Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1035308.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Fear_of_Discovery, Exhibitionism,
      Underage_Sex, gagging, Dirty_Talk, mild_dub-con, Established
      Relationship, Sibling_Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-07 Words: 2688
****** Shh, Sammy - Don't Wake Dad. ******
by AngeNoir
Summary
     Inspired by Wren's Erotic Library audio track Shhhh.
     Sam's having the best dream. Only, when he wakes up, he finds it
     isn't a dream at all.
     But Dad's in the bed right next to them. What the hell is Dean
     thinking?
Notes
     This is not exactly like Wren's audio (Shhhh), but I did try. It's
     kinda hard when you get *ahem* distracted when listening to it. Or,
     at least, I did. The audio has 21,000 plays and I'm sure I'm
     responsible for at least 25 of them. So.
     Go check out Wren's_other_stuff - she's an awesome artist, writer,
     and my god her audio posts are to die for.
     THE DUB-CON REFERS TO: Dean starts fingering Sam while Sam's still
     asleep. They have an established relationship, and Sam is not upset
     about this, but he did not give explicit consent before Dean began.
     THE UNDERAGE REFERS TO: Sam is 15 and Dean is 19.
Sam blinked open eyes that didn’t want to open at all. He’d been having a very
good dream, after all, and when he found out what woke him—
Which was when he realized that what had featured prominently in his dream was
still happening, even though he was fairly certain he was awake.
With superhuman effort, he tilted his head up. Yeah, awake – there was the
cheap motel alarm, numbers neon orange to show 3:19 AM, and there was Dad, a
dark, snoring lump in the bed closest to the motel door. The curtains were
pulled shut, and it was just one motel in a long string of motels, not even a
new base of operations. They would be back on the road at first light, heading
to some tiny town in Montana because John thought it sounded better than
something close to where they’d been just yesterday.
So, everything in place. He was awake. It took him a moment of puzzled staring
to realize the perspective was so weird because he wasn’t on his back anymore –
must have rolled onto his left side, almost all the way onto his front. He let
out a soft, pleased sigh as warmth and heat trickled up his spine from the
feelings of fingers running underneath the waistband of his boxers, dipping
into his cleft—
“D-Dean?” he whispered, mind finally catching up to the events. “Dean, what are
you doing?”
Because really, he was in bed, staring at his dad, in the middle of a hotel
room. If ever there was a monumental time for this to not happen, now was it.
“Shhh,” Dean breathed out, rough voice right up against Sam’s ear, blowing
strands of hair to tickle the curve of it. His breath smelled a bit, and it was
too hot in the motel room to be this close, but Dean’s fingers were already
slick-smooth and Sam felt far looser back there than he had when he’d gone to
sleep (even after he’d fingered himself to orgasm in the shower), which meant
Dean’d gotten lube out from somewhere and probably had been opening Sam for a
while.
The thought made Sam shiver in delicious arousal, and he began to sit up, twist
around.
“Shhh,” Dean repeated, and he pressed his forehead between Sam’s shoulders,
made it clear that he wanted Sam to stay down.
“It’s the middle of the night!” Sam whined, twisting. “What are you doing?”
Dean’s hips rocked against Sam’s side, and Sam felt the thick bulge of Dean’s
erection through the thin cotton of his boxers. “It’s been – been more than a
week, Sam,” he whispered roughly. “I just – I gotta touch you, Sammy.”
“What—” Sam began, voice louder than he meant it to be, which was exactly when
Dean’s other hand squirmed underneath Sam’s waist and brushed against the head
of Sam’s cock.
Sam let out a little whimper.
“Shhh! Can’t wake up Dad, Sammy,” Dean growled low into Sam’s ear, pressing up
against Sam’s back so that Sam could feel that Dean was naked from the waist
down, that Dean was pressing his dick against Sam’s bared skin. He could feel
the press of elastic underneath the cheeks of his ass, tight across his skin,
even as the hand cupping his ass shifted, spread him a bit, one finger nudging
at Sam’s hole.
Sam gasped as the tip of it pushed right in. It was tight and perfect and so
hot, and his eyes were straining in the dark of the room at Dad’s shape,
terrified and elated by turns at the situation. “Dean, please,” he whimpered.
Dean ignored him, shifting on the bed, and then the finger slid out. “Spread
your legs a little,” Dean said gruffly, one knee helpfully nudging Sam’s right
thigh away from his left.
Sam’s throat was dry, and he was terrified Dad would wake up and catch them
even as he obligingly slid his legs apart, the slick rustle and crinkle of
fabric almost obscene in the almost complete silence.
Or, rather, he would have called it obscene had not Dean not just fucking sunk
a finger in up to the third knuckle, a sound of skin rubbing against skin,
squelching lube between tight spaces.
“Dean,” Sam keened. “Dean, please.”
Because he’d gotten himself off before he’d gone to sleep, in the short time
that he’d had to get off. He’d been feeling the week apart strongly himself,
what with Dad not having a hunt and therefore being around all the time. It was
why, when they’d finally stopped for the night and Dean had gotten out of the
shower and into bed, and Dad was up drinking at the tiny table with his journal
open, Sam had taken advantage of the free time and snuck an orgasm in the
shower, fingering himself as quietly as he could because he really wasn’t quiet
when he orgasmed and he couldn’t afford to have Dad wondering why he was taking
so long in the bathroom. And the reason he’d taken so long is because he
fucking missed having something up his ass.
Dean let out a low, rough laugh, bringing him back to the present and the
realization that someone else doing the fingering was much, much better than
doing it to yourself. “Please what, Sammy?” he teased, voice low and scratchy,
breath puffing against Sam’s earlobe and making him squirm. “What?”
“Pleeease,” Sam gasped, voice going up in a whine as Dean stroked once, twice,
three times with one finger before teasing the edge of Sam’s hole with two.
A nose trailed down the line of Sam’s neck, tongue tasting the salt from Sam’s
sweat, and Dean was like a furnace of Sam’s back. “You want me to sink my cock
into that hungry hole of yours?” he rasped, and the words were so filthy and
Dad was right there – Sam panted, trembling, as Dean ran two fingers around his
rim and teased the tips inside. “You want your big brother’s dick splitting you
open?”
“Dean, oh Dean, please Dean please,” Sam stuttered out between heaving breaths.
“You like that idea, don’t you, you filthy little whore?” Dean murmured, lips
moving down Sam’s shoulder and smiling against Sam’s back. “You like the idea
of my big cock fucking you deep and hard. You like it so much you don’t even
care Dad’s right there, do you?”
“Oh god Dean oh god,” and then Sam was incoherent, whimpering as the two
fingers scissored inside, rubbing against his prostrate before delving deeper.
“I bet you thought I was asleep when you came out, huh? Bet you thought I
didn’t notice how long you took. Did you think of me, in the shower?”
Sam licked dry lips and pressed his forehead harder into the pillow, spreading
his legs even wider and whispering Dean’s name over and over again.
“I think you did,” Dean rumbled, and his voice was both loud in the silence and
so, so soft that it sent shivers up Sam’s spine. “I bet you rode your hand
until you came and wished it was my cock there. How many fingers did you get
in, huh, Sammy? How many fingers did you fit up this tight hole of mine?”
“Th-three, Dean, Dean please, oh Dean please please.”
“You want my dick in your ass?”
“Yessss!” Sam whined, voice going high-pitched as three fingers burned in his
ass.
Dean tsked at him, nipping at Sam’s back and laving at the bite marks he left.
“Too loud, Sammy. Can’t wake Dad. Don’t want him to know what a filthy cockslut
his baby boy is, hmm?”
“I’m trying,” Sam whined, gasping as those fingers spread him open and dragged
along his prostrate before pressing in so deep he could barely breathe – and
that was nothing compared to Dean’s cock.
God he was practically salivating at that. There was a continuous whine and his
heartbeat was increasing, and he was just shaking apart at the idea of Dean
slipping his cock right in.
Dean huffed a laugh against the back of his neck, stirring sweat-soaked
strands, and then one of his large, calloused hands slid over Sam’s mouth, two
fingers – oh god the fingers that had just been in Sam’s ass, that tasted of
soap and musk and lube – forcing in past Sam’s lips to weigh heavy on his
tongue.
Sam bucked his hips helplessly and moaned.
“Always sound so pretty when you’re gagged,” Dean whispered to Sam, hot and
heavy body moving to bracket Sam’s, his knees scooting in between Sam’s to make
Sam’s legs spread obscenely wide. Sam looked over at the other bed, at where
their father was literally an arms’ length or two away, and he shuddered
deliciously.
“You like that, you filthy whore? Huh, baby boy? Like feeling yourself open and
present for me like a bitch in heat?”
Sam desperately sucked hard against the fingers in his mouth, hands clenched in
the pillow and sheets by his head, and shamelessly tilted his hips and rocked
them back, feeling the head of Dean’s cock slide across his skin, painting a
line of precum over Sam’s ass.
“Shit,” Dean cursed, voice wrecked and helpless and nearly as loud as Sam had
been earlier. Then Dean’s dick wasn’t just pulsing against Sam’s ass but
pressing, Dean driving himself home in one hard thrust, and Sam yelped and
whined and writhed underneath Dean’s body, clenching and squeezing around
Dean’s cock.
“F-fuck,” Dean gasped, hands clenching reflexively around Sam’s hip and Sam’s
mouth, and Sam whimpered. “Fuck, S-Sam.”
Sam couldn’t say anything, he didn’t really have anything to say, he didn’t
care that Dad was in the bed next to them and that he wasn’t on his side
anymore, was face-down, shoulders-down, chest flat against the bed, ass-up and
rocking back against Dean, Dean’s dick in his ass, Sam’s cock leaking and
desperate for any kind of stimulation. He just wanted to be fucked. Pounded.
“Oh-hhh, yeah, Sammy,” Dean groaned, voice so low that Sam could feel it rumble
across his spine. “Yeah, that’s it. Work that ass on my dick. Such a cockslut,
Sammy. Feel so good around my dick, so hot and wet and unhhh – so fucking
tight, goddamnit Sam.”
Whining and yelping around the thick fingers that kept him gagged, Sam tried to
reach back, to cup his dick so that he could get off, but either Dean knew his
plan or was just that good at coincidence, because the hand on his hip slid
over Sam’s thigh and patted before sliding inwards, that large hand cupping
Sam’s balls and rolling them gently as Dean began to slide back out, every
glorious inch of him squelching.
“You gonna come on my cock, Sam? Maybe I shouldn’t even – hnng – even touch
you, fuck, Sam – maybe you can hang off my dick and just come, would you like
that?” Dean panted, the whispering and muttering growing louder and rougher,
raspier, as Dean began to pick up the pace. “You dirty bitch, you don’t even
need this, do you?”
Dean’s hand pulled away from Sam’s balls, gripped tight into Sam’s inner thighs
to spread him even wider. Sam whined, high in the back of his throat, eyes
fluttering shut as Dean hammered into him.
“Yeah, that’s it, you’re gonna come, aren’tcha, Sam, you’re gonna – uhhh –
you’re gonna fucking shoot without me doing a thing to you. You’re just my
dirty boy, huh? Just a hole for my cock. You love it, don’t you – nngh – god,
Sammy, fuck – you love a cock in your tight hole, so slick and open because you
– f-fuck Sammy, fucking shit – because you feel so empty without a nice fat
dick up your ass, yeah?”
And Sam was shaking, the mattress creaking, and he couldn’t care less because
he was ready to come, on the edge of it, just from Dean’s thick cock spearing
him over and over again, and he whimpered and moaned around Dean’s fingers,
gasping and squirming and pleading.
“F-fuck,” Dean groaned, hips beginning to lose his rhythm, voice growing almost
too loud in the silence of the hotel room, and Dad’s snores hiccupped, stopped,
and started again. Sam felt Dean’s forehead press against the back of Sam’s
head, lips pressed to the nape of Sam’s neck, the weight of Dean crushing Sam’s
face down into the pillow and it was really uncomfortable, but Sam didn’t care
at the moment because this new position had his dick slip-sliding against the
mattress, giving him much needed friction, and within minutes he was keening,
rutting against the softness as all his muscles went tense.
It was probably for the best that the ancient A/C unit rattled to life at that
moment, because Dean let out a deep, rumbling snarl, teeth biting a
particularly vicious hickey just below the base of his neck, and he groaned
out, “Yeah, that’s it baby boy, come for your big brother you fucking cockslut
oh yeahhh,” hips stilling as he spilled out into Sam’s ass.
For a moment, Sam was too sunk in his post-orgasm haze to really notice
anything, but soon enough he realized it was fucking difficult to breathe, he
was all sticky and Dean’s come was leaking down his thighs…
He shuddered, which elicited a moan from Dean’s heavy form.
Sam gently bit at Dean’s fingers, letting him know that he needed to speak and
breathe properly – and, when gentleness wasn’t moving Dean’s fat ass off of
him, bit a bit more harshly.
With a hiss, Dean pulled his fingers away and rolled to the side, still
plastered against Sam’s side like a furnace but at least not crushing him into
the pillows. “Fucking biter,” he muttered, voice slurring.
“I’m not… the one wh-who bit… your back… De-Dean,” Sam whispered in return, his
breathing slowly easing out but still rough, still heavy. After a few minutes,
he weakly elbowed Dean’s stomach. “You’re the f-fucking… one wh-who… woke me
up… you better fucking… cl-clean up the mess.”
“Fuck you,” Dean mumbled.
Sam blinked heavy eyes at the clock, and glanced over at Dad. When Dean didn’t
do anything, just nosed at the nape of Sam’s neck, Sam insisted. “Dean.”
“Prissy little bitch,” Dean sighed, but it was fond, and he pulled away.
Immediately feeling cold, Sam curled closer, feeling the gut-deep ache now that
endorphins were draining away.
Wetness dragged across his ass and thighs surprised him, and he squeaked.
Dean’s large hand stroked alongside Sam’s flank, soothing. “Just me, Sammy,” he
mumbled, cleaning up the come leaked onto Sam’s legs and groin and belly.
Sam pulled in a shaky breath, lazily rolling onto his back and into Dean’s warm
spot. Matted hair clung to his forehead and he watched Dean, eyes heavy-lidded
and sated.
“That’s my spot,” Dean hissed.
Sam wiggled more into it.
Muttering under his breath, Dean finished cleaning up Sam, pulling up Sam’s
boxers (a bit wet from come but not horribly stained, Sam hoped), and he draped
a towel in the wet spot. After spreading it out, he went to the bathroom to
dump the washcloth in the sink. Sam felt his eyes drag closed, and didn’t
notice Dean came back until Dean was nudging and forcing Sam up onto his chest,
letting Sam cling like an octopus. “A/C will blow the smell out,” he grunted,
scooting around so he could pull the blankets up over them.
“How did Dad not—” Sam slurred, clumsily patting at Dean’s chest.
Dean gently caught Sam’s hand and tucked Sam’s head under his chin. “Took those
heavy-duty painkillers, the ones that knock him out for ten hours,” he said
smugly. “Shouldn’t wake up for another seven hours. Maybe longer, if we’re
lucky.”
Sam debated whether he should be pissed – after all, he had been half-terrified
throughout the entire fuck that Dad would wake up and catch them – but he’d
gotten off all the harder because of it. So instead he grumbled under his
breath, “Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean breathed back.
Sam fell asleep minutes later, well-fucked and blissful, cradled tight against
Dean’s chest.
 
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