Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/216625.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weechesters, Wincest_-_Freeform, Sibling_Incest, Sex_Toys, Comeplay,
      Multiple_Orgasms
  Series:
      Part 3 of Baby_Boy_Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-06-28 Words: 1906
****** Than To Recieve ******
by BewareTheIdes15
Summary
     Sam wasn't sure whether he was in heaven or hell by the time he
     walked through the front door of their run-down rental. He was way
     too tired, too high on endorphins to really care much either way.
Notes
     Directly follows the events of "Brotherly Love"
Sam wasn't sure whether he was in heaven or hell by the time he walked through
the front door of their run-down rental. He was way too tired, too high on
endorphins to really care much either way.
Dean followed behind him, chuckling huskily as Sam just dropped his backpack
halfway down the hall to the bathroom.
"Long day, Sammy?" he quipped, but his voice was dark and sweet as warm
molasses. He leaned one elbow against the bathroom doorframe, and Sam could
feel him watching in the mirror.
The younger Winchester pulled the protective wad of wet paper towels out of the
front of his boxers – he couldn’t walk around school all day with a wet spot on
the front of his jeans - and threw them into the trash. The paper had been
keeping his worn-out cock from moving inside his underwear but now that it was
free, the drag of soft fabric was sending too hot pinpricks skittering up Sam's
length and he groaned hopelessly.
"Dean, please." He didn’t even care that he was begging pathetically as he met
his brother's blown green gaze in the mirror. Dean licked his lips, eyes
running up and down Sam like he was some expensive foreign delicacy - for Dean,
probably Tastykakes.
The older man walked up behind Sam unhurriedly, savoring each moment as he
wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him close to his broad chest. Dean was
watching their reflections, pressing his lips into Sam's mussed hair and slowly
kissing his way down.
"What's a-matter, baby boy? Didn't like your present?"
Sam groaned pitifully as the whisper of Dean's breath over his ear had his
overused dick swelling again. There were serious downsides to having 14 year-
old-boy rebound time.
"Dean, I came six times today just moving around at school," he whined,
nonetheless leaning his head back against his brother's shoulder to give Dean
better access to his neck. "I can't, I just can't. I need to get this thing out
of me."
Dean nipped at the soft exposed skin of Sam's throat, eyes never leaving his
little brother's in the mirror. Sam could feel the heat of Dean's hardness
pressing into his ass as the older Winchester began gently rolling his hips.
"Sure thing, baby. Whatever you need," Dean's wet tongue traced a slow path up
the column of Sam's throat, making his breath stutter, "You know I'll take care
of you."
Sam was barely standing on his own, Dean taking most of his weight, so it took
him second to figure out what happened when the world suddenly spun and he
found himself face to face with the '70s floral wallpaper.
Dean fingers jerked roughly at Sam's jeans until they were finally around his
thighs and whatever the rest of his body might have thought, Sam's cock was
ridiculously happy to see his brother. The first touch of tender flesh against
the wall had Sam arching back into Dean's slow grind; the cool of the surface
both soothing and almost unbearably cool on his swollen member. Of course, all
that did was shift the hard plastic plug inside him, rubbing it against his
prostate and his moans were matching his big brother's as he drowned in
pleasurepain again.
"Dean," he gasped, and that seemed to bring his brother back to reality for a
second anyway.
"Sorry, Sammy," he whispered sending another goddamn shiver down Sam's spine.
Rough, scarred hands caressed lovingly down Sam's sides, pausing to knead at
the meat of his ass before carefully parting the cheeks.
He could feel when Dean's fingers gripped at the exposed part of the plug,
making it move inside of him and God, he was going to catch hell from Dean for
days if he passed out. Sam steadied his hands on the wall as Dean began
gingerly sliding the plug free. His fingers were white from the pressure he was
putting on them, sensation anywhere else in his body a welcome respite after a
day of every move and feeling echoing through his groin.
He was right on the edge of coming again as the widest part flared through his
opening and he didn’t know if he could keep from screaming this time. He hoped
his brother was prepared to deal with the fact that Sam was pretty sure that a
whole day of this ecstasy-torture had crossed some serious wires in him. Once
upon a time, he remembered pain and bliss being two totally different
sensations but Sam was fucked if he could tell the difference now.
The final curve of smooth plastic left him and Sam's knees buckled, the wall
and Dean's supporting arm the only things keeping him upright. He wanted to
die, to crawl in bed and sleep for a week, to beg his big brother to fuck him
until he forgot what it was like to be empty again. All he could manage was a
whimper.
Slick, watery warmth was pouring over his balls, down his thighs and Dean's
head thunked against the wall next to Sam.
"Fuck," Dean gasped, like he was the one who'd spent all day getting ass-fucked
by a toy. His eyes were shot almost totally black now, just the barest hint of
green at the edges to remind Sam that he was still human. But they weren't
looking at Sam, they were locked on the mirror behind them, which actually had
a little righteous indignation stirring up in the part of Sam's brain that was
still functioning beyond loveDeanhateDeanfucknowplease.
"Jesus, baby," the awe in Dean's voice was powerful enough to get Sam to crane
his neck behind him and see what was so fascinating.
His own reflection stared hazily back at him; pressed up against the wall,
pants around his knees, hips canted back just enough to expose his gaped
opening leaking a stream of Dean's white come. Ok, yeah, it was fucking hot.
And the way Dean was looking at him; need written in raw lines across his face,
watching like he had to memorize it all, hand hovering just shy of actually
touching Sam's hole like he was scared his little brother would turn out to be
a mirage - Sam would go through it all again, every day of his damn life for
that.
His fingers made a sticky sounds as he pulled sweaty palms away from the wall.
He couldn't help but watch in the mirror as he wrapped his hand around Dean's
and slowly guided his brother's fingers to his opening. Dean moaned like a
dying man as his fingers skated around the pliant rim of Sam's hole, barely
sliding a fingertip inside even though right then Sam felt like he could
probably take his brother's whole damn fist.
That thought suddenly had him shivering again, grinding his forehead into the
wallpaper, and he was right on the verge of just begging Dean to do it exactly
that way when his brother panted,
"Thank you, baby. Thank you so much."
Kisses, sloppy and wet and aimless rained down on Sam's face, his neck and
shoulders and he started undulating his hips between the soft pressure of
Dean's fingers and the resisting force of the wall against his dick.
He couldn't have anything left - the last couple of times he'd been sure there
were only dribbles of come leaking out - but his balls didn't really seem to
care; they just tightened right up against his body like they were going to
release another payload.
It felt too goodbadGodpleasemakeitstopmorenow to do anything but stutter 'yes'
and go with it when Dean slurred through his kissing,
"God, Sammy, baby boy, please, can I?
The world tilted again and suddenly Sam was staring into the reflection of his
own sex-blown hazel eyes. The counter in front of the sink at least gave him
something to steady himself on while he watched his brother practically destroy
his own jeans trying to get them undone. Dean looked farther out on the edge
than Sam had ever seen him - honestly and truly trembling with it - and just
knowing that he was the one who put him there was enough to fight back the
lassitude threatening to overwhelm the younger Winchester.
"Yeah, c'mon Dean, do it, fuck me" he growled from deep in his gut, "I want it,
need it".
Dean's hands slammed onto the cabinet on either side of Sam, head braced on his
baby brother's shoulder as he clenched his eyes and panted. Sam knew he had
almost brought him off right then and watching Dean come apart had lightning
bolts shooting up his veins, down his spine, hardening his protesting dick to
curve all the way against his belly.
"Fuck," Dean gasped, eyes flicking wild and feral up to Sam's. He pulled
himself up and didn't even hesitate - it wasn't like Sam need to be opened up
anyway - before he drove in all the way to the hilt.
It was too intense to have a word, to even really have a single feeling - it
was sensation, his whole body, every nerve and fiber alive and sparking and
Dean's. All Dean's and the whole host of hell could have marched through the
bathroom right then and Sam wouldn't have given a flying fuck. He was being
owned, used, completely taken, and loving it because Dean was just as far gone,
just as much his, and they were fractions away from being the same person.
The nub inside him was swollen and abused and he didn't even have time to
recover each time Dean’s pistoning cock grazed it before the next wave hit him,
building in on itself like a house of cards and they were both going to fall to
pieces any second. His thundering heart was pumping molten fire into every inch
of him. Dean's breath was an inferno against his neck, Dean's hands holding his
hips with crushing force while Sam met him stroke for stroke, goading him on
with little flexes of pathetically weakened muscle.
One of those big hands found Sam's tormented dick and he jerked so hard with
the blinding flash of orgasm that his head banged into the mirror. Dean was
shouting behind him, trying to crawl inside him as his channel was flooded with
liquid heat again.
It might have been days later for all Sam knew when he finally wound back down
from the high. Dean was pressed tight against his back, the both of them
slumped over the counter and trembling like newborn kittens. Dean's heartbeat
was rabbit-fast against his spine, trying to pound its way out of his brother's
chest and into Sam's. Sweat was dripping down Sam's nose, over his neck from
where it ran in rivers off his brother's face and the countertop was digging
bruises into his hips but he didn't have the energy to move.
"Baby boy," Dean whispered like a prayer and it wasn't until right then that
Sam realized his brother still had a hold on his dick. A callused finger rubbed
searingly over the dry head - he'd been right, not a fucking drop left - and
Dean was moaning softly in the closest thing Sam had ever heard to a human
purr. He pawed lightly at Dean's hand, no real strength left in him, and his
brother finally stopped playing with his oversensitized flesh.
"Love you," Dean panted, "so much."
"Me too Dean," he promised, nudging their heads together, "Me too.
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