Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9378554.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Jealous_Dean, Bottom_Sam
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-18 Words: 5554
****** How are you? ******
by crush_(beekeepercain)
Summary
     Josh is good-looking. Dean hates it as he stands by his car, waiting
     for Sam to appear; he practically stalks the guy with the same kind
     of a look he'd normally reserve for a murderous restless spirit. He's
     tall, and the way Sam's talked about him, he's smart, too - for a
     sports player, anyway. A quiet growl escapes Dean as he readjusts
     against the Impala, eyes finally shifting. He can't bear to look at
     him anymore.
     And then Sam's there, tall as ever, lanky as ever, with his stupid
     curls bending softly against his forehead, and the stubborn red
     pimple on the other side of his nose making it look like his mole's
     got a twin. He's shining, and Dean's stomach twists uncomfortably. He
     tries to hide it - he's been trying to hide it for a long time now.
     Josh is just making it so much freaking worse, he thinks.
Notes
     Another request! As a disclaimer, Sam's 15 in this fic, so, you know.
     Underage and all that. Beware.
===============================================================================
 
Josh is good-looking. Dean hates it as he stands by his car, waiting for Sam to
appear; he practically stalks the guy with the same kind of a look he'd
normally reserve for a murderous restless spirit. He's tall, and the way Sam's
talked about him, he's smart, too - for a sports player, anyway. A quiet growl
escapes Dean as he readjusts against the Impala, eyes finally shifting. He
can't bear to look at him anymore. And then Sam's there, tall as ever, lanky as
ever, with his stupid curls bending softly against his forehead, and the
stubborn red pimple on the other side of his nose making it look like his
mole's got a twin. He's shining, and Dean's stomach twists uncomfortably. He
tries to hide it - he's been trying to hide it for a long time now. Josh is
just making it so much freaking worse, he thinks.
"Heya, little brother. Hop in."
They drive across town to the motel; Sam's not talking much, not so much as a
word after asking him how his day at his part-time job went. John's gone, and
who the hell knows for how long again. He calls daily, but what it means is
that it's just the two of them again.
The two of them and Josh, who's taken a too big of an interest in Dean's
brother.
It's not fair, really, for Dean to hate him for it. Sam needs friends. He's
that kind of a kid who always needs people around him, tries to make
connections, even though it's desperate and - well, he's not a kid anymore.
Maybe there's a driving purpose behind that, some longing for normalcy that he
tries to envelope himself with each time they move town. Slowly but certainly,
he resumes it. But Dean's not meant to feel like this about it, yet it's grown
inside him ever since, really, a long forever ago. This fear that something,
someone, will tear Sam away from him. And Sam's not even into guys, not as far
as Dean knows, anyway. Josh isn't his type; he's not a bookish, nerdy blonde.
He's a basketball player with short dark hair and soulful goddamn eyes and
puffy lips that look like the nicest thing to kiss if you're a girl or someone
just looking for a damn good kiss. Dean runs his tongue over his own lips and
shudders; nope, he doesn't want that.
Or does he?
Not from Josh, is the point. Nervously, he glances at Sam, unaware of what the
guy just asked him.
"Huh?"
"I asked if you're gonna pick me up tomorrow, or if I'm taking the bus. Jesus,
Dean."
"Sure, I'm picking you up. The store lets me out around three anyway."
"Good. Thanks."
"No problem."
They park before the motel and Dean waits for Sam to hop out like a bodyguard
prowling just a couple steps after him. They lock themselves indoors and
really, the heat's getting there; it's seeping through the thin walls and the
flimsy door and the chain on the door's not keeping that one out. Dean discards
his flannel on the chair and joins it soon after; he watches his brother set
his bag beside the bed and jump right in, ready to start homework. Always like
a clockwork.
He's grown so goddamn pretty. It's unfair, Dean thinks; that he's suddenly the
shorter brother and Sam's the taller, and Sam's not really a boy in any way
anymore, with broad shoulders and long limbs that go on for miles, with a sharp
jawline and brows that make his gaze always look alert and thoughtful. He's
grown out his hair again, and the thick curls cover the tips of his ears,
settle close to his neck like bark-brown waves upon a shoreline, and Dean feels
a certain tingling all over his skin when he watches the back of Sam's neck
turn for his ear and the way his Adam's apple jumps as he swallows and exhales
wearily as he picks up a pen and starts taking notes.
Then he remembers he's not supposed to be looking. His heart isn't supposed to
be racing and he's not supposed to be staring at Sam to begin with, as who the
hell keeps watching his own brother study like this, anyway? What kind of a
freak cares this much?
Dean swallows and picks himself up.
"Gonna take a walk, Sammy."
 
===============================================================================
 
He comes back to an empty room an hour later with a bag of chips and a large
bottle of coke in tow. There's a note on the table;

Dad called. He's okay, and thinks he's coming back in a few days tops. I'm out
            with some friends for a couple hours. Don't freak out.
                                      -S.

Dean drops back into the chair and tries to solve the blockage in his throat.
Great. A sense of idle frustration lingers inside him and he's not sure what to
do with it - what he could, really, do with it? He should let Sam go - let him
be with his friends. When Dad comes back, they're not going to be here anymore.
But fuck, anything could happen in a few days. And it's not for the lack of
trying that things haven't already. This is the fifth day in row that Sam's
just gone somewhere, dropped off with half a note or less, and went to play
ball or whatever with this same gang. And Dean's seen them, the way Josh leaves
his arm around his brother's shoulders, the way Sam laughs at him.
Slowly, he buries his head in his hands and tries to breathe.
"This isn't normal," he tells himself in a muffle voice, dragging his hands
down and looking blindly out the window, "You're not fucking normal. Get a
grip. Let him be."
Why the fuck would he be jealous? Why would it matter if Sam went and got
himself a boyfriend? Would it matter if he suddenly turned gay, after crushing
on at least one girl per school they've been to? He's never so much as said a
suspicious thing about any guy, and Sam's not that good at keeping secrets from
Dean, especially not when it comes to romance. Dean knew about Sasha. He knew
about Jolene. He knew even about Alex, the Asian girl who was two years ahead
of Sam and who Sam tried his best to cover his crush to, even though Dean
really found out about that one by accident. He's never missed a single one of
the people who made his brother's heart skip beats. But it's not about the
same-sex part. Dean doesn't think he'd care, in particular, whether Sam showed
up with Josh or Jolene this year and called it a date. The very thought of
someone, anyone, hanging by his arm makes his blood boil.
And that's not normal.
How lonely does a guy have to be to care this much about being left behind by
his own brother?
But that's not counting the rest of the evidence.
Dean shifts again. He screws open the bottle of coke and takes a sip even
though he's barely tasting anything. Fuck. His fingertips are growing cold and
his heart's racing as he watches a couple cross the parking lot. It's not - he
doesn't - want Sam to not date. Does he? Why would he? He should be overjoyed
at the thought of his brother getting some, even if fifteen is probably a bit
too young for a short night of romance with someone he barely knows. But he
isn't. It doesn't excite him to think of Sam entering the world of men with
anyone from his school right now. Christ, he didn't wait that long after his
own fifteenth to enter it himself, and it's really not that he's protective of
Sam either in this specific area, so why - why?
A throbbing inside his head, a weight or a pressure, tries to make itself
known, but Dean suffocates it and pushes it back into his subconscious.
He shouldn't be thinking about this at all.
"Just let it pass," he mutters as he lowers his head against his crossed arms
on the table and breathes slowly to make the time move by quicker.
 
===============================================================================
 
Sam's never late. He comes back at half past nine again, exactly as they've
promised each other they would - the same goes for Dean, if he chose to go out.
As long as it's just the two of them, they've got to keep their word to one
another, and never stay out too late, just in case. He's sweaty and smiling,
and heads straight into the shower; Dean's eyes catch onto the bathroom door
once he's inside, and he listens to Sam bang into a few things on his way to
the shower.
"Had a good one?" he asks over the white noise of the shower.
"Mm-hmm," Sam replies, his voice, while loud, barely carrying through the wall.
He takes seven minutes before emerging again, a towel wrapped around his thin
hips. Dean shivers violently as he twists back around to stare at the comic
book resting over his thighs. The bed creaks as he adjusts.
"So you were out with that, what's his name again? Joe?"
"Josh."
"Right."
Dean grimaces, but Sam's pulling on his underwear and doesn't notice.
"He seems like a jerk to me, Sammy, why are you so fond of him anyway?"
"A jerk?"
"Yeah. He's a popular kid, isn't he? Popular kids are always rotten."
Sam scoffs.
"That's kinda prejudiced, Dean. He's fine. He's damn smart, he can talk about
anything. Science, religion, politics -"
"Why on earth would you want to talk about politics? Or religion? Sounds boring
to me," Dean asks, lifting his brows as he watches Sam pull on a loose v-neck
from his bag.
Sam gives him a nasty look.
"Yeah, all you want to talk about are chicks."
"Shut up, Sam. I'm not like that. But if you really want to talk about stuff
like that, why not talk with me?"
Now, Dean earns himself a long look. Sam sits on his bed a couple feet away
from Dean's and chuckles.
"You just said it, didn't you? You don't want to talk about them, so -"
"Hell, have you tried me? Ever?"
"That's not the point. I like Josh. He's cool, and for some reason, he isn't
scared of the fact that I'm a freak who lives in a motel room with no parents
to speak of."
"You've got Dad," Dean argues, but dully; he knows it's not worth jack when
John isn't there, and Sam doesn't bother replying.
"Anyway, I just wanted to - I don't know. Dad's coming back. I want to spend
time with them because in a week or something, we're gone again. We both know
it. So..."
Dean turns his eyes away. He reads the rest of the page from his comic book,
turns it, but doesn't know how to concentrate anymore, so he closes the book
and places it on the bedside table. Then he turns to look at Sam again.
"You in love with him or something?" he hears himself ask in a much sharper
tone than intended.
It takes Sam by surprise: he freezes on the bed and a few expressions ranging
from shocked to disbelieving to angry cross his features.
"What?" he asks, as if unable to believe that Dean just said what he did.
Dean wants to take it back.
"Nothing," he grunts and pulls his knees up to his chest like a little kid.
Sam doesn't let him retreat.
"Why do you care?" he asks next, turning towards Dean and flinging his legs
over the side of the bed on that side. He leans forwards against them and
stares at Dean challengingly; it's going to be another fight, and a fight is
just about the last thing Dean wants right now.
"I don't."
"Well, clearly you do. For the record, I'm not in love with him. But you sure
sound like you're jealous, so -"
"Well, maybe I am. So what, Sam? You're saying I can't be jealous when you're
spending every last minute with some guy you barely know and you're not giving
me so much as a hello when I pick you up after school every single fucking day
-"
"You've never cared to talk in the car, anyway, Dean! Why should I suddenly -"
"Again, have you fucking tried, Sam? Maybe I want to talk. Maybe I want to know
how you're doing -"
"SO ASK ME."
Sam's standing. He's between the beds and Dean's looking up at him and he's
breathing a little funny, but he's not sure if he's more annoyed or amused by
the sight of his huge little brother towering at him, fuming with anger, in
that limited space between the two motel beds.
"Alright," he says calmly, "How're you doing?"
The next thing he knows, Sam's on the bed with him. He doesn't really know what
to think of it before Sam's crawled on top of him and his lips are right there
and Dean can't breathe when they join - he's frozen for a good long while, eyes
pressed closed as if expecting a blow in the face, with his brother kissing him
hard and his own fists gripping the bedsheets like he's afraid he's going to
fall out if he doesn't hold on for dear life. Then, reason finds him; he grabs
Sam by the shoulders and throws him aside, and Sam lands on his side next to
Dean, barely clinging to the bed. He's flustered and red and holding his
breath, and Dean's breathless and his heart's about to explode in his chest,
and he wants to cry and he wants to shout but he's suddenly unable to escape
that pressure inside his body telling him exactly how jealous he's been of Josh
this whole time, and exactlywhy he's felt that way. Then, just when Sam's about
to pull up and leave, Dean grabs him again and pulls him back. This time, the
kiss is much slower, and it's got an apologetic, scared tone to it; their lips
slip over and against each other in a gentler fashion, as if marking down the
bruises from the previous impact. Dean feels like he's not getting in enough
air, but Sam's moving onto his lap and his hips press into Dean's, making his
shudder and gasp.
"Sam, no - we - no, this isn't right."
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam mutters as he lets their mouths part; he presses his
forehead against Dean's, and he really sounds sorry, too, "I'm a fuck-up, I'm
disgusting, I know, this - this isn't right, you're - I just - I'm sorry,
Dean."
Dean nods, but he can't stop his lips from burning, and he can't stop wanting
to resume the kiss. Sam's lips felt so good against him - his whole body feels
so good against his, like it belongs there, like they should be like this. And
it's wrong, and he knows he'll hate himself tomorrow for it, and that he won't
be able to live with it, but right now... it's all he wants to just be here
with Sam.
"Turn off the lights," he hears himself breathe out, "Please."
Sam nods, and he reaches for the bedside lightswitch and presses it. The motel
room sinks into a blue-tinted, quiet darkness illuminated by the motel's lights
outside and the town's glow through the window facing away from the parking
lot. Dean looks at his brother, and he wraps his arms around him and pulls him
close: Sam lets him do it, and he sinks against Dean's chest and his breathing
hitches a little.
"How - Dean - what are you - thinking, right now?" he asks, his fingers bending
into Dean's shirt.
Dean brings his knee against Sam's back mostly to hold him just a little closer
still, and he swallows thickly.
"I'm conflicted, I guess? I mean - obviously, I'm... this - we shouldn't - but,
uh. Why did you...?"
"I don't know. I've felt like this for ages, Dean, and I can't fucking help it.
It's just there, always, all the time, and I wanted to - I don't know. It's -
just beat me up or something. Fix me, Dean."
"I..."
Dean swallows.
"I can't fix you," he says then, "I can't fix you because - fuck - I don't know
how to fix me, either. I don't think beating you up would make us any better,
Sam."
"Can I ask something of you, then?" Sam asks him quietly, and Dean chuckles.
"You just did, kiddo."
"Don't call me that."
"Pfft."
Sam chuckles breathlessly, too. Then he pulls himself back a little, but his
head's hanging and he doesn't dare to look Dean in the eye.
"I want - you. I want you," he says.
"Huh."
"I - need you. I want to - fuck, how do you do this? I know you've been with
girls before but I've never - I don't know how to ask for this. Dean, just -
fuck me."
"What?"
Sam shivers.
"How do you want me to ask for it?" he growls and turns a sharp gaze towards
Dean, "I can't - I want this. I want you. And I know it's fucked up and I
shouldn't but I already got this far. Please."
"You - Sam. Fuck. It shouldn't be like this, you know that, Sam, we're - we're,
Sam -"
"Don't say it. I know. I know. I didn't just forget, alright? I know. And I
know what I'm asking. I'm ready. I just - I need it to be you. Like everything
else in my life. I don't want anybody else."
There's a long, tense silence. Dean swallows: he can't say he doesn't want it,
too. Just Sam saying it to him makes his body react in ten different ways, and
not one of them is from disgust or any other negative feeling. He's nervous,
alright. He's scared, and frankly, he's a bit panicked, too. But Sam sounds
certain, the way he always sounds when he wants something and he's thought it
through.
"You... sure about this, Sammy?"
Sam nods slowly.
"I've been for a while," he admits and even dares to look at Dean again.
Just as slowly, Dean nods, too.
"This your first?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
"Yep."
"Then - I guess we'll take our time."
 
===============================================================================
 
They sit there for a good while, just feeling each other out with their hands;
it's weird for Dean, but the longer they wait before jumping head first into
anything more, the more comfortable he gets with it. Sam's pliant and soft and
full of trembling energy - he seems nervous, but to Dean's relief, it's clearly
of the good kind. He catches his brother suppressing grins and smiles all the
time in an attempt at seeming, what, more professional about it, like fun's not
allowed while petting, and now more than ever he just seems so detached from
the boy he was barely a year ago. Dean misses that kid, and he has to look at
Sam now to remind himself that he's really gone now, but Sam's muscle and
angles and thin as a stick as opposed to round and smooth the way he used to
be. And his mind's so different by now, too - he's calculative, almost fox-
like, alert and thoughtful at all times. He knows what he wants, Dean tells
himself, even though this still rings wrong to him in all the ways it could.
It's his goddamn brother.
At least he isn't giving this away to that fucking Josh, his brain rings right
back at him, and a short groan escapes him. Sam chuckles.
"What?" he asks, his voice, too, a little nervous.
"Nothing. Mind your own business," Dean chuckles.
He runs his hand over Sam's back and brings him in, and Sam takes it as his cue
to kiss Dean again. His mouth tastes like coke, and Dean wonders when he stole
a sip out of the bottle.
"You really, really sure about this? I mean, it's - it should be special. This
- this should be," Dean carries on when the kiss breaks enough for him to draw
breath.
Sam nods.
"Stop askin'," he growls and pushes his hips down so that Dean's breath catches
and a flood of blush rushes to his cheeks.
For a moment Sam stays there, watching him keenly; then he backs off, crawls
off Dean's lap entirely. He sits, cross-legged, next to him on the bed and for
the first time he looks conflicted and uncertain.
"How about you?" he asks, glancing at Dean with a nervous look.
"What about me?" Dean asks back, frowning and turning for him; his hand reaches
for Sam clumsily, stopping multiple times on the way to reconsider before his
fingertips finally slip over his brother's shoulder.
"Are you sure? You're holding back. I don't know if you're just playing along
for me, and I don't want that. The last thing I want - I don't - Dean, I don't
want to hurt you. If you think this'll -"
"Shut up," Dean mutters, his ears still burning hot, "No. I'm not doing this
just for you. I'm just, I should be protecting you, and this - ain't that, Sam,
I don't know if... if I can - you know."
"Should we stop?"
They're quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, Dean shakes his head carefully.
"Don't want to," he confesses, "At all."
"Me neither," Sam laughs tensely, and after hesitating for the briefest moment,
his back hits the mattress. He reaches his hand out for Dean and pulls him over
until Dean's crawling on top of him on all fours, trying to retain balance.
"So if we both want this," Sam starts, letting the rest of the sentence die
out.
Dean nods.
"I'm sorry," he says anyway, and Sam shakes his head.
"I'm not," he says, "Not if you really want this, too."
A small smile crosses Dean's lips, and he nods again, this time with more
confidence. He sinks into his brother, lips moving over his neck and tongue
catching a lick of his Adam's apple - the same one he's watched bob with each
swallow, with the smooth syllables of Sam's voice when he speaks and especially
when he snaps or raises his voice against Dean. It's exhilarating to taste the
skin over it, the prickling of carelessly-shaven facial hair growing there, and
from there Dean keeps kissing him all over his neck, making Sam's back bend
upwards to bring his body that much closer to Dean. His hips are impatient and
needy, but Dean feels him hold back from full contact with them - perhaps he's
afraid of coming too fast, of getting enough of this before they can so much as
start. Still, Dean grasps his hips from both sides and brings them up against
his own, and Sam gasps and shivers under his touch, his hands reaching to hold
Dean by his shoulders, from which they then move down over his lower back as
Dean lets him down again. He's grinning and blushing as hard as Dean is, but
the colour on him is barely visible in the darkness.
"Imagine if Dad came home right now," he says with a hint of fear in his voice.
Dean swallows thickly.
"He'd kill me, first off," he says with a hint of terrified humour in his tone
although he doesn't have the capacity to doubt the truth in his words, "But
secondly - luckily - he's not coming today, not even if he'd started driving
when he called you. Milwaukee is a long fucking way away from here, Sammy."
"I'm just saying," Sam breathes out, closing his eyes.
"Wait," Dean scoffs as he moves his fingers to pull off Sam's shirt, feeling
him play along right away without hesitation, "This is just one of your moves
to piss him off, isn't it?"
"Shut up," Sam laughs, "But yeah, definitely. I'm hooking up with my brother to
piss Dad off, because I haven't found enough ways to do that by just being
myself yet. You caught me."
"I hate you," Dean mumbles against his collarbones, mouth full of the taste of
his freshly washed skin.
"Do you?"
"Yep."
Sam's smile is loud in the way he breathes. He adjusts against Dean's touches
and lets out the first small moan in response to them when Dean wraps his lips
around his erect nipple; he shifts again, hips stealing one brush against
Dean's body despite his careful control over them. Dean's instinctively respond
to the touch by grinding down, and he has to pull back to get over the dizzy
spell the feel of Sam's hard cock underneath his black underwear has suddenly
put him through.
"I swear, if you ask me one more time if I'm okay with this, Dean, I'm gonna -"
"No, I'm not asking," Dean grunts and presses his mouth against Sam's stomach
this time, "I'm beyond that, kid. Now the only way you can get out of this is
if you slap me in the face and scream."
"I'll remember that," Sam laughs.
His body's so sensitive: it responds to Dean's every move, his muscles
twitching and skin turning to goosebumps, with shivers and shudders and jumps
like punctuation marking each transition from place to place. But Dean
hesitates again at the waistband of his boxer-briefs. He raises his head just
enough to glance at Sam's face, and Sam's looking down at him with a nervous
expression.
"You think you can handle me touching you?" Dean asks him near-casually as he
sits up over Sam's knees.
Slowly, Sam shakes his head, red in the face again.
"Honestly? No," he confesses, earning a grin from Dean.
"Alright. So - what do you want to do?" Dean asks him, suppressing the urge to
make fun of him now. That's not the kind of a memory he wants to leave - maybe
later, if they make the same mistake again.
"You ever - done it with a guy before?" Sam asks him, his voice unconfident but
curious.
Dean grimaces.
"Nope," he says, "But I've, um, tried it that way with a girl, if you know what
I mean."
An expression of slight relief spreads over Sam's face and he nods.
"Well," he carries on, "If you want to..."
"You'd have to be really damn sure about this," Dean reminds him, "Know how to
relax your body, all sorts of shit that only comes with experience."
A defiant flash crosses Sam's eyes and he pushes himself up on his elbows.
"I think you're not getting the picture here," he scoffs, "You think I've been
pure, Dean? While you and Dad have been hunting, you think I haven't -"
"Whoa, wait. Too much information."
"Dean, you're about to sleep with me."
Dean reconsiders. Then he shrugs with a laugh.
"I guess. Still, don't tell me. Keep some things to yourself, buddy."
"Fine. Anyway, I think I can handle you."
"Fine. But we don't have any -"
"Lube? We've got a ton of creams. The cream we use for healing cuts has been
slippery enough -"
"Sam, for fuck's sake."
Sam laughs. He rests back on the bed, and to Dean's shock, he grabs the
waistband of his boxers and starts pulling them off. With a jump, Dean escapes
him; he dances a few steps away from the bed, turns swiftly, and heads for the
first-aid kit where they keep the creams instead to distract himself.
Damn, the kid's grown big in more ways than just one.
"You think you can touch me without coming right away, Dean?" Sam asks him with
a distinctive hint of tease in his voice.
Dean throws a random gesture up into the air with his hand as he picks up the
cream both himself and Sam have been using for purposes it really wasn't bought
for. He's mostly certain. Mostly. When he returns, he forces himself to look at
Sam, as briefly as it happens.
"Fuck," he mutters, and Sam lets out another chuckle, this one more held-back
and uncertain.
To Dean's shock, he runs his fingers over the shape of his cock; there's a drop
of precome already at the tip, and Dean just wants to charge off and run until
he collapses at the side of some road leading out to nowhere. Instead, he
places the cream onto the bed and starts stripping. It's easier than seeing Sam
do it - he's done it plenty of times now, and Sam's seen him before.
"You ready?" he asks, settling next to Sam on the bed.
Sam nods, and as he spreads his legs with some tension in them, Dean notices
him tremble.
"Sure?"
"100%."
"Alright, then. Let's - do this. You wanna prep yourself? Think you've got it?"
Dean asks him, unable to bring himself to treat Sam to any touches just yet.
With ever-deepening blush on his features, Sam nods.
"I've got it."
 
===============================================================================
 
Their bodies join with surprising ease. Dean rests his weight towards Sam and
lets it happen at its own pace, but Sam's open for him and surprisingly
relaxed, circumstances considered. His flesh is hot and wet and the tightness
feels like it's going to blind Dean with pleasure, and he really has to hold
back not to climax right away; his cheeks are red and he lets out a shaky gasp
as he stops moving for a moment to make absolutely sure that he won't do that.
Sam breathes out in a way that could be interpreted as a chuckle; he reaches
his hand up, the one that isn't clenched around the sheets, and brushes his
fingers through Dean's short hair.
"Go on," he mumbles, "It's good."
"Not hurtin'?"
"Nope."
"Good. That's - yeah."
In another movement, they're as close as they're ever going to get in this
life. Dean moves his hand under Sam's shoulders and props him up; he holds him
close as he starts moving, feeling Sam's legs first hold tight around his waist
and then relax again as they set a pace together. They go slow - Dean wouldn't
have it any other way with a virgin, anyway, much less his own brother that
he'd kill and die for to protect - but Sam's receptive and rocks back against
Dean, his eyes closed and lips parted. They're quiet, too, for the most part.
They've both learned it the hard way, Dean thinks; no privacy means that all of
this has always had to be held a very silent secret in the presence of other
people who sleep just as light as they would. The bed creaks to the rhythm of
their bodies moving upon it, and sometimes the headboard knocks into the wall
making Sam break into a grin. He's attractive as all fuck like that, grinning
in that breathless, aroused manner; he catches Dean looking, and Dean lets out
a gasping laugh at the feeling of being caught in the act. He pushes deeper
into his brother and gains a moan from him, then does it again just to feel him
tremble against him, and Sam's holding him and pushing back against him until
they're not just making love anymore but fucking, raw and simple and
animalistic, both thrusting and pounding against the other. Dean knows Sam's
close just from the act alone, but with a daring grin, he finally pushes
himself to wrap his hand around his brother's cock. That very moment, he nearly
regrets it: the other clamps around him, forcing him to slow down with another
deep thrust, and Sam gasps and pushes right down into him to get him deeper.
He's leaking, not quite coming yet, but when Dean moves again with his fist
sliding over Sam's cock, he's gone.
A tense shudder rushes through Sam's body and he lets out a yelp or a mewl of
some sort, rushes up and presses his teeth into the side of Dean's neck, and
Dean shudders, too, his body instinctively turning back to the harder rhythm as
Sam's body relaxes around him with a hot mess now pooling between their bodies
and all over his stomach.
"Can I - inside?" Dean asks him, barely managing words.
Sam nods sharply.
"Please," he says in a hoarse whisper and lets out a tired laughter to top it;
it's that sound, that throughoutly satisfied voice, that brings Dean over the
edge.
God, he loves Sam so fucking much. It's the only thing he can think of when he
thrusts against Sam and stays there, feeling his whole body pulse with
pleasure, his eyes shut tight and his heart skipping beats here and there. And
then he's over Sam, slowly sliding out of his body; his hand is caught in Sam's
hair, feeling the wetness of sweat gathering there and mixing together with the
remaining moisture from the shower he took earlier. With a trembling smirk, he
rolls off the other's body and brings an arm around him, seeking eye contact
with him through the haze of fading pleasure.
"So?" he asks nervously, "How's that for a first time?"
Sam forces his eyes closed, and the smile on him is gentle and pleased and
calm.
"Perfect," he mutters, patting around the bed to collect the hem of the blanket
they've kicked all over the place, "Thanks, Dean."
"You're, uh. Welcome?"
With a push, Sam sends Dean back onto his back and laughs.
"Shut up. Jerk."
"Bitch."
 
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