Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1066325.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weechesters, Masturbation, Scent_Kink, Angst, Guilty_Pleasures, Guilty
      Dean_Winchester
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-02 Words: 946
****** If I Could Rewind ******
by soullessbrothers
Summary
     After Dean spanked Sam, he can't stop thinking about it. When Sam
     comes home covered in dirt and sweat after a soccer game, Dean loses
     his self-control.
Notes
     Warning: Sam is fourteen.
Dean burns through the days. All of his dreams are in technicolour, in bursts
of flame. John is still out on the hunt and Sam breezed through the exam the
week before. Dean doesn’t have anything to fill his time. The nearby town is
small, close-knit, and already have boys for yard work. He asked a girl to put
a note in the gas stop window, but he watched her tear it up. There’s enough
money for a few weeks, all tied at the bottom of duffles, and Dean popped
carpet and a floorboard to store more. He knows where to stamp his heel and
there’s no sign of disturbance.
“Damnit, Sammy. You think I wanna hurt you? See you like this?”
He shudders. That’s his brother. His fourteen-year-old brother. Dean closes his
eyes and all that he can see is Sam’s reddened ass. He remembers the way that
Sam fell asleep in his arms, naked from the waist down. Dean had punished him,
but he’d soothed afterwards. He had kept rubbing the sore skin. It was only
when Sam moved that his breath had hitched. His finger had slipped along him
and found that hole.
Dean had lain awake and touched it for hours.
When Sam walks back into the motel room, he’s sheepish. Dean widens his eyes.
Sam’s knees are green. The red and white uniform is stuck to his skin, smudged
with more green and thick with mud. As soon as the door is shut behind him, he
kicks off his soiled shoes and leaves them under the window.
“Sammy.”
Dean can’t breathe. A knot ties around his chest. Sam’s hair is slick with
sweat. There’s a shine that runs down the front of his neck. Even his face is
smudged brown. It’s only the tinge of red that lets Dean move, walk forward to
hold Sam’s jaw.
“It’s nothing, Dean, really, I just—”
“Who hurt you?”
“No one, jeez. Just a soccer ball.”
“Across the goddamn face?”
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
“Fuck, Sammy.”
Dean thumbs over the graze below Sam’s cheek. Sam winces. He turns his head so
his face is against Dean’s palm. Dean steps a little closer, into that sweet
gap and it hits him. That scent. Beneath the drying earth is Sam’s sweat. Dean
leans in and Sam turns to look at him. His eyebrows twitch into a confused
frown.
Before he can do something stupid, Dean backs away. “You, uh, you better get
cleaned up there, Sammy.”
Sam nods and takes off his soiled shirt. He balls it up and drops it outside
the bathroom door. Dean follows with his eyes and runs them down the contours
of Sam’s back. His shoulder-blades are defined. There’s an extra shadow at the
base of Sam’s spine, where his hips taper. Dean’s mouth is dry. Sam doesn’t
think when he kicks out of the shorts, either. They land on top of the shirt.
Dean takes a step forward, but Sam shuts the bathroom door behind him. There’s
a creak and the water starts. Dean grabs the front of his jeans. They’re tight
again, tighter then they should be. He can hear Sam pull the plastic curtain
and Dean’s breath shudders. Dean crosses the small room to stand outside of the
door. When he closes his eyes, he can almost hear the water run down Sam’s
skin.
Red catches the edge of his vision. Dean turns. He picks up the shirt. It’s
still damp,  darker in a V at the front. Before he can stop himself, he buries
his face in it. His fists ball and he breathes deeply. It’s thick with sweat,
with Sam.
It’s not enough.
Dean drops the shirt and picks up the shorts. His limbs feel numb, but his cock
twitches. The shorts smell better. Stronger. His tongue snakes out and the tip
brushes the seam at the crotch. One hand cups the material and his other works
at the front of his jeans. The bitter taste makes Dean groan. He licks again,
laps at it.
“Fuck.”
He’s gone. Dean scrambles to unzip himself. He tugs his cock through the gap
and tugs again. His nose is buried in the material and he sweeps his thumb over
his tip. A few strokes and he’s covered himself in precome. Dean stumbles back
so he can sit on the bed. He kisses over the shorts’ crotch and imagines that
Sam’s still in there.
He’s going to Hell.
Dean flicks his hand around until it’s inside the shorts. He kisses it again.
He mouths a finger through the material. It’s Sam’s cock in there. He draws the
material, and his finger, into his mouth. He sucks hard. His other hand pumps
faster. He groans. Dean’s hips rock up to fuck his palm. The wet sound fills
the motel room, hidden under Sam’s shower.
When he comes, he cries into the shorts. Dean’s stomach knots. He looks at the
red, much darker now that it’s covered in his saliva. He can’t help it. Dean
lowers the shorts until he slowly wipes it over his hand, over his cock. He
looks over it again, now streaked with his come. His eyes screw shut. His fists
curl around them and he throws them back over to the forgotten shirt. Ashamed,
he tucks himself away.
A few minutes pass and Sam opens the bathroom door. Steam follows him. He
smiles and Dean forces one to match.
“You okay, Dean? You kinda look, I don’t know, weird.”
“I, I’m fine, Sammy. Feel better?”
He nods. “I was kind of all disgusting.”
Dean looks away. Guilt wraps a line around his throat. He nods. Him, too.
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