Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/865834.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, Virginity, Jealousy, Bottom_Sam
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-01 Words: 2921
****** With Mercy for the Greedy ******
by whiskyandoldspice_(Itsirtou)
Summary
     It starts when Sam’s thirteen; they call it practice kissing. Dean’s
     pretty sure they’re both old enough now to know better.
It starts when Sam’s thirteen; they call it practice kissing. Dean’s pretty
sure they’re both old enough now to know better.
They kiss in the backseat of the Impala, hunched together, when John thinks
they’re both sleeping; they kiss lazy in the mornings, Dean in front of the
bathroom mirror and Sam shoving next to Dean so he can brush his teeth. They
kiss late at night, Sam soft and sleepy against Dean’s chest, ghosting kisses
across Dean’s cheek. He’s still not totally sure how it started; he’s pretty
sure he had noble intentions. They move around so often it’s hard for Sam to
get girlfriends, and Dean’s sure as hell not gonna let him go out to bars when
he’s thirteen to pick up chicks. And he just thinks—well, Sam’s gotta learn it
somewhere, and Dean’s safe, and Sam won’t get his little heart broken when they
move again and he has to leave a girl behind.
So yeah, Dean has good intentions when Sam first clambers up to him on the
couch and asks mournfully if Dean thinks he’ll ever get a girlfriend. Sam’s a
thirteen-year-old kid, shorter than Dean, small and shy and awkward, and Dean
loves the kid more than anything in the world but he thinks if Sam ever gets up
the courage to ask a girl on a date it’ll be a miracle. He presses soft chaste
kisses to Sam’s lips, keeps his tongue out of his baby brother’s mouth, and
that’s it.
And then somehow it’s three years later and they’re still having kissing
practice but Sam’s shot up like a weed, tall and gangly and still a little
awkward, his face has gone angular and sharp, just enough baby fat to keep him
strangely vulnerable. His body’s slender and beautiful, skinny hips and flat
belly, long legs and long arms and long graceful neck.
And when Sam grins at him and asks to practice it’s not just chaste kisses,
anymore; he sets his hands to either side of Dean’s neck and lunges at his
mouth, like he’s greedy for it, like it’s something he owns, and Dean knows he
doesn’t act any better, shoving his tongue into Sam’s mouth and swallowing
Sam’s breaths. He keeps his hands to himself, at least.
He should have known that eventually it’d all go to shit.
They’ve been in the same place for a month when Sam bangs through the door on a
Friday afternoon grinning with his face flushed and happy; Dean’s nursing a
beer in front of the television, and before he can even ask, Sam says, all in a
rush, “I got a date, Dean, I got a date!”
There’s something tight inside his chest. He knew it was coming, knew Sam was
too good-looking, too sweet, pretty doe eyes and pretty pink mouth, and
eventually the girls were going to realize it just like Dean had. “You have a
date,” Dean says, and he hates the way his voice sounds, strange and flat,
hates even more the way it makes Sam’s smile falter.
“Yeah, I just,” he says. Dean watches the movement of his throat when he
swallows. “A girl at school asked if I wanted to go to the movies tonight, so
I. I said yes?”
“You know the first damn thing to do with a girl, Sam?” he asks. He sees Sam
ball his hands up into fists.
“I thought that’s what your practice was for,” Sam snaps, angry, his voice
pitched tight and high. Dean should let it go, but he can’t. Your practice, Sam
said. Like it was all his fucking idea. Like Sam didn’t crawl into Dean’s bed
after John went to sleep, pressing sloppy kisses to the side of Dean’s jaw and
whispering that he needed to practice. Like he didn’t open his sweet little
mouth for Dean’s tongue the second their lips touched.
“Come show me, then,” Dean says. Sam’s eyes go wide, and his mouth gapes open,
a little.
“What?”
“Come show me, Sammy. Come show me what you’d do with a girl.” He pats the
space next to him on the couch, watching as Sam cautiously walks forward and
sits down gingerly.
He waits. Sam’s staring at him, not moving, his chest rising and falling a
little fast. Dean snorts.
“Not a good start, dude,” he says, and watches as Sam’s jaw firms and he leans
forward.
To be fair, if Dean were a girl he’s pretty sure he’d have his panties off the
second Sam’s hot little tongue slides shyly into his mouth. Sam’s keeping it
polite, his hand brushing over Dean’s shoulder and resting there like he
doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Well,” Dean says, after a long pause, when Sam breaks it off. Sam’s face goes
a deeper red. “You’re a real gentleman, Sammy.”
“Shut up,” Sam hisses, and Dean can’t take his eyes off the faint slick shine
of Sam’s lower lip. Sam presses his lips together and stabs one hand through
his hair in a jerky angry motion. “God. Just. Shut up, Dean.”
He moves to get up, clearly embarrassed, unhappy, and Dean’s shooting out an
arm before he knows what he’s doing, grabbing Sam’s wrist hard, tugging him
back down.
“Let me show you,” he grits out, angry all over again at the thin bones in
Sam’s wrist, the softness of his skin, at the fact that Sam was gonna let some
girl touch him like this, was going to kiss a girl like he just kissed Dean,
like none of it meant anything at all. He uses his grip on Sam’s wrist to pull
Sam in hard, sharp, and Sam goes off-balance and falls against Dean’s chest but
he doesn’t have time to let out more than a startled grunt before Dean’s
smashing his mouth down on Sam’s.
It’s nothing like how Dean kisses girls, nothing like how he usually kisses
Sam; he pushes his tongue rough into Sam’s mouth and takes it, takes Sam’s
mouth like he’s taking his body, like he has a right to, rolling them both over
til he’s pressing Sam down deep into the couch. When Dean bites down on his
lower lip Sam gasps like he wasn’t expecting it and turns his head to the side,
panting hard through his nose. Dean bites down on the corded muscle of his
throat and tastes the faint tang of sweat.
“C’mon,” he says, gentle now that his brother’s pliant and still underneath
him, now that he knows Sam isn’t gonna leave. “C’mon, up, up,” and he pushes up
and leans back til he’s sitting up against the couch’s armrest. Sam bites his
lip when he slides onto Dean’s lap, almost demurely, looking down and off to
the side. Dean runs his hands up Sam’s sides, a minute tremble under his
fingertips. This is farther than they’ve ever gone, can’t pretend it’s a game,
anymore. He’s fever-flush and floating. Sam’s here, perched on his lap, a heavy
weight against his dick, and Sam’s hard against him. Sam buries his face in
Dean’s neck, breaths puffing against Dean’s collarbone, and touches him on the
waist, tentative, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
“Shh,” Dean says, soothing and soft, “it’s okay, sweetheart.”
It’s a such an incredibly stupid thing to say, and he expects Sam to call him
on it immediately. Sammy’s not one of his girlfriends, not one of the pretty
girls Dean picks up in bars and takes to his car, sliding his hand under their
skirts, feeling wet slick heat on his fingers. He and Sam both know that, so
he’s surprised, a little, when Sam arches his back with a shocked moan and
grinds his hips down in a sharp jerky motion.
“You like that,” he breathes, and Sam flushes red and looks away, a muscle in
his jaw ticking. Dean grins and slides his hands up Sam’s shirt, thumbs
stroking the skin right underneath Sam’s jeans, and he feels Sam shudder hard,
just once. “You want to be my girl, Sammy, huh?”
“No—”
He lets his fingers trip up Sam’s concave little tummy, slow and teasing, the
way he does to the girls he fucks in the backseat of the Impala. He’d keep his
eyes on Sam’s face, but he can’t stop looking at the pale vulnerable skin of
Sam’s stomach and chest as Dean rucks his shirt up, can’t stop staring at Sam’s
sharp hipbones and the way Dean can just barely see the hint of his ribs. When
he pushes Sam’s shirt up to his armpits and lets the pad of his thumb trail
fleeting over Sam’s nipple he gets a pitiable whine for it.
“Wanna be my girl, yeah,” he says, and he’s faintly aware he’s talking nothing
but nonsense and bullshit but he can’t help it; his eyes are glued to the
delicate pink of Sam’s nipples and he just keeps running his thumbs over them,
pinching one of them between his fingernails and barely registering Sam’s
helpless little moan. “Want me to eat you out, baby?”
“Oh my fucking God,” Sam gasps, and Dean leans up and takes a pink little
nipple between his teeth, worrying at it harder than he should but it’s
impossible to stop, impossible to go slower with the way Sam’s hands fly to
Dean’s biceps and dig in like he’s trying to stop from touching himself, like
he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands so he’s grabbing at Dean
instead. When Dean bites down, softly, Sam makes a wounded noise in the back of
his throat, a noise like prey, and Dean grabs Sam’s hips and bites down harder,
just because.
When he finally leans back Sam’s nipple is dark red and puffy, swollen and
distended and Sam cries out when Dean presses a tender little kiss on it.
“Stop,” Sam gasps, and he tries to twist his torso away but Dean follows him,
winding his arm around Sam’s back so he can pull Sam’s chest back toward his
face, because he’s addicted already to the little noises Sam makes, like he
can’t decide if it hurts or feels good but he wants more of it, anyway. “Dean,”
and Sam sounds panicky, breathing heavy and frantic, squeezing his hands
urgently on Dean’s shoulders as Dean licks hot wet stripes across Sam’s swollen
nipple, “Dean, gonna come, Dean, I’m gonna come, you gotta stop—” and that’s
when Dean finally registers it, how hard Sam is grinding down against him and
how hard Sam is breathing, and when he looks down he can see a wet patch on the
front of Sam’s jeans.
He uses his other hand to trace the outline of Sam’s damp cock through the
fabric, and when Sam lets out a sobbing breath Dean bites down, hard, on his
abused nipple. “Gonna come for me, baby?” he asks, slow and thoughtful and sex-
stupid, dazed by Sam’s flushed cheeks and the way he’s panting with his mouth
open, lips shiny and slick, tiniest hint of blood on his bottom lip where he
must have bitten it. Sam gasps yeah, yeah Dean, and lurches forward,
shuddering, when Dean rubs him through his jeans. He grips Sam’s hips and moves
Sam around on his lap; Sam goes with it, pliable and submissive, shifting where
Dean guides him, so that he’s straddling Dean’s thigh instead of his waist, and
Dean thinks just for a second how easy it would be to fuck Sam like this, with
Sam so easy, it’d be no trouble at all to just tug Sam’s jeans down past his
stupid slender hips, open him up with slick fingers til he’s gasping, til he
can’t imagine going for more than a second longer without Dean’s dick in him,
til he’s begging for it. He digs his fingers into the sharp wings of Sam’s hips
a little harder than he needs to, and Sam whimpers, goes boneless.
He shoves his thigh up til it’s rubbing hard against the length of Sam’s dick,
and with his hands on Sam’s hips he moves Sam against him in an awkward kind of
rhythm til Sam gets it; he’s embarrassed, face red and eyes averted, but he
jerks his hips and rides Dean’s thigh til he’s whining loudly. His movement
gets fluid and loose and Dean doesn’t like it, likes it better when Sam’s off-
balance and awkward, so he gathers Sam’s slender wrists together in one hand
behind Sam’s back and pins them there, against Sam’s lower back. Sam’s hips
stutter.
“Babe,” Dean says, low and fond, and Sam shudders.
Sam rides Dean’s leg like he’s got no shame left, none at all, damp hair
sticking to his sweaty forehead, wrists twisting in Dean’s grasp, not like he
wants to get free but like he wants to know that he can’t.
“Please,” he gasps, finally, “oh, f-fuck, please, Dean, I can’t, Dean.” Dean’s
free hand is wandering again, up Sam’s chest to play with Sam’s abused swollen
nipples because he likes the way it makes Sam beg. He shoves his hips down
against Dean’s thigh animal-desperate. “Gotta help me, please, please—”
“Come on,” Dean says, and he hardly recognizes his own voice, gritty and hard.
He pinches one of Sam’s nipples hard, too hard, rolls it between his fingertips
and says, “Come for me, sweetheart.”
Sam bows his head and hunches forward, shaking, his voice cracking on a high
moan, and Dean watches as he soaks the front of his jeans, filthy and wet, wet
like a fucking girl, Dean thinks, delirious, and he rubs the hot slickness
against Sam’s dick through his pants just to feel his hips jerk.
Sam’s almost not done coming before Dean’s pushing him onto his belly and
jerking his jeans down. Sam lets out a startled noise when Dean pushes his dick
into the crack of Sam’s ass.
“Wait, wait,” Sam says, a tremor in his voice, but Dean kisses the back of his
neck and Sam quiets down, goes limp underneath him. When Dean goes to grab his
own dick he realizes, in a weird detached kind of way, that his hands are
shaking. Sam lets out the tiniest little sound, barely a breath, when Dean sets
the tip of his cock against the tight furled opening of Sam’s ass. The head of
his dick’s wet with precome but he knows it’s not enough, not nearly, and he’s
not gonna fuck his brother but he can’t help but push against Sam’s hole a few
times, just to feel the resistance, just to feel the way his brother’s body
barely loosens up for him, just to feel Sam’s ass open up just the littlest bit
around the head of his dick.
“God,” Sam gasps, sounding scared and turned-on and like such a little virgin
that it makes Dean’s teeth clench, “oh God, you gonna fuck me, Dean, are you
gonna,” and his voice breaks off into a whine when Dean presses in just a
little more, and his dick’s not even inside Sam but they’re both panting like
they’re already fucking. Sam doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, what the fuck
he’s even asking for.
Dean jacks himself rough and tight, just like that, Sam’s body clenching hot
and virgin-tight around the tip of his dick; it’s over embarrassingly quick,
and he comes hot on Sam’s ass as his brother whimpers beneath him.
“Shit,” Dean breathes, and Sam lets out a loud whoosh of air as Dean collapses
down onto him, pushing him into the couch cushions. They’re both sweating hard
and Dean’s come is leaking down his brother’s thighs and it’s probably going to
get gross really soon but he can’t move, and Sam doesn’t seem like he really
wants to, either.
“We got come on the couch,” Sam says. Dean snorts out a laugh. He feels a
little hysterical, maybe.
“Yeah, well. You’re like, an hour late for your date. Might wanna give her a
call.”
Sam manages to roll onto his back underneath Dean, and they’re pressed together
from shoulders to ankles on the narrow little couch, skin sticking to each
other, and Sam winces when his chest presses against Dean’s. Dean leans back
and looks at Sam’s chest, really looks, and grimaces with sympathy. Doesn’t
stop him from reaching down and touching the edge of one purple-red nipple. Sam
sucks in a breath. His eyes are liquid bright where they stare up at Dean.
Dean expects him to crack a joke about being late, or something. Expects him to
get up off the couch and make an excuse to jump in the shower. But he just lies
there quietly, staring up at Dean as Dean smoothes his thumb feather-soft
across the abused skin on his chest.
“I don’t regret it,” he says, very slowly. He reaches up and catches Dean’s
hand, pulling it off of his chest and twining their fingers together. “I
don’t.”
Dean’s mouth is dry. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Sam hooks his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and draws him down, til
they’re pressed together again. Sam pushes his thigh through Dean’s legs,
slings one arm around Dean’s back, and pushes his face against the muscle of
Dean’s shoulder. He mumbles sleepily when Dean kisses the delicate shell of his
ear.
“Don’t go on that date,” he whispers into Sam’s ear, just barely loud enough
for Sam to hear, and he feels Sam smile against his skin.
“Just waiting for you to ask.”
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