Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1019995.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Lingerie, Nipple_Play, Nipples, Movie_Reference, Coming
      Untouched, Weecest
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-27 Words: 3331
****** White Lace and Little Brothers ******
by dollylux
Summary
     Dean has a crush on Neve Campbell in Scream. Sammy has better tits
     than that bitch.
Dean drags Sam to see Scream in five different cities over the course of two
months. And it’s not that Sam doesn’t like it. I mean, he does. It’s very witty
and self-aware and the acting is pretty decent. It’s just that Dean is so
fucking in love with Neve Campbell and it’s all he talks about the entire day
after they see it every single timeand there’s only so much Sam can take.
They’re trudging through Wal-Mart, grabbing a few things before they head out
of town. Sam is carrying the basket over his arm, his hoodie sleeves pulled
down over his hands and held in bunched-up fists together while he follows Dean
through aisle after aisle. He sighs, his hair fluffing up a little in the front
with the sudden gust of frustrated air as Dean tosses a canister of mixed nuts
into the already insanely heavy basket.
“Alright,” Dean finally says, leading Sam to the end of the aisle and then
wandering over toward electronics. Sam stops where he is, right next next to
the baby food display and gives his very, very best are you kidding me face.
“Uh. Doesn’t ‘alright’ mean we’re leaving?”
Dean whips around, his eyes seeking and finding Sam with a grin.
“Almost. C’mon, hurry up. This’ll only take longer if you stand around bein’ a
brat.”
Sam just glares harder.
Dean blinks at him, unperturbed. “Oh, hey. While you’re standing there, you
should get yourself some more baby food.”
Sam marches toward Dean then, and Dean has the survival instinct to take off.
-
Sam finally finds Dean in the lingerie department of all places, and his arm is
about to fall off from the weight of the basket. He turns the corner and
there’s Dean, fingering a fucking white lacy bra. Sam stops in his tracks,
gaping at his brother.
“Dean, what the hell!?” His voice squeaks, the gift of being thirteen, and he
blushes at how ineffective it made his question. Dean lets go of the bra,
looking at least a little sheepish before his dirty grin is back.
“It’s just like the one Sydney was wearing in Scream. In the sex scene, you
know?” Dean runs his hand down the strap and Sam’s shoulder twitches in a half-
held shiver.
“Yes, Dean, I know. I’ve seen it five hundred times.” His voice is a little
softer than he wants it to be, his eyes lingering on the way Dean’s fingers run
over the soft cups.
“So hot,” Dean murmurs, watching his own hands, too, tongue sliding out to run
over his bottom lip. “She’s got the sweetest little tits.”
Sam’s cheeks burn hot and he shifts from one foot to the other, the basket
nearly touching the ground now. “Whatever,” he mumbles, head moving to try and
flip his hair out of his eyes. “Her boobs are, like. The same size as mine.”
Dean’s green gaze finds him then, and Sam’s kind of freezes, caught in the heat
of that look. He can feel Dean’s eyes sliding down, past his neck and to the
front of his hoodie, where he’s small and perfectly flat and covered in two
shirts under the hoodie. He looks down at himself and back up at Dean and is so
incredibly mortified that they’re both staring at his non-existent tits that he
springs to life, walking right past Dean toward the registers.
“We’re leaving!”
“Right behind you, Syd.”
Sam’s eyes close a little as he stumbles into the main aisle. He’s just finally
gotten Dean to let them rub off against each other. Every single hint of heat
in Dean’s voice gets him fat in his shorts.
He hefts the basket up onto the checkout belt thingie and puts on his best
little boy smile for the cashier lady.
--
Another day, another town. It’s Christmas break and it’s a gross, boring-ass
Tuesday, and Sam is considering painting his nails with the hooker-red polish
he found left in the nightstand at the motel.
Dean comes out of the bathroom, smelling spicy and minty and clean and Sam’s
eyes lift of their own volition.
“Wanna go see Scream?” Dean says it like it’s a novel idea, like it’s fucking
brilliant. And he sounds so damn hopeful that Sam can only sigh, his shoulders
drooping.
“Sure, I guess.” He tosses the polish back into the drawer and slams it shut.
He starts to get up when a plastic bag nearly hits him in the face. Dean is
already at the front door, opening it up and not looking back when he replies.
“Put that on. I’ll be in the car.”
Sam stares after him dumbly for a few seconds before it occurs to him to
actually see what’s in the bag. He yanks it open and stares in at--
Ohmygod.
He pulls it out carefully, like it’s made of crystal or snakes and squints at
it like he could make sense of it if he could only see it better.
It’s the bra. The tiny bra from Wal-Mart.
He huffs out a little breath of surprise but it’s the only one left in his
body. His cheeks are deep red as he runs his fingers over it, bumping over the
price tag with the size written across the top: 32AA.
His heart is pounding by the time he pushes himself up off the mattress, his
eyes and hands not leaving the bra as he pulls off the price tag. He looks one
more time at the closed door that Dean disappeared out of and then yanks his t-
shirt off over his head, fumbling around to take the thing off the weird little
hook it came on and then somehow figure out how it opens and closes.
He shoves his arms through the loops, the cups settling right over where he has
absolutely no breasts to speak of. The cups stick out the tiniest bit, allowing
not-so generously for a tiny bit of boob. He stares down at his chest while he
feels around in the back, trying to line the hooks up.
He finally gets it closed and he’s sweating when he does. He feels around over
the back of it and realizes that he didn’t get them all lined up right, that
it’s crooked. Fuck it. God, Dean’s not gonna care. He’s. He’s putting this on
for Dean.
“Jesus,” he whispers, adjusting the straps that are a little snug but he’ll
live. He doesn’t look for a mirror, doesn’t run to the bathroom, doesn’t
fucking think. He just yanks his shirt back on and grabs his hoodie and
practically falls out of the front door.
He walks to the car with his head down, eyes lowered in some sort of weird
modesty as he climbs into the car, pulls the door closed. It’s quiet and warm
when he gets settled next to Dean who is staring straight ahead, looking stoic
except for the two points of pink on the apples of his cheeks.
“You good?” Dean’s voice is gruff, a little strained. Sam swallows hard enough
for it to be embarrassing. He can only nod his reply. Dean gives a single nod
right back before throwing the car into reverse.
They don’t say a word all the way to the theater.
--
They get tickets and Cookie Dough Bites and a Cherry Coke to share and make
their way to the theater. The previews have already started and there’s only
one other person in the whole place, a single guy three rows back up front with
a viciously receding hairline.
Sam watches Dean’s bright eyes in the dark, watches him look at the guy and
then look all the way at the back of the theater and that’s where they go, to
the very back row. Like a couple of fucking horny kids.
He’s so hard that it’s kind of tricky to walk at this point, and he’s careful
when he sits down. He passes the drink off to Dean and adjusts himself,
grateful for the near dark of the theater. They shift and move and Dean puts
his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him and breaks into the candy,
offering some to Sam without looking at him.
Sam shakes his head, fast and nervous, drawing both of his lips into his mouth
to chew on them. He tugs and tugs at his hoodie sleeves, pulling them down over
his hands and bunching them up in his palms. He’s going to come untouched in a
movie theater. He’s going to be even worse than Pee-Wee Herman.
Once the movie starts and Dean gets sucked into it, Sam starts to relax a
little. Loosens his death-grip on the sides of his seat, maybe breathes a
little bit. When Neve Campbell shows up, all wholesome and innocent and braless
in her nightgown, Dean shifts beside him. Sam’s eyes flutter closed without his
consent, his entire body freezing. He’s so hyper-aware of Dean, of every move
he’s making, every degree in Dean’s raising body temperature.
Sam’s chewing at his bottom lip obsessively now, his little chest rising and
falling in the near-dark. He wants to run to the bathroom and jerkoff, to just
rub one out and maybe he’ll feel better, take the edge off a little. Anything
to keep from feeling like he’s literally going to melt just because he can hear
Dean breathing beside him.
He can feel when Dean’s gaze turns on him. Can feel it slide warm over his face
and down his chest, and Sam can only stare straight ahead, heart thudding right
up near the surface, waiting. Dean’s rests his elbow on the arm of the chair
between them, his hand pale and visible in the darkness.
Sam watches that hand as it lifts, comes toward him right as Dean turns in his
seat, his attention now on Sam. Fingers light on the zipper at his throat and
Sam jerks just a little, a stray whimper catching in his throat. He gasps, a
soft sound, his lashes fluttering but he manages to keep his eyes open. He
watches Sydney and her psycho-murderer boyfriend dryhump on her pretty girl bed
while his brother’s hand works at the zipper on his hoodie, pulling ever-so
slowly down, down, down until it’s completely undone.
“Sammy,” Dean breathes in his ear, and Sam closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp
breath because Dean’s mouth is touching his ear. That hand is now rubbing at
Sam’s stomach, flat palm right against his sternum, fingers down and circling
while Dean kisses delicately over Sam’s earlobe. “You wearin’ it?”
Sam manages to nod, a tiny, childish jerk, and he squirms in his seat. Dean
groans, pressing his face closer to Sam’s, his forehead rubbing at Sam’s
temple, nose pressing into his sweaty hair. He’s actually trembling when Dean’s
hand slides up, fingers bumping along the barely-there outline of the little
bra over his chest.
“Fuck.” It’s a hot wash of air over Sam’s skin, and Sam tastes blood in his
mouth as he bites through the skin of his bottom lip. “So fuckin’ hot, Sammy.
Wearin’ that for me. Coverin’ up your little tits.”
“Jesus Christ, Dean.” Sam has his head tipped, neck offered to Dean and Dean
takes it, kissing all across the pale line of it, his lips butter-soft and
melting as he sucks his way back up to Sam’s ear.
“Yeah.” It’s a long, low word, dragged out over Sam’s spit-slicked skin while
Dean’s hand pulls up on Sam’s shirt, exposing his stomach to the cool movie
theater air. Dean pushes his hand up, finally touching the bra and a deep
shudder rakes through Dean’s body then, one that surprises Sam and makes him
shiver out a truly impressive puddle of precome inside his jeans. Dean’s hand
turns hungry then, gripping at Sam’s imaginary tits, rubbing hard over each one
of them separately. “Fuckin’ hot little tits, Sam. God, if we were home, I’d
throw you down on the bed and make you hold ‘em together so I could fuck right
between ‘em.”
Sam presses the heel of his palm against his dick, his breath coming out in hot
little puffs now, like he’s terrified, like he’s sprinting. He shrugs out of
his hoodie and lifts his arm to wrap it around Dean’s neck, pulling him closer.
Dean shoves the arm of the chair between them out of the way and moves right
in, pressing long up against Sam’s side.
Sam jumps when Dean worms his hand under one of the cups and runs the rough
pads of his fingers over his stupidly sensitive nipple. He jerks with each pass
of Dean’s hand, with every single press and rub and he has to turn his face and
hide it against Dean’s shoulder, burying the sounds he’s making or else Dean’s
gonna get arrested or something.
“Take your shirt off, pretty thing. Let me see it.”
“Dean,” Sam gasps, scandalized by even the thought. He lifts his face and looks
down at the oblivious lump of a guy down in the third row, eating popcorn and
watching murder and unknowing of the illegal filth going on behind him. Dean
grins and shoves Sam’s hoodie off.
“Stop acting like a virgin, Sammy. C’mon, off.” He pulls Sam’s shirt off right
there in the theater, in public, tossing it on the back of the seats in front
of them. He rubs his lips together when he takes in the sight of his kid
brother in a white bra just for him, and Sam can’t help but warm under the
hungry attention. He moves a little closer to Dean, turning his back to the
rest of the room, offering himself up for Dean’s hands and eyes and whatever
else Dean wants because, fuck. Fuck.
“Look at you.” Dean’s voice is so soft and reverent, like he’s witnessing
something miraculous. His hands stroke over Sam’s body just like he’s a girl,
over his shoulders and down over his tits and over his tiny waist and hips
where he pulls Sam closer. “Just look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,
Sammy. Fuckin’ walking wet dream just for me.”
Sam sighs when Dean dips down and kisses at his collarbone, just pushes his
hands into Dean’s hair and pulls him closer, lets Dean have him. He kisses at
the top of Dean’s head, one hand stealing down to rub at Dean’s lap, little
fingers working at Dean’s zipper to get to that dick.
Sam watches Dean’s face when he pushes one strap of the bra down, letting it
drape low on his arm, right over his elbow. He pushes the cup down on that
side, exposing Sam’s tiny, hard nipple to the chilly air and to himself.
“Go ahead,” Sam whispers, shy. “It’s yours.”
Dean growls, dangerous and feral and he wraps his arms around Sam’s body,
strong and almost suffocating while he lowers his head and latches onto that
nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth.
Sam quakes then, his hand frantic and blind while it yanks Dean’s jeans open
and shoves his underwear down, rubbing and tugging at the head of Dean’s dick
that is flushed and burning and seeping honey right over Sam’s fingers.
Dean sucks even harder then, his mouth unrelenting and starved as he sucks half
of Sam’s breast in, the noises pulling and wet while he nurses. He pulls off
finally with a pop, pulls off just to stare at the wet shape his mouth left on
Sam’s chest, at the red ring of a hickey that will be there tomorrow around his
now raw nipple.
He plucks at it then, thumb and forefinger focused and pulling hard, so much
that Sam has to shove his face into Dean’s neck and sob, hand squeezing tight
at Dean’s dick. Dean shoves the bra down completely then, game over, attacking
the other tit with his mouth while he twists the other one beyond sensitivity,
beyond feeling, to the point that Sam has tears standing in his eyes and he’s
about five seconds away from a bone-jarring orgasm.
Dean pops his mouth free then, his lips swollen beyond belief from his dirty
work on Sam’s tits, mouth shining with spit and his eyes are bright and wild as
he stares, his hands massaging at Sam’s breasts now, rubbing and kneading and
pushing them together.
“Bet you’d feed me from these, if you could. Bet you’d let me drink your little
boy milk whenever I wanted. Bet you’d let me tittyfuck you in a bathroom at a
diner. Let me fuckin’ play with these little tits twenty-four fucking-seven.”
He dives right back in, Sam’s nipples now aching and puffy from Dean’s
insistent plucking, sticking up in stiff little points that Dean just melts his
tongue on, one at a time before settling on one, clinging to it as his eyes
flutter closed, a contented sound leaving his mouth. He rubs the other one
between his fore and middle fingers, rubs it hard and painful while Sam just
nods, just shakes against Dean, jerking him off with a trembling hand, wringing
Dean’s dick fast and hard.
“Let you Dean let you do anything you want please just don’t stop. Dean, gonna
make me come. Dean, please, please, don’t stop.” It’s all a fierce, breathless
whisper into Dean’s hair and Sam feels when Dean starts to come, when those
hips start to fuck up into his hand, when come starts splattering all over his
tight grip on Dean’s pulsing cock.
Dean sounds so deadly now, a low growl rumbling all through his body while he
comes and comes, his mouth feeling like it’s permanently attached to Sam’s
nipple, working in the exact opposite rhythm as his hand on the other one and
Sam’s hips are fluttering in tandem with it all, his dick and balls throbbing
in the tight trap of his pants and when he comes it’s with his entire body, all
of it leaving him in the most painful, beautiful explosion that Dean just holds
him through, just clings to him and nurses him through.
They come back down after what feels like years, Sam shuddering all over and
completely boneless while Dean licks at his tits, tendering them now,
apologizing for how Sam’s gonna feel this for a fucking week. Sam hums and pets
Dean’s hair, sleepy eyes lowered to watch Dean’s pink tongue lick over his hurt
red nipples. Sam rubs Dean’s come into his own skin, all over his stomach while
he watches him, only looking away when Dean is done, satisfied for the moment.
It just takes their eyes meeting for a second for Dean to surge up and kiss
him, all soft mouths and lazy tongues while Sam tucks Dean back into his pants,
rubs at Dean’s thighs gratefully. Dean moves the bra back into place, sliding
the straps up gently over Sam's arms and adjusting them so they lay right. Sam
smiles when Dean kisses down over the straps like he really, truly adores it,
adores Sam. They move in for one last kiss, and Sam can't help but speak quiet
against Dean's puffy lips at the end.
“Did you steal this thing?”
Dean grins against Sam’s mouth for the question but he doesn’t answer. He grabs
Sam’s shirt and tosses it to him, pulling the hoodie from where it had fallen
between the seats.
“C’mon, Sammy. We’re leavin’.”
Sam pulls his shirt over his head, hair springing up wild all around him. He
blinks up at Dean in surprise.
“But. You didn’t get to see Neve in the bra.”
Dean pulls his lips into his mouth, his eyes trailing hungrily over Sam’s
little body. He reaches down and yanks Sam up, helping him pull his big hoodie
on to hide the mess at the front of his jeans. “Don’t need her. Come on. Those
tits of yours ain’t gonna fuck themselves.”
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