Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean): Everybody Does It | NC-17 | 2030 words
Title: Everybody Does It
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Underage content (Sam's 16 in the shower and he's all of 11 when he's perving on a 15 year old Dean. Fair warning). UST. Pre-series.
Summary: It’s like an unspoken rule in a house full of men. Everybody does it but nobody really talks about it. You keep it to yourself and everyone will just let you be. Because everybody does it. Sometimes Dean's a jerk and pounds on the door to interrupt me. I wonder what he'd say if he knew that even without pounding on the bathroom door, he's been interrupting my fantasies for years.
Word Count: 2030
A/N: Companion fic: Everybody Should Do It
I bite my lip and try to keep silent. It’s fucking hard when my dick’s screaming for attention and every little touch I give it feels like fireworks exploding through my nerves. The water of the shower is hot on my head and back, soaking my hair and making it drip into my eyes. They probably can’t hear me over the sound of the stream pulsing through the aging pipes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be silent anyway.
Old habits die hard.
It’s like an unspoken rule in a house full of men. Everybody does it but nobody really talks about it. You keep it to yourself and everyone will just let you be. Because everybody does it.
Sometimes Dean’ll be a right dick and pound on the door right in the middle of it. He knows exactly what I’m doing because the shower’s been going for so long. It’s why I don’t do it in the shower so much, anymore. He expects me to jerk off in the shower. He doesn’t expect me to jerk off in the school bathroom or on the bed next to him.
I wonder what he'd say if he knew that even without pounding on the bathroom door, he's been interrupting my fantasies for years.
I was eleven the first time I'd ever touched myself and felt that scary rush of an orgasm. It felt so amazing and terrifying at the same time, I'd almost gone to Dean to cry. But then I'd remembered how Dean'd looked when I'd watched him in the shower the previous day. At the time we'd been living in a house with a broken vent in the bathroom. Dean’d always thought I just took a long time to do my math homework those few weeks that we were there.
I watched him five times, total, in that house. Two, he didn’t do anything-just soaped up and rinsed down. Looking back, though, that still wasn’t a bad sight to see-Dean with his hands running quickly over his body, over his chest, his stomach, with a quick flip at his dick and balls. Even just that is enough to send a shiver through me. The other three times, though. Now those were something really special.
The first time I'd heard him beating off, I’d thought he was in pain. His hand had slid between his legs and he’d groaned like it hurt, his head turning to the side. I’d stared at his dick, seeing it hard and red and flushed and felt my own twinge in sympathy. It looked painful. His eyes had fluttered open as he started to stroke himself, though, and I started to understand it wasn’t exactly pain he was in--it couldn't be because he’d wanted more. He’d leaned back against the wall, hips thrusting into his fast moving hand, and bitten his lip to cut off a moan. My own breath had been coming in small pants and I didn’t know why. All I knew was that my dick was starting to hurt too.
Dean’s eyes’d flashed open, his hips jerking hard as a white film’d suddenly coated his hands. He’d given himself a few more strokes before shuddering. Then, lazily, he’d washed himself off and turned off the water. I’d watched him grab a towel and start to dry his hair before I’d carefully backed out to get back to the kitchen before he realized I was gone.
I was too young to know what a fucking gift that damn vent was. It’s okay, though, ‘cause I wouldn’t be able to fit now-not since three growth spurts ago.
I’d touched myself the next time I took a shower, deliberately for the first time ever. It’d startled a gasp out of me, my dick starting to ache, and then Dean’d pounded at the door wanting to know if I wanted spaghetti-o’s or mac and cheese. I’d gone beat red and immediately leapt out of the tub to dry myself off.
I had watched him two more times after that. The next time I'd gotten to see Dean jerk off, it was about the same as the first-watching his beautiful freckled face contort in a silent ‘o’ as he came and I'd had a little bit more of an inkling about what I was supposed to be doing in the shower and it wasn’t washing behind my ears.
The third time, though, he'd started to get a little experimental and that’s what really makes me miss that house. ‘Cause it was the last time I got to watch Dean so openly and even though it was five years ago, it’s still fresh in my head. Better be, actually--I still beat off to it weekly. The third time, Dean’d decided to go slow. Previously, he’d gotten himself off within a matter of seconds though they’d felt like hours at the time.
That time, though, I was supposed to have been asleep and Dad wasn’t due back until late the following week. I guess Dean'd figured he didn’t have to be ready to jump right out.
He’d worked himself over real slow, fingers drifting over the shaft before slipping down to feather over his balls. He’d come back real quick, like he’d been startled, giving himself a few hard strokes before gripping the base and pausing. Then he’d cocked a leg and moved his hand back down.
From where I was, I couldn’t see what his hand was doing and I’d cursed the angle as I’d strained to try and see around his leg. Dean’d jerked like he’d just been electrocuted and his entire hand had flown up to his mouth. He’d sucked a finger in, swirling it around before bringing it out with a wet pop. Then it’d gone right back between his legs.
He’d whimpered, his eyes opening wide, and he’d leaned forward against the wall, letting the shower beat down on his back as he buried his face against a braced arm. He’d wiggled his hips, whining as he’d pumped his hand between his legs. I’d bitten my lip, not quite understanding what I was seeing but definitely knowing that I’d wanted to be in that shower with Dean.
I know what those whimpers meant now. I know exactly what his fingers were doing. It’s exactly what I wish my cock was doing. I tighten my thumb and index finger into a tight ring around my cock and start to thrust, pretending that it’s Dean I’m shoving into. That I have him bent over, face buried against his arm and one leg cocked as I draw those helpless, needy little sounds out of him.
I close my eyes and I can just see his freckled back in front of me. Fuck, Dean’s freckles. My cock jumps in my hand because, yeah, I like the freckles.
I caught him stepping out of the shower just last week. He hadn’t thought I’d be home and apparently work’d been slow at the garage so they’d sent him home early. He’d come out of the bathroom naked, thinking no one else was home. My backpack’d thudded onto the ground and my face’d gotten warm.
Dean’d jumped-startled by my appearance-before he’d shaken himself, waved hi, and walked towards the bedroom for a pair of jeans.
I’d damn near killed myself to get to the hall in time to watch his ass disappear into the other room. It’d been so damn perfect, watching the play of muscles before the door had cut me off.
I groan, speeding up, my hips thrusting of their own accord as I fantasize about fucking into a certain someone’s hot, willing body. Would he make those sugar sweet sounds he did back when he was 15 and experimenting? Or would he sound more like confident, cocky man that I’d walked in on last year? Either one would be fine with me, just as long as it’s Dean, though I think I’d prefer the soft whimpers he’d been choking back as he’d fingered himself. I wonder if he still does that-fucks himself in the shower-and if he still sounds like that when he does it. I wonder if he sounds like that every time he gets fucked.
Last year, I’d accidentally walked in on Dean. He’s usually so careful about keeping his “dates” during times when I’m not going to be home but he had no way of knowing that I’d decided to skip the pep rally and come home at noon. I’d heard moans and a quick giggle and, pulse racing, I’d known immediately what was going on. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to look but I’d known it for the lie it was, because I’d already been heading back to the bedroom and Dean and I shared.
The door had been left open and Dean’d been facing away from me as he leaned over a blonde-haired girl that was laying flat on her back. His hips’d been thrusting in and out of her and he’d been crooning about how good she felt, how tight, how soft, how wet. All I’d been able to focus on was the strain of his back, the sweat rolling down his spine and the sweet sight of his ass flexing. God, I’d just wanted to walk into the room and join them, plunge myself into his tight heat and listen to him make the broken whimpers I’d been jerking off to in my dreams.
Instead, I’d gripped my throbbing cock hard and slowly backed away like the coward I am.
So now here I am, jerking off in the shower to the thought of fucking my own brother. In another life, that might be disturbing but at the moment? It’s just another level of general Winchester fuckery. Our lives are so fucked up, I consider me wanting to fuck my brother one of the most normal things in my life and just how messed up is that?
I dream about getting away from all this, about having a normal life like what you see on TV. If I can’t have that, though, then I want Dean-the closet link I have to a normal life. It’s fucked up-God is it fucked up-but I want to fuck him until he screams. I want to make him mine, make him announce it to the world and Dad.
God, at twenty, he’s still as gorgeous as ever, all swagger and confident, flirty eyes. He’s grown into his body, filled out and fuck but do I want him under me. I want him writhing and begging for my cock with those sweet little whimpers.
I bite my lip as I come hard, jizz pulsing out of my cock in hard pulls and in my head, Dean comes too, squirming on my cock.
There’s a pound at the door and I jump, cursing as I hear Dean laugh outside. “Come on, Sammy, finish it off, already!” Such a jerk. I wish he was in here with me. I shudder and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I lean back against the shower wall, giving my cock a few more lazy tugs, milking it until it hangs limp between my legs.
Idly, I wonder what Dean thinks about when he jerks off in the shower. It’s probably not about me fucking him. Though the looks he gives Dad, I sometimes think-I cut myself off right there because I have enough issues with my father already without adding some unfounded jealousy on top of it. More unfounded jealousy, at any rate. I already hate the instant obedience and blind hero-worship Dean gives him.
I sigh and turn off the finally turn off the water. At sixteen, though, my cock is already perking up again, never completely satisfied. I give it a soothing stroke because it’s just going to have to wait until tonight. Tonight when I jerk off to the sound of Dean breathing as he sleeps in the bed right next to mine.
If I’m caught, it won’t matter. Dean’ll either tease me a bit before letting it go or he’ll just pretend he doesn’t hear and fall back asleep. Because everybody does it.
They just don’t all do it while thinking about fucking their brother.
On to Everybody Should Do It.
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Underage content (Sam's 16 in the shower and he's all of 11 when he's perving on a 15 year old Dean. Fair warning). UST. Pre-series.
Summary: It’s like an unspoken rule in a house full of men. Everybody does it but nobody really talks about it. You keep it to yourself and everyone will just let you be. Because everybody does it. Sometimes Dean's a jerk and pounds on the door to interrupt me. I wonder what he'd say if he knew that even without pounding on the bathroom door, he's been interrupting my fantasies for years.
Word Count: 2030
A/N: Companion fic: Everybody Should Do It
I bite my lip and try to keep silent. It’s fucking hard when my dick’s screaming for attention and every little touch I give it feels like fireworks exploding through my nerves. The water of the shower is hot on my head and back, soaking my hair and making it drip into my eyes. They probably can’t hear me over the sound of the stream pulsing through the aging pipes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be silent anyway.
Old habits die hard.
It’s like an unspoken rule in a house full of men. Everybody does it but nobody really talks about it. You keep it to yourself and everyone will just let you be. Because everybody does it.
Sometimes Dean’ll be a right dick and pound on the door right in the middle of it. He knows exactly what I’m doing because the shower’s been going for so long. It’s why I don’t do it in the shower so much, anymore. He expects me to jerk off in the shower. He doesn’t expect me to jerk off in the school bathroom or on the bed next to him.
I wonder what he'd say if he knew that even without pounding on the bathroom door, he's been interrupting my fantasies for years.
I was eleven the first time I'd ever touched myself and felt that scary rush of an orgasm. It felt so amazing and terrifying at the same time, I'd almost gone to Dean to cry. But then I'd remembered how Dean'd looked when I'd watched him in the shower the previous day. At the time we'd been living in a house with a broken vent in the bathroom. Dean’d always thought I just took a long time to do my math homework those few weeks that we were there.
I watched him five times, total, in that house. Two, he didn’t do anything-just soaped up and rinsed down. Looking back, though, that still wasn’t a bad sight to see-Dean with his hands running quickly over his body, over his chest, his stomach, with a quick flip at his dick and balls. Even just that is enough to send a shiver through me. The other three times, though. Now those were something really special.
The first time I'd heard him beating off, I’d thought he was in pain. His hand had slid between his legs and he’d groaned like it hurt, his head turning to the side. I’d stared at his dick, seeing it hard and red and flushed and felt my own twinge in sympathy. It looked painful. His eyes had fluttered open as he started to stroke himself, though, and I started to understand it wasn’t exactly pain he was in--it couldn't be because he’d wanted more. He’d leaned back against the wall, hips thrusting into his fast moving hand, and bitten his lip to cut off a moan. My own breath had been coming in small pants and I didn’t know why. All I knew was that my dick was starting to hurt too.
Dean’s eyes’d flashed open, his hips jerking hard as a white film’d suddenly coated his hands. He’d given himself a few more strokes before shuddering. Then, lazily, he’d washed himself off and turned off the water. I’d watched him grab a towel and start to dry his hair before I’d carefully backed out to get back to the kitchen before he realized I was gone.
I was too young to know what a fucking gift that damn vent was. It’s okay, though, ‘cause I wouldn’t be able to fit now-not since three growth spurts ago.
I’d touched myself the next time I took a shower, deliberately for the first time ever. It’d startled a gasp out of me, my dick starting to ache, and then Dean’d pounded at the door wanting to know if I wanted spaghetti-o’s or mac and cheese. I’d gone beat red and immediately leapt out of the tub to dry myself off.
I had watched him two more times after that. The next time I'd gotten to see Dean jerk off, it was about the same as the first-watching his beautiful freckled face contort in a silent ‘o’ as he came and I'd had a little bit more of an inkling about what I was supposed to be doing in the shower and it wasn’t washing behind my ears.
The third time, though, he'd started to get a little experimental and that’s what really makes me miss that house. ‘Cause it was the last time I got to watch Dean so openly and even though it was five years ago, it’s still fresh in my head. Better be, actually--I still beat off to it weekly. The third time, Dean’d decided to go slow. Previously, he’d gotten himself off within a matter of seconds though they’d felt like hours at the time.
That time, though, I was supposed to have been asleep and Dad wasn’t due back until late the following week. I guess Dean'd figured he didn’t have to be ready to jump right out.
He’d worked himself over real slow, fingers drifting over the shaft before slipping down to feather over his balls. He’d come back real quick, like he’d been startled, giving himself a few hard strokes before gripping the base and pausing. Then he’d cocked a leg and moved his hand back down.
From where I was, I couldn’t see what his hand was doing and I’d cursed the angle as I’d strained to try and see around his leg. Dean’d jerked like he’d just been electrocuted and his entire hand had flown up to his mouth. He’d sucked a finger in, swirling it around before bringing it out with a wet pop. Then it’d gone right back between his legs.
He’d whimpered, his eyes opening wide, and he’d leaned forward against the wall, letting the shower beat down on his back as he buried his face against a braced arm. He’d wiggled his hips, whining as he’d pumped his hand between his legs. I’d bitten my lip, not quite understanding what I was seeing but definitely knowing that I’d wanted to be in that shower with Dean.
I know what those whimpers meant now. I know exactly what his fingers were doing. It’s exactly what I wish my cock was doing. I tighten my thumb and index finger into a tight ring around my cock and start to thrust, pretending that it’s Dean I’m shoving into. That I have him bent over, face buried against his arm and one leg cocked as I draw those helpless, needy little sounds out of him.
I close my eyes and I can just see his freckled back in front of me. Fuck, Dean’s freckles. My cock jumps in my hand because, yeah, I like the freckles.
I caught him stepping out of the shower just last week. He hadn’t thought I’d be home and apparently work’d been slow at the garage so they’d sent him home early. He’d come out of the bathroom naked, thinking no one else was home. My backpack’d thudded onto the ground and my face’d gotten warm.
Dean’d jumped-startled by my appearance-before he’d shaken himself, waved hi, and walked towards the bedroom for a pair of jeans.
I’d damn near killed myself to get to the hall in time to watch his ass disappear into the other room. It’d been so damn perfect, watching the play of muscles before the door had cut me off.
I groan, speeding up, my hips thrusting of their own accord as I fantasize about fucking into a certain someone’s hot, willing body. Would he make those sugar sweet sounds he did back when he was 15 and experimenting? Or would he sound more like confident, cocky man that I’d walked in on last year? Either one would be fine with me, just as long as it’s Dean, though I think I’d prefer the soft whimpers he’d been choking back as he’d fingered himself. I wonder if he still does that-fucks himself in the shower-and if he still sounds like that when he does it. I wonder if he sounds like that every time he gets fucked.
Last year, I’d accidentally walked in on Dean. He’s usually so careful about keeping his “dates” during times when I’m not going to be home but he had no way of knowing that I’d decided to skip the pep rally and come home at noon. I’d heard moans and a quick giggle and, pulse racing, I’d known immediately what was going on. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to look but I’d known it for the lie it was, because I’d already been heading back to the bedroom and Dean and I shared.
The door had been left open and Dean’d been facing away from me as he leaned over a blonde-haired girl that was laying flat on her back. His hips’d been thrusting in and out of her and he’d been crooning about how good she felt, how tight, how soft, how wet. All I’d been able to focus on was the strain of his back, the sweat rolling down his spine and the sweet sight of his ass flexing. God, I’d just wanted to walk into the room and join them, plunge myself into his tight heat and listen to him make the broken whimpers I’d been jerking off to in my dreams.
Instead, I’d gripped my throbbing cock hard and slowly backed away like the coward I am.
So now here I am, jerking off in the shower to the thought of fucking my own brother. In another life, that might be disturbing but at the moment? It’s just another level of general Winchester fuckery. Our lives are so fucked up, I consider me wanting to fuck my brother one of the most normal things in my life and just how messed up is that?
I dream about getting away from all this, about having a normal life like what you see on TV. If I can’t have that, though, then I want Dean-the closet link I have to a normal life. It’s fucked up-God is it fucked up-but I want to fuck him until he screams. I want to make him mine, make him announce it to the world and Dad.
God, at twenty, he’s still as gorgeous as ever, all swagger and confident, flirty eyes. He’s grown into his body, filled out and fuck but do I want him under me. I want him writhing and begging for my cock with those sweet little whimpers.
I bite my lip as I come hard, jizz pulsing out of my cock in hard pulls and in my head, Dean comes too, squirming on my cock.
There’s a pound at the door and I jump, cursing as I hear Dean laugh outside. “Come on, Sammy, finish it off, already!” Such a jerk. I wish he was in here with me. I shudder and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I lean back against the shower wall, giving my cock a few more lazy tugs, milking it until it hangs limp between my legs.
Idly, I wonder what Dean thinks about when he jerks off in the shower. It’s probably not about me fucking him. Though the looks he gives Dad, I sometimes think-I cut myself off right there because I have enough issues with my father already without adding some unfounded jealousy on top of it. More unfounded jealousy, at any rate. I already hate the instant obedience and blind hero-worship Dean gives him.
I sigh and turn off the finally turn off the water. At sixteen, though, my cock is already perking up again, never completely satisfied. I give it a soothing stroke because it’s just going to have to wait until tonight. Tonight when I jerk off to the sound of Dean breathing as he sleeps in the bed right next to mine.
If I’m caught, it won’t matter. Dean’ll either tease me a bit before letting it go or he’ll just pretend he doesn’t hear and fall back asleep. Because everybody does it.
They just don’t all do it while thinking about fucking their brother.
On to Everybody Should Do It.