
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11234721.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Food_Kink, sort_of, very_brief_instance_of_Sam_fucking_a_can_of_ravioli,
      Blow_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-18 Words: 1642
****** Chef Boyardee ******
by bloodandcream
Summary
     “But,” eyes fluttering on a soft bit back gasp as Dean’s thumbs swirl
     over nipples, Sam squirms on his lap, and looks over his shoulder to
     the table, “dude, it’s a can of fucking ravioli.”
The worn down linoleum floor, scuffed and stained, creaked as Dean shifted his
chair back to make more room for Sam in his lap. Knobby kneed and gangly with
another growth spurt, Sam thumped his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and
groaned. Curling his hands over bony hips and sweeping them up the curve of
Sam’s back, an old threadbare t-shirt clinging to him with sweat, Dean bit back
a laugh.
“C’mon, just try it.”
“Why? That’s not… who even thinks that’s sexy?”
Sam, mumble-mouthed against the bare skin of Dean’s shoulder, rubbed his peach-
fuzz face back and forth.
“What? Are you kidding me. You know that blond, Crystal or something, from
Ellet high a few years ago, remember her?”
Sitting up on Dean’s lap to give him a bitch-face, Sam said, “I remember you
kicking me out of the motel to study with her.”
Sam’s disbelief that they were studying is a prickly sore thing.
Dean smiles at his little brother, rocks his hips and his hard on up against
the practically nonexistent curve of Sam’s ass. “Mhm, it was hotter than this
summer, broken ac, she brought over a carton of ice cream and told me to drip
it on, god, she had he perkiest little tits -
“Dean.”
“Baby you know I love your tits too,” dragging his hands around laddered ribs
to spread over the flat expanse of Sam’s chest, nipples standing to attention
under cotton, Dean tells him, “Point is, it drove me wild. People are
definitely into that kind of thing.”
It’s too goddam hot and Dean can’t understand why Sam bothers to put on clothes
but he shies away from Dean’s eyes sometimes, stretched thin with teen growth
and mismatched limbs
“But,” eyes fluttering on a soft bit back gasp as Dean’s thumbs swirl over
nipples, Sam squirms on his lap, and looks over his shoulder to the table,
“dude, it’s a can of fucking ravioli.”
Dean holds back his laughter. The can in question sits, opened, on the scuffed
old table that had come with the partially furnished ‘house’ that they’re
renting for the last month of summer and maybe a few months into the next
school year. God knows Sam bitches enough about how it interrupts his studies
to move so much. Now that Dean’s out of school, can find work for himself and
hold down the fort when John hunts - when Dean doesn’t have to go too - it’s
easier to stay in one place longer.
“Hey, it’s what we got in the house,” dragging his hands down to Sam’s waist,
too small jeans cutting in to the flat of his belly, Dean pulls a dirty trick
and spreads his fingers feather light up under Sam’s shirt, almost tickling,
but it makes him go shivery. “M’bored. It’ll be fun.”
Dean kind of hates canned ravioli anymore. As a kid, it wasn’t like he could
make much to eat for Sam other than something that came out of a can or a box,
but christ he’s eaten way too much Chef Boyardee in his life.
Sam, squirming and looking up through messy hair that’s grown long to cover the
zits on his forehead, grumbles. “You’re weird.”
Laughing, Dean covers the span of Sam’s ass with his hands and squeezes. “You
know that already.”
Nudging Sam off his lap, boner clear as day when Sam shifts and pulls his jeans
a different way, Dean nods his head in encouragement. Skin sticking to the wood
of the chair with sweat, Dean peels himself off to sit forward, swipes the back
of his hand against his forehead. Insects hum outside in the hazy heat and
summer is a restless time.
Sam picks up the open can, looks at it with a frown, looks at Dean.
Dean doesn’t break the spell by talking anymore, he knows he’s got Sam, all he
needs is a little patience.
Huffing, Sam sets the can down, opens his jeans, dick hard and christ it’s
outpacing him in the growing department. Squeezing it, Sam curls over himself a
little, baggy faded t-shirt that used to be Dean’s draped and hiding him, but
Sam’s less nervous about showing his big brother his dick than anything else on
his body.
Taking a deep breath, Sam screws his eyes shut and holds his dick for a second
and Dean is this close to cajoling when Sam determinedly opens his eyes again,
picks up the can of ravioli, and sticks his dick in it.
Dean has to work not to laugh, but instead he leans over, braces his forearms
on his knees, gets a little closer to watch and holy shit Sam is actually going
to do it. Prissy, pushing his jeans down and holding his shirt up like he’s
trying not to be too messy, Sam holds the can still and moves his hips to fuck
into it.
Ravioli falls out, plops wetly on the floor, and Sam only gets about half of
his dick inside before he can’t fit anymore. It’s a sloppy suction noise when
he pulls out, hips twitching, look of mortification on his face bright red like
he can’t decide if he wants to go forward again.
Sam gives it a few tentative fucks and Dean can’t hold a straight face anymore.
Covering his mouth with a hand, Dean leans back in the chair and laughs. “Holy
shit, I can’t believe you actually did it.”
Hands falling to his lap, sprawling big brother smug at having pulled it off,
Dean watches as Sam’s face contorts, works it out, then he’s slamming the
ravioli on the table and standing in the middle of the kitchen dripping sauce
on the floor.
“What?”
“I mean, if I’d of known all it would take to get you to do anything, was to be
sucking you on the regular, I’d of put your little dick and balls in my mouth a
long time ago.”
Tipping the chair back, belly cramping with laughter, Dean’s crying a little
it’s so goddam funny.
“I hate you so much Dean.”
“Nah, you don’t. Sweetheart.”
Sam fiddles with his jeans, looking unwilling to pull them up and get them any
dirtier, has his shirt still rucked up under his pits and his flat belly is
sucked in as he curls his toes and his fists, glares at Dean.
“Ungh, whatever, I’m going to shower.”
“Don’t be like that. C’m’ere.”
Reaching out and snagging a loop on Sam’s jeans, Dean pulls him closer.
“Bet it woulda been so much easier to put you to bed with a blowjob.”
Sam, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, lets himself be pulled closer. “Not with
dad around.”
Pushing off the edge of his chair, Dean kneels on the floor, braces his hands
on bony hips and kisses his brother’s flagging erection.
“Oh, ew.”
Licking his tongue around the head, Dean looks up to see Sam watching him,
closes his lips around it and sucks just the tip.
“Dude, that’s gross. The sauce is all cold, it’s. God. You are so gross.”
Not like Sam is going anywhere.
‘Sides, it’s not the grossest thing Dean’s ever put in his mouth.
Slipping his hands around to the small of Sam’s back, pulling him closer, Dean
swallows him down. The taste of tomato sauce doesn’t really do much for the
whole experience, but the way Sam gasps at the first push of his cockhead into
the back of Dean’s throat, Dean fucking lives for that sound.
Spindly fingers tangle through Dean’s sweat spiked hair, Sam finally giving up
on playing the reluctant maiden, hips fucking forward into Dean’s mouth and
Dean relaxes into it. Can’t quite sit back on his heels like he used to, Sam
too tall for that now, but there’s something satisfying about achy knees and a
sore jaw.
Spit running thick, dripping down his chin with the last of the sauce, Dean’s
hard in his own jeans but he ignores it, uses his hands to hold on. Grunting,
Sam shoves home, buries himself so deep Dean can’t breathe, fat dick feeling
like it can take up every inch of him.
Dean feels his brother’s dick twitching in his mouth, dead give away, and he
can hold on without air a little longer. The way Sam clutches him tighter,
grinds his pelvis against Dean’s face, yeah. Yeah. Shoved down his throat, Dean
doesn’t taste it at first, but Sam pulls back, always, holds his dick on Dean’s
tongue through the last of it, lingering thick bitter and Dean sucks hard.
Curls his tongue around the crown, hands sliding over Sam’s hips to squeeze at
the root and drag, Dean gets it all.
There’s only a little tomato sauce left in his pubes when Sam pulls back.
Coughing, Dean swipes a hand against his messy chin, pushes himself back up
into his chair. “See, told you it’s fun.”
“You’re a jerk.”
Thumbing open the button his jeans, Dean drags the zipper down and pulls his
dick out. Red and dripping, he only needs a few strokes to finish.
“You gonna give me a hand?”
Dean looks to his little brother expectantly. Sam holds his open jeans half on
with one hand, dick still mostly hard. It never does go down much these days.
Hair slicked to his forehead with sweat and flushed red down to his navel, Sam
kicks out of his jeans and pulls his tee over his head. Knows what Dean likes
to see.
Sam steps between Dean’s thighs, sinks down to his knees and Dean has to spread
a little wider for those broadening shoulders. Tangling his fingers in cornsilk
soft hair as Sam purses his mouth to the crown of Dean’s dick, teases with a
kitten lick before wrapping his lips like a bow tied tight and going down,
down.
Dean sighs.
“That’s my boy.”
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