Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/840286.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, Weechesters, Impala_Sex, Discovery_Kink, Discovery, Teasing,
      Hand_Jobs, Tumblr_Prompt
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-12 Words: 1715
****** Keep It Hushed ******
by sixtysevenlmpala
Summary
     Written for the anonymous prompt: "Weecest with an R rating, John
     finds them/Discovery Kink?"
     In the front seat, the father is snoring resonantly, but in the back
     there’s movement, quiet whispers of a name.
     Originally posted on tumblr.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
The Impala’s parked under the stars, sitting at the side of a nameless road.
There’s a father slumped behind the wheel and two sons in the back, huddled
together under a thick, scratchy blanket; their silhouettes melted into one in
the dark. In the front seat, the father is snoring resonantly, but in the back
there’s movement, quiet whispers of a name.
“Dean, Dean, I-I can’t—Dean.”
“Shhh,” Dean hushes. He’s got Sammy laid out on the seat, pinning him there
with his weight as his mouth trails over Sam’s neck, breathes hot and filthy
words into his ear. “Yeah, you can,” he murmurs, punctuating it with a squeeze
of Sam’s cock, his hand wedged between them and shoved down Sam’s jeans –
didn’t even have to undo them, they used to be Dean’s and the waistband is
still loose on Sam’s skinny frame. Dean loves how he’s still so willowy and
frail-looking even though he’s getting stronger every day, loves how his
hipbones jut out sharply over low-slung waistbands and how if he arches his
back just right, Dean can see his ribs standing out starkly under pale skin.
Sometimes he takes the time to kiss each one of them, but not now. Now it’s
about the rush, the hush.
“Oh, Jesus,” Sam gasps, gritting his teeth straight after, as Dean slides his
hand slowly, firmly, down Sam’s shaft and back up, twisting his fist over the
slick head. The movement spreads the slick leaking from Sam’s cock around, and
Sam shudders, clamps his teeth down on his bottom lip.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” Dean mutters right into Sam’s ear, “so worked up, love
it when you get like this.” He noses Sam’s hair out of the way, nuzzling into
his skin and inhaling his sweet, clean Sam scent as he does so, and nips
playfully at Sam’s earlobe. “And I bet I know why, huh.”
Sam lets out a tiny moan, and John shifts in the front. Both of their eyes snap
to where he’s sitting, less than a metre away from where their heads are. In
the safe cage of Dean’s fist, Sam’s cock twitches hard, blurts out another drop
of pre-come, and when Dean looks down at his little brother his eyes are
screwed tight shut, Dean’s name forming silently on his lips as his hands
scrabble at Dean’s shoulders.
Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I know why.” He seals his mouth over a spot on Sam’s neck
and sucks with a slow, purposeful intent, jacking Sam a little faster now, and
when Sam hiccups out another desperate little whine, Dean whispers, “Better
keep it quiet, Sammy, ‘less you want him to wake up an’ see you like this. You
want that? Huh?” He twists his hand, flicks his wrist, and Sam shudders
uncontrollably underneath him.
“Dean—“
“You want him to see you all sweaty and worked up, want him to see you ready to
come all over yourself ‘cause of your big brother,” Dean goes on in a hushed
tone, and it’s not a question anymore. It hasn’t been a question for a while.
“Shit,” Sam curses, his voice rising above a whisper, and John stirs again,
mumbling in his sleep. Sam’s hips jerk up, fucking his cock through Dean’s
fist, and Dean just lets him, strokes his free hand through Sam’s unruly hair.
“Please, Dean, I need to—“
“S’okay, Sammy, I gotcha,” Dean mumbles, but then he smirks wickedly down at
him. “You can go a little longer.”
“No,” Sam gasps quietly, and Dean can hear the strain in his voice to keep
quiet and it shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does – “no, need it now,
please, wanna come.”
“Shhh,” Dean breathes, catching Sam’s lips in a kiss, but he doesn’t let it
linger for too long, wants to hear Sam’s quiet little pleas as much as he can
while he has the chance. “Little longer,” he repeats. He could make Sam come
right now if he wanted to, done this so many times before that it’s almost
second nature, almost knows how to get Sammy off better than he knows how to do
it for himself. But he’s not going to, not yet. He’s gonna draw it out, because
goddamn it if it doesn’t drive him crazy too; the thought of John finding out.
Realistically, if John were to wake up and if he even bothered to turn around,
he’d see the huddled lumps of Sam and Dean under the blanket, and with the dark
of the night cloaking them as well, he wouldn’t be able to see much more. But
Dean’s realistic brain is so not the one that’s in charge right now, and he’d
be willing to bet hard-hustled cash that Sam’s isn’t either. All Dean can
fucking think about is that if he only gasps too harshly or if Sam lets out a
moan that’s a little too loud, John could jolt awake and they’d be caught
redhanded, he’d be caught looking into his dad’s face with his hand wrapped
around his little brother’s cock. The mere thought of it has him hard, sends a
thrill up his spine and along each and every bone in his body, a mixture of
guilt and fear and pure adrenaline-fueled pleasure swirling in his gut.
Sam muffles a soft cry in Dean’s shirt, face buried in his shoulder, and Dean
bites his lip, switching up his grip on Sam so that he wasn’t so much fisting
his cock but rubbing his palm up and down, trapping it between Dean’s hand and
Sam’s flat little belly, hitching with his stuttery breaths. Sam’s really
slicking the way by now, his cock jerking uncontrollably and dribbling out a
little more pre-come down his own shaft and Dean’s fingers.
“What—“ Sam whispers, cutting himself off with a moan. “W-what would, what
would he say,” he finally gets out, so quiet Dean barely hears him.
“I dunno,” Dean husks into his ear, his own cock throbbing in his jeans.
“Probably be angry. Shocked. Seeing his little Sammy all flushed and turned-on.
So desperate, squirming an’ moaning on the back seat of his car when he was
right fuckin’ there.” Sam whimpers beneath him and Dean smirks, knowing how to
push his buttons. “Look at you, Jesus. God, Sammy, you don’t know what you look
like. He’d never have believed you were such a fuckin’ slut—“ and Sam moans,
loud and completely indiscreet.
“Dean, o-oh my god,” Sam whines, his voice high and wavering, cracking in his
throat in that adolescent way. “So-so close, please can I,” he whimpers,
clutching at Dean’s shoulders, his hair, running his hands over his cheeks, any
part of him he could reach.
“Gonna be quiet?” Dean asks, hiding his grin in Sam’s neck as he curled his
hand around Sam’s cock once more, swiping his thumb over the head. “Gonna keep
it quiet, huh, Sammy? Or you gonna let Daddy hear?” he pants out, and Sam’s
hips stutter upwards into his fist.
“I’m—“ Sam whimpers, overwhelmed, and with a dark thrill, Dean deliberately
doesn’t cover his mouth with his own to muffle any sound that might come out,
instead bites fiercely at Sam’s jaw, a place that always makes him cry out if
they’re alone.
“C’mon,” he mutters, and Sam gasps, hips jerking violently as he comes, almost
bucking Dean off and onto the floor with the force of it. Dean feels him spurt
over his fingers and his own belly, strokes him as he shivers through it, and
then Sam’s mouth falls open on a moan, loud and clear in the still of the
night. Dean’s stomach rolls with equal parts excitement and a sick fear, his
eyes flicking up to his father. He’s shifting in his sleep, muttering something
unintelligible, and Dean swears under his breath, combing through Sam’s hair as
he comes down.
“What about you?” Sam mumbles, his words all loose and slurred, and he shifts
on the seat so he can nudge his thigh up, hard and sudden, against Dean’s
crotch. Dean immediately jerks, not expecting the pressure on his aching cock,
and his leg jolts out behind him, foot coming into contact with the door with a
dull thump.
Both boys freeze, and Dean can feel Sam’s heartbeat jackrabbit-fast, bleeding
through their layers and into Dean’s own bloodstream. Dean’s hand is still
wrapped around Sam’s cock, holding him as he slowly softens in his hand and as
the come dries sticky on his fingers; Sam’s hair is still stuck to his
forehead, cheeks still flushed, and Sam’s thigh is still pressed insistently
against Dean’s dick under the veil of the blanket, and Sam’s breaths are still
coming short and fast, audible and unmistakable in the silence.
The front seat creaks, Dean’s breath catching in his throat, and then John’s
voice comes, gravelly and sleep-rough. “Sam? Dean? You okay?” – and he turns,
looks over his shoulder and Dean can see his eyes glittering in the dark, can
see him looking straight at him, at them.
Smoothly, Dean covers Sam’s mouth to muffle his harsh breaths, and replies
levelly, “We’re good. Sammy was just dreamin’.”
John stares for two long, long seconds, then nods. “Alright. Try’n get some
sleep.”
And with that, John turns back and slumps down, his head sagging to the side to
rest on his shoulder. Seconds, minutes tick by, and the two of them spend each
one of them staring at each other in pure shock, heads reeling, pulses racing,
and they stay motionless until John’s breaths fall into something deeper and
more even.
When that eventually happens, Dean lets his lips quirk upwards, a smirk
spreading across his face as he feels Sam’s cock hardening again already under
his hand. His recovery time is still practically nonexistent –and Dean’s
definitely not complaining – but he also knows that’s not the only reason. Dean
lowers his head, put his lips to Sam’s ear as Sam bites his lip and erupts into
goosebumps beneath him.
“How ‘bout we see if we can’t do better when it’s my lips wrapped around that
pretty little cock, Sammy, huh?” he husks out, and Sam whimpers helplessly in
reply. With no more preamble, Dean slides down under the blanket, and John
snores on behind the wheel.
End Notes
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