Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11343840.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Semi-Public_Sex, Dirty_Talk
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-03 Words: 1655
****** If You Want To ******
by keep_waking_up
Summary
     Dean remembers it like it was yesterday.
Notes
     Written for salt_burn_porn for the prompt "That’s how I say thank
     you."
Dean remembers it like it was yesterday.
*
He was twenty; he and Sammy had just started fucking around.  They hadn’t
gotten far, just the furious making out and grinding against each other that he
remembered from being Sam’s age.  Of course, that had been with girls, not
boys, and definitely not his brother.  Everything was distinctly different with
Sam, in ways that went beyond just the lack of tits and the added dick.  There
was something about the way Sam squirmed under him, still-growing limbs
restless and agitated with lust, the way Sam’s eyes went all dark and wide,
that just gotDean like nothing else.  He creamed his jeans way more now than he
ever had at fifteen.
Their dad was out of town on a hunt sixty miles away.  Sam hadn’t been doing so
well recently; for a while, it had seemed like whatever thingthey had going was
helping him.  There hadn’t been nearly as many fights with Dad, and Sam had
even been doing all his reps and training without complaint.
Of course, that had all gone to shit when Dad had moved them again.  The Sam
with the stubborn glares and defensive shoulders came back with a vengeance. 
Dean hated that version of his brother, the one who radiated unhappiness like
he had his own personal rain cloud.  Normally, it took Dean weeks and weeks to
work Sam out of his funk and back into his goofy, geeky, and only mildly bratty
little brother.
This time, Dean had a different plan.  With Dad gone, he and Sam could do
whatever they wanted.  On that Saturday, he woke Sam up early and drove them
out of town, thirty miles east to a little town bordering on a massive lake. 
They hiked up to the lakefront and Dean brought a picnic, full of Sam’s
favorite—and disgustingly healthy—things.  They spent the day playing in the
water and laying on the beach, Sam’s skin quickly picking up a golden tint from
the sun.
Then, when it started getting dark, Dean drove them to a local drive-in, where
they were playing all the Star Wars movies in preparation for the release of
The Phantom Menace. By the time the first movie was over, every sign of bad
temper had been wiped from Sam’s face.  He looked over at Dean like he was some
kind of god and Dean basked in the knowledge that no one could make Sam happy
like he could.
In the middle of the movie, completely disregarding Yoda, Sam slid across the
bench seat to press against Dean.  “Dean,” he whispered in a low cracked voice,
sounding exactly like the horny teenager he was.  “Dean, this has been the…
most awesomeday ever.”  He nuzzled under Dean’s ear, but pulled away when Dean
shifted to kiss him senseless.  “There’s only one thing that could make it
better.”
Sam already looked sexed up, hair ruffled and skin glowing from a day at the
beach.  His eyes were dancing as he leaned forward, hand rubbing over Dean’s
dick through his jeans.  Grinning, Dean turned, hooking an arm around the back
of Sam’s neck and pulling him closer, until their bodies were parallel to the
seat below them.  If Sam wanted to get off together, he sure as hell wasn’t
gonna object.  He was more than a little bit of an exhibitionist, but Sam was
shy, so he’d reined that in.  In a fantastic turn of events, perfect fucking
Sam had decided to go for it all his own.  “Whatever you want, Sammy,” he
muttered, and licked happily along the curved line of Sam’s long neck.
When he leaned back again, Sam looked flushed and pleased.  He ducked in to
kiss Dean fast and hard, before pressing their foreheads together.  “I wanna
suck your dick,” he blurted out, any sense of seduction lost to his pure
enthusiasm.
If anything, that made the words go to Dean’s dick even harder.  There his
little brother was, all young and needy and anxious for Dean’s cock in his
mouth.  He kept licking his lips like he was surprised something wasn’t already
between them.  Dean couldn’t have stopped himself from thinking about those
lips and tongue on his dick if he’d wanted to.
Whatever he saw on Dean’s face seemed to give Sam the confidence to try his
hand at seduction again.  Keeping his eyes locked on Dean, Sam lifted one of
Dean’s hands to his mouth and brushed his lips against the tip of each finger
before sucking a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss into the center of his palm.  Lips
still pressing against skin, Sam pulled down the zipper on Dean’s jeans. 
“Please, Dean.  You made this day so good for me.  Let me make this good for
you.”
“You little shit,” Dean gasped, hips jerking up into Sam’s hand.  Hidden behind
Dean’s palm, Sam smirked, the upward slant of his eyes giving him away.  Dean
made a low, annoyed sound, almost too turned on for what he knew he had to
say.  “You don’t have to do anything for me.  But… if you want to.”  He curled
one of his legs around the backs of Sam’s, yanking him forward so he fell onto
Dean’s chest and his hard-on pressed against Dean’s hip.  Pleased at taking a
bit more active role, Dean strained forward to bite the tip of Sam’s nose
playfully.  “If you want to suck my dick, Sammy, I’m never gonna say no.”
“God,” Sam breathed out and nearly scrambled to get his face in Dean’s lap.
Dean watched the long line of him extend, then scrunch up so he could fit on
the bench seat.  As Sam was unbuttoning his pants and pulling him out, Dean
pushed the bottom of Sam’s shirt up until he could see the muscles of Sam’s
lower back flexing with each change of position.  “God,” Dean echoed.  “You’re
so fucking hot, Sammy.”  The view got even better when looked down at his
brother’s head, posed right above Dean’s dick.  “So fucking hot when you’re
about to suck my cock.”
Sam shuddered, a full body motion, and pressed his lips to the tip of Dean’s
dick in what looked like a move of helpless need.  Dean sucked in a deep breath
and brought his right hand to rest on the back of Sam’s neck, both
encouragement and reassurance.  As if that was all he needed, Sam lurched
forward, taking Dean’s dick down in a motion of pure and unpracticed desire.
“Shit!”  Dean slammed his left hand into the roof of the Impala in an effort to
keep from fucking his cock further down Sam’s throat.  His hips kept trying to
make small, frantic jerks, and it took all his willpower to still them.  He
could feel Sam swallowing compulsively around his dick.  “Shit, baby,” he
groaned, and he’d never called Sam that before, but it’d felt so natural in the
moment.  “I’m not gonna last long.”
That only seemed to make Sam more desperate for it.  There was a complete lack
of finesse in the way he moved his mouth up and down on Dean’s cock, sloppy and
wet and fast.  Dean wished he could see Sam’s face, the way his eyebrows were
probably pulled together in the way that meant he was concentrating, the
stubborn set of his jaw.  His little brother was blowing him like he was gonna
get graded in cocksucking, and Sam always gave it his all when it came to
getting good grades.
Dean wrapped a fist in Sam’s hair when he came, unable to keep from holding
Sam’s head right where he wanted it.  From the way Sam kissed him afterwards,
it seemed like he didn’t mind.  He let Dean lick over his bright red lips, even
though they were probably rubbed raw, and though there were tears in the corner
of his eyes, he beamed like he couldn’t be happier.
“You were perfect,” he told Dean hoarsely.  Dean felt like the compliment
should be turned around, honestly, but Sam cut him off with a deep, frantic
kiss before he could.  “Dean, you were exactly what I wanted.”
*
Yeah, Dean remembers all that, and he remembers everything that happened
afterwards.  His brother had fucked him and his brother had left him, and the
Sam who’s kneeling in front of him is not the same one who’d sucked him off in
the Impala on the cusp of sixteen.  This Sam has lived without him for four
years, had nearly graduated from Stanford, and had a girlfriend who he’d loved
and who had died.  This Sam has bulky muscle packed onto limbs that were
previously thin and lanky.  This Sam’s still got the same mouth though, the
same lips that he licks the way he always did in anticipation of sucking Dean
off.
“You said you’d always let me, if I wanted to,” Sam reminds him, as if there’s
a thing about themthat Dean’s forgotten.  “I want to do this for you, Dean.  I
hurt you today”—that’s true, and there’s rock salt probably still imbedded in
Dean’s chest to prove it—“and I want to make it up to you.  To prove I didn’t
mean what I said.  To thank you for stopping me from reallyhurting you.”
Sam still looks sincere and eager too, eyes darting back and forth between
Dean’s crotch and his face.  He still looks like the old Sam, even when he
looks nothing like him at all.
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” Dean reminds him, but he can already
feel them falling back into their old patterns, as if nothing has really
changed.
“Like I said.”  Sam smiles, teeth and lips and slanted eyes.  “I really want
to.”  Then he leans down, opens his mouth, and slides Dean’s cock in until it
hits the back of his throat.
Dean comes even faster than the first time.
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