
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8701708.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Established_Relationship, Fluff, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot,
      Pre-Canon
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-11-19 Words: 4779
****** Collapse Into You ******
by merepersiflage [archived by sinfuldesire_archivist]
Summary
     Six weeks after their sexual relationship begins, a hunt shakes
     things up. This is in my preseries 'verse and would be
     chronologically first, before "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year."
Notes
     Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally
     archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began
     importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in
     November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted
     announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or
     know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on
     Sinful_Desire_collection_profile.
Title: Collapse Into You
Author: merepersiflage
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Category: porn, angst, porn, fluff
Word Count: 4600
Summary:Six weeks after their sexual relationship begins, a hunt shakes things
up. This is in my preseries ‘verse and would be chronologically first, before
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Warnings:UNDERAGE incest, graphic m/m sex, language (Sam is five weeks shy of
sixteen.)
Disclaimer:Yes
Notes: A very happy birthday to
[[info]]
nina_nicky. You give me incredibly insightful feedback on my stories, honey. I
hope you enjoy your gift.




Collapse Into You
by merepersiflage

The problem with being fifteen and hot for your big brother was that he was
always around. Sam was pretty sure he’d spent the last six weeks perpetually
hard. Not that he hadn’t spent a lot of time in an uncomfortable state before
that because, hello, fifteen, but now getting it taken care of regularly in a
holy-shit-that’s-good kind of way just made it worse when regularly turned into
not so much.

Like now.

They’d been on the road for a week and there was no place, no time when they
were out of Dad’s sight or hearing for more than five minutes. And then Dean
had to go and rub his leg against his so that Sam really hated the fact that
they always sat on the same side of the booth in a diner because just that
touch made him feel like he’d pass out onto the sticky table as all the blood
in his body roared into his dick.

He must have made some kind of sound, or maybe it was the way he was biting his
lip that made Dean shoot him a warning look. It really didn’t matter anyway.
Dad was already thumbing through his book. The only way they would get his
attention now is if one of them sprouted demon horns and started to curse in
Latin.

The waitress brought over a pot of coffee without needing to be told and Sam
ordered a soda. He wondered if Dad would have noticed if he’d ordered a beer.

Dean was watching Dad, the waitress was watching Dean, and Sam was trying to
find a way to sit that didn’t remind him of the goddamned Eiffel Tower stuffed
in his jeans.

Dean’s leg rubbed up against his again, but he couldn’t tell from Dean’s face
if his brother was deliberately being the biggest asshole in the world or
honestly didn’t know what his leg was doing to him. The waitress brought his
soda, and Dad turned a page in his journal. A ball of sweat rolled down his
spine. He leaned against the cooler window glass.

“Sick, Sammy?” Dad didn't look up.

“No, sir.” Sam sat up again.

Dean kicked his ankle. Sam rolled his eyes at him. Dean had more problems with
his tone than Dad ever did.

Dad sat up a little straighter, flipped back a page and then his expression got
harder than usual.

“Dean.”

Excitement vibrated off his brother.

“Code?”

“Carmel corn.”

“Look. I want salt lines tonight. And I want another ring around the door,
outside.”

Sam knew what was coming and Dean did, too. He could feel the tension in the
leg pressed against his.

“You’re staying with Sammy tonight. It’s too dangerous for more than one of us
to be out there. This thing can pull a thought from your head, and I don’t want
us shooting each other.”

Sam was relieved, and not just for the reason in his pants. Dad was right. It
was too dangerous, and Dean would never forgive himself if he hurt Dad by
accident. But he could almost hear the arguments bubbling up in his brother.

Dad went on. “You don’t open the door until you hear the code, and if I can’t
cross that salt then you shoot me, silver bullet.”

“Dad.”

The arrival of the waitress to take their order put a halt to the shooting and
salting parts of the conversation. Food. Yeah. Concentrate on food instead of
the fact that he and Dean were going to be alone in the room tonight. And just
like that the tent pole in his pants went from distracting to freaking painful.

Dad slid out to go to the bathroom while they waited for their food.

“Need me to pour that soda in your lap, Sammy?”

Sam groaned. He wanted to pound his head against the table. “I don’t think it’s
gonna help.”

Dean laughed. “Might take the edge off.”

“This is all your fault, you know.”

“Me?” Dean tried, but he really could never get away with an innocent look.

He rubbed his leg against him again.

“Asshole.” Sam muttered.

Dean’s grin gave up any pretense at innocence as he moved the hand that had
been on his thigh onto Sam’s, his fingers just close enough to his dick to make
him jerk his hips on the bench.

“Cut it out.”

Dean’s grin got wider as he wiggled his fingers, pulling his hand back just as
the waitress set down their plates of food.

 
                                     * * *


Dad must have gone over his instructions at least five more times before
helping Dean pour an extra thick salt circle outside the door as a hot wind
kicked up at sundown. As soon as he locked the door behind Dad, checked the
lock, checked and rechecked both the pistols loaded with silver bullets,
leaving one in the chamber in each, Dean flopped onto the bed closest to the
bathroom.

Sam pretended not to look up from his history book. He hadn’t had time to tell
any of his teachers he’d be out before Dad had tossed their stuff in the car
for this hunt, but he figured if he did the next chapter in each of his books.
he’d be all right and at least get points for effort.

He twirled his pen around and tried to focus on the Industrial Revolution. Like
they hadn’t covered this already a hundred times. He could probably answer all
the chapter questions without even doing the reading.

He wasn’t looking at Dean at all, but he could still see him cross his arms
behind his head as he stretched out on the bed. The smirk on his brother’s face
taunted him in his peripheral vision. If Dean thought he was going to go over
there and beg to get off after the shitty teasing in the diner, he was nuts.

Dean flipped through the channels on the TV, turning the volume up louder and
louder. Sam pursed his lips and kept writing out the answers. He’d done his
homework through worse.

But not worse than this apparently as there a loud moan exploded from the TV.
And another, deeper that had Sam's grip on his pen turn white-knuckled. From a
purely academic perspective, Sam couldn’t understand why watching other people
have sex was supposed to be arousing. Subjectively, he was fifteen and even
talking about sexually transmitted diseases got him horny. Or sometimes, just
breathing. Especially if Dean was breathing next to him.

The moaning and panting on the TV, even with the cheesy soundtrack, was enough
to make him lightheaded again. He tapped his pen hard against his notebook. “Do
you mind?”

“Nope. Not at all. Go right ahead.”

He hissed as he walked awkwardly over to his bag to dig out his walkman. Dean
wasn't going to win. But on the way back he caught sight of what was happening
on the TV and froze. All he could see was some guy’s ass moving up and down,
the muscles tightening and relaxing, hollows forming around his hips with the
force of his thrusts. He wondered if that’s what Dean’s ass looked like when he
was grinding against him, when he thrust and rubbed their dicks together until
Sam was moaning and arching up like the girl under the guy.

Oh, shit.

“Sammy?”

His mouth was a little dry, but he thought he managed something like a “Huh?”

“You’re blocking my view, dude.”

Sam turned and threw himself on his brother with so much force he was surprised
the bed didn’t collapse under them.

“You’re such a freaking jerk.”

Dean just laughed. “Wow, Sammy. Should I bother to undo your fly or you gonna
just come in your pants?” He smirked as he reached down and cupped him.

Sam couldn’t help a laugh and a gasp at the same time and almost choked.
“Dick.”

“Yes it is. High school’s really paying off for you, dude.”

Sam rolled off and undid his jeans and shorts, shoving them off his hips, and
wiggling until he could kick them off the end of the bed. Dean leaned up on one
elbow, running his hand under Sam’s shirt. It tickled and tingled at the same
time. He’d never done that before. His hand slipped around his ribs and did
really nice things to the muscles along his back, before coming back around and
sliding over one of Sam’s nipples.

He sucked in his breath. That was definitely different. Dean lay back and
stripped off his own clothes as Sam pulled his shirt over his head. He lay on
his back, hoping Dean was going to touch his chest some more, but instead he
leaned down and kissed him. The porno flick was still loud behind them and it
made Sam a little embarrassed. He couldn’t help wondering if he really sounded
like that, made those deep groans or if he sounded higher, like a girl.

They’d only touched each other with all their clothes off twice before. It was
just safer to do things around their clothes. The top of Dean’s chest was
pressing on his hot and hard and that felt so good he wondered how it was going
to feel when—and then Dean was on him, every inch, and it was like Dean was
made out of some kind of electricity because it just crackled right against his
skin, everywhere. Dean kissed him again, and Sam used his tongue the way Dean
had shown him, soft at first and then stroking hard against his, chasing it
back into his mouth.

Skin, mouths, the wet kiss of Dean’s cock against his thigh, everything was too
much. His dick hurt. He had to come now.

Dean must have felt his body get all tense because he rolled off him, lying on
his side and licking his jaw softly. “It’s all right, Sammy. Just relax.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Dean’s hand ran over his chest again, down his belly where it should have
tickled, but the touch was hard enough, fingers and scratchy short nails that
just made him slip more and more into that aching need to have something around
his dick right the hell now, and then Dean’s hand was there. He tugged him
gently, rocking the skin back and forth and it wasn’t enough, was just more
torment.

“A week, a fucking week, Dean, don’t do this, c’mon, man, Jesus, don’t be such
a fucking bastard.”

Dean licked his palm and brought it back down, his thumb smearing the drops
that were spilling there. Sam closed his eyes. He was going to die. Fucking
die. He couldn’t take this and he was going to fucking die, because it felt so
good but he needed to come so much it hurt so bad.

“Don’t die, dude. ‘Cause necrophilia? Really fucking gross.”

And Sam hated that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when Dean had his hands on
him like this. Dean jacked him now, the hard friction he needed and Sam’s hand
came down to grab Dean’s forearm because if he stopped now . . . and then he
did, but stopped to pull gently on his balls and Sam made a sound that was way
more pathetic than any coming from the TV and he begged. “Dean, please, I
gotta, please.”

Dean wrapped his hand around his cock again. The calloused edge of his index
finger curled right under the head, twisting and rubbing as his hand worked his
shaft. Dean’s mouth was hot and wet under his ear, and the second Sam felt his
teeth there, the incredible pressure exploded inside him and he shot over his
belly, spurting again and again as his hips bucked and his fingers dug into
Dean’s arm so hard he knew he was going to leave bruises.

He’d managed to shoot all the way up onto his fingers on Dean’s forearm, a long
milky stream right across them both. He let his head drop back as Dean kept
pulling on him gently, pulling out the last tight little shocks until he used
his grip to knock Dean’s hand away.

Dean rolled on him, his dick sliding through the wet lines on Sam’s belly
before he settled into the groove above his hip and started rocking. Every once
in awhile, Dean’s hip would slip over his sensitive dick, just enough to hurt a
little, but it didn’t matter because Dean was kissing him as he rubbed against
him, kissing him so hard and deep he couldn’t breathe. He grabbed onto Dean’s
biceps and squeezed and Dean rocked harder, faster, his tongue sweeping into
his mouth.

Sam thought again of that image on the TV, Dean’s ass flexing and hollowing
like that guy’s and he wished he could see it in a mirror, see how tight the
muscles got when Dean arched his back and shot slippery heat across his belly.
His mouth came off Sam’s as he panted and grunted.

Sam watched the flush of blood roll down from Dean’s face into his neck and
shoulders, turning his skin dark underneath the layer of freckles. He filled
his lungs with the sex smell and for about five minutes, his life didn’t suck.

 
                                    * * * *


Dean knew he was going to have to get up and put something on before Dad got
back, but his body just really wanted to sleep right now, which was why he was
more than a little annoyed when Sam bounced off the bed and started pulling on
his jeans.

“What?”

“I’m really thirsty. I’m going for a soda.” Sam dug into his pockets, coming up
empty.

“I’ve got some change in my jeans,” Dean said around a yawn.

Sam lifted them up and rummaged through the pockets. “You want anything?”

“Nah.”

But as Sam was about to slip through the door he said, “I’ll take a root beer.”

Since he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep until Sam got back, he might as
well get up. He switched the porn channel over to some movie and pulled his
shorts on. He was reaching for his t-shirt when Sam came back in.

“That was quick. Where’s the soda?”

Sam stared at him without blinking for a minute, and then said, “The machine
was broken.”

Dean sat back down on the bed and watched Sam pace across the room. He hadn’t
bothered with the button of his fly, just the zipper, and the jeans were
sliding down his hips, flashing the deepest part of that groove that never
failed to make Dean’s dick twitch. Maybe they could get in another round before
Dad got back. It was pretty early and they’d have plenty of warning before he
came through the door.

“Man, I can’t wait.”

“Huh?”

“Two more years.” Sam stopped and looked down at his homework on the desk.

“Oh, yeah. I thought you didn’t mind school so much, Sammy.”

“Because I know it’s the only way I’m getting out of this fucking shithole of a
life.”

“What?”

Aside from when Dean had his hand around his dick, Sam rarely swore. But the
unexpected clench in his gut had nothing to do with Sam’s sudden burst of foul
language.

“Yeah. Two years and I’m done with all of it.”

Dean could feel cold spill out from where Sam had just knifed him in the belly.
He dragged some of that chill up into his voice. “Really?”

“Yeah. You think my life is going to be this? Being afraid all the time, crappy
motel rooms, jerking off with my fucking brother? Yeah, that’s a great life.”

Sam looked at him, and Dean had never seen his changeable eyes look so dark.
The cold spread through his whole body, the icy burn worse in his chest, but he
never moved off the bed.

“And the most fucked up thing is that you can’t even see how wrong this life
is. You really think that I wouldn’t want something better?”

His lungs were so full of ice he could hardly breathe.

Sam was close to him now, close enough that he could actually see the hate in
his brother’s eyes. “No, you wouldn’t. Because you just gotta have that fantasy
of our happy loving family, don’t you?” Sam shook his head, a bitter smile
curving his lips.

The door opened and Sam came in with two sodas under his arm and his hand in a
bag of pretzels. “What—”

Dean dove off the bed and rolled for the pistol he’d put on the table near the
door. Sam—his Sam, thank god—just ripped his hand out of the bag and flung all
the salty pretzels at his double. The fake Sam crackled and sizzled and winked
out. The soda cans hit the carpet.

Sam grabbed his pistol from the desk. “Where did it go? How did it get in?”

“I don’t know.” Dean had his gun and was headed for the door.

“I’m going. You don’t have any pants on, dude.”

Sam cut in front of him as they looked out the door.

“Wind must have blown the salt.” Sam pointed at the hole in the ring. The
desert air blew right in at them. “Put some more down. I’ll check around.” He
held the pistol in both hands.

“Sam, wait.”

But Sam had already disappeared around the side of the motel.

“Son of a bitch.” He grabbed the salt canister and thickened the line, filled
the hole. His heart was pounding in his throat and all he could think was It
wasn’t Sammy. He never said that stuff to me. Never looked at me like he hated
me.

He was about to go out into the night after Sam, pants or no, when he looked up
to see Sam standing in front of him. He wasn’t carrying the pistol. Dean raised
his own.

“That’s not going to make it any better, you know.” Sam told him. “Where do you
think I got all of that? Plucked it right out of your baby brother’s head. He
hates you, you know.”

Dean’s finger tightened on the trigger. He didn’t know if a silver bullet would
work on a some Hopi spirit-thought form, but he was pretty sure emptying the
clip would make him feel a hell of a lot better.

Before he pulled the trigger, a hole of white fire opened up in the center of
Sam’s chest, spilled out like it was running through his veins, lighting him up
from the inside out. Dean could see the highway behind him as the light made
him more and more transparent. He got brighter and brighter before bursting
apart in the desert night.

Sam was standing right just to the left of that empty space, his own pistol
raised, but Dean hadn’t heard a shot.

They lowered their guns.

“Did you?” Sam asked.

“No. Dad must have gotten whatever it was using to power itself.”

They walked back into the room, and Dean couldn’t help but watch as Sam crossed
the salt line. Sam caught the direction of his gaze and deliberately ran a bare
foot along the line, rubbing a toe in it. Sam smiled as he did it, but Dean
couldn’t return it. He hates you, you know.

Dean pulled the slide to pop the bullet out of the chamber before placing his
pistol back near the door. He made it over to the bed and sat down, feeling a
whole helluva lot older than twenty.

Sam clicked the safety on his own gun and set it on top of his homework. The
movie Dean had left on was still really loud. Dean thought about switching it
off, but he just didn’t have the energy. Sam came over and grabbed the remote.
He clicked off the TV.

“Dean. I heard what it said. I don’t hate you. “

“Yeah.”

Sam bent and picked up the sodas he had dropped and handed off the root beer to
Dean. Dean just put it on the beside table.

“Dean, man, you know I don’t hate you.”

“I said yeah, Sam.”

Sam sat on the Dad’s bed and tapped the lid before popping his can. He took a
deep swallow, but kept watching Dean.

Dean wanted to roll away, not let Sam see him, but fuck if he was going to shy
away from his baby brother just because some Hopi spirit wanted to try Sam’s
face on for size.

“What did it say before?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing. So you just believed it when it said I hated you because it didn’t
say anything.”

“What the hell, Sam? That didn’t even make any fucking sense.”

He could feel Sam looking at him even if he couldn’t see his eyes. He popped
his own soda open, forgetting to tap the can and got a hand full of foam. “Son
of a bitch.” He shook his hand clean.

“Did it say something about this?” Sam’s wave covered both them and the rumpled
bed behind him.

The boy was getting too goddamned smart. “I said it was nothing, Sam.” He put
down the sticky can and headed for the shower, needing to erase the dried
leftovers from their last this.

Sam blocked his way and not only was he getting too fucking smart, he was too
fucking tall for fifteen. Another couple inches and the bastard would pass him.


“Did it make you think I don’t want to do this anymore?”

They hadn’t kissed standing before, just in bed when Dad was gone, sometimes
really late when they were sure he was asleep, but now Sam was kissing him,
Sam’s lips trying to coax his open and yeah, standing up he barely had to tip
his head down to meet him. Sam ran his hand up and over Dean’s chest, rough
fingers too quick across his nipples, but enough to make his breath get faster.
Sam’s other arm forced their hips together.

Dean fought it for a minute. Fought that rush that made sense fly out of his
head because all of his body knew was his Sammy. His.

Sam pulled his mouth away. “Does it feel like I don’t want to do this?” He
rubbed and bucked his hips against Dean’s until friction made it plain what
they both wanted.

But Sam was fifteen and any friction would do and this wasn’t going to answer
everything that son of a bitch had put into his head. He tired to ignore the
pull deep inside, the pull spreading out from his balls dragging him farther
into the space where he didn’t know right or wrong, but just that Sam wanted
him, wanted what Dean could give him.

He didn’t have an answer for him, so he just reached for his head and pulled
him back for a kiss. Sam kissed him like that alone would get them both off,
kissed him like the desperate intensity of his lips and tongue could convince
Dean that nothing that other Sam had said was true.

And it was almost enough. He slid his hand behind Sam’s head and angled it so
the pressure on his own neck eased and met the tight jerk of Sam’s hips with an
measured roll. Sam leapt back with a cry of pain, and Dean remembered that when
Sam’d gotten up, he’d just pulled his jeans on. With them sliding around
unbuttoned, he bet the zipper had just caught something interesting.

Dean tucked two fingers in the waistband of Sam’s jeans and tugged him toward
the bathroom. “C’mon.”

“Huh?”

“C’mon, in the bathroom.”

“Dean, what—”

“Dad’ll be back soon. We won’t have time to clean up. Unless you don’t want to
do something about this?” He cupped Sam through his jeans.

“But what . . .”

Sam waited behind at the bathroom door. Dean shucked his shorts. “Sammy.
Shower.”

Sam still didn’t seem to know what Dean meant. Realization hit him like a bat
to the back of his head. Sammy was fifteen. The last time he’d been in a shower
with anyone other than a locker room was Dean when he was six.

“With me.”

The blood rushed to Sam’s cheeks, staining them so dark, Dean wondered if he
lost his wood. He glanced down. Nope. Sam was still very much with him.

“Oh.” His hands seemed to have trouble with his zipper, so Dean turned around
and got the shower running.

He heard Sam squirming behind him. “Dean, I think—”

Dean turned to see Sam still struggling with the zipper. At this rate, they’d
be lucky to even get wet before Dad got back. “Dude, if you’re gonna go
commando, you’ve got to be careful with the merchandise.” He held Sam’s dick
out of the way and yanked down the zipper.

Sam jumped. “I think you just ripped out half my hair there, man.” His eyes
blinked rapidly.

“It’ll grow back. So . . .?” He pointed at the shower.

“Umm, yeah.” Sam stepped over the tub.

Sam’s dick had wilted from the pain of the zipper disaster, but as soon as Dean
pressed against him, pushed them both under the spray, he could feel it harden
against his hip.

Sam’s mouth aimed for his and caught his ear as Dean shifted around to grab the
soap.

“We gotta hurry, Sammy. Dad’ll be home soon.”

Sam shook his head and sprayed them both.

“Enough of that, Lassie.” Dean grabbed one of Sam’s hands and slicked it with
soap before sudsing up his own. He dropped the bar and pressed Sam back into
the wall. He made an unhappy-puppy whimper when his back hit the tiles that
Dean swallowed with his mouth.

He caught Sam’s soapy hand in his and brought it to where their dicks were now
rubbing against each other, lacing their fingers so they could wrap around both
of them together. Sam started jerking forward, and Dean grabbed his hip and
pinned him back against the wall.

Dean whispered against his mouth. “Like this Sammy.” And he rocked himself up,
through the channel of their hands, against the stretch and heat of Sam’s dick
on his.

Sam caught on fast, sliding and rubbing against him, his mouth open and wet.
Slick and rich and hot and wet, riding their hands and each other’s dicks, Sam
following as he increased the pace. Pleasure slippery and thick on his tongue
like butter and ice cream and frosting.

Sam started those breathy moans that meant he was skimming right up to that
edge. He pulled his mouth free and started panting against his lips, his words
falling and rising like an invocation.

“I don’t hate you, Dean. I couldn’t hate you, could never hate you, never,
you’re all I’ve got, you’re—fuck.”

The words spilling from Sam’s mouth were choking him, but he was such a twisted
bastard he regretted the moment when that litany broke off, regretted it even
more as Sam’s body went rigid, his hand tightening on their cocks until Dean
thought he’d have to pry him off. He felt the splash of Sam’s come even through
the heat of the water pouring over them, and began to push harder to the edge
himself, releasing Sam’s hand to get a better grip on his dick. He jacked
himself fast under the perfect glide of soap and water and come.

Sam’s fingers found the head of his dick, still all slippery and wet and
pressed into the slit and Dean almost swallowed his tongue to keep from
screaming when he came so hard he saw purple spots behind his screwed shut
lids. He sagged into Sammy, dragging air back into his lungs, shaking out the
last pulses of pleasure against Sam’s skin warm wet skin.

Sam said it again, his voice clearer. “That thing, it just wanted to get to
you. I don’t hate you, Dean.”

“I know, Sammy.” He lifted his head. Sam had slid down the wall and was looking
up at him. He gave him one last kiss before turning away and washing the come
off his hand and belly. “Me, too.”
 
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