overwhelming numbness he felt in his waking hours.
 
It wasn’t just his victories that fueled him, either. There was also the pain.
The sick feeling of pleasure Dean got when his opponent’s knuckles connected
with his nose, or when he took a knee to the ribs. He couldn’t explain why, but
Dean lived for that feeling, practically got off on it.
 
Not to mention fighting was an excellent way to blow off some steam, because no
matter how much he denied it to his family or his shrink, Dean was angry. He
was angry that his mom up and left when he was ten; he was angry that his dad
was a drunk, mean old bastard. But most of all, he was angry that he couldn’t
protect his little brother from the heartache his parents’ divorce had caused.
Sam’s world had been shattered the day Mary walked out on them, and the fact
that Dean could do nothing but sit back and watch his brother’s heart break
filled him with inescapable rage.
 
So, Dean fought.
 
And at first, John didn’t really seem to care one way or the other that his
oldest son was getting into brawls. Or that more often than not, Dean would
come home from school covered in large nasty looking bruises, wearing them like
trophies. He’d just ask his son what happened, occasionally give him an “atta
boy” when the other guy started the fight and Dean finished it, but he never
told him to stop. No, John only became concerned about Dean’s self-destructive
hobby when Sam started showing interested in fighting.
 
It all began when Sam was twelve. He’d constantly pester Dean about teaching
him how to fight, wanted to know every move his big brother could teach him.
He’d even draw fake bruises on his skin; putting them in the exact same place
Dean had his. Which, although he’d never say it out loud, made Dean
disturbingly happy. He loved that his little brother looked up to him, and that
he wanted to be just like him; despite the fact that his actions could be
interpreted as certifiable.
 
That type of behavior, however, was not acceptable as far as their father was
concerned. And in no time, John was on Dean’s ass, preaching at him not to
corrupt his little brother. Sam was the golden child after all. Good grades,
polite, destined for success. Unlike Dean who’d been a fuck up far too long to
seek redemption.
 
Of course, Dean listened to his father and refused to discuss fighting with
Sam. He also did his best to hide his bruises, and kept his mouth shut about
his physical altercations, even the fights he won. Because even though fighting
and bragging about his victories was, in some fucked up way, comforting for
Dean, he couldn’t allow his issues to affect Sam. He had to protect his little
brother, at all costs, even if it was from himself.
 
Dean could handle it though. He’d been in similar situations his entire life.
He may have had to keep his mouth shut, but he’d be damned if he was ever going
to stop swinging.
 
                                     ****
                                        
Tiptoeing into the bathroom, Dean quietly closed the door behind him; thankful
he’d made it to his destination undetected.
 
He’d just arrived home from school, bloody and bruised as a result of a brutal
fight he’d participated in after seventh period. A fight he’d dominated, and
was proud of, but he knew if he let Sam, who’d stayed home sick that day, see
him all beaten up and sore, John would be sure to ground him for a month.
 
And the worst part of the whole situation was that Dean hadn’t even meant to
get into a fight. Earlier that morning, he’d promised himself that he’d go one
day without throwing a punch. Just to prove it was possible. But when some
jackass from the football team had gotten in his face, all bets were off.
 
Letting out a shaky groan, Dean slipped his backpack off his shoulder, sitting
the bag on the ground before gingerly pulling his shirt over his head.
Examining himself in the mirror, he noticed that his abdomen was scattered with
several large, ugly purple contusions; dried blood smeared around the corner of
his mouth and down the left side of his face from an open cut along his
eyebrow.
 
“Shit.”
 
Truthfully, Dean had become pretty damn good at hiding his injuries but there
was no getting around these. He was screwed, and his dad was going to tan his
ass. Talk about adding insult to injury. Shaking his head, Dean placed his
palms flat on the counter, leaning forward a little to spit in the sink; his
saliva a light pink color due to some undetectable cut in his mouth he’d
acquired during the fight.
 
“Dean? You okay?”
 
Dean jumped when he heard Sam knocking, quickly leaning all his weight against
the door so that the younger boy couldn’t open it.
 
“Yeah, I’m fine, kiddo. Go back to sleep.”
 
“You’re lying, dude. I saw you practically crawl in there. C’mon open up!”
 
Sighing dramatically, Dean decided that he was too tired to argue, moving away
from the door so Sam could enter. However, when he saw the pained expression on
his little brother’s face at the sight of his injuries, he immediately wished
he would have resisted a little more.
 
“Shit, Dean.”
 
Sam was standing in front of him now, eyebrows knitted together in frustration.
Acting on instinct, the younger boy reached out with his right hand, brushing
his fingertips over the large bluish, purple bruise near his brother’s belly
button; the action spending a chill over Dean’s body. Of course, Sam hadn’t
meant anything by it, but just a graze of his brother’s fingertips over the
bruise made Dean’s skin hum with pleasure.
 
Disgusting. How could he react that way, especially when his younger brother
was involved? If he kept this up, Dean would need to ask his dad to increase
his therapy sessions from twice a week to three.
 
“Hey, I’m alright, baby bro. I’ve had worse,” Dean chuckled, despite the fact
that he couldn’t stop himself from flinching under Sam’s touch.
 
Shaking his head, Sam sighed before grabbing his brother by the hand in order
to lead him down the hall to Dean’s room. The journey was quick, and the two of
them remained silent even when Sam maneuvered them onto his brother’s bed,
laying Dean on his back carefully.
 
“Do you need some ice?”
 
Dean could hear the aggravation in Sam’s tone, closing his eyes in an attempt
to avoid his brother’s glare. He could feel Sam’s skin against his side, the
younger boy sitting on his knees beside Dean on the mattress; practically
radiating concern.
 
“Nah, I’m good, dude. You should go lay down. You still look sickly.”
 
In response, Dean’s comment was met with deafening silence, and if it wasn’t
for the fact that Sam was touching him, he would have thought his brother had
split.
 
“Sammy?”
 
Dean let out a low, involuntary gasped when he felt Sam’s palm on his stomach,
muscles flexing under the weight of his touch. He didn’t open his eyes, but he
knew Sam was looking at him in that way. The way he looked at Dean when he
wanted to say something to him but didn’t know how to say it. That look killed
Dean, it made him want to take Sam in his arms and reassure him that there was
nothing he couldn’t tell his big brother.
 
“…Dee, why do you like fighting so much?”
 
 
Well that was simple enough.
 
“It makes me feel better.”
 
“…You…like getting hit?”
 
Huffing, Dean opened his mouth to respond but quickly thought better of it. Did
he like to get hit? Shit, he’d never thought about it like that before. Of
course, Dean’s initial reaction was to say hell no. What kind of idiot enjoyed
getting hit? However, the more he contemplated Sam’s question, the more he
realized that he did. He liked getting hit. Dean couldn’t explain it, but
something about taking a punch soothed him. Jesus. It was a good thing John
sent him to a shrink because he was obliviously ten kinds of fucked up.
 
“Yeah…yeah, I guess I do, Sammy.”
 
Opening his eyes, Dean turned to look at his little brother, expecting his
expression to be one of disgust or at least mild confusion. It wasn’t though.
Instead Sam looked thoughtful, almost like Dean had confirmed a suspicion he’d
had for a while. And Dean didn’t really know if that was good or bad.
 
“What about bruises? Do you like them?” Sam asked, his voice low and unsure.
 
Shit. Where the hell was Sam going with this? And why did such an odd question
speed up Dean’s heartrate? Perhaps it was due to the fact that there was no
denying Dean loved giving and receiving bruises. Always had. Truthfully, under
the right circumstance, seeing a bruise, on his skin or another’s, could get
him hard. Fuck! He shouldn’t be thinking about this! Not with his little
brother sitting right next to him.
 
And it was only then that Dean realized that Sam was still touching him, gently
caressing the deep purple marks on his skin. Shivering, Dean tried to ignore
the warm, tingling sensation building up in the pit of his stomach as he looked
at Sam questioningly, breath ragged.
 
“Uh, yeah. I like bruises, Sammy. Why do you ask?”
 
“Well, I was thinking…if…if you need to get bruises, or even make them, that
you could use me. That way you don’t have to fight and dad won’t be mad at you
all the time.”
 
Upon hearing his little brother’s offer, a wave of nausea hit Dean like a
freight train. Sam was so young and innocent, and Dean hated himself for even
considering such a proposal; let alone the fact that it made his dick hard to
think about leaving bruises all over his baby brother’s smooth, delicate skin.
 
“Absolutely not, Sam. Fuck, don’t say shit like that.”
 
Turning his head way, Dean’s heart sank when he felt Sam shift on the bed. And
for a few terrifying seconds, he thought Sam was going to leave. However, much
to his surprise, the younger boy stayed put, only moving to reposition himself
so that he was lower on the bed; pressing his lips to Dean’s stomach, causing
him to gasp loudly.
 
“Please, Dee?” Sam mewled, placing soft, wet kisses around Dean’s belly button.
“I don’t mind, big brother…I want you to use me. C’mon, daddy, want you to hurt
me, I can take it.”
 
Dean’s mind was on the verge of exploding. Never in his life had he thought
he’d have a daddy kink, but holy fuck, did Sam prove him wrong. Honestly, Dean
didn’t know what was worse, the fact that such filth had just come out of his
fourteen year old brother’s mouth, or that he was sporting some serious wood
because of it. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?
 
“Sam, stop, we can’t do this,” Dean gritted out, body tensing when Sam popped
open the button on his jeans.
 
“…You…don’t want me?”
 
Looking down, it felt as though Dean had just been punched in the gut by Mike
Tyson when he made eye contact with his little brother, those big, glossy hazel
orbs staring at him with a hurt expression.
 
“Fuck, of course I want you, Sammy. That’s the problem.”
 
Without thinking, Dean reached forward, gently running his fingers through
Sam’s hair. He knew it was wrong to even admit that he was interested in the
younger boy, but he’d be fucked if he could ever keep a secret from Sam.
 
“It’s not a problem, Dee, I swear, I want you too.”
 
Biting his bottom lip, Dean resisted the urge to struggle as he watched Sam
unzip his pants, instinctively lifting his hips when the younger boy started to
pull them off. He lay there silently, sweat dripping down his neck as Sam
worked to remove his clothes, gripping the sheet beneath him tightly. And once
he was completely naked, Sam wasted little time straddling his hips, teasingly
grinding his clothed erection against Dean’s bare one.
 
“C’mon, Dee. Put your hands on me,” Sam begged, grabbing both of Dean’s hands
to place them on his thighs. “Please daddy?” he added, the whiny, desperate
tone of his voice causing the older boy to tighten his grip, squeezing Sam’s
skin until the faint outline of his handprints were visible.
 
“Fuck, that’s it, daddy.”
 
Dean could barely breathe as Sam began to roll his hips, moaning and begging
for his brother to respond. He could feel Sam’s cock, hot and hard against his
groin, the material of his basketball shorts soaked through with pre-cum.
 
“Oh fuck, Sam.”
 
Losing all self-control, Dean grabbed Sam’s hips, digging his fingers into the
younger boy’s flesh which earned him a satisfied groan from his little brother.
Continuing to rut against Dean, Sam leaned down, ghosting his lips over his
brother pulse, toying with him.
 
“Gonna have such pretty bruises when you’re done with me, daddy. Can’t wait for
you to mark me up, use me anyway you please.”
 
Moaning loudly, Dean bucked his hips off the mattress, a sharp mixture of
pleasure and pain shooting through his body as Sam sank his teeth into his
neck. Instantly, he could feel the slow, bittersweet ache of a bruise forming,
the sensation making his cock throb as Sam began to suck at the fresh mark.
 
“Jesus, Sammy…I..fuck, don’t know how long I can last…”
 
Dean’s grip on Sam’s hips tightened when the younger boy slipped his right hand
between their bodies, wrapping it around his brother’s painfully hard cock.
Smirking, Sam began to stroke him slowly, making obscene noises as Dean dug his
fingernails into his skin.
 
“Come for me, big brother, I know you need to,” Sam coaxed, teasing the head of
Dean’s leaking cock with his thumb.
 
“Oh, Sam, holy shit!”
 
Dean’s whole body tensed as he orgasmed, warm, long white ropes cum spilling
over Sam’s fist.
 
In all honestly, if he hadn’t felt so fucking incredible, Dean might have been
embarrassed. Considering he’d never come so fast in his entire life; not even
when he was twelve and had to jerk off as quick as possible because Sam was
ALWAYS by his side and he never knew when he’d get his next moment of privacy.
 
“Feel better, Dee?”
 
Snapping out of his daze, Dean looked up at Sam, unable to stop himself from
moaning at the sight of his little brother. The younger boy looked thoroughly
wrecked, desperate to come, his cheeks and neck flushed, eyes dilated, sweat
rolling down his chest.
 
“Yeah…much better, baby,” Dean panted, his body of the verge of short-
circuiting, so overwhelmed with pleasure he could barely function.
 
Smiling, Sam carefully rolled to the side so that he was lying on his back next
to Dean; his erection clearly visible through his shorts. He turned on his
side, right hand roaming over Dean’s heaving chest, lightly pressing on his
bruises; the action making Dean’s cock twitch in spite of itself.
 
“Good, I’m glad I could help.”
 
Fuck, Dean was so astronomically screwed, it wasn’t even funny. His little
brother had just given him one of the best orgasms of his life and he was
barely freaking out. Jesus Christ. And to think, there was a time that Dean was
convinced he didn’t need therapy.
 
“Please don’t spazz out on me, Dee…I don’t think I could handle it if you
didn’t want me.”
 
Sam’s confession hit Dean like a led pipe to the skull. How the hell could Sam
think he didn’t want him? Especially after what had just happened between them.
 
“Where’s this insecurity coming from, Sammy? You know it’s me and you against
the world.”
 
“…You promise, Dee?”
 
Rolling onto his side to face Sam, Dean nodded, giving his little brother a
bright smile; his heart doing double time in his chest when Sam leaned forward
in response, kissing him as if his life depended on it. The kiss was desperate,
wild, and seriously one of the best kisses Dean had ever participated in.
 
However, a part of him couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy burning deep
in his chest. Where had his little brother learned to kiss like that? Fuck,
where had Sam learned any of the moves he'd just made on Dean? Just the thought
of Sam making out with someone else made Dean’s blood boil; and the mere
possibility that his brother had been sexually active with someone other than
him made Dean feel downright murderous. He couldn't fathom the thought of some
random guy touching his innocent, adorable baby brother, not without seeing
red. Sam was his, in every possible way. He was Dean's to love, nurture, and
teach; and if Sam was going to explore his sexual appetite, it needed to be
with Dean. It needed to be with the one person who'd take care of him; the
person who’d be sure to satisfy all of Sam's wants and desires. And Dean was so
enraged by the possibility that another man may have touched Sam that he
seriously had half a mind to ask him; to find out who’d been teaching his baby
brother such filthy, sexual tactics and to destroy the motherfucker.
Of course, Dean knew he was being disgustingly hypocritical. He had no right to
be upset with Sam for exploring his sexuality, especially since he'd been
having sex since he was fourteen as well. Dean had never even thought about
waiting for Sam, and probably would have been too selfish to do so. Hell, up
until Sam had come on to him, Dean wasn't even aware of his feelings for his
brother. And to hold Sam to such a high standard was completely wrong.
Too bad thinking rationally was one of the top issues Dean's shrink said he
needed to work on.
“Dee, I need to hear you promise me,” Sam gasped suddenly, the sweet, calming
sound of his voice tearing Dean away from his anger.
 
And just like that, Dean’s jealous rage was subdued. There was no way Sam would
be here with him now, like this, if there was someone else. No way he would be
so desperate for Dean’s word that he wanted this, wanted Sam, if his heart
belonged to another. Besides, even if there was another guy or even a girl,
Dean would die before he let anyone else have his little brother. He was going
to prove to Sam that he was all the younger boy needed. That they could be each
other's rock.
 
“I promise, Sammy. It’s just us. I won’t fight anymore; I’ll come to you
instead.”
 
Nodding his acknowledgement, Sam threaded his fingers through his brother short
brown hair: watching Dean lustfully as the older boy slipped his hand into
Sam’s shorts.
 
“I’ll be so good for you, daddy…you won’t ever need anyone else.”
 
Leaning forward, Dean nuzzled his face into the crook of Sam’s neck; the
younger boy let out what could only be described as a pornographic sound when
Dean wrapped his fingers around his swollen cock, stroking him slow, teasing
him.
 
“Fuck, baby, you love it don’t you? You want daddy to hurt you?”
 
“Yes, please, need you,” Sam begged, wiggling beneath Dean as his brother
jerked him off; his palm soaking wet with pre-cum.
 
Smirking against Sam’s throat, Dean nipped at the sensitive flesh, a rush of
excitement jolting across his body when his little brother bucked his hips,
fingernails clawing at Dean’s back.
 
“C’mon, Sammy, let go.”
 
Tangling his left hand in Sam’s long, tousled hair, Dean bit down hard on his
brother’s collar bone, causing him to scream. Writhing against the older boy,
Sam rolled his hips frantically, fucking into Dean’s fist until he came, hot
and messy all over the both of their stomachs.
 
“Fuck, Dean, love you so much.”
 
Sam’s body want lax against Dean’s, the younger boy shifting forward to suck at
the bite mark he’d made on his big brother’s neck earlier. He was panting, body
trembling from head to toe, but Dean could tell he was content; he could tell
that his little brother had gotten exactly what he wanted. Mainly because Sam
always got what he wanted when it came to Dean, and he could recognize the
smugness in his brother’s body language without even having to properly look at
him.
 
“I love you too, baby boy,” Dean whispered, holding his brother tight.
 
And even though Dean didn’t know how in the hell this was going to work, for
the first time in his life he was satisfied. He didn’t want to punch someone or
something, or to even take a punch. He just wanted Sam’s marks on his skin, and
vice versa.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Please forgive any mistakes. <3
Two months.
 
It’s been two months since Dean has gotten into a fight and everybody,
including himself, thinks it’s a friggin’ miracle. His father is proud of him,
his teachers are baffled but grateful, and his shrink says he’s ‘making
excellent progress.’ Of course, Dean knows his sudden change in behavior isn’t
because he just woke up one morning and decided to reevaluate his life. But he
can’t very well tell his psychiatrist that he’s found a new outlet for his
anger in the form of fucking his little brother through his mattress as
frequently as possible. Cause Dean’s pretty sure that little tidbit is the
opposite of progress. Not to mention completely and utterly wrong on so many
levels he couldn’t even count them all.
 
However, regardless of the immorality of it all, Sam’s proposition really was
helping. Dean’s twisted need to give and receive bruises, to cause and feel
pain, was sated tenfold every time he had Sam in his grasp. And what made it
ever better was that Sam got off on it too. He loved every damn minute of the
brutal fuckings Dean gave him, even begged for them on occasion.
 
Yeah, life was pretty good as of late for Dean. John was off his back, he’d
pulled his grades up from Cs to Bs, and he was having the best sex of his life.
So that was why, when he fucked up, like he always did, a couple days later it
was that much worse.
 
The fight wasn’t his fault though, he was sticking by that. He had just been
walking to the bus with Sam after school, minding his own business, when some
jackass (who was Dean’s age, no less) started making fun of his little brother.
Dean had even tried to ignore the little punk at first! God, had he tried. But
when the bully started calling Sam a fag, and told him he was too much of a
pussy to fight, Dean lost his temper and socked the kid right in the jaw.
 
It was an all-out brawl from there.
 
Consequently, it had taken two teachers, and Sam screaming at him to stop to
get Dean off the kid once he’d gotten the upper hand. Moreover, Dean’s lack of
impulse control and short temper also landed both Winchesters in the
principal’s office for a brutal verbal punishment along with the parting gift
of a week’s worth of detention for Sam and a short term suspension for Dean.
So, needless to say, when the boys finallygo home that afternoon, having to
walk because they missed the bus, Sam was livid. He had given Dean the silent
treatment the whole way home and as soon as they’d walked through the front
door he’d ditched. Had run up the stairs and locked himself in his room,
slamming the door so hard behind him that the people down the street had
probably heard it.
 
Dean had wanted to follow him, of course. He didn’t even care if it made him
look like a clingy chick; he’d wanted to sit outside his little’s brother’s
door and wait for him, to beg him for forgiveness. He didn’t though. Dean
Winchester didn’t do that kinda sissy shit. After all, he had a reputation to
uphold, even with Sam. So instead he went to the bathroom and got himself
cleaned up, taking a quick shower to wash off the dry blood on his face and
knuckles before he went to his room to get changed. And once he was clean and
comfortable, lounging on his bed in a pair of green boxer briefs with an ice
pack over his left eye, worry finally started to set in.
 
He’d blown it, he was sure of that. He’d had a good thing going with Sam and
he’d screwed it up, just like he screwed everything else up. All his brother
had asked was for him not fight anymore, that Dean take out his frustrations in
a different way i.e. on Sam’s body. Which in itself was so utterly wrong and
Dean couldn’t even do that right.
 
Shaking his head, Dean sat up, setting his ice pack on the bedside table. It
had been almost an hour since Sam had stormed off to his room, and he was on
the verge of gathering enough courage to do the walk of shame down the hall to
the kid’s door when his little brother walked through his.
 
“Heya Sammy,” Dean cooed as the younger boy shut and locked the door behind
him.
 
Remaining silent, Sam walked over to Dean’s bed as he got to his feet. Sam had
changed his clothes too, and was now in nothing but a pair of basketball
shorts, his classic home attire, bare chest flushed, cheeks wet with tears.
 
“…You promised me…”
 
The betrayal in Sam’s voice nearly brought Dean to his knees. God, he was such
a fucking idiot.
 
“I know, baby boy…I’m so sorry, I just snapped.”
 
Instinctively, Dean reached out to touch Sam’s hair, heart breaking in two when
the younger boy flinched away from his advance. However, before Dean could
apologize again, or even register what was happening, Sam had balled up his
fist, knuckles connecting with the left side his big brother’s jaw.
 
“Sam what the-”
 
Another blow, only this time to Dean’s ribs, knocked the wind out of him and
prevented any further inquiry. Doubled over in front of Sam, Dean looked up at
the younger boy through his lashed, anger and confusion evident in his
expression.
 
“You wanna fight so bad, big brother? Fine. Fight me,” Sam challenged as he
took another swing at the older boy; this one practically giftwrapped with a
bright red bow and therefore easier for Dean to block.
 
“No, Sam, don’t be stupid.”
 
Pushing Sam’s arm away, Dean stood up straight, gingerly flexing his jaw. Shit.
Kid could throw a punch like Evander fucking Holyfield.
 
“Why not, Dean? Afraid I’ll kick your ass?” the hazel eyed boy taunted, right
before he kneed Dean in the stomach hard enough for him to cry out in pain.
 
“Y-you wi-sh, bi-tch.”
 
Holding his stomach, Dean tried to walk away but Sam stepped in front of him,
shoving him backward hard, causing him to stumble.
 
“Fight. Me.”
 
“NO.”
 
For a split second, Dean thought Sam was going to give up, but given how
stubborn his baby brother was, he knew that was just wishful thinking. The
younger boy’s shoulders were visibly relaxed now as he looked up at Dean
wearily. Expression on his face calm and contemplative, when all of a sudden
his right palm connected with Dean’s cheek, nearly slapping the taste out of
his mouth.
 
“You son of a bitch.”
 
In the blink of an eye, Dean went from hanging on to his composure by a thread
to exploding with rage. He punched Sam in the face, sending him reeling
backward, blood trickling down his chin from a fresh cut on his bottom lip. But
Dean didn’t let up there. Grabbing his little brother by the shoulders, he
pushed Sam back against the wall, the two of them punching and clawing at one
another until Dean finally managed to get Sam in a headlock.
 
“This make you feel better, Dean,” Sam gasped as he delivered multiple gabs to
his brother’s stomach before kicking his feet out from under him, sending Dean
sprawling to the ground.
 
Sam moved like lightning, on top of Dean before he could gather his wits,
wailing on him. Dean blocked about 50% of his little brother’s punches, most of
them more emotion the precision, and eventually, Sam made a mistake, letting
his guard down and giving Dean a perfect throat shot, which he took. Coughing
and gasping for air, Sam rolled off Dean, hands instinctively coming up to hold
his throat as the older boy pushed him onto his back, straddling his hips.
 
“Not so easy to talk trash now is it, tough guy?” Dean mocked, delivering a
couple blows to Sam’s face before the younger boy caught his right hand,
putting him in an arm bar with ease.
 
Damn it. Sam had always been better at this Mix Material Arts shit than he was.
 
“Tap, motherfucker,” Sam growled, still winded as he pulled back on Dean’s arm,
muscles and tendons screaming in pain.
 
Like Hell Dean was gonna to tap. He’d let the little bastard break his arm
first. And that’s when Dean had an idea. Rocking up onto his knees, he wrapped
his free arm around Sam’s back, using all his body weight to lift his brother
off the ground before slamming him down hard against the carpet. Sam let out a
surprised yelp, releasing Dean who immediately launched into a new assault,
fists flying as the younger boy shimmied upward, kicking and failing.
 
A well placed foot to the chest allowed Sam to get away from Dean’s bombardment
on punches, and he quickly flipped onto his stomach, attempting to crawl out of
his brother’s reach. However, despite the fact that Sam was fast, Dean was
faster, scrambling forward to drape himself over Sam’s back, pinning him to the
ground as he struggled to get free.
 
Dean grabbed Sam’s wrists, holding them firmly above his head, fingers digging
bruises into his skin as the younger boy squirmed beneath him, cursing, body
drench in sweat. His head was turned to the left, the smooth, pale length of
his neck exposed and Dean, before he even realized what had possessed him to do
it, latched onto Sam’s neck, teeth sinking into soft, creamy flesh. Sam
screamed his name as Dean held tight, the bittersweet taste of blood dancing
across his tongue. He could feel the hot, solid length of his brother’s body,
ass pushing and grinding against his now rock hard cock, making him ache for
more.
 
“I should tear this sweet little ass up for the stunt you just pulled,” Dean
growled, breath hot against the shell of Sam’s right ear as he delivered a
sharp smack to his ass, causing Sam to whimper and roll his hips against the
floor.
 
“Daddy please, make me take it.”
 
“You’d love that, wouldn’t ya, whore?”
 
Sam mewled and arched his back, Dean’s cock sliding between his ass cheeks,
underwear soaked through with pre-cum. The younger boy was covered in bruises
now, they both were, the long, purple contusions scattered across Sam’s skin
like a gorgeous piece of art painted on a pale canvas.
 
“Yes, God yes. Fuck me, daddy, please?”
 
A deep, possessive rumble of a sound escaped from Dean’s throat as he pushed
himself up in order to yank off Sam’s shorts, roughly pulling the material
across his thighs, leaving large red marks were the nylon rubbed the skin raw
in his wake. And once the younger boy was completely naked, Dean grabbed him by
the hips, fingers pinching and pulling sensitive skin as he lifted Sam’s ass up
in the air so he had better access.
 
“You done tryin’ to fight me, little boy?” Dean asked condescendingly as he
smacked Sam’s right ass cheek, cock throbbing when his little brother moaned
and dug his fingernails into the carpet.
 
“…Yes…”
 
Dean delivered several more blows to Sam’s ass, switching from one cheek to the
other until he developed a steady rhythm, the younger boy whimpering, cock
swollen and dripping pre-cum as the assault continued.
 
“Yes what?”
 
Spreading his little brother wide, Dean used the tips of his fingers to smack
Sam’s hole, muscles flexing and contracting in response to the sharp sting of
pain.
 
“Yes, daddy…I won’t try to fight you anymore, I’ll be good, I swear.”
 
Dean muffled the sound of a moan by flicking his tongue over Sam’s warm, tight
hole, wiggling it around, working him open.
 
“Fuck, you’re so good at that,” Sam gritted out as Dean smacked his left ass
cheek; tongue dipping inside him and swirling around, causing the younger boy
to buck his hips, cock desperate for attention.
 
“Mm hm,” Dean hummed in a cocky tone between a couple teasing kitten licks
across Sam’s entrance, “Your big brother can eat pussy with the best of em’,
and this ain’t so different.”
 
At that, Sam grunted disapprovingly, his older brother’s comment not only
disgusting him but pissing him off at the same time. Which just so happened to
be the reaction Dean was hoping for.
 
“Aw, what’s the matter, baby boy? That make you mad?” the older boy taunted,
reaching between Sam’s legs to caress his balls. “Well too fuckin’ bad, cause
gettin’ punched in the face makes me mad, so I guess we’re even now.”
 
Crimson with blush, and thoroughly annoyed, Sam cursed Dean under his breath as
the older boy got to his feet, quickly pulling off his underwear before going
to his bedside table to retrieve his lube. And once he had the half empty
bottle in his hand, he returned to his place behind Sam on his knees, taking a
moment to enjoy the sight before him.
 
Sam’s thighs were trembling, back muscles flex, ass bright red and covered in
his hand prints pushed up in the air. Both his arms were above his head, left
cheek pressed firmly against the carpet as he waited for Dean’s next move,
goosebumps visible all across his flawless skin.
 
“Daddy! Oh, yes!”
 
Dean bit his bottom lip, determined not to make a sound as he slowly pumped his
index finger, slick with lube, in and out of Sam; smacking his ass with his
free hand every time the younger boy rocked back against him.
 
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, baby boy, you’re not gonna know what hit ya,” Dean
threatened, his little brother shouting out in pleasure when he found his
prostate; Dean massaging the tiny bundles of nerves with his fingertip, cock
twitching and strained as he watched Sam writhe and moan.
 
“Please, need it so bad. Want you to hold me down and pound my ass with that
beautiful, huge cock of yours, daddy,” Sam begged and that time Dean wasn’t
able to hold back a filthy, wanton moan.
 
“Fuck, Sammy, you love it, don’t ya? Such a dirty little whore for me.”
 
Dean smacked Sam’s ass hard as he added a second finger. He could see sweat
rolling down the curve of his little brother’s back, blood from the bite mark
on his neck turning a couple of the droplets light pink.
 
“Yes, love it when use me, daddy, when you mark my skin and show everyone who I
belong to,” the younger boy mewled, hips thrusting at air frantically as Dean
fucked him with his fingers hard and rough.
 
Leaning down, Dean kissed Sam’s lower back, nipping and sucking at the delicate
flesh, slippery wet fingers circling and scissoring inside him, stretching him
wide. And when he pushed a third finger into Sam, Dean bit down, rolling the
younger boy’s skin between his teeth as he drilled his prostate.
 
“Can’t get enough of you, baby boy, want you like this for me always, begging
for my cock and covered in bruises that I gave you.”
 
“Yes, oh Jesus, Dean please!”
 
Setting back on his heels, Dean carefully removed his fingers from Sam, the
younger boy whimpering at the loss.
 
“On your feet, Sammy, bend over the bed.”
 
Grabbing the lube, the older boy stood up and began to slick himself with the
clear, cool substance; watching with far too much satisfaction as Sam slowly
got up as well, so drunk on pleasure and desperate to come that he nearly
tripped over his own feet trying to get onto the bed. Eventually however, he
made it to his destination. Lying on his stomach, Sam gripped the sheets
tightly; ass exposed to Dean with his knees jammed against the edge of the
mattress.
 
“So fucking perfect, Sammy,” Dean praised, walking up behind Sam, trailing his
thick, pulsing cock up the length of the younger boy’s ass crack before
circling it around his entrance, teasing him mercilessly.
 
“Daddy, please!”
 
“You want it, baby boy?”
 
Dean pressed the head of his cock against Sam’s hole with just enough pressure
to make the younger boy squirm, left hand gripping his hip so tight he could
see the faint light blue outline of finger shaped bruises forming just below
the surface of his skin.
 
“Yes! Please?!”
 
“Ask me nicely.”
 
“Please daddy, can I have it? Please?”
 
Unable to resist any longer, Dean slid into Sam slowly, cock pushing past
tight, flexed muscle inch by inch as he sank deeper and deeper, eventually
bottoming out with a low, dirty moan. Sam was hot and impossibly tight around
him, greedy little hole squeezing his cock and driving him fucking crazy.
 
“Talk to me, baby, tell me how good it feels to finally have daddy’s cock
inside you.”
 
Sam groaned, faced buried in the sheets as he rocked back against Dean, body
bent over the bed and trembling with anticipation.
 
“Feels so good, daddy, love when you fill me up,” the younger boy said, Dean’s
hands firmly gripping his hips, holding him in place.
 
“I know you do, sweetheart, you love it when daddy stuffs your slutty little
hole.”
 
“Oh God, Dean please move.”
 
Sam’s voice was shaky, barely recognizable it was so tarnished with lust.
 
“I don’t think I heard that quite right, what did you say, little boy?” Dean
asked as he swiveled his hips but remained buried deep inside Sam.
 
“Please move daddy! Fuck me, please!”
 
Upon hearing the magic words he was looking for, Dean withdrew from Sam almost
completely before he snapped his hips forward again, slapping them against his
ass with force. Sam screamed, clawed at the sheets as Dean began to fuck him
like a wild animal, cock relentlessly nailing his prostate.
 
“That’s it, baby, scream,” Dean purred, hand coming up to tangle in Sam’s long,
sweaty hair, pulling it hard, the younger boy’s body contorting as he let out
another blood curdling scream, “Want the whole neighborhood to know that you’re
taking your daddy’s cock nice and hard.”
 
“Daddy, please, need you to touch me,” Sam whined as his brother pounded into
him, body rocking upward, sliding against the sheets with each violent thrust
of Dean’s hips.
 
“Shouldda thought about that before ya came into my room looking for a fight.”
 
“M’so-rry dad-dy! W-was ma-d a-t y-ou.”
 
“I know, baby,” Dean moaned, grinding his hips against Sam’s ass, the younger
boy screaming his name in ecstasy, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you
were bad.”
 
“Just let me come, daddy, please! I’ll be good!”
 
Pressing himself flat against Sam’s back, Dean slowed the motion of his hips to
a teasing, sensual roll, pulling Sam’s hair as he buried his face in the crook
of the younger boy’s neck.
 
“Not a chance, baby boy. You’ll come on just my cock, or you won’t come at all.
 
Sam let out a strangled moan as Dean began to pound into him once more, the
older boy biting his way across the back of his brother’s neck and down to his
shoulder. He could feel Sam clench around him, little sore, bruised body
trembling, and soaked with sweat, skin on fire against his.
 
“Daddy, please?” Sam asked, tilting his head to the side to expose the unmarked
side of his throat, soft and slick.
 
Immediately, Dean’s teeth sank into the offered patch of skin, thrusts becoming
sharper, cock driver deeper as Sam screamed his name; the sensation becoming
too much too fast and with one last jerk of his hips, Dean came, eyes rolling
back in his head, his brother’s tight, greedy hole milking him dry until he was
boneless and spent.
 
“Holy fuck.”
 
Dean collapsed on top of Sam, skin warm and tingling from his orgasm; the
injuries he sustained from his fights throbbing in that way he craved as he
lifted his shaky left hand to push his little brother’s hair out of his face.
 
“You okay, baby?” Dean asked, forcing himself to pull out of Sam in order to
crawl onto the bed, laying horizontal across it; allowing the younger boy to
get up from the mattress. “Did you come?”
 
Scooting upward, Sam gingerly turned to lay on his left side in front of his
brother, looking up at Dean with those big dewy hazel eyes of his, swollen,
flushed cock still hard and curled up to his belly, pre-cum leaking down the
shaft.
 
“…I was really close…”
 
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Dean leaned forward to kiss Sam affectionately,
tongue swirling around inside his mouth as he reached down and began to stroke
his brother’s cock.
 
“Thought you said,” Sam panted between hot, sloppy open mouth kisses, “that I
couldn’t come if it wasn’t on your cock?”
 
“Shuddup, bitch.”
 
Dean didn’t even know why he tried, honestly. How the hell was he supposed to
resist those eyes and that sad, innocent little voice?
 
“Like this, Dee, please?”
 
Smirking, Sam gently pushed Dean’s hand away, turning over so his back was to
the older boy.
 
“Anything else ya want, princess?” Dean asked sarcastically as he took the
hint, rolling forward so that he was spooning Sam, arm snaking around his body
to fist his cock once more.
 
“More bruises,” Sam retorted, his smart mouth comment morphing into a desperate
moan as Dean bit his shoulder again, layering bruises along the length; the
younger boy rolling his hips, fucking into Dean’s hand.
 
“C’mon baby, come for daddy.”
 
Sinking his teeth into the nape of Sam’s neck, Dean gave his little brother’s
cock a rough, twisting jerk that successfully sent him over the edge, the
younger boy blowing his wad all over Dean’s knuckles with a shout.
 
“…Thanks, Dee,” Sam mumbled sheepishly as Dean wiped his hand off on the
already ruined sheets.
 
“Whatever, ya little bitch.”
 
“M’sorry I hit ya…I was just really mad. You were doing so good, y’know? And
now dad’s gonna be upset with you again.”
 
Wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist, Dean buried his nose in his little
brother’s hair, the smell of sweat and vanilla greeting him.
 
“I get why you were pissed, Sammy…and I even understand why ya took a swing at
me…but honestly, I don’t care if dad is annoyed with me every once in a while.
It’s you I don’t want upset with me…and I’m really sorry I fought that kid. It
wasn’t even about the fight, I swear. I just couldn’t let him talk to ya like
that, man. I just couldn’t.”
 
Turning his head, Sam leaned back to press his lips against Dean’s, the kiss
far too intimate for the older boy’s liking.
 
“I love you, big brother. Thank you for taking care of me, even when you should
just walk away and let douche bags run their mouths.”
 
“…Yeah…whatever…don’t be such a girl, Sam.”
 
Smiling affectionately at his brother, in a way Dean thought was far beyond his
fourteen years; Sam nodded his head before turning back around and snugged down
into the older boy’s arms.
 
“You’re such an emotionally constipated jerk.”
 
“Bite me, bitch.”
 
“Mm, I was hoping for the other way around.”
 
Rolling his eyes, Dean pressed his lips to Sam’s neck once again, teeth grazing
the already bruised skin teasingly.
 
“Anything for my baby boy.”
 
“Thank you, daddy,” Sam moaned, eyes fluttering closed as Dean bit his throat
hard.
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