Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/457310.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Rough_Sex, Barebacking, Rimming, Face-Fucking, Het_and
      Slash, Blow_Jobs, Hurt_Sam_Winchester, Manhandling, Dominant/Top_Dean,
      Submissive/Bottom_Sam_Winchester, Bottom_Sam, Top_Dean, Massage,
      Felching, Snowballing, Comeplay, Possessive_Dean_Winchester, Weechesters,
      Weecest
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-11 Words: 2913
****** Growing Pains ******
by dollylux
Summary
     rain, lonely in a motel room, waiting for his big brother to come
     back and ease these aches.
Sam hates being alone. He talks a lot of shit sometimes and he yells at their
dad and tells him to leave him alone, to just let him have five minutes alone,
he glares at Dean until Dean is too annoyed to endure teenaged sarcasm for a
second longer but the truth is, he hates it. And he never hates it more than he
does at night, when he's truly, truly alone. When it's not just Dad at a bar
down the road and Dean outside smoking and working on his fourth beer and he'll
be coming in any minute now, tipsy and bitter tasting with tobacco and hops.
Dad is gone to some place darker than Sammy can fathom at thirteen, with Bobby
on some hunt that he will never be told about and Dean. Well, Dean's on a date.
Or rather, Dean met a girl and now they're somewhere in the Impala. Somewhere
even farther away than Dad or at least that's what it feels like to Sammy here
at midnight alone in a city he doesn't even know. He's thirteen and alone and
sick with it. He stares at the television blinking at him in silent blueness,
his face smashed into Dean's pillow. He allows himself a soft whimper as
another pain shoots through his legs, a sharp sensation against the backdrop of
dull ache that he's been used to for almost a year now. He runs his hands down
the front of his thighs and over the backs of his calves, feeling like his body
is trying to stretch itself apart, like he's going to wake up and be in pieces
one day. He hurts too much to even contemplate getting up and hopping in the
shower and letting hot water work his magic. If Dean were here--
Sam's frown deepens and he pushes harder into the bed, burrowed under blankets.
 
-
 
Her name is Felicity. She has thick auburn hair and dark eyelashes and a cherry
popsicle mouth and dark freckles over peach skin and Dean thinks for the
hundredth time in the hundredth city that he's in love. Or at least his dick
is. He'd met her at the grocery store where she'd been helping her grandmother
shop like the sweet girl she probably was, He'd just smiled that smile of his
and offered a chance for plans later, his mouth babbling something about pizza
and his eyes telling her that his fingers would be working some fucking magic
in her cunt later. She'd said yes almost too quickly for his general liking,
but the blush on her cheeks had made him grin.
It's more splotchy now as she sucks on the head of his dick, deep strawberry
red splotches of pleasure on her cheeks and her neck as he twists lazily at one
of her nipples, his other hand stroking through her hair. He keeps glancing up
through the parking lot, hearing the rain pouring over Springsteen on the
radio, watching this or that guy or woman or family scurry past them, arms
loaded with groceries and umbrellas, minds unknowing of the teenage debauchery
going on just feet from them. One little boy hops down from the sidewalk to the
pavement, one of those sticky syrupy sweet tubes of Squeeze Pops attached to
his mouth. It's the blue kind, the kind that turns lips and teeth and tongue
the color of a Smurf and he smiles to himself, picturing Sammy immediately
because blue, of course, is his favorite flavor. He hisses suddenly, his
attention snapping back down to the girl working his dick like she has a line
of guys to suck after him. His grip tightens in her hair and he pulls her up a
little, lips drawn tight in displeasure.
"Hey, hey. Go easy, sweetheart. You're not racin' anybody, are ya?" He puts a
dirty smile on his face so that she will smile back and blush even more. She
shakes her head and refocuses on his cock, soft tongue sneaking out to play
with it again. "And, uh. Try to cover your teeth a little. I'm a sensitive
guy."
He grins when she rolls her eyes and smiles and makes a show of covering her
teeth before she goes back down on him, taking him so deep that Dean groans and
rests his head back on the seat. He watches as the Squeeze Pop boy piles into
the family van and watches them drive away until he can't see their lights
anymore. He shifts on the vinyl and sighs to himself, forgetting that he's
getting his dick sucked until Felicity lifts off of him again, a pretty frown
covering her face.
"Am I boring you?" She looks pissed, offended, and Dean's so annoyed that she's
in his car suddenly that he doesn't care.
"Nah. I've just gotta get back home. Curfew, you know?" He pushes at her until
she's sitting up again and he grits his teeth as he stuffs his only half-hard
dick back into his soft jeans.
"Curfew? I thought you said--"
"Hey, maybe I'll call you tomorrow. Yeah?" He leans in and kisses her and
straightens up in his seat and that's the end of it, to him. His mind is
approximately 5.2 miles away, at the Fiddler's Inn where Sammy is probably
asleep. Dean pictures a blue mouth wrapped around a Squeeze Pop and he reaches
over to open the passenger door over the girl, turning his car on in the next
second and he doesn't even watch her get out. He'd be back in that room in
under 10 minutes.
 
-
The throaty rumble of the Impala sounds like a dream right outside these
phonebook paper thin walls and Sam doesn't even have time to react because the
engine dies and then suddenly, miraculously, the door opens and Dean's
silhouette is backlit in the bleak streetlights outside and Sam can smell the
rain, rain on leather, rain on summer-licked skin, smell Dean getting closer
and closer and Sammy shifts to his back on instinct, his heart drumming louder
than all the rest of it against his ribs. He hears the sound of a leather
jacket hitting the floor and the grit of Dean's zipper sliding down and then
the bed squeaks and Dean's knees are on either side of his scrawny shoulders
and Sam can only tip his head up as Dean pulls himself out in the darkness, he
can only close his eyes and make his mouth soft so that Dean's heavy cock slaps
down like a dead weight on his plush lips. Sam's hands are curled loosely on
Dean's thighs, his tongue out and licking everywhere while Dean spanks his face
with his dick, making beautiful little grunts and groans and fuck yeah Sammys
and then he's sliding all the way in without ceremony, making Sam take him
ballsdeep down his baby throat and Sam can tell by the sound Dean makes that
he's arched over him, his tight, muscular body a heavy drawn bow over Sam as he
tries to be good, to not sit his full weight on Sam's thin chest. They sigh at
the same time and Dean curls forward then, resting his forehead on the peeling
paint on the wall and he ruts forward, forcing Sam's head to tip back on the
pillow so he can have a straight, soaked tunnel to fuck into.
Sam's bitten back nails dig and scratch at Dean's jeans, groping until they
find his ass where the denim is loose in the back and he slides his hands in
and pulls Dean even further forward, deeper into his throat. This side of a
minute ago he'd been so desperate just to see Dean that he'd almost cried,
almost thrown something or broken something and now here he is, his big brother
sitting on his chest and using him up, moaning for the way Sam's tongue manages
to work at the thick spine of his dick. Sam swallows around him and he realizes
for the first time that what he's tasting besides Dean's normal, blissfully
comforting flavor is piña colada, artificial and too sweet and it has to be
that girl's lipgloss. That stupid, stupid girl. Sam digs his nails into Dean's
ass and moans, his little body arching up off the bed and something in Dean
awakens then.
He shoves forward with a violent thrust of his hips, practically laying on
Sammy's upper body, his knees spread and digging hard into the mattress around
Sam's face, his ass flexing hard as he fucks into that mouth. He knows from
experience that Sam likes him to fuck through the gags and coughs and choking,
likes him to pump his hips and plunge in and out of his throat until Sam is
frothing thick gobs of spit and precome and whatever else Dean has fucked out
of him. Sam just lies back and takes it, stares up blindly into the dark, only
seeing the faintest glimpses of Dean over him, fully clothed like some modern
god taking his tribute from the young and devout, sweat dripping down his
forehead and the sin of his mouth fat and glistening from where he keeps
licking his lips over and over again. His eyes look dark and wet except for the
bright whites of them and he's starting to loose control, starting to fuck
savagely into Sammy's throat, making the bed groan and squeak and the headboard
slap and his groans are inhuman, growly and it takes every single drop of
discipline trained into him to stop when he feels two weak smacks on his ass,
their long ago determined safety motion that means too much, means stop. He
buries in deep just one more time, feeling Sam shake violently beneath him and
all around his dick, feels him trying so hard to keep control of his body's
instincts to reject what Dean is doing and when Dean pulls out finally Sam
takes a huge breath and coughs, his mouth and chin and throat and chest soaking
wet with everything fucked out of his throat. Dean grips the base of his dick,
pinching off orgasm at the very last second and he's sliding down so that their
bodies are more or less flush and Dean is licking up everything Sammy has
coughed up, licking up all the spit and salt and liquid their bodies made
together and he feeds it into Sammy's mouth when he kisses him, feeds it to him
like Sammy's his baby bird and this is nourishment. Sam takes it, always takes
everything Dean gives him and he swallows it down and wraps his arms around him
and sighs. He can feel Dean urgent and angry red against his thigh through his
sweats and he reaches down to rub him, to stroke and pet Dean's cockhead and
draw a deep shudder from him.
"Missed you, baby boy," comes his voice finally, wrecked and whisky deep and
Sammy lifts up when Dean yanks his sweats off, leaving him naked against thin
cotton sheets. Dean's fingers dip between their mouths and come away with a gob
of spit that Sam almost immediately feels against his hole, and Dean is sliding
two fingers up into him, middle and ring, hooking them up inside of him and
fucking him vulgarly, perfectly. Dean has been able to take Sam apart with his
fingers every single time he's tried. Sam whimpers for probably the fifth time
tonight and this time Dean's here to fix it.
"How was your date?" Sam can't help but ask, can't help but want an answer.
Dean slips a third finger into him and spreads them as wide as he can, drawing
a gasp out of Sam that he licks when he kisses him thoroughly, possessively.
"Wanted you instead. Now open for me, Sammy. Don't be so stingy. Gimme some of
that pink, yeah?" Dean pushes the covers back then, shoves them off the bed and
he rips his own shirt over his head and throws it toward the floor, reaching
down and grabbing hold of Sam's legs and forcing them up and back, shoving
Sam's bony knees into his bird-bone delicate shoulders and Sam cries out, more
of those pains shooting through him and Dean immediately starts to rub his
legs, making soft shushing sounds as he kisses the back of Sam's thighs. "It's
okay, Sammy. I've gotcha. Right? I'm here to take care of it." He reaches for
Sam's arms, letting him take over holding his long legs back and Sam reaches up
and grabs his own ankles, holding himself open and apart for Dean. He moans
when he feels Dean's mouth and hands at the same time, hands on his thighs,
massaging and kneading deep while his mouth closes around Sam's puffed out
little hole, frenching and sucking at it.
"Dean," Sam begs, not knowing what else to say, how else to feel but fucking
lucky, but so sexy here under his brother who is the king of fucking to him,
who is the be all and end all of desire. He closes his eyes and listens to the
sounds of Dean eating him out, making yet another meal of Sam's sweet pinkness,
he feels those hands moving all over his legs, his calves and his knees and
Dean is mumbling against him, saying such sweet filth that Sam thinks he's
going to come right fucking now. Saying something about squeeze pops and the
taste of cherries and little boy pink and how he's so hungry and how his dick
knows who treats it right and Sam is grappling for him, shoving at Dean's jeans
and pulling him up, begging for that dirty mouth on his.
His knees are against his shoulders again as Dean bears down on him, as he
shucks his soggy shoes in dull thuds on the floor and his damp jeans follow and
they're all of a sudden completely bare against each other in this chilly motel
room, they're blessedly alone and belong just here and just to each other and
Sam can be as sweet and loud as he wants when Dean lines up and feeds him his
dick and settles as deep inside of him as he can go. Sam pants and struggles
under him on the bed, his knees pressed over his shoulders into the mattress
now and Dean starts his fuck then, staring down dark and fathomless at this boy
under him, this everything of his under him and all around him and Sam is
unknowingly echoing his exact thoughts. Dean hits his spot the first time and
Sam sees bright white stars, his toes curling in the cool air over Dean's
flexed shoulders. His fingers dig into Dean's ribs to ask for more please right
there please big brother take care of me fix this ache give it to me and Dean
does, he roots inside and anchors himself on the bed and fucks him with all of
his weight, all of his strength, leaving them both marathon-run gasping for
air, every thrust clearing the air of thoughts of auburn hair and chocolate
freckles and ghosts and Dad and fire and money and days with no food and no
Dean and loneliness and anything but each other, but the bare bones fucking
that only the night gets to have, that only the stars and seedy motels get to
witness. Sam reaches up and grips Dean hard by the hair and stares into his
eyes when he feels Dean go still over him, feels his cock jerking as he creams
him full inside, feeding Sammy's body nice and loaded. They shudder and shake
and tear at each other in love until Dean is suddenly pushing Sammy even
tighter in half, his ass pushed up into the air uncomfortably high, the tips of
Sammy's toes scraping the headboard. When he pulls out Sammy actually sobs.
His hole is gaping and swollen red when Dean's tongue slips inside with
beautiful ease, when he can suction his lips around it and suck out the come
that he just put there, when he can lick and draw it out like nectar from
inside a honeysuckle flower. He wraps a big hand around Sam's sweet little cock
and fists it hard, jerking him off just the way Sam likes until he's yelping
and begging and coming in pretty cloudy streams all over his little belly, his
hole spasming and contracting around Dean's greedy tongue. He licks and milks
him until Sam goes quiet and boneless under him and he lifts up then, letting
those long colt limbs unfold, letting Sam finally collapse back on the bed. He
looks feverishly beautiful there against the bleach white sheets, all pink and
fucked out and sleepy and Dean grins at him tiredly, his mouth still full as he
gathers the covers back over them and lays down beside Sammy on the little bed,
both of them turning on their sides to face each other, Sam's back against the
wall so Dean can keep him tucked in tight and safe. Their mouths connect and
Sam drinks, swallowing down little mouthfuls of the come Dean feeds him, that
sweet earthy taste of his big brother sliding across his tongue and down his
throat to his belly. The rain beats harder outside, making this little room
they're trapped in feel like an island, separate from anything and everything
else in the world.
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