Fic: Learning Experience (Dean/Sam)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Weecest, masturbation, voyuerism
Notes: First in the Everyday Life series
Summary - Sam has a problem with his 'stamina' and , always the good brother, Dean's going to help him out.
Sam was close, maddeningly, heart-stoppingly, grind-your-teeth-til-they-squeak close. It took everything he had to let go of his cock and lay his hand flat on his stomach under the covers and try to count the dots on the dark ceiling. It didn't usually take long for him to get there, and actual skin on skin, with no protective layers of fabric between him and his hand, was always even faster - which he figured was probably normal for fourteen year olds. At least that was what he was going to keep telling himself.
It wasn't really the hand action that was the problem though - it was really pretty convenient to be able to get it done fast in the bathroom without anyone trying to pound the door down because he was taking too long. The problem was that he didn't really need his hand at all. It was faster, sure, and more fun, but the truth was there were several things - Sam had a list in his head - that could bring him off with very little contact. Some didn't require any at all.
For the most part that had been ok up until then, but it seemed like his sudden growth spurt had come with a fountain of hormones that had him hard five or six times a day. And with his special gift or the touchless orgasm... well, Dean was already teasing him about all the laundry he was doing. And it was really uncomfortable to walk around with come in his shorts.
Having Dean around, of course, was part of the problem. At school he was usually ok, not popping boners randomly in Algebra or anything like some of the other guys his age; but when he got home, it was impossible.
It seemed like everything his brother did - and unless there was a hunt, Dean was almost always just there since he'd decided to drop out - seemed to be part of the complex formula of 'how to best make Sam cream himself'. The way his brother would sit on the couch and watch TV - one hand hanging lazily over the inside of his thigh, fingers tapping out whatever rhythm was beating through his head. Or the way he ate things, smacking his lips and licking his fingers and just looking like he having sex with his food. Or - God! - the way he'd get out of the shower and come into their room in nothing but a towel, drops of water still trickling down his muscular body and begging Sam's tongue to follow them, and then just freaking get dressed there like Sam couldn't possibly stain the sheets from watching all that naked skin. Which he shouldn't be able to. At all.
You weren't supposed to have those kinds of thoughts about your brother. NORMAL people didn't look at their crazy-hot big brothers and get jealous of all the girls he flirted with when he came to pick Sam up from school. Normal people didn’t fixate on their brother’s blow-job lips - although he figured that one wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t like he had chosen to grow eye level with Dean’s mouth and if God wanted him staring at his brother’s lips all the time, who was he to question.
Sam had tried to make himself feel something else, had even stolen some of Dean's porn mags to try and get his dick interested in somebody he wasn't freaking related to, but the whole time he just kept thinking about how Dean might have touched himself looking at the pictures and in the end, that was what had gotten Sam spilling all over his hand. There was something wrong with him and there was no getting around it, but at least he could make sure that he didn't ruin his jeans every time Dean touched him.
Which was the whole point of training just then; making himself go as long as he possibly could, and then stopping to cool down and start over again. He was hoping that maybe he would at least be able to run to the bathroom next time Dean spread his thick fingers across the back of Sam's neck. He'd taught himself not to look like he was having a seizure every time he lost it, so there wasn't any reason he couldn't do this too. It would just take practice.
Lots of practice.
He was pretty sure it was going to kill him.
Finally deciding he was ready to start up again, Sam reached down and took hold of his dick; hard, letting the rough drag of gun calluses distract him a little from the sweet pressure of his hand. And tried not to think about how Dean's older, tougher, more experienced hands would feel. He felt his balls draw up and knew that he couldn't stand to stop again - he'd been doing this for almost half an hour and if he didn't lose it now he was positive that he was really going to lose his mind. Sam held his breath, knowing that if he didn't he was going to be panting loud enough to wake the dead. Almost... almost...
"Lick your hand."
Sam's heart felt like it was going to explode, or maybe just stop altogether and it didn't have a thing to do with his suddenly halted orgasm. He could almost feel the come backing up in his body, his cock freaking screaming at him not to stop now. But that had definitely been Dean's voice, Dean's real voice - not the one he sometimes heard whispering filthy things in his head when he jacked off - which meant that his brother was awake and probably knew exactly what he was doing. Sam felt his cheeks go red in humiliation at the same time even more blood flooded his already throbbing dick.
"W-what?" he stammered, barely loud enough for Dean to have heard from his bed on the other side of the room.
"Lick your hand," Dean repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "It's hurting me just listening to you over there. That's delicate equipment, you know. Don't want to walk around raw, dude."
There was no way in hell they were having this conversation. No way was Dean lying over there, freaking telling Sam how to jerk off! The rush of righteous indignation almost completely drowned out the happy twitch his cock gave that Dean was actually thinking about it.
"I can handle it, thanks," he huffed, playing with the hairs at the base and hoping stupidly that maybe Dean would go back to sleep so he could finish.
"Yeah, I got that impression," Dean laughed, "You've been handling it for a while now, Sammy. Can't get there? 'Cause if you need a little visual stimulation I've got-"
"I'm fine," Sam shot back. It was one thing to take your brother's porn and a whole different thing to have him reach across the space between your beds and hand it to you.
Except Dean wasn't reaching across; he was getting up and walking the two steps it took to bring him to Sam's bed. And sitting down. And pulling the covers back so that he was looking at Sam's hand, limply holding his cock with his shorts down around his thighs. Oh God, Sam wanted to die when his dick twitched again and if he hadn't been so completely overwhelmed with panic he would have already blown his load just from Dean being that close and looking at him. Then Dean was taking Sam's hand off of himself and Sam was actually trembling now, and then - Jesusfuckingcocksuckingmotherfucker! - Dean licked his freaking hand! The hand that had just been around his dick. The hand that just had to have precome all over it which meant Dean was tasting it and -
God it felt good to finally come.
Of course, uncontrollably shooting all over himself - and his sleep shorts, and the sheets - because of his brother kind of defeated the whole point of the exercise, but right then Sam didn't care less. In fact, he had almost drifted off to a dazed sleep when Dean began to release his wrist and - ow! Like really, ow! - realized how hard his brother had been holding on to it.
"Guess you don't need this," Dean chuckled, and didn't sound disgusted or freaked out at all, the way he obviously should have. Sam couldn't help but be grateful.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to look at Dean, still just sitting there on the bed with him, smiling like this was all normal or, well, kind of like he was proud. Almost regretfully he started to pull his still-aching hand back - how hard had Dean been gripping him anyway? - and suddenly realized that he'd managed to splatter his brother's arm in creamy fluid. Which should really not have made the blood flow painfully back into his cock again.
He knew, just knew, that he was beet red with embarrassment from the hairline all the way to his chest and sat up fast, trying to scrub Dean's arm clean with his not-licked hand - which he was keeping carefully balled up like Dean's spit on his skin was precious... which it was - and mumbling incoherent apologies. He was also very carefully not looking at Dean. Or thinking about Dean's skin covered in his come. At all.
"Don't worry about it, Sammy," Dean brushed him off with a chuckle. Dean seemed to be finding all of this really funny. "Is it always like that for you?" He asked with a vague gesture at Sam's messy, and once again rock hard, dick.
"I'm working on it," Sam muttered back, running his fingers through his hair automatically before realizing that they were covered in come. "Shit!"
Dean was stifling a laugh behind his fist, which was probably the only thing keeping Sam from hitting him - well that and the fact that it would be even more embarrassing to get off again the second he touched Dean.
"Minute-man Sammy," he teased, freaking patting Sam on the shoulder.
"I said I'm working on it," Sam complained hotly, almost too loud with Dad sleeping just down the hall.
"Ok, ok," Dean held his hands up in surrender, still looking like a kid in a candy store, "Well, you know your big brother's always here to help if you need any advice."
"Yeah right," Sam retorted, trying to pull the covers back up even with Dean still sitting on them.
"Seriously, dude, I know stuff. A lot of stuff. If you want help, just ask."
Sam was doing his very level best to not imagine the kind of help he wanted Dean to give him right then, his dick slowly beginning to leak at the tip again. Dean's offer just hung in the sex-scented air between them for a few seconds before he felt his brother's weight shift and he slowly got up from Sam's bed.
The stupid part of Sam's brain that didn't care that Dean was his brother - the part that had a hotline straight to his cock - jumped into action without permission.
"How do you -" was all he got out before normal brain function kicked in and he realized that this was the worst idea ever.
Dean stopped midway between their beds, looking over his shoulder encouragingly at Sam.
"Last," Sam finished lamely, knowing that he had to say something and he might as well get some actual help out of this if he was going to have to endure the humiliation anyway.
Dean smiled, walking - a little awkwardly, like he didn't want to turn all the way toward Sam - back to Sam's bed and sat down near his feet.
***
Dean settled himself down next to Sam's feet, praying to God his brother hadn't seen the big wet spot on the front of his briefs. They were black, and it was dark, so Sammy probably hadn't noticed - he wasn't acting like he had anyway. Well, Dean didn't think he was, he didn't exactly know what normal 'desperate to get off' Sam behavior was like - even if he wanted to.
Fuck, he hated himself. Maybe, considering how fucked up everything else in their lives was, it wasn't completely wrong to be sitting there offering to teach his little brother the best ways to jerk off.
It was totally wrong to be hot for it though. Totally wrong to love seeing Sam's dick covered in his own come, seeing Sam's shocked, ecstatic face as he shot all over himself. Totally wrong to have come hard in his underwear from knowing that his little brother could go off without being touched and thinking of all of the ways Dean could make him. Totally wrong to still be savoring the taste of Sam's precome on his tongue.
And it was even more wrong to reach over and lay his hand on Sam's leg and rub his thumb back and forth over it just to watch the sensation ripple up Sammy's body. He'd always known how responsive Sammy was to touch - even as a baby, just stroking his cheek would calm him down - and Dean had maybe gotten a little more active in touching his brother than he really should have in the last few months.
He had understood his feelings for Sammy for a long time - how far past brotherly, and way into sick, they went - but ever since this growth spurt had turned Sam from a kid into a long, lean, hard-bodied teenager, Dean just couldn't seem to resist.
He'd been taking chances; walking around their room naked - neither of them had ever been modest, but there were still limits - just to feel Sam's eyes on him, letting his touches to the soft skin of Sammy's neck and arms linger just a second longer than they needed to, he'd even fucking patted his brother on the ass after their last round of sparring. It had gotten out of hand, and now Dean was just sitting there begging for trouble with this latest move; practically asking Sammy to figure out what a sick pervert his big brother was. But Dean couldn't stop now.
"Well," he answered Sam's question, trying to sound like he wasn't slowly burning up from the inside, "depends on your style I guess. Personally I like to mix it up a little, different moves to keep it interesting."
"Like what?" And he should have just known that Sam would go into student mode; all attentive and patient, fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to take notes.
"For starters," Dean couldn’t possibly be doing this, he must asleep and just imagining this, because he wasn't actually stupid enough to keep talking was he? "getting things a little slick is a good thing - like I said, lick your hand, or some get lube, lotion even."
Oh sweet mother of God, Sam licked his hand just like Dean had before, getting the palm good and wet. Why couldn't he follow directions like his when they were hunting? Dean had to clear his throat before he could continue.
"Then, uh, then you wanna start to stroke it slow," he said hesitantly.
Sammy just followed the bouncing ball; did exactly what Dean was telling him, and Dean really should have been old enough not to get that hard again quite that fast. He folded his arm across his lap to hide it. Thank God it was dark.
"Good," he breathed, then repeated it like he'd meant it as praise instead of a moan of pleasure, "Good. Now, every couple of strokes, just sort of turn your wrist a little," Sam did, eyelids fluttering at the sensation. "Just like that, yeah. Now on the upstroke, slide your thumb across the head and get the precome, but keep it slow."
Sam's big thumb swept through the slick mess on his cockhead, and that whole long body twitched like Dean had run a live wire over his skin. He couldn't take it; he began to shift his forearm a little, in what he hoped was a covert way, to relieve some of the pressure building up in his steel rod of a dick.
"Yeah, that's it," Dean drew in a gulp of air, trying not to sound quite so breathless as he watched, commanded, his little brother playing with himself. "Now reach down with those fingers and spread the slick across your balls."
Long fingers - when had Sammy's hands gotten so big? - flared across the tight, almost hairless skin of his sac, rubbing in the fluid he'd collected and giving a gentle squeeze. The sound he let out could have been a moan or a whimper and Dean was going to bite his lip in two if he kept it up.
"Good, baby, so good," He had to stop before he gave himself away completely, but then Sammy didn't seem to be noticing much of anything besides Dean's orders for a refreshing change. "Now just, start stroking again, just like before, and reach up with your other hand until you find your nipple. Twirl your fingers around it a little bit to get it hard, yeah, and then give it a little tug."
There wasn't even any sound when Sammy opened his mouth that time, head tossing from side to side like he wanted to escape, but Dean knew he didn't. Dean's own hand had given up on the pretense on not getting off on this and moved to slide inside his briefs and slowly stroke his cock in perfect rhythm with Sam. Fuckfuckfuck, where had this gone off the rails?
"Now get your fingers into your mouth," Sam hesitated for a second, maybe confused about which hand, then pulled the hand away from pinching at his nipple - Dean didn't remember saying to do that, was he running off at the mouth too? - and stuck three fingers between his lips. Dean could just catch glimpses of his flickering pink tongue as Sammy licked and sucked and just fucking went down on them without even needing to be told. Dean was going to be beating off to this for months.
"Ok, take those fingers and slide them down below your balls," he demanded, as much because he wanted to see it than because Sammy really needed the help to come. In fact... "Stop stroking."
Sam whined pathetically, but did as he was told. Shit! Dean had to stop too or else he was going to lose it before Sammy.
"Make a circle out of your thumb and finger and push it tight around the base of your cock."
Bony hips bucked as Sammy followed the instruction. Every muscles was tense, letting Dean see the outline of all of the hard won definition Sam had accumulated over years of training.
"So pretty, baby," Dean breathed, too far into this now to even care that he was giving away all of his secrets. "Now curve one of those slick fingers and use the knuckle to press against the muscle right behind the sac."
"Dean," Sam gasped at the flood of sensation the move produced. He did again without prompting, hips bucking in earnest now even though the make-shift cockring was keeping him from finding release. Dean really needed to let Sammy lose it - and himself too, his dick achingly reminded him - but he was dying to see a little more; just to know if Sammy would do it, would get off on it like Dean hoped he would.
"Ok, real slow and easy, slide your fingers down and feel your hole." The blood was thundering in Dean's ears so hard he wasn't sure he would have heard if Sammy told him to stop. But Sam didn't look like he wanted to stop. He looked like the most wickedly depraved thing Dean had ever seen - long and slim, muscles glistening with sweat and left over come from the first go around. The youngest Winchester was alternately biting and licking his lips which were now puffy and dark in the half-light and Dean had to exert all of his control not to lean up and just suck one into his mouth and lav it until Sammy was pumping their stomachs slick.
Sam was making choked little sounds in the back of his throat, twitching like a junkie as his fingertips dragged over the puckered opening. Dean couldn't not start working his cock again. So pretty, so perfect, oh God please don't let him be saying that out loud!
"Yes, God, yeah, now just slide your fingertip inside," Dean was panting and it didn't matter because there was no way Sammy could hear him above the high pitched keening coming out of his own mouth. Jesus, fuck, Dean hoped Dad had had enough to drink to sleep through that.
"Shh! Ok, good, yes, fuck, so good," his hips were pistoning into his hand now and he wasn't going to need much more but he couldn't seem to remember the words for what he wanted to tell Sammy to do. Fucking useless brain, never around when he needed it.
But apparently Sammy was working on the same wavelength - which was beautiful in a whole new and fantastic kind of way - because he was sliding that one finger in all the way to the knuckle and moaning for it as he began to fuck himself.
"Dean," Sam gasped again, "I need, God, I need to..."
"Fuck, yeah! Sammy, do it, stroke yourself off for me," Dean whined, eyes shifting constantly from Sam's grimace of pleasure, to the hand stroking his dark, weeping - fucking beautiful - cock, to that finger fucking in and out of his hole.
Dean shoved the side of his fist into his mouth to keep from shouting as he shot all over his hand, straining to keep his eyes open and watch as Sammy went right over the edge too, whimpering Dean's name. PerfectbeautifulwrongrightSammy!
Dean was slumped back, leaning on the footboard for support while his body tried to remember how to breathe. Warm waves of pleasure were still skittering under his skin, and he wasn't sure if it was his shaking that was making the bed vibrate or Sammy's.
"You ok, kid?" he managed after a minute, trying and failing completely to not sound fucked out.
"Yeah," Sam whispered, eyes opening to slits, "Yeah."
Silence hung in the air again, broken only by the slowing gasps for air.
"Well, you definitely lasted that time," Dean joked, hoping maybe they could pretend like he hadn't just had the most epic orgasm of his life watching his brother jack off.
"Yeah," Sam just whispered again, and then finally, "Dean..."
"Not now, Sammy," He begged, not even ashamed of how much he needed to not talk about this while they were both still sated and sticky with come, "Just not now."
"Ok," Sammy agreed quietly, "But, um..."
Dean braced himself, if Sam was really going to insist that they talk about this, he could get through it - for his brother.
"Yeah?"
"Well, um, can I... Can I sleep with you? My bed's kinda wrecked."
Dean's eyes shot open in surprise, slowly taking in the mess of sweat- and come-soaked sheets around them. He just couldn't hold back the laugh.
"Sure thing, Sammy," he hoisted himself off of the bed and practically fell back onto his own, sliding the wet underwear off and scooting over to leave room for his brother. It wasn't like they hadn't shared a bed plenty of times after all. Nothing creepy about it in the least. And he was already missing the closeness of Sam's heat. "But you better clean up first. No way you're getting in my bed like that."
Sammy used the edge of the filthy sheet to clean the white fluid off of his chest and arms - man, the kid came a lot - and pulled on a new pair of sleep shorts before sliding in next to Dean; Sam's back to his chest.
"Jerk," he muttered, snuggling in a little closer.
"Bitch," Dean laughed, wrapping his arm over Sam's waist before they both settled down.
It was the best either had slept in a long time.
Sequel: Bridges Burned