FIC - Sweet Little Sugar Talker
Title: Sweet Little Sugar Talker
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
W/C: 3,150
Warnings: weecest (Sam is 14), graphic descriptions of sex and masturbation, references to underage consumption of alcohol.
A/N: This is a very special episode of weecest, written just for my cyber-spouse saltandbyrne in celebration of her Joyous Nativity. Happy birthday to my friend, my cheerleader, my partner in crime.
Now with bonus podfic: http://chef-geekier.livejournal.com/53549.html YAY!!
Another night without their dad, another night getting little Sammy a little tipsy with a few sips of beer, another night of them both having exactly what they wanted.
It’s not like Dean had to get Sam drunk, like he had to incapacitate him, like he had to take advantage. If he was being perfectly honest with himself (which he usually wasn’t, because Dean’s instinct to lie to himself was like the instinct of migratory birds to flock south in the winter), he only did it because it made Sam a little less inhibited.
Don’t get the wrong idea here. Sammy wasn’t exactly shy about what he wanted when he was with Dean, but the tiniest bit of alcohol made him even more of a needy cock-slut than he was when he was sober.
Which, by the way, was already a pretty fucking needy cock-slut, especially for a fourteen year old boy who’d never been fucked except by his brother.
On this particular night, Dean had decided he was going to draw things out as much as he possibly could. Too often it was over really quickly, both of them so damn turned on, lit up from the inside out like live wires from each other’s touch, and it never lasted long enough. That wasn’t so much of a problem since Sam’s refractory period seemed to be approximately eight minutes and Dean’s wasn’t much longer than that, so they could go several times within the space of a few hours. Oh, the joys of being a teenager…
Not tonight, though. Tonight, Dean was going to break Sam into pieces. He was absolutely determined to hold back his own desires until he turned his baby brother into a million shards of begging, writhing flesh.
He’d fantasized about it more than once. There had been days when he was alone, waiting for Sammy to get home from school, and he took his time playing out the fantasy in his head. Usually, if he was going to jerk off, he had about two extra minutes in the shower to get it done before someone started hollering about him hogging all the hot water. But he had the luxury, on occasion, to get himself completely naked and pinch his own nipples until he was hard enough to cut glass. Only then would he let his hands wander, lightly stroking his thighs and belly, not touching his cock until he absolutely could not resist for one more second. Even when he did, he went slow, stroking himself gently, without much friction, getting himself even more worked up, pre-come leaking from his slit steadily. He’d use his left hand for jerking his dick, and ease his right down to cup his balls, rolling them gently and unable to hold back the moans that worked their way up from his throat and right out of his mouth. Then he’d let go of his nuts so he could grab the little bottle of lube they kept hidden away, and slide one finger inside his hole, gritting his teeth as he waited for his muscles to relax enough to take another finger inside. He’d done it to Sammy enough times to know how to move his fingers just so, nudging his prostate and feeling the almost electric jolt that accompanied the movement. He went as slowly as he could, building up the sensations until he could feel his balls drawing up so damn tight against his body, still trying to hold it off until he came so hard that it made him dizzy and weak, covered in his own cum from his chest to his hand.
Dean cherished the memories of those jerk-off sessions, because they reminded him that that was pretty much exactly what he was making Sammy feel like when he did it to him.
Just so you know, Idaho is the only state in the contiguous U S of A where the legal age of consent is fourteen. Not that it really mattered, because fucking your brother is illegal pretty much everywhere, even in Idaho. They weren’t in Idaho tonight, anyway. They were in Nebraska, where the legal age of consent was seventeen, even if the person you were making out with on a ratty sofa in the living room of a shitty month-to-month rental house was a close blood relative. So along with social taboos, there were actual real-live laws being broken on the aforementioned ratty sofa. Dean didn’t give a shit about that, even though he was eighteen and a half (eighteen and seven months), and so fucking what if he had done enough research that he was in possession of this information, he was doing it anyway. He didn’t figure Sam had given it a second thought. It’s not like Sam was going to be the one in trouble if the local cops had been working on an elaborate incest-busting sting operation targeted at the two of them and kicked in the door in the middle of their Saturday evening ‘let’s pretend we’re going to sit down and watch a movie even though we both know we’re going to end up fucking’ plans.
So there they were in the living room, an action flick muted on the television, a bowl of popcorn sitting untouched on the coffee table, a half empty beer on the floor and two boys kissing like their life depended on it. Dean fisted his hands into Sam’s hair; he never made any cracks about his brother’s long hair while they were doing this, and he didn’t mean them when he threw them out at other times anyway. He loved Sammy’s hair, the way he could thread his fingers through it while Sammy returned his kisses like a fucking pro. And yeah, Sam hadn’t ever been fucked except by Dean, and he’d never been kissed except by Dean, but the kid had some kind of innate natural talent for making out. Slow swipes of his tongue, flavored with beer and Skittles, across Dean’s, alternated with frenzied clashing of teeth and spit all over the place, barely ever needing to stop even for breath. Sam kissed with everything he had, and Dean wanted to take credit for teaching him, but he knew his brother was just gifted in this particular skill. It made Dean lightheaded, sometimes it even made him feel…other things, not sexual things, not things he wanted to think about or talk about.
Because he loved Sammy, he did, absolutely and in a way that most big brothers couldn’t even comprehend, even without the sexual component that had cropped up over the past year or so. But when his brain and his heart started some kind of sneaky collaboration, sending flashes of running away with Sam, staying with him forever, never letting anyone else touch him, the two of them getting old together in a house with a porch that had a wooden swing hanging from chains and drinking lemonade and complaining about their arthritis…Jesus fuck, enough, enough of that, it was stupid, ridiculous. And more than anything else, selfish. Shut it down, he told himself, over and over. Shut it right the fuck down.
Dean pulled back and Sam whined, fucking whined, but he was just trying to get enough space to pull off Sam’s t-shirt and get rid of his own, too. Both shirts hit the floor, knocking over the now lukewarm and forgotten half-bottle of Budweiser that had been sitting there, which neither of them noticed at the time. By the time gravity had worked its magic on their t-shirts and the bottle of beer, they were pressed back together again, and now Dean had better access. He went straight for Sammy’s nipples, because why would he not, the kid got so fucking worked up when Dean’s fingers closed around them, rolling the hard little nubs until Sam’s breath started getting shallow and sounding almost punched-out.
“Dean…”
And yeah, this was the part that was gonna make it tough to keep his plan in place. As long as Sam stayed quiet, or was just groaning and panting, Dean’s resolve kept itself pretty much in check. But when Sam started talking…Christ, it was just fucking irresistible, like he had the highest-quality live-action porn right there underneath him. Which, well, now that he thought about it, he kind of did.
“Shhhh. Hush, Sammy. I’m gonna make you feel so good, just take it, be a good boy for me and stay quiet”, he whispered next to Sam’s ear, hoping it would be enough to quell the talk for now. He moved his mouth a little lower, licking and nipping at his brother’s neck, and getting only soft ah ohhhh ah ah fuck sounds in return, Dean figured it had worked.
He took his time there, kissing Sam’s neck and jaw and collarbone, lightly running his hands up and down Sam’s arms, not much pressure, going slow. If he started getting too rough or moving too fast, this was going to be over way sooner than he had planned.
There weren’t many nights like this that had plans. They just let each other go, almost always, since that first time in Michigan, the one Dean had allowed himself to feel guilty about for at least ten hours afterward. When they were together like this, things happened naturally, both of them did whatever they wanted, and it was good. Not good, really, more like fucking perfect, wonderful, more than either of them ever dreamed was possible.
Whatever, it didn’t matter, because tonight there was a fucking plan and Dean wasn’t about to give up on it half an hour in. Their dad was probably not going to be back for a week, but just in case, he left all his hickeys and bite marks under Sam’s collarbone. Sam could probably have played it off as having hooked up with a girl, but John would be suspicious. School was starting soon, they’d be leaving here and settling someplace else for at least a couple of months, and no one was fool enough to believe Sammy was getting his neck bitten by some girl he knew he’d never see again.
(John was already suspicious, more than that really, but he didn’t say shit about it because he didn’t say shit about anything he didn’t want to deal with)
Eventually, though, Sam couldn’t keep still any longer. His roaming hands made their way from Dean’s shoulder blades down his back, not hesitating even a second before they dipped into the waistband of Dean’s boxers. Fuck, this kid was bold, never held back, just took…did Dean teach him that too? Or was it innate, like the kissing thing?
No matter, now, because when hands started going down pants, there was really no slowing down, not for either of them. Sam grabbed onto Dean’s ass like it was the only thing keeping him from falling off the sofa, and maybe it was.
Maybe they should move to the bed.
No, fuck that. Nevermind.
Dean relented and let Sam slide his boxers off, as he reached down and pulled Sam’s off, too. They were both ridiculously hard, it’s not like Dean didn’t already know that, hadn’t felt it between them since they had muted the television volume. But skin to skin like this, Jesus, it was different, it was more, it was the best thing ever in the history of the world.
And it was the thing that broke Sam’s silence. Goddamnit.
“Come on, Dean, please, please…touch me, put your hand on my dick, you know you want to, I need it, Dean…”
“Sammy, I told you to be quiet”, Dean responded, but he could feel his resolve slipping away almost instantly.
“I know, but I can’t help it, you’re teasing, and you’re doing it on purpose and it’s mean, it’s not fair, you have to” and fuck if Sam’s breath didn’t get heavier, like he was gasping for air, “you have to give it to me.”
“What, Sam?” Dean asked, caught up in the moment and forgetting every thought he’d had about making this last for hours. “What do I have to give you?”
Sam whined, pushed his face into Dean’s neck, licking and biting between words. “Your hands. Your fingers. Gotta put your fingers inside me, in my ass, put your hand on my cock…I can’t take any more, I need, Dean, please I fucking need….”
Like this was news. Like Dean didn’t know what Sam needed. Like Dean wasn’t one hundred percent aware of what his baby brother wanted from him. Because they were naked on the couch and rutting against each other, and that just made it worse because Sam needed it all the time, he needed it when they were in the car and Dean caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. He needed it when they were sitting across the breakfast table, their dad right there and Sam’s eyes were blown dark even when they weren’t even close to touching. He needed it always, because little Sammy was a dirty fucking cock-slut every minute of every day.
“All right, all right, pushy little whore.” Sam clearly took no offense to being called pushy, or whore.
Thankfully, Dean had remembered to stash the lube under the couch cushions earlier. In his haste to get at it, the coffee table got bumped and the untouched bowl of popcorn was upturned and scattered all over the floor. He slicked up his hand and slid down a little so he could tease Sam’s hole for as long as he could get away with it.
“Still teasing, Dean, why are you teasing, you know you want to get your fingers inside me, get me all ready for your cock. Just do it, come on, I told you, I need, I fucking need it, you always give me what I need…” Christ on a goddamn bike, Dean knew with absolute certainty that Sam hadn’t learned to talk like that from him. That sweet little voice spilling out filthy sex talk and Dean was undone, brain barely functioning anymore, everything inside him falling to the floor like a length of ribbon let loose from the spool.
Sam’s words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath when Dean shoved his middle finger into Sammy’s tight little asshole. “Like that, baby?”
“Y-yeah, ohhh fuck, yeah, yes, like that”, Sam huffed out, his eyes squeezed shut and his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. Dean realized he hadn’t kissed him for a few minutes, and rectified that situation immediately, following it up with adding another finger to Sam’s ass. As he pumped his fingers in and out, he felt Sam relax around him, it always happened so fucking quickly, like that perfect little hole was just custom-made for Dean’s fingers and his dick.
A little more lube, and Dean added another finger, hitting Sam’s prostate and drinking in the almost-growl that accompanied that action. “Come on, fuck me, Dean, p-please, I’m ready”, Sam urged, pushing his hips up and forward, trying so hard to get more.
“Not yet, Sammy. Love having my fingers inside you. Love seeing you wiggle around, hearing you fucking beg me for it.”
Sam opened his eyes long enough to attempt a glare, but it was half-hearted and pathetic, I mean, how are you supposed to work up a convincing glare at a person you’re begging to fuck you? A for effort, though, Dean would give him that. When the not-quite-glare didn’t work, Sam just reached up and grabbed his own hard dick, trying to stroke himself before Dean batted his hand away. “Uh-uh, not that yet either. I don’t think you even need it. I think when I get my cock inside this sweet little ass, you’re gonna shoot without me touching you.”
“Test out your theory, then, jerk, and d-d-do it”, Sam replied, sounding awfully confident for all that he was writhing around with his head thrown back and practically hyperventilating.
All right then. Finally, Dean figured he’d gotten what he wanted from this part of it, and he got the lube again, slicking up his dick and spreading Sam’s legs a little more. Some things didn’t ever change; at the first push of Dean’s cock into his ass, Sam went completely still, held his breath and stared directly up into his brother’s eyes.
Fuck fuck goddamn fuck, that right there was always just this side of too much for Dean to handle. He got himself under control, though, and kept on going until he was all the way inside and Sam finally let out a shaky exhale. When Sammy let one of his feet fall to the floor and pushed his other leg all the way against the back of the sofa, Dean started to move.
And it never changed, it never got less exciting, it never felt like routine, no matter how many times they’d done this. Dean couldn’t stop his own gasps and moans of pleasure as he fucked into Sam, shallow thrusts at first, then speeding up as they both got swallowed in the heat of it. Sam’s hands scrambled for traction against Dean’s back and shoulders, but they were both so sweaty that Sam resorted to digging in his nails and oh, come on, that was just not even fucking fair at all.
Dean made deliberate attempts to hit Sammy’s spot over and over, because being an underage-brother-fucker didn’t mean he wasn’t a freaking gentleman and there was no way he was going to come first. It became clear quickly that that wasn’t going to be an issue, though, as all Sam’s telltale ‘I’m about to jizz all over the place’ signals started; strangled-sounding breath, tensed up thighs, his brother’s name a continuous litany falling from his lips. Just as Dean had predicted, Sam was coming just from Dean’s dick inside him, shooting all over both of their chests and bellies since there was barely any room between their bodies at all. Only then did Dean let out a breath and give in, filling Sam with his own release, quiet, as he always was, not a sound.
Giving them both a few moments to recover, Dean eventually moved, grabbing the hand-towel he’d left on the arm of the sofa and shoving it underneath his brother’s ass. They didn’t need their dad coming home to cum-stained couch-cushions.
Weak with exhaustion and half-asleep already, Sam was the first to speak.
“You knocked over the beer. And the popcorn. I’m not cleaning that shit up.”
Dean just kissed him on the forehead and levered himself up into a sitting position. “I’ll get it. Sleep, sugar.”
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
W/C: 3,150
Warnings: weecest (Sam is 14), graphic descriptions of sex and masturbation, references to underage consumption of alcohol.
A/N: This is a very special episode of weecest, written just for my cyber-spouse saltandbyrne in celebration of her Joyous Nativity. Happy birthday to my friend, my cheerleader, my partner in crime.
Now with bonus podfic: http://chef-geekier.livejournal.com/53549.html YAY!!
Another night without their dad, another night getting little Sammy a little tipsy with a few sips of beer, another night of them both having exactly what they wanted.
It’s not like Dean had to get Sam drunk, like he had to incapacitate him, like he had to take advantage. If he was being perfectly honest with himself (which he usually wasn’t, because Dean’s instinct to lie to himself was like the instinct of migratory birds to flock south in the winter), he only did it because it made Sam a little less inhibited.
Don’t get the wrong idea here. Sammy wasn’t exactly shy about what he wanted when he was with Dean, but the tiniest bit of alcohol made him even more of a needy cock-slut than he was when he was sober.
Which, by the way, was already a pretty fucking needy cock-slut, especially for a fourteen year old boy who’d never been fucked except by his brother.
On this particular night, Dean had decided he was going to draw things out as much as he possibly could. Too often it was over really quickly, both of them so damn turned on, lit up from the inside out like live wires from each other’s touch, and it never lasted long enough. That wasn’t so much of a problem since Sam’s refractory period seemed to be approximately eight minutes and Dean’s wasn’t much longer than that, so they could go several times within the space of a few hours. Oh, the joys of being a teenager…
Not tonight, though. Tonight, Dean was going to break Sam into pieces. He was absolutely determined to hold back his own desires until he turned his baby brother into a million shards of begging, writhing flesh.
He’d fantasized about it more than once. There had been days when he was alone, waiting for Sammy to get home from school, and he took his time playing out the fantasy in his head. Usually, if he was going to jerk off, he had about two extra minutes in the shower to get it done before someone started hollering about him hogging all the hot water. But he had the luxury, on occasion, to get himself completely naked and pinch his own nipples until he was hard enough to cut glass. Only then would he let his hands wander, lightly stroking his thighs and belly, not touching his cock until he absolutely could not resist for one more second. Even when he did, he went slow, stroking himself gently, without much friction, getting himself even more worked up, pre-come leaking from his slit steadily. He’d use his left hand for jerking his dick, and ease his right down to cup his balls, rolling them gently and unable to hold back the moans that worked their way up from his throat and right out of his mouth. Then he’d let go of his nuts so he could grab the little bottle of lube they kept hidden away, and slide one finger inside his hole, gritting his teeth as he waited for his muscles to relax enough to take another finger inside. He’d done it to Sammy enough times to know how to move his fingers just so, nudging his prostate and feeling the almost electric jolt that accompanied the movement. He went as slowly as he could, building up the sensations until he could feel his balls drawing up so damn tight against his body, still trying to hold it off until he came so hard that it made him dizzy and weak, covered in his own cum from his chest to his hand.
Dean cherished the memories of those jerk-off sessions, because they reminded him that that was pretty much exactly what he was making Sammy feel like when he did it to him.
Just so you know, Idaho is the only state in the contiguous U S of A where the legal age of consent is fourteen. Not that it really mattered, because fucking your brother is illegal pretty much everywhere, even in Idaho. They weren’t in Idaho tonight, anyway. They were in Nebraska, where the legal age of consent was seventeen, even if the person you were making out with on a ratty sofa in the living room of a shitty month-to-month rental house was a close blood relative. So along with social taboos, there were actual real-live laws being broken on the aforementioned ratty sofa. Dean didn’t give a shit about that, even though he was eighteen and a half (eighteen and seven months), and so fucking what if he had done enough research that he was in possession of this information, he was doing it anyway. He didn’t figure Sam had given it a second thought. It’s not like Sam was going to be the one in trouble if the local cops had been working on an elaborate incest-busting sting operation targeted at the two of them and kicked in the door in the middle of their Saturday evening ‘let’s pretend we’re going to sit down and watch a movie even though we both know we’re going to end up fucking’ plans.
So there they were in the living room, an action flick muted on the television, a bowl of popcorn sitting untouched on the coffee table, a half empty beer on the floor and two boys kissing like their life depended on it. Dean fisted his hands into Sam’s hair; he never made any cracks about his brother’s long hair while they were doing this, and he didn’t mean them when he threw them out at other times anyway. He loved Sammy’s hair, the way he could thread his fingers through it while Sammy returned his kisses like a fucking pro. And yeah, Sam hadn’t ever been fucked except by Dean, and he’d never been kissed except by Dean, but the kid had some kind of innate natural talent for making out. Slow swipes of his tongue, flavored with beer and Skittles, across Dean’s, alternated with frenzied clashing of teeth and spit all over the place, barely ever needing to stop even for breath. Sam kissed with everything he had, and Dean wanted to take credit for teaching him, but he knew his brother was just gifted in this particular skill. It made Dean lightheaded, sometimes it even made him feel…other things, not sexual things, not things he wanted to think about or talk about.
Because he loved Sammy, he did, absolutely and in a way that most big brothers couldn’t even comprehend, even without the sexual component that had cropped up over the past year or so. But when his brain and his heart started some kind of sneaky collaboration, sending flashes of running away with Sam, staying with him forever, never letting anyone else touch him, the two of them getting old together in a house with a porch that had a wooden swing hanging from chains and drinking lemonade and complaining about their arthritis…Jesus fuck, enough, enough of that, it was stupid, ridiculous. And more than anything else, selfish. Shut it down, he told himself, over and over. Shut it right the fuck down.
Dean pulled back and Sam whined, fucking whined, but he was just trying to get enough space to pull off Sam’s t-shirt and get rid of his own, too. Both shirts hit the floor, knocking over the now lukewarm and forgotten half-bottle of Budweiser that had been sitting there, which neither of them noticed at the time. By the time gravity had worked its magic on their t-shirts and the bottle of beer, they were pressed back together again, and now Dean had better access. He went straight for Sammy’s nipples, because why would he not, the kid got so fucking worked up when Dean’s fingers closed around them, rolling the hard little nubs until Sam’s breath started getting shallow and sounding almost punched-out.
“Dean…”
And yeah, this was the part that was gonna make it tough to keep his plan in place. As long as Sam stayed quiet, or was just groaning and panting, Dean’s resolve kept itself pretty much in check. But when Sam started talking…Christ, it was just fucking irresistible, like he had the highest-quality live-action porn right there underneath him. Which, well, now that he thought about it, he kind of did.
“Shhhh. Hush, Sammy. I’m gonna make you feel so good, just take it, be a good boy for me and stay quiet”, he whispered next to Sam’s ear, hoping it would be enough to quell the talk for now. He moved his mouth a little lower, licking and nipping at his brother’s neck, and getting only soft ah ohhhh ah ah fuck sounds in return, Dean figured it had worked.
He took his time there, kissing Sam’s neck and jaw and collarbone, lightly running his hands up and down Sam’s arms, not much pressure, going slow. If he started getting too rough or moving too fast, this was going to be over way sooner than he had planned.
There weren’t many nights like this that had plans. They just let each other go, almost always, since that first time in Michigan, the one Dean had allowed himself to feel guilty about for at least ten hours afterward. When they were together like this, things happened naturally, both of them did whatever they wanted, and it was good. Not good, really, more like fucking perfect, wonderful, more than either of them ever dreamed was possible.
Whatever, it didn’t matter, because tonight there was a fucking plan and Dean wasn’t about to give up on it half an hour in. Their dad was probably not going to be back for a week, but just in case, he left all his hickeys and bite marks under Sam’s collarbone. Sam could probably have played it off as having hooked up with a girl, but John would be suspicious. School was starting soon, they’d be leaving here and settling someplace else for at least a couple of months, and no one was fool enough to believe Sammy was getting his neck bitten by some girl he knew he’d never see again.
(John was already suspicious, more than that really, but he didn’t say shit about it because he didn’t say shit about anything he didn’t want to deal with)
Eventually, though, Sam couldn’t keep still any longer. His roaming hands made their way from Dean’s shoulder blades down his back, not hesitating even a second before they dipped into the waistband of Dean’s boxers. Fuck, this kid was bold, never held back, just took…did Dean teach him that too? Or was it innate, like the kissing thing?
No matter, now, because when hands started going down pants, there was really no slowing down, not for either of them. Sam grabbed onto Dean’s ass like it was the only thing keeping him from falling off the sofa, and maybe it was.
Maybe they should move to the bed.
No, fuck that. Nevermind.
Dean relented and let Sam slide his boxers off, as he reached down and pulled Sam’s off, too. They were both ridiculously hard, it’s not like Dean didn’t already know that, hadn’t felt it between them since they had muted the television volume. But skin to skin like this, Jesus, it was different, it was more, it was the best thing ever in the history of the world.
And it was the thing that broke Sam’s silence. Goddamnit.
“Come on, Dean, please, please…touch me, put your hand on my dick, you know you want to, I need it, Dean…”
“Sammy, I told you to be quiet”, Dean responded, but he could feel his resolve slipping away almost instantly.
“I know, but I can’t help it, you’re teasing, and you’re doing it on purpose and it’s mean, it’s not fair, you have to” and fuck if Sam’s breath didn’t get heavier, like he was gasping for air, “you have to give it to me.”
“What, Sam?” Dean asked, caught up in the moment and forgetting every thought he’d had about making this last for hours. “What do I have to give you?”
Sam whined, pushed his face into Dean’s neck, licking and biting between words. “Your hands. Your fingers. Gotta put your fingers inside me, in my ass, put your hand on my cock…I can’t take any more, I need, Dean, please I fucking need….”
Like this was news. Like Dean didn’t know what Sam needed. Like Dean wasn’t one hundred percent aware of what his baby brother wanted from him. Because they were naked on the couch and rutting against each other, and that just made it worse because Sam needed it all the time, he needed it when they were in the car and Dean caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. He needed it when they were sitting across the breakfast table, their dad right there and Sam’s eyes were blown dark even when they weren’t even close to touching. He needed it always, because little Sammy was a dirty fucking cock-slut every minute of every day.
“All right, all right, pushy little whore.” Sam clearly took no offense to being called pushy, or whore.
Thankfully, Dean had remembered to stash the lube under the couch cushions earlier. In his haste to get at it, the coffee table got bumped and the untouched bowl of popcorn was upturned and scattered all over the floor. He slicked up his hand and slid down a little so he could tease Sam’s hole for as long as he could get away with it.
“Still teasing, Dean, why are you teasing, you know you want to get your fingers inside me, get me all ready for your cock. Just do it, come on, I told you, I need, I fucking need it, you always give me what I need…” Christ on a goddamn bike, Dean knew with absolute certainty that Sam hadn’t learned to talk like that from him. That sweet little voice spilling out filthy sex talk and Dean was undone, brain barely functioning anymore, everything inside him falling to the floor like a length of ribbon let loose from the spool.
Sam’s words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath when Dean shoved his middle finger into Sammy’s tight little asshole. “Like that, baby?”
“Y-yeah, ohhh fuck, yeah, yes, like that”, Sam huffed out, his eyes squeezed shut and his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. Dean realized he hadn’t kissed him for a few minutes, and rectified that situation immediately, following it up with adding another finger to Sam’s ass. As he pumped his fingers in and out, he felt Sam relax around him, it always happened so fucking quickly, like that perfect little hole was just custom-made for Dean’s fingers and his dick.
A little more lube, and Dean added another finger, hitting Sam’s prostate and drinking in the almost-growl that accompanied that action. “Come on, fuck me, Dean, p-please, I’m ready”, Sam urged, pushing his hips up and forward, trying so hard to get more.
“Not yet, Sammy. Love having my fingers inside you. Love seeing you wiggle around, hearing you fucking beg me for it.”
Sam opened his eyes long enough to attempt a glare, but it was half-hearted and pathetic, I mean, how are you supposed to work up a convincing glare at a person you’re begging to fuck you? A for effort, though, Dean would give him that. When the not-quite-glare didn’t work, Sam just reached up and grabbed his own hard dick, trying to stroke himself before Dean batted his hand away. “Uh-uh, not that yet either. I don’t think you even need it. I think when I get my cock inside this sweet little ass, you’re gonna shoot without me touching you.”
“Test out your theory, then, jerk, and d-d-do it”, Sam replied, sounding awfully confident for all that he was writhing around with his head thrown back and practically hyperventilating.
All right then. Finally, Dean figured he’d gotten what he wanted from this part of it, and he got the lube again, slicking up his dick and spreading Sam’s legs a little more. Some things didn’t ever change; at the first push of Dean’s cock into his ass, Sam went completely still, held his breath and stared directly up into his brother’s eyes.
Fuck fuck goddamn fuck, that right there was always just this side of too much for Dean to handle. He got himself under control, though, and kept on going until he was all the way inside and Sam finally let out a shaky exhale. When Sammy let one of his feet fall to the floor and pushed his other leg all the way against the back of the sofa, Dean started to move.
And it never changed, it never got less exciting, it never felt like routine, no matter how many times they’d done this. Dean couldn’t stop his own gasps and moans of pleasure as he fucked into Sam, shallow thrusts at first, then speeding up as they both got swallowed in the heat of it. Sam’s hands scrambled for traction against Dean’s back and shoulders, but they were both so sweaty that Sam resorted to digging in his nails and oh, come on, that was just not even fucking fair at all.
Dean made deliberate attempts to hit Sammy’s spot over and over, because being an underage-brother-fucker didn’t mean he wasn’t a freaking gentleman and there was no way he was going to come first. It became clear quickly that that wasn’t going to be an issue, though, as all Sam’s telltale ‘I’m about to jizz all over the place’ signals started; strangled-sounding breath, tensed up thighs, his brother’s name a continuous litany falling from his lips. Just as Dean had predicted, Sam was coming just from Dean’s dick inside him, shooting all over both of their chests and bellies since there was barely any room between their bodies at all. Only then did Dean let out a breath and give in, filling Sam with his own release, quiet, as he always was, not a sound.
Giving them both a few moments to recover, Dean eventually moved, grabbing the hand-towel he’d left on the arm of the sofa and shoving it underneath his brother’s ass. They didn’t need their dad coming home to cum-stained couch-cushions.
Weak with exhaustion and half-asleep already, Sam was the first to speak.
“You knocked over the beer. And the popcorn. I’m not cleaning that shit up.”
Dean just kissed him on the forehead and levered himself up into a sitting position. “I’ll get it. Sleep, sugar.”