Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13494874.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Weecest, Underage_Sex, Feminization, Panties, Lingerie,
      Nail_Polish, Crossdressing, Nipple_Play, Frottage, Hand_Jobs, Dirty_Talk,
      Needy_Sam_Winchester, Baby_Boy, Fluff_and_Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-27 Words: 4355
****** It's alarming, truly, how disarming you can be ******
by Ferrera
Summary
     John’s on a hunt, Dean’s cleaning the guns their father didn’t take
     with him, and Sammy is painting his nails.
Notes
     This piece was supposed to be part of a bigger work I've posted on
     here but I left it out for reasons I'll explain in the end notes. I
     kinda liked it though, so I've decided to post it as a separate piece
     instead. Sammy's thirteen, don't read if you're uncomfortable with
     that.
      
     Title's from Carmen by Lana Del Rey.
See the end of the work for more notes

John’s on a hunt, Dean’s cleaning the guns their father didn’t take with him,
and Sammy is painting his nails. He’d nicked two bottles at the drugstore
earlier today, one dark red, the other baby pink, then asked Dean which one
he’d preferred. Dean had chosen the latter, not needing his thirteen-year-old
brother to look any more fatal than he already did lately, trying to hang on to
the image of Sammy as his pure, innocent little brother, though he knew Sam was
going to be the death of him either way.
Dean’s sitting on the couch, all the gun parts and a couple bottles of oil
spread out on the coffee table before him, cloth in his hand. Sammy’s sitting
on the floor by the side of the table, legs tucked under his butt, just the two
bottles in front of him. He’s got the too-long sleeves of his gray hoodie
rolled up, one hand resting flat on the table, fingers spread a little. He’s
already done his left hand, the still-wet pink polish on his nails glimmering
in the dim light. His tongue peeks out in concentration as he leans forward to
do his other hand, carefully painting the tiny fingernail of his pinky with his
slightly shaking left hand. Strands of dark blonde hair are falling into his
face and he tries to brush them out of his eyes with the back of his hand,
careful not to mess up his handiwork.
Cleaning the guns is so much of a routine by now that Dean can shamelessly
watch his baby brother while he does it. His hands work on autopilot as he
watches Sam carefully dipping the little brush back in the glass bottle and
wiping it on the inner rim of the bottle, removing the excess from the brush,
making sure he’s got just the right amount of nail polish on it, secretly
adoring the way his baby brother’s eyebrows knit together and how he sighs in
annoyance as another strand of hair falls into his face.
“Lemme put it in a ponytail for you,” Dean offers, reaching out for Sam’s
already-painted hand, touching the black hair tie around his slender wrist. Sam
looks up at him, snapped out of his concentration, then smiles.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, putting the brush back in the bottle, “but— careful,
yeah, don’t smudge it.” He holds up his left hand and wriggles his freshly-
painted fingers to emphasize. “And clean your hands first.”
Dean rubs the oil stains off his fingers with the clean side of the cloth best
as he can. Sam extends his hand and Dean curls the middle and index fingers of
both hands under the tie, then stretches it wide enough to take it off Sam’s
delicate wrist without ruining his nails. He wraps it around his own wrist, the
tie snapping tight around it.
“C’mere,” Dean says, gesturing to the space in between his spread thighs. Sam
gets up and maneuvers himself between his brother and the table, then sinks
back down to his knees between Dean’s thighs. Dean combs his hair back a
little, enjoying the feeling of his baby brother’s soft locks gliding through
his fingers. He gathers Sam’s hair in his hand and lifts it up, using his free
hand to pull the hair tie off his wrist and pulls Sam’s hair through it, twists
the tie and pulls his hair through it a second time, then repeats the motions
again.
“There you go,” he murmurs, tugging at his ponytail a little to tighten it.
Sammy murmurs a thanks, then gets up and goes back to his job, taking the brush
back out of the tiny bottle and coats his last four fingers with such precision
Dean can’t help but smile. Sam carefully blows over them a bit, then shows them
to Dean.
“What do you think?” he asks, eyes gleaming. It looks sweet and pretty and
innocent and that combination always suits his baby brother best, but what Dean
loves most of all is the way his face lights up as Dean carefully takes one of
his hands in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of Sam’s hand.
“Real pretty, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, watching the soft-pink polish gleaming in
the dim light. Sam smiles sweetly, almost shyly as he looks at his hand in
Dean’s, pink cheeks bunching up, but when he looks back up at Dean, his eyes
glitter mischievously.
“Good,” Sam says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a satisfied little
smirk. He screws the lid back on the bottle, then sits down on the end of the
couch, hugging his knees as he watches Dean cleaning the guns just as intently
as Dean had been watching him.
They sit in silence. Sammy’s absent-mindedly drumming his fingers against his
legs, impatiently waiting for his nails to dry. He’s wearing Dean’s old gray-
ish sweatpants, his pink fingernails standing out against the faded color of
the fabric. Dean finishes cleaning the parts of his Colt, always saving the
best for last, then puts all the parts back together with quick, skilled
fingers and racks the slide of the unloaded gun for good measure. He rubs the
oil stains off his hands with the cleanest part of the cloth he can find, then
tosses it on the table. He leans back against the couch, looking over at Sam,
who’s again wavering his hands a little.
“Still hasn’t dried?”
“Dunno,” Sam says, then smiles that smile that tells Dean he’s up to something.
“Gonna let me check?” He stands up and worms himself in between Dean’s thighs
again, this time facing his brother. Standing up, he’s barely taller than Dean
sitting down. By reflex, Dean brings his hands up to Sam’s narrow hips, rests
them there.
“Let you check? How?”
Sam smiles, then takes Dean’s face in his hands, tipping it up a little.
“There’s this book,” he starts, “in which this woman paints her nails with a
mix of nail polish and rattlesnake venom.” Dean shivers involuntarily as Sam
digs his nails into the sides of his face. “Leaves awful burns when it’s still
wet,” he continues, slowly dragging his nails down Dean’s cheeks, “but when it
has dried, it’s completely harmless.” He draws his hands back, rests them on
Dean’s shoulders. “Guess you’re lucky, huh.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you’ve milked a rattlesnake with your bare hands?”
“Whatever,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, “Don’t always gotta ruin my games.”
Dean’s about to complain— he doesn’t always ruin Sammy’s little games, if
anything, he gives in pretty much all the fucking time, such a pathetic sucker
for his baby brother, but Sam digs his fingers into Dean’s shoulders and smiles
at him again, eyes twinkling dangerously.
“Anyway. You did choose the right color, you know.”
“Is that so?” Dean raises an eyebrow at him. Sam nods fervently, then turns
around in Dean’s hands.
“Pull my sweatpants down, Dean.”
Heat spreads through Dean, his heart starting to race, ears buzzing. His hands
tightening around Sam’s hips.
“Sammy, Christ, what—”
“C’mon,” Sam says, canting his hips a little, the top of his butt pressing to
Dean’s palms. “You gotta see, Dean, it’s the exact same color.”
Dean can hear himself breathing hard. He pushes Sam’s hoodie up a bit, a pale
stripe of skin showing, then hooks his fingers into the waistband of his
sweatpants. He holds his breath as he pulls them down slowly, exposing the
swell of Sam’s butt, covered with baby pink lace, the color just a little
pinker than his pale skin.
“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean breathes, soaking up the sight in front of him. Sam
sighs softly as Dean pulls his sweatpants further down, until the waistband’s
stretched just below his butt.
“Do you like it?” Sam asks, the tiniest waver in his voice, like some part of
him is afraid that he’s finally taken it too far. Dean runs his fingertips over
the lacy material, along the lines of the panties, following the curve of his
butt. He grabs handfuls of it in his hands, watching how his hands cover Sam’s
little butt almost completely.
“Lookin’ real pretty, Sammy, Jesus.” He kneads Sam’s cheeks in his hands,
making his baby brother throw his head back and keen softly in the back of his
throat.
“Just as pretty as those girls you fuck?” Sam asks, sounding a bit shy, a
little unsure, and Dean can’t see his face but he’s probably blushing bright
pink, way, way deeper than the shade of his panties.
“Prettier, even.”
“Don’t lie,” Sam whines, canting his hips some more, giving Dean the most
perfect view, and really, he isn’t lying. He rests his hands on Sam’s hips,
holds him firmly.
“Not lying, Sammy, not at all,” Dean says, leaning in to press a kiss to his
lower back. “Looking so fucking pretty for me, baby boy.”
Sam sighs happily, relaxing a little, and Dean slips two fingers under the thin
fabric, his fingers visible though the panties. “You gonna turn around for me?
Really let me see you, pretty baby?” Sam nods and tugs the front of his hoodie
up a little, then turns around. He’s already more than half-hard inside his
little lacy panties.
“Christ, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, gripping his narrow hips tight. “Look at you.”
Sam smiles softly, cheeks flushing. His breathing speeds up as Dean trails his
fingertips over the swell of his hard little dick. He looks down with his lips
slightly parted, intently following Dean’s fingers trailing along his dick and
tugging on the fabric a little, stretching the lace over the swell of it. A
strand of hair falls out of Sam’s tiny ponytail and he brushes it back behind
his ear with his perfectly manicured, elegant little hand.
“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, eyes locked with Sam’s as he presses his palm to
Sam’s leaking little dick. “Fucking soakin’ through the fabric already,
Christ.” Sam flushes some more, hands clutching a little tighter into the
fabric of his hoodie, still holding it up so Dean can have a proper look.
“Gets me so fucking hard, Sammy,” Dean says, “seeing you in those lacy panties,
creaming them already.” He leans back a little and cups the swell of his own
dick. Sam’s eyes fly down, pink tongue coming out to wet his lower lip as he
watches Dean adjusting himself.
“Dean,” he starts, “I wanna— I still—” He lets the fabric of the hoodie fall
back down, covering the waistband of his panties, and pushes against Dean’s
shoulders, pushing him back against the couch, a little more confident now that
he realizes Dean really isn’t messing with him. He quickly strips out of his
sweatpants and climbs onto Dean’s lap, bare skinny legs and still-socked feet
on either side of Dean’s thighs. Dean reaches out to wrap his arms around his
dream of a baby brother, but Sam catches his wrists, shiny pink nails digging
into his skin.
“Gotta show you something else,” he says, not quite looking at Dean. Before
Dean even has time to think about that, Sam’s reaching for the hem of his
hoodie, pulling the fabric up to his chin, peeking at Dean from under his
lashes.
The sight knocks the air right out of Dean’s lungs. His baby brother is wearing
the cutest little bra Dean’s ever seen, the smallest, slightly-padded cups
decorated with pink lace, matching his panties and nails perfectly.
“Christ, Sammy,” Dean grits out, “gonna be the death of me, baby boy.” Sam
smiles, a little shy, sweet and smug all at once, still holding his hoodie up,
eyes glistening like those of a snake about to attack. If anything, his baby
brother is looking deadlier than any kind of snake Dean can imagine.
“Been on a shoplifting spree, huh,” Dean muses as he brings his hands up to
Sam’s narrow chest, cupping the padded material in his hands. Sam sighs like he
can feel anything from it, eyes fluttering closed.
“Wanted to look so pretty for you,” he says, eyes focusing back on Dean, then,
softly, “wanted to look pretty enough for you to fuck me.”
Dean’s read about snake bites and about people who were bitten describing what
they feel like. Sam’s words, his pink panties and little bra, the way he
fucking looks at Dean— all of it feels like snake bites to his fucking guts,
burning inside him, making his whole body heat up and break out in sweat like
it’s fighting the venom, his vision blurring and his head spinning like he’s
about to lose consciousness.
Dean slides his hands back down his sides, rests them on his hips, just above
the waistband of the panties, anchoring himself a little.
“Sammy,” he starts, his tone already causing his baby brother to look away, “I
don’t— you’re—”
“Dean,” Sam interrupts, “please, Dean.” He lets the hoodie fall down, the
slight swell of his little padded bra vanishing under the thick fabric. He
crosses his arms at the waist and pulls the hoodie up and over his head the way
girls do. He tosses it away and fists his hands in Dean’s flannel. He looks
like a doll in Dean’s lap, delicate and fragile, all pale, clear skin, cheeks
and chest a little flushed, matching the color of his lacy panties and bra. His
ponytail has gotten a bit messy after he pulled the hoodie over his head, a
couple of strands hanging out. Dean reaches out, tucks a strand behind his ear.
“You’re thirteen, Sammy,” he says, cupping Sam’s cheeks in his hands, “I’m not
gonna— I can’t do that, Sam.”
“You want to,” Sam says petulantly, grinding down on Dean’s lap a little. “Can
feel it,” he murmurs as he leans back a little, pressing a hand to the swell of
Dean’s aching dick.
“Yeah, well,” Dean snorts, “won’t deny that, Sammy, but I’m not going to— shit,
you’re way too young for that.” Sam’s still rubbing his little butt against him
and Dean grabs his thin upper arms, trying to talk some sense into him. “Gotta
wait, Sammy, wait ‘til you’re a bit older.”
Sam shakes his head stubbornly, fists his hands back into Dean’s flannel and
presses his body flush to Dean’s, all that lace and bare skin rubbing against
him. Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s tiny waist, holding him close but still.
“Please, Dean,” he whines, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, “want
it so bad.” Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and Dean’s about to tell
him that, but he bites his tongue, knowing well enough he’s responsible for all
of this, too fucking sick to tell his baby brother no, giving in all the damn
time, and now he’s got Sam in his lap, looking prettier than ever, begging to
get fucked, and he can tell him no today, but soon enough, Sam’ll make him
budge.
“Not gonna fuck you, Sammy,” Dean murmurs in his ear. He slides his hands up
Sam’s waist, worms his hands between their bodies and slides them up to the
cups of his baby-pink bra, trailing his fingers over the lacy fabric. He can
feel Sam’s hard little nipples pressing through the material as he rubs his
thumbs over it. “Why don’t you show me your pretty tits, huh?"
“Dean,” Sam says in his stubborn don’t-change-the-subject voice, but he leans
back a little anyway, giving Dean a better view. Dean rubs his thumbs down a
little harder, making Sam sigh softly.
“Lookin’ so pretty in your cute little bra, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, cupping Sam’s
barely-there tits, only padded fabric in his palms as he squeezes. “Gonna show
me? Gonna show me your sweet tits?”
“You can take it off,” Sam says, sliding the straps down his skinny shoulders,
and Dean’s already reaching behind him, unhooking the pink thing quickly, then
tosses it on the couch.
“Christ, Sammy,” he murmurs as he stares at Sam’s flat chest, his mouth
watering at the sight of his pink little nipples. Sam squirms a little under
his gaze like he’s insecure about the size of his pretty much invisible tits.
“Fuckin’ sweet little tits you have,” Dean murmurs. He cups them best as he
can, hands pressed tight to Sam’s flat chest, feeling his hard little nipples
against his palms.
“Wanna suck ‘em,” he continues, rubbing his thumbs over Sam’s nipples, “wanna
suck your pretty little tits, Sammy.” He pulls Sam closer and leans in, licks
around the hard little nub before sucking it into his mouth.
“Oh,” Sam sighs, like the innocent girl he’s not, hands flying up to Dean’s
head, fingers clutching into his hair. Dean sucks a bit harder, scraping it
with his teeth a little, and Sam tucks Dean’s head to his chest with his skinny
little arms, holding him so, so tight, like he’s determined to keep him there
until Dean smothers. He’s gasping softly as Dean sucks and nips, grinding down
on Dean’s rock hard dick. Dean slides his hands down Sam’s back, cups his lace-
covered butt in his palms and bucks his hips up against his baby brother. He
switches to Sam’s other nipple, teasing around the neglected little thing with
his tongue before sucking it between his lips. He digs his fingers into Sam’s
butt, guiding him a little as Sam keeps rubbing against him with feverish
little thrusts.
“Yeah, suck my tits,” Sam whispers, raking his painted nails behind Dean’s
ears, keeping Dean’s face close to his chest. Dean hums around the pink nub,
then sucks harder on it. He slips a hand between their bodies, presses it to
the front of Sam’s panties. Sammy’s leaking steadily through the fabric, the
lace already soaked. He shudders as Dean rubs his dick through the fabric, more
precome seeping out. Dean lets Sam’s swollen nipple slip from between his lips,
brings his other hand up to rub at it.
“You like that, huh,” he breathes, “having me sucking on your cute little tits.
Fuckin’ soaking your panties, baby boy.” Sam nods fervently, bucking up against
Dean like the needy little thing he is, not relaxing his grip on Dean’s head
the slightest bit.
“Wanna fuck your tits,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s chest, still rubbing his
hard little dick through his panties, “wanna press ‘em together and fuck ‘em.”
“Dean,” Sam whines, hands tightening in his hair, “want you to fuck me for
real, Dean.”
“Not yet,” Dean murmurs. He scrapes his teeth along Sam’s puffy little nipple,
then soothes it with his tongue as Sam hisses. “Not any time soon, Sammy, gotta
be patient.”
Sam huffs, then reaches down for Dean’s hand where it’s rubbing his dick. “At
least touch me there, Dean,” he mutters, closing his slender fingers around
Dean’s wrist, trying to guide it behind his back. Dean gives in, slides his
hand down Sam’s back, fingers slipping underneath the waistband of the panties.
“Want me to touch your pussy?” Dean breathes as he dips two fingers down Sam’s
cleft, “let me feel how wet you are for your big brother?”
“Oh,” Sam gasps, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck as Dean rubs his fingers
over his tight hole. “Please, Dean,” he whines, pushing his little butt back
against Dean’s hand, “just your finger, please, want it so bad.”
Dean considers it, always wanting to keep his needy little brother satisfied,
aching to feel Sam hot and tight around his fingers, around his fucking dick,
but he knows well enough that if he lets Sam take one finger now, he’ll be
asking for two tomorrow, and once Dean gives in, he won’t have much leverage to
tell Sammy no much longer.
“No, Sammy,” he breathes as he nuzzles into Sam’s hair, messing up his ponytail
some more. “Want you to come like this for me, baby boy, wanna see you come
while I rub your little pussy.”
He lowers his head a little again, catching one of Sam’s nipples between his
lips. He sucks it into his mouth while he keeps rubbing two fingers over Sam’s
tight little hole. Sam’s squirming and panting in his lap and Dean doesn’t
doubt he’ll be able to make him come like this, make his sensitive little
brother come inside his pretty panties. Dean dips his other hand between their
bodies, brushing over the lace-covered swell of his dick.
“Christ, so wet for me, Sammy,” Dean grits out as he draws his mouth away from
Sam’s swollen nipple. He presses his fingers a little harder to Sam’s hole,
then firmly rubs his fingertips over it. “Can’t wait to fuck you, Sammy, gonna
feel so good around my cock, fuck.” He’s rock hard in his jeans now, feels
himself leaking as well from the way Sam grinds and writhes in his lap, face
sweaty and flushed, strands of hair sticking to his temples and cheeks, the
prettiest thing Dean’s ever laid his hands on and the only one he never seems
to lose interest in.
“My pretty baby,” he murmurs, “my needy little Sammy.” Sam tightens his arms
around Dean’s neck, rubbing himself off against his brother feverishly while
Dean keeps teasing his hole. Sam is panting his name, Dean Dean Dean over and
over with some incoherent blabbering in between, Dean catches the words
fingers, now and please spilling from his lips along with those sweet little
panting sounds.
“I’ll make it so good for you, baby boy,” Dean breathes, “eat you out until
you’re a squirming mess, begging for my cock, then finger you ‘til you’re nice
and open for me.” Sammy’s sobbing against Dean’s throat, eyes closed, rubbing
against him frantically, uncontrollably. Dean quickly draws his hand out of
Sam’s panties and wets his index and middle finger in his mouth, then slides
them back down, inside the panties. “Make you clench around my fingers,
desperate for more,” he says, rubbing his slick fingers over Sam’s fluttering
hole. “I’ll give you what you want, baby boy, gonna fuck you so good,” Dean
says, “promise I will,” and Sam’s coming, shuddering and gasping in Dean’s
arms, fucking creaming his already-soaked lacy panties. Dean holds his shaking
body tight, keeps rubbing over his twitching hole until Sammy has come down
from his high and leans boneless against Dean’s chest. Dean’s fucking aching to
get himself off, but that can wait— to have Sam like this, pliant and meek, all
stubbornness and resistance gone, is not something Dean gets to have every day.
He presses a kiss to Sam’s sweaty temple, then slowly pulls the tie out of his
hair, watching the strands fall around his face. He combs his fingers through
the soft, dirty blond hair, smiling as Sam hums happily. Sam shifts a little in
Deans lap, causing Dean to groan, and that seems to snap him out of his post-
orgasmic haze a bit. Dean tries to keep him pulled to his chest, but Sam
strains against his grip and Dean figures he’ll never have Sammy so compliant
for long.
Sam sits back a little and reaches down with eager little hands, rubbing over
the swell of his aching dick. He trails his painted pink nails over it
teasingly and Dean groans at the feeling of them scraping over the denim.
“Wanna see it,” Sam murmurs, already unbuckling Dean’s belt with quick fingers,
“see what it looks like in my hand with my nails painted.” He sounds like a
child on Christmas morning. It makes Dean’s chest feel too tight and his dick
twitch inside his boxers. Sammy doesn’t give him time to drown in his guilt,
though, pulls Dean’s boxers down and takes his rock hard dick in his hand. His
eyes are gleaming as he looks down at it, looking over the fucking moon as he
jerks Dean slowly, watching his thick cock sliding through his elegant little
hand. Dean has to look away, about to fucking lose it right there, with Sammy
stroking him so sweetly, so perfectly, an innocent little kid and a femme
fatale all at once. Sam lets go briefly, spits in his hand, knowing way too
well how to make Dean feel good and fuck him up at the same time. He wraps his
hand a round Dean’s dick again, jerks him a little faster.
“Do you want me to paint my face as well?” he says, looking up at Dean. “I was
thinking, if I got some lip gloss.” He’s staring at Dean’s mouth and Dean knows
his lips must still be all swollen and red from sucking on Sam’s nipples.
“Maybe then,” he says, reaching out, trailing the nail of his forefinger along
Dean’s bottom lip, “maybe then my lips would look a bit like yours.” He leans
in, kissing Dean with that already fatal mouth, and Dean’s coming, spilling all
over Sam’s hand and his painted little nails. Sam strokes him through it,
making sure to get his hand covered in it, then holds his hand up to Dean,
showing him what a mess he made of his perfectly manicured hand before sucking
his fingers into his mouth and licking his handiwork clean. Once he’s done, he
snuggles up to Dean’s side, nuzzles his face against Dean’s shoulder
“Can we hide the bra and panties in your duffle?” Sam asks, trailing his nails
absent-mindedly over Dean’s chest, “so Dad would think you got ‘em from some
girl if he would find them."
“Sure, Sammy,” Dean says, tugging his baby brother closer and pressing a kiss
to the top of his head. Sam leans back a little, showing his clean fingers to
Dean again.
“I wanna keep the nail polish on,” he says, “do you think the color’s subtle
enough for Dad not to notice?”
“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his face, “better not to
risk it, though.”
Sam snorts, then brings a hand up to Dean’s face. He trails his nails along
Dean’s cheekbone, his eyes just as sharp as he looks at his brother, a smug
little smirk playing on his lips.
“Watch me.”
 
End Notes
     This is the fic for which this piece originally was intended. The
     book Sam mentions is Holes written by Louis Sachar, which actually
     hadn't been published back when Sam was thirteen. I also felt that
     this 4k piece added relatively little to the story, so I decided to
     leave it out altogether. Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you liked
     it :)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!