Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/715287.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Underage_Sex, Guilt, Angst_and_Humor, First_Kiss
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-10 Words: 7918
****** Movie Night ******
by verucasalt123
Summary
     Dean keeps his promise, because he always does. And Sammy gets what
     he wants, because he always does.
Notes
     I know there's an underage tag here, but before you start reading,
     Sam's only 12 in this story, so if that's too young for you, I've got
     plenty of other weecest where Sam's a little older that you might
     prefer.
     Do not ask how a comment in an email led to almost 8k words of
     weecest. I am weak.
It wasn’t fair, really.
Never was.
Not like what it should have been, after Sam spent the whole fucking day at
Eagle Rock Middle School staring at the clock, squirming in his seat, jerking
off in the boys’ room after lunch and not giving a shit about showing up late
to math, which was something he totally used to give a shit about, like, last
week.
Probably would start giving a shit again once his dad got back. But that was
two weeks away (at least three if you’re running on the John Winchester time
schedule) and John had just been packing this morning and Sam knew he’d be long
gone way before the end of the school day which meant when he got back to the
little rental house they were in for a while (however the fuck long that was)
the only other person there would be Dean. Well, Dean wouldn’t be there if he’d
stayed at school all day, because the high school got out half an hour after
the middle school. Since the house and the middle school were only two fucking
blocks apart, after an hour of begging and pleading and rattling off crime
statistics for the neighborhood that he’d looked up in preparation for this
very argument, not to mention that you could practically fucking see the house
from the school, his father and brother had finally given in and said he could
walk the whole entire two blocks by himself and spend thirty minutes alone in
the house. Sam was fairly certain this would be something perfectly normal for
someone who was pretty damn close to being thirteen years old (close, like, on
his birthday next year) if their family members weren’t insanely overprotective
and never wanted their kind of almost thirteen year olds do be able to do
anything that other kids did, ever, because God forbid he would forget for one
single second that he wasn’t like the other kids.
Sam was perfectly aware of the fact that he was not like other kids. And that
Dean was also not like other kids. He was willing to bet the whole six dollars
and eighty seven cents in his pocket (proceeds from skipping lunch so he could
save up for Dean’s Christmas present) that none of the other boys in his class
had been counting down the seconds all damn day long because their older
brother had promised that if he was good and did what he was told and made said
older brother happy, he was going to get a kiss. A real one, on the mouth,
like, with tongue and everything, just like in movies and tv shows and the
eighth graders he’d seen last week in the school parking lot. Dean was almost
seventeen (much more almost seventeen than Sam was almost thirteen, but
whatever) and Sam knew he’d done a whole lot of kissing and a whole lot of
other stuff since he had a habit of doing a whole lot of bragging about it all
the damn time. Dean had even had sex, Sam knew this, had done it at least
twice, and had given Sam all of the details about how you have to make sure the
girl comes first and the many ways you could use your fingers or tongue to
ensure that would happen and that sometimes it helped to think about stuff that
was boring or gross if you thought you were gonna come too soon because that
would somehow be helpful.
So really, the arguing and negotiations they’d engaged in over the past few
months were a waste of time in Sam’s opinion because why the fuck couldn’t they
just do all of that stuff (except the ones with girl parts in it) together if
Dean knew how to do it and Sam wanted them to? Dean apparently felt guilty,
like if he hadn’t spent all that time blabbing every detail about his own
sexual activities to Sam, then Sam wouldn’t even want them to fool around with
each other, and it was all his fault and he made “sex = Dean” an equation in
Sam’s brain and Sam was too young and brothers aren’t supposed to do any of
that with each other, not even kissing. Especially kissing, obviously, because
Sam had of course been exceptionally persistent and talked Dean into letting
them at least do a little bit of this and that and actually touched Sam’s dick
for a couple of minutes (or maybe it was closer to ten seconds, Sam wasn’t
really clear on the time frame since he’d blacked out a little bit after), but
he would absolutely not agree to kiss Sam.
Today, though, was not going to be like all of those other days. Or tonight,
really, because there was no way in hell Dean was going to just come home from
school and say, “Good job, Sammy, you only played with yourself once the whole
day, I’m proud of you, here’s your kiss you’ve been asking me for all the
fucking time for the past three months”, because that’s not how Dean did
things. For a guy who never shut up about feeling guilty and making Sam feel
things he shouldn’t or want things he shouldn’t and how the whole thing just
wasn’t right, Dean sure as fuck got off on making Sam work for every little
victory he achieved. It had taken Sam almost four damn weeks just to get his
brother to agree to jerk off while Sam watched, and it wasn’t because he was
modest, or because Sam hadn’t ever heard him or seen him or smelled him getting
himself off, because he most certainly had, many times. It was just that Dean
hadn’t ever done it on purpose, he thought he was so fucking slick and Sam was
just a little kid (squirt, Sammy, kiddo, short stack) so he could just tug on
his cock four feet away in the next bed or twelve inches away in the same bed
and Sam wouldn’t notice or understand what he was doing or whatever the fuck
because Dean clearly had forgotten that twelve year old boys knew all about
that stuff. Which ended up working in Sam’s favor, thank Christ something
finally worked out for him, because he got to whine and pout about how he
didn’t really understand what touching yourself was all about and how it worked
and what was the best way to do it and why he felt like playing with himself in
the first place, which gave Dean an excuse to give in on the pretense of
answering Sam’s questions. It was a bullshit line and they both damn well knew
it but if Dean thought for a second that his little brother hadn’t caught him
looking at him that way more than once, he was dumber than a bag of hammers,
and as it was, Dean was not, in fact, dumber than a bag of anything, he was
just holding out on Sam because of that whole ‘oh it’s all my fault, I’m a
child molester’ thing he had going on. So Sam had got to watch Dean, that one
time, and then it was a whole lot easier, because of something about horses and
barn doors, to get Dean to do it at the same time as Sam, so they could watch
each other, usually from opposite sides of the room, but whatever, Sam was
making progress.
The thing that wasn’t fair, though, was that Dean had figured out how bad Sam
wanted them to fool around and do sex and kissing stuff together, because Sam
maybe wasn’t as nonchalant about it as he should have been. So now Dean could
pretty much get Sam to do anything he said in exchange for maybe getting
touched or being allowed to sit close when Dean jerked off, even though he
didn’t let Sam get close again for weeks after that one time Sam snuck out a
finger and scooped up some jizz from the side of Dean’s hand and tasted it.
Which was stupid because Dean liked it when Sam did that, Sam saw his dick
twitch and his eyes go big and heard that grunt that was like the sound he made
when Sam got a kidney shot in when they were sparring, so Dean wasn’t fooling
anyone, and it was stupid to pretend.
And of course, when Sam got home, the house was empty, because of course it
was, because of course Dean wasn’t going to cut his last class today, and of
course he was probably gonna take his sweet time walking home too, because he
was a jerk.
… _ _ _ …
Dean had been watching the clock all day too. Not that he didn’t normally count
down the minutes until he got out of school, on account of he didn’t really
like school. But today was…shit, Dean didn’t even fucking know what was wrong
with him. How out of his mind had he been to make Sam a promise like that?
Maybe some people wouldn’t think a kiss was such a big deal compared to what
they’d already done. But that’s not what it felt like to Dean.
Up until now, he could make excuses. They were both boys going through puberty
and sharing a room, hardly ever spending time with anyone else. Their dad was
gone more than he was home (wherever home happened to be at any given point in
time), so they weren’t exactly supervised.
Except that it was Dean’s job to supervise Sam, and that job didn’t really
include supervising the way he jerked off and what he sounded like when he came
and the look on his pretty face whenever Dean said yes. So far, saying yes had
included things that didn’t involve touching each other (except that one time,
and then that one other time but Dean didn’t see that coming or he would have
stopped it) so he had a way of making it okay in his head, like he wasn’t
really doing anything to Sammy, or letting Sammy do anything to him. They were
just doing their own thing, in fairly close proximity to each other.
When all this shit started, it had knocked Dean on his ass. He couldn’t see
straight for a whole day and was so fucked up in his head that he didn’t speak
to his little brother at all until he realized he’d hurt Sammy’s feelings. So
then he had to shake it off and sit down with Sam, explain that this wasn’t
something that was okay for them to do. Even if they weren’t brothers, Sam was
too young. It was killing Dean, looking Sam in the face and telling the truth
but feeling like every word coming out of his mouth was a lie. Yeah, Sam was
too young, and yeah, they shouldn’t fool around because that’s not something
that brothers do, but goddamn if Dean didn’t want it. He wanted it so fucking
bad it was ridiculous. It made him feel like a pervert, like he’d failed at
helping Sam grow up if this was the way things were gonna turn out, the kid
focused on his brother instead of some cute girl in the middle school
cafeteria.
Sometimes Dean could resist it. He could keep it under control, find ways to
combat Sam’s continuous arguments that he wasn’t too young for anything and he
was perfectly capable of making his own damn decisions. There were days when
Dean wanted to smack the shit out of him almost as much as he wanted to…do
other things that he was even less likely to do than smack the shit out of
Sammy. It would be less damaging, probably, for Dean to beat the kid to a
bloody mess than to do all those things he wanted, take all those liberties he
could so easily take, give Sam every wish he whispered to him at night when
they were alone. But he pushed, goddamnit, he tried to run Dean right over like
he wasn’t six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. Dean had agreed, a few
times, maybe more than a few, but kept their activities on a very short leash,
and all it had done was make Sammy want more. More and more and more, of
course, because Sam always wanted more of everything, always and Dean had
absolutely no excuse for not seeing that shit coming a mile away.
It was wrong, Dean knew it, that he thought Sammy was so selfish, so fucking
greedy, couldn’t be satisfied with dragging his older brother as far as they’d
gone down this road already. Dean didn’t even know about the shit Sam asked for
when he was twelve. He’d heard the word ‘blowjob’ at school but he didn’t
really understand what it meant. He had a vague notion of ‘fingering’, that was
pretty easy to figure out, but never considered that it was something you’d do
except to girls. He knew what it meant to come, had played with himself enough
times to kind of almost have the hang of it by that age, had heard that you
could make a girl come but didn’t understand how that would work, really. Sam,
though…oh, he knew it all, right down to the last detail, and that was nobody’s
fault but Dean’s. He was old enough now to know that his dad went out and got
laid every now and then, but it’s not like their dad had ever told them about
it. Not Dean, though. Oh no, Dean was so fucking proud of himself, and as the
years went by and he got a little more experienced, he had to show off like an
idiot. Told Sam about every time he’d had a nipple in his mouth, what it felt
like when a girl started to shake and clench around him when they had an
orgasm, how fantastic it was to have someone else’s hand on his dick, or to be
able to rub it up against another person’s skin. Hell, Dean had even given
Sammy every last detail about what it was like to sink your dick into a soft,
wet pussy, how nice it felt to have a girl clinging onto your shoulders,
breathing hard and making all those girl sex noises.
So yeah. Big conflict of interest going on. Thinking Sammy was being selfish
was low, because it wasn’t like he wanted anything Dean hadn’t already thought
of. Dean didn’t want to admit how bad he wanted Sammy, had never admitted it to
anyone but himself, but if his little brother hadn’t figured it out yet, it
wouldn’t be long. Couldn’t get much past the kid. But none of this shit ever
would have come up if he hadn’t fed Sam all those stories when he was too young
to hear them. Well, the whole thing with Dean having those kinds of feelings
for Sam, probably no way around that, even Dean could admit that much, but Sam
wouldn’t have those kinds of feelings for him if he had just kept his fucking
trap shut. He’d just be a regular 12 year old boy who didn’t know anything
about anything except that it felt good to rub his dick and oh holy shit
there’s stuff coming out of it. Instead, Sam was a 12 year old boy who liked to
steal tastes of his brother’s jizz and beg to be kissed.
Begs pretty, too. Begs so fuckin sweet and perfect and damn close to
irresistible.
 
Close. But not entirely. Walking home from school at a very leisurely pace,
Dean already knew there was no getting around it – he’d made Sam a promise and
the one thing the kid had to hold onto for sure in his life was that his older
brother would never break a promise. That was a big part of the reason why so
many of his answers to Sammy’s questions were phrases like “We’ll see” or
“Maybe” or “Let’s talk about it later”. When it came to the sex stuff, Dean
didn’t have it in him to say no right away, because he wanted to at least
imagine it for a while, but he never said yes right away, either, because you
can’t take back a “yes”, not if you’re Dean Winchester and the person you gave
that “yes” to was your little brother.
Sometimes, like now, like last night, Dean just caved. He couldn’t stand to see
the hurt look in Sam’s eyes when he denied Sam something that Dean actually
wanted to give him or let him have. Plus, he was still a teenager himself and
he was horny all the time and fuck it, they’ve already gone this far.
Completely irrationally, it pissed him off, feeling obligated when he’d been
the one to obligate himself. So today…well, today Sam was gonna have to work
for it. He was gonna have to be patient and do whatever Dean said without any
argument and fucking earn that kiss he seemed to want so damn bad.
There was a 7-11 right nearby, about halfway between the middle school and
their temporary house. Dean went in with a smile on his face, because he had a
plan for tonight, and he needed a few supplies.
… _ _ _ …
When Dean finally sauntered through the front door, it was so obvious that he’d
taken his time on purpose, trying to be all casual and make Sam wait just
because he could, which was a dick move if you asked Sam, but Sam knew no one
was gonna be asking him anything about that. He just did his best to look
casual too, lying on the sofa watching Montel Williams on TV, wearing a pair of
sweats that hung low on his hips and nothing else on but his underwear,
stretched across the whole couch until his feet were hanging over one end and
his arms stretched behind him so his hands touched the other end.
“Hey Dean”, he said when the door opened. “Wanna watch this show? It’s about
girls who are in love with guys who are in prison and they’ve never met but
they were just pen pals or whatever and then they fell in love and a couple of
them got married in the prison, it’s pretty cool.”
Even though Sam knew he was babbling, he didn’t care, because he caught it,
there and gone so fuckin quick he could have easily missed it but he didn’t –
Dean was staring. Just for a few seconds, long enough that he swallowed hard
and stood inside the doorway and said not a single damn word, but that look,
Christ, how stupid did he think Sam was that he didn’t know how much Dean liked
looking at him? He wasn’t sure why, to be honest, because he was a kid and
scrawny and kind of awkward a lot of the time and Dean was a teenager and toned
and gorgeous and definitely not awkward in any way. Didn’t matter, though, Sam
thought, because whatever the reason, Dean looked at him like he wanted Sam,
like, wanted, you know, that way, even though he’d wipe off the look in a
second or two and replace it with casual disinterest.
“No thanks, I think our family’s freaky enough, and people who blab all their
secrets on television are dumbasses.”
Sam knew Dean was going to answer like that, whenever one of these tell-all
shows came on he rolled his eyes and shook his head and complained about how
some things were supposed to be fucking private, for God’s sake. But he was
just buying time, trying to gauge Dean’s current mood, see if he was gonna be
tortured all night or if Dean was gonna do the right thing, which of course was
giving Sam everything he wanted.
“Dumbasses”, Sam repeated. “Yeah, I know, these bitches are crazy, right? I
mean-”
“Language, Sam.” And oh right. Dean still got to fuss at him if he used curse
words even though Dean used them all the time and Sam wasn’t a little kid and
did he mention all the fooling around sexytimes they’d been having? Sam was all
ready with a righteously indignant retort but his brother cut him off.
“Finish all your homework already?”
“Don’t be a d…don’t be like that about it, it’s Friday, I have all weekend to
do it.”
“Yeah, well, I think you need to do it now”, Dean replied, easy as pie and
snatching the remote off Sam’s naked chest while somehow managing not to touch
him and clicking off the television. “All of it. Sit at the kitchen table and
get it finished and I’ll start making us something to eat for dinner.”
“Dean! All of it, right now? Come on, it’s the weekend, give me a little fuckin
slack, you know I’m gonna do it all and turn it all in on time, I’m the big
nerd who wants to impress all his teachers, right?”
Now there was another look, different, and Sam couldn’t assign a single emotion
to it even though he was usually really good at that, but this was like a mix
of amusement and annoyance and maybe a little bossy-ness.
“Language, don’t make me say it again. You really feel like this is the night
you wanna argue with me, Sam? You wanna start our weekend off like this? ‘Cause
I thought we had other plans besides doing homework until Sunday and you being
in a time crunch because I gave you extra chores for talking back to me.”
There was no way to conceal the ridiculous blush Sam could feel, heating up his
face and neck, tingling in his chest and making him avoid eye contact with
Dean, which he didn’t want to do but not as bad as he didn’t want Dean to see
him all red-faced like that. The truth of the matter was that Sam liked Dean
being bossy sometimes, telling him what to do, putting him in his place, double
and triple checking every little thing because of how much he loved Sam and
wanted to make sure he had the best kind of life Dean could give him given
their circumstances. So he just looked back up at Dean once he could feel some
of the heat drain from his cheeks and said “Fine”, before picking himself up
off the sofa, went to get his backpack and brought it into the kitchen.
No choice. Dean had him just with that little argument; a tiny mention of
‘other plans’ and Sam was practically sprinting to follow any instructions he
was given, falling all over himself to make sure he ended up in his brother’s
good graces, because that was where he wanted to be. Sam muttered to himself,
under his breath, but pulled out the stupid photocopied worksheet with simple
algebra from his binder and started on the mind-numbing busywork his teacher
had assigned even though it was the weekend and she could have given her
seventh graders a break just this once. He lost track of time for just a bit
before he realized Dean was in the room too, digging through the pantry and
fridge, trying to figure out how to make a decent meal out of the small amount
of food they had left because Saturday was grocery shopping day so they were
almost always out of food Friday night. Dean had brought a paper bag in with
him and it was sitting there on the kitchen counter as Dean grabbed into it and
pulled out one of those jumbo-sized red Slurpees they sold at the convenience
store on the next block, and ‘jumbo’ wasn’t really an accurate descriptor for a
cup so big it looked like it would take two people to carry it when it was
full.
“Lookin’ like grilled cheese tonight, kid. Not many other options.”
“Doesn’t matter”, Sam shrugged without looking up from his notebook because he
was totally playing this cool, he wasn’t about to whine about having to wait
for the fooling around, “I like grilled cheese.” He didn’t mention the fact
that he had finished the math and was certain he’d soon be done linking the
names of the explorers to the countries they came from, because he’d already
learned that twice before, and grilled cheese sandwiches were fast so he’d be
done with his homework and his sandwich pretty damn quickly. All of that added
up to the two of them getting to their ‘other plans’ sooner, and whatever it
took to get the necessities finished so they could move to the entertainment
portion of the evening was just fine with Sam.
… _ _ _ …
Finally done with homework, dinner, dishes, cleaning up and whatever else he
could think of to stall, Dean finally said “You wanna go to the bedroom,
Sammy?” He’d run out of excuses to put it off any longer, so he figured he’d
just go right on ahead. Clearly, his brother felt the same based on him getting
out of his chair so fast he nearly faceplanted on the kitchen floor.
And Dean would have been very interested to know that inside Sammy’s head, he’d
called the rest of their night “entertainment”, because that’s exactly what it
was going to be. If he was going to hell for debauching his preteen brother, he
was gonna get some damn fun out of it at least. He grabbed an empty plastic
bowl from one of the cabinets, picked up his 7-11 bag and walked down the hall
with Sam following close behind him.
They shut the door, always, every time, even though no one was there to look in
on them. Dean liked to think it was because their dad could always end up
coming home early, but really it was because they both knew this was something
that should be hidden, a secret, and it belonged behind a closed door. Usually
they left the lights off too, but not today. When Sam reached for the switch,
Dean batted his hand away. “Not this time, kid. Gonna watch you, and I want to
see every second of it. Go get on your bed now.”
Sam went right away, of course, Dean knew he’d wait until he was told what to
do. So he drew it out just a little longer, pouring the bag of pre-cooked
popcorn into his bowl and placing it next to him on the bed. He still had his
Slurpee in his hand and he took a satisfying sip while he watched Sammy get
impatient and start looking confused.
“You’re gonna be my entertainment tonight, Sam. Forget what’s on TV, you’re
gonna give me a live porn show right here in our room.” He told Sam to take off
his sweats (but not his cute little plain tighty-whitey briefs) and get on his
belly, pulling his pillow down under his dick. “Here’s the plan. You are going
to keep your hands behind your back, and you’re gonna fuck that pillow. Keep
those underoos on, rub off on your pillow and make yourself come. While you do
that, I’m gonna sit here with my drink and my popcorn like I’m at the movies.
Sound like something you can handle, baby boy?”
Sam looked nervous, like he wasn’t sure, and maybe a little out of his depth
here, but fuck it. He’d pushed for this, Dean knew he wanted his reward, and he
had confidence in his brother being able to get himself off against a flimsy
pillow. Sam’s little cock was just as hard as Dean’s, so it probably wouldn’t
even take all that long. He just nodded and then asked, so quiet and under his
stupid long eyelashes it almost made Dean cry, “After, though…I mean, after I
do that, you’re gonna kiss me, right? That’s what you said before.”
“You know I never break a promise to you. Do good for me, give me a nice show
and I’ll give you what you want.”
Sam must have believed him, because he just nodded again, turned his face away
from Dean’s and put his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together. “Uh-
uh, I don’t want a view of the back of your head. Turn around and face this way
so I can look at you.” He could hear his brother take a deep breath before he
moved his head and looked Dean right in the eyes as he started making small,
experimental thrusts against the pillow.
… _ _ _ …
He didn’t want to fall over and look stupid because it was hard to balance with
his hands like that but he also didn’t want to let Dean down and even take the
tiniest chance that he wasn’t gonna get what he wanted once it was over. There
was nothing he could do about his flushed-red face; rutting up against a pillow
wasn’t the most dignified position and even though Dean had seen him get
himself off plenty of times, it had never been like this, Dean munching on
popcorn and sucking from his red Slurpee and watching like Sam was an action
flick. And yeah, Dean had said porn, but he knew for a fact that Dean would
never watch a porno about any random seventh grader doing what he was about to
do, so he tried to make himself as exciting to Dean as that Die Hard sequel
they’d snuck into a while ago because it was the best comparison he could come
up with.
It really wasn’t all that different than the times he’d been alone in the
bedroom for long enough to get himself off, or the nights when Dean was asleep
and Sam thought he’d been acting grouchy during the day or their dad was there
so he rubbed himself against the mattress instead of getting up to get into his
brother’s bed instead. He was still kind of embarrassed at first, Dean looking
at him like that from across the room but that kind of disappeared the longer
he squirmed around for the best angle and found just the right position to
thrust against the pillow underneath him because he stopped caring about being
embarrassed once he got a good rhythm going. A couple of times he closed his
eyes ‘cause he just couldn’t help it but only for a second because Dean would
tell him to open them again and look at him, and it was totally fucked up for
him to get even more turned on because Dean really was just watching him like
he was a movie or a TV show, munching on his popcorn and sucking on his straw,
getting his mouth and lips all red from the frozen drink. Sam even had one
lucid moment when he wondered how the hell the thing hadn’t melted yet because
it was so fucking hot in there and anyway having Dean’s hand on it should have
turned it to liquid right away because that was kind of the way Sam felt when
Dean touched him, even if he was just shoving past him or giving him a hand up
while they were sparring or something else that wasn’t anything like sex-stuff.
The thoughts were there and gone quickly though, because Sam was fucking the
life out of this pillow, letting himself make those little breathy sighs that
he would have tried to muffle if Dean had been sleeping and it was so much
easier to get himself off when he didn’t feel like he had to hold anything
back. Dean already told him he wanted to see everything, get a good view, or
whatever, so fine, he probably wanted to hear everything too, and Sam had no
reason to hold out on his brother, he wanted to be good for him, give him what
he wanted so Sam could get what he wanted, and it wasn’t like Sam wasn’t
completely aware of his ruthlessness in getting what he wanted when it came to
Dean and sex. Well, not sex, really, because it wasn’t like they had sex with
each other, Jesus, there was no telling what he’d have to do to get Dean to
agree to that considering how hard he’d had to work to get just the tiny little
things Dean let him have now. Unless, over time, maybe Dean would quit with
that whole guilty-feeling thing and the “you’re too young” thing and whatever
other things he needed to get over, and then Sam would get to suck Dean’s cock,
holy fuck, he was gonna come just thinking about doing that until he realized
that Dean had set down his popcorn and Slurpee and was rubbing his own cock
over his jeans, pushing down on it like he was trying to stay in control. And
if he wasn’t so close to blowing his load Sam might have broken out into song
at that moment, at that realization, seeing his brother look so horny and
breathing hard and blinking a lot, oh hell yes, he was getting his brother
turned on, Dean was totally hot for this and Sam was the fucking winner of
everything ever.
… _ _ _ …
Dean held out as long as he could. Grabbed on to his fake casual façade with
both hands because he couldn’t – no fucking way – could absolutely not let Sam
think he wasn’t in complete control of himself every second. The kid would take
advantage of the least little sign of weakness, no question. He’d had to set
down his snacks to discreetly palm his cock, trying to calm himself down. The
sight of his brother fucking into that pillow, staring over at him like he was
trying to get an A+ at whatever Dean told him to do, was just too much. Right
when he thought he might have gotten himself in check again, Sam’s quiet little
moans started turning into louder sounds, almost cries and not quite grunts.
And that was it, the end of the show, because Sammy’s eyes got wide and he
opened his mouth like he was trying to take a really deep breath and Dean knew
what that meant. When Sam went still all over except for his hips still
grinding and circling, he was coming, no question, Dean had seen that look too
many times to mistake it for anything else.
Okay, okay, that was okay, Dean took his own deep breath and started talking
before Sam stopped moving. “Get up, Sam, come on, get up and come over here,
now.” His voice might have been a little shaky but not too bad. Sammy got right
up, too, planted his feet on the floor and stood, took a few steps before Dean
told him to stop.
Motherfucker. Dean knew it right that minute, he was wrecked, he was fucking
ruined for his entire life. There was nothing, ever, that any girl could do or
say or show him that would make him as crazy with need as he was right now,
looking over just a foot or two away as the stain of wetness spread across the
front of Sam’s little-boy underwear, and it really wasn’t even all that much,
not like when Dean got off. But he remembered being that age and fascinated
with the feeling of cum all over his hand or his dick, because he had no idea
that when he was older there would be more of it. He was so enraptured with the
sight that he almost had to shake himself out of it to respond when Sam asked
him, still quiet but not nearly as shy as he’d been earlier, whether or not
he’d been good. And screw it, screw being the big brother who was supposed to
be in charge because he was still only sixteen for chrissake and he had needs
too.
“Hell yeah Sammy, you did great, really, you – really good, it was – did it
feel good? Did it make you happy?”
And Dean had pretty quick reflexes, he thought, but not as quick as this kid
who was across the room and on his fucking lap before he could blink.
“Felt good, yeah, but you…you said – remember, you promised, Dean, you promised
you would kiss me.”
Shit, this was so not part of the deal at all, Sam up on his lap, cum-sticky
underwear pressed up against him, close enough to smell it. Dean’s own boner
was threatening to lead a mutiny against the button and zipper on his jeans.
Not like he was gonna push him off, though, because they’d already gone this
far and Sam had the eyes on him already. Dean just didn’t have it in him to
stop this train because that would mean hurting Sammy’s feelings and also
removing Sammy’s little ass from his lap. So Dean closed his eyes, just for a
few seconds, just to clear his head. It didn’t change anything, not seeing, so
there they were.
“I did. I promised, and you’re such a good boy for me Sammy, always so good…”
And a promise was a promise, so Dean reached one hand around the back of Sam’s
head, threaded his fingers through that ridiculous hair and pulled him in close
so their lips met for the first time since Sam was a tiny little baby. Dean
kissed him right on the mouth all the time back then, but he needed to scrub
away those memories, or at least hide them for a little while. The kiss was
soft and sweet and Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck with clearly no
intention of letting go. Knowing for sure that this wasn’t all Sam wanted, Dean
slowly parted his lips and ran his tongue across Sam’s mouth. Quicker than his
brain could process it, Sam’s mouth was open and welcoming, his own tongue
flitting into Dean’s mouth and moving against his like he’d been studying it
(not that Dean could rule that out, honestly). The kiss went on, got more
intense, Sam’s hands moving across Dean’s shoulders and grasping his shirt in
his fingers. With a little effort, Dean finally moved back for a much-needed
breath and looked into his baby brother’s eyes that were so full of wonder and
happiness and trust and something else, he knew what that was but he wasn’t
able to even think the word for it when it was connected to Sammy.
… _ _ _ …
Sam thought it was possible he might faint, so even when Dean pulled away from
him, he kept his hands tight around Dean’s shoulders to make sure he wouldn’t
do something so stupid because this was not over, not by a longshot if Sam had
anything to say about it, and from where he was sitting, he thought he probably
did. So he reached down inside himself to find that reserve of courage he
always needed when he was trying to get these kinds of things from Dean and
started grinding against Dean’s lap, wet underwear and all, feeling how hard
Dean was in his jeans. And Sam did that, he knew it, and there was no aced test
or kind word from his father or bit of praise from a teacher that would ever in
a million years be better than knowing that Dean’s cock was hard because of
him, because of what he was doing or how he looked or whatever the fuck, it was
him, Sam created this hard-on, he made it happen, and that right there – it was
power. He didn’t give a shit what Dean said anymore, because words were words
but this was proof, this was a 9.8 on the Richter scale of what Sam thought he
knew, because yeah, he’d always known Dean liked this and looked at him in that
way sometimes but now there was a hard cock getting harder underneath his ass
after he had already gotten what he’d been after, that precious kiss he’d been
trying to get for so long now.
Dean was trying to talk, and that was just no good at all, so Sam leaned in
again, pulled him back and forced his way into another kiss, holding on tight
while he circled his skinny hips to give Dean some friction against his dick.
It was Sam’s turn to stop for breath this time, but before Dean had any chance
to say or do anything, Sam just got close to his ear and whispered, “please” as
he kept up the pressure where their groins met, pushing himself down even
harder, “Come on, you want to, I can feel it, please, Dean, don’t say no to me
now” because he was the fucking winner right now and Dean was not going to say
no, not when his breath was fast and hot like that against Sam’s neck, he just
wasn’t.
And he was right, because even though Dean had this crazy conflicted look, his
cheeks were flushed too, sweat collecting at his hairline and dripping across
his brow, giving himself away so much more than he thought if he was still
under the impression that he was in control of things here. Before he even felt
it, he heard it, the sound of Dean’s belt buckle coming undone, button sliding
out of its hole at Dean’s waistband and zipper being pulled down. Sam’s own
dick was already twitching, and even more now that Dean had undone his pants,
because he lifted his hips and Sam right along with them like he was light as a
feather so that he could pull them down enough to free his hard cock. Sam knew
he’d already pushed enough for one night, and he’d gotten more than he’d hoped,
so he didn’t grab onto Dean’s fat dick like he wanted to, just leaned back so
Dean could get it out himself and start stroking. Was it supposed to be really
hot, being manhandled like that, moved around without any effort on your own
part, lifted up by legs that were Christ only knows how much stronger than your
own? Because Sam thought it was, but Dean had told him a lot of the things he
wanted were wrong, so there was a little bit of ‘not sure’ kind of feeling
going on, which Sam hated almost more than anything else. He always wanted to
know everything there was to know about anything that captured his attention
and Dean had more of his attention than anyone or anything ever in his whole
life, so he made himself work at it for thirty seconds or so until he figured
out that anything Dean was ‘not sure’ about when it came to this fooling around
they did was only because of his whole I’m a terrible person who turned my
brother into a sex maniac thing. Which was totally untrue because Dean was not
a terrible person and Sam was not a sex maniac, they just liked what they
liked, and that was all there was to it, and Sam would keep on working til he
got Dean to come around to his side of things.
… _ _ _ …
After Sam’s impassioned little plea, Dean’s last line of defense crumbled and
he quickly got his boxers and jeans down far enough to free his rock-hard dick.
It was all he could do not to cry out with relief when he finally got a hand
around it. Surprisingly enough, Sam was giving him a little space to work.
Didn’t even try to get his little hand on there, probably thought Dean would be
mad if he did. And he might have been. Probably would. Not mad, actually, just
would have had to say no, and acting like he was pissed was the only way to get
Sam to stop. He hated it, to be honest, but nothing else worked when Sam went
too far. If Dean just said they couldn’t for whatever reason, Sammy had a whole
head full of retorts and counter-arguments for everything.
Shit, this wasn’t gonna take long, he could still feel the sticky-wet of Sam’s
underwear against him while he stroked himself. He tried to go slow but he was
so fuckin worked up by this time. Sammy’s arms were still wrapped around his
neck and he could feel the red hot coil settled in his belly and his low back
start to unwind. Without his permission, Dean’s mouth closed over Sam’s again
as he shot warm ropes of cum over his hand and his dick, some of it probably
landed on Sammy too. When he’d worked himself through the last of it, he pulled
back again to see Sam looking more ridiculously smug than he had any right to,
but he was smiling so Dean let it go. He just grabbed yesterday’s t-shirt from
the bottom of the bed and wiped himself off. He was right, some of it had
gotten on Sam, but there was hardly anything to clean off of him because he’d
done it again. Still sitting right there on Dean’s lap, a tiny smear of spunk
was left, low on his belly, and Sam had his finger in his mouth, smiling around
it like he won a prize. Dean didn’t fuss this time, and something was telling
him that Sam knew he wasn’t going to. Before he got a chance to tell Sam to get
off him, he felt those skinny hands let go of his neck and heard Sam’s feet hit
the floor.
“You want me to keep these on? I know you like it, and I don’t really mind.”
Sam had his fingers hooked into the waistband of his cum-soaked white briefs.
Dean figured to hell with it and told him yeah, keep ‘em on. It was still
early. There was probably a movie they could watch or something. Dean thought
he would wrap Sam up in a blanket so he didn’t get cold sitting around in his
underwear all night. A movie would be good, ‘cause sometimes Sam wanted to talk
about this shit and Dean never wanted to talk about it and he wasn’t about to
spend his night being interrogated.
To his great surprise and relief, though, he had the other Sam back all of a
sudden, his kid brother who wasn’t talking about sex and rubbing up against him
all the time. Just Sammy, who’d already taken the blanket from his bed and
wrapped it around himself, stopping next to Dean’s bed to peer into that big
plastic bowl. He looked up at Dean, that sweet little face all hopeful and
admiring.
“Can I have the rest of your popcorn?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Are we gonna watch a movie?”
“Yeah, Sam, let’s go see what’s on.”
“Can I have a Coke?”
“No, you can have a root beer, those don’t have caffeine. I don’t want you
bouncing off the walls.”
“It’s not that late, Dean.”
“Quit your bitching or you can have a glass of milk like a little baby.”
“Fine.”
Dean shook his head and followed Sam out of the bedroom, wondering if anything
was ever gonna change. Hoping like hell he got to keep that Sam who pestered
him for movies and popcorn and soda for just a little while longer.
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