
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14048307.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Smith/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Smith, Castiel_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Abuse_of_Authority, Therapist_Sam_Winchester, Doctor/Patient, Nipples,
      Sex_Toys, Bad_Decisions, Underage_Sex, Size_Difference, Manhandling
  Series:
      Part 2 of Bad!Sam
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-21 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 2918
****** Countertransference ******
by Anonymous_ID
Summary
     This is a sequel to 'Acting In' (https://archiveofourown.org/works/
     13586781?view_full_work=true). Like the first work, it involves Sam
     as a mental health professional who makes the moves on his
     unspecified-teenage sort-of patient, Dean Smith. Please read all the
     tags and warning; it may help to read "Acting In" first. I know
     nothing about therapy or psychology, except that Sam is, of course,
     being utterly unprofessional.
     As with "Acting In," I have tagged it as rape/noncon due to the age
     of the participants, rather than to any explicit non-consensual
     actions, but you are warned!
Notes
     The non-con is due more to Dean's age (unspecified teenager) than
     anything explicit, but Sam is still in a position of power so this is
     potentially TRIGGERING.
     "Countertransference": https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
     Countertransference
Sam is required to take a certain number of professional development classes
each year in order to maintain his State of California social work
credentials.  This, he tells his wife, is why gets home so late on Fridays. He
tells Jess it’s a six-week course on working with gender-fluid adolescents,
which is both a private joke and a guaranteed way to keep her from asking
more.  She's simply not interested. In Jess’s worldview, Caucasian West Coast
heterosexual females with high sex-drives are somehow more real than anyone
else. 
Of course, Sam doesn’t meet up with Dean every week.  One Friday, Dean calls
and whispers that his long-haul trucker Dad is home unexpectedly and he can’t
get away.  He hangs up almost before Sam can get a word in edgewise, and Sam
spends the next hour laying on the couch in his office, scrolling through
twinky porn on his phone.  Another Friday, Sam finds out at the last minute
that one of his colleagues is staying late for a conference call with a client
filming in Dubai.  He manages to text Dean just as the kid arrives at the
office building; they actually pass in the lobby, pretending not to know each
other.  They don’t touch, barely glance, but it is perhaps the most sexually
charged moment of Sam’s life.
That still leaves four gorgeous spring weekends that Sam starts off with Dean
J-for-jailbait Smith.  And he’s not the only eager one.  Dean shows up for
their second ‘appointment’ with a tube of cheap drugstore slick in his pocket.
“So, I, uh.  Brought some lube,” he says after Sam has kissed him breathless,
and he’s so deliberately casual that Sam has to laugh, imagining him practicing
the phrase in his mirror. 
“Not a chance,” Sam says, and then, kissing Dean’s pout, “Not yet.”
“Whyyyy?” Dean whines, sounding even younger than he is.  “I know you want to!”
And he corkscrews his hips, which, since he’s straddling Sam’s lap on the
chaise, ends up driving his bony teen pelvis along the whole length of Sam’s
thickened cock.
“Tease!” Sam growls, and wraps his big hands around Dean’s waist to keep him
still.  Dean gasps and Sam lets go immediately. Jess is a loudmouth, quick to
let him know what she likes or doesn’t.  He’s got to remember that Dean is
still new to this. 
But then Dean smirks and swivels again. Lifts his hands behind his head so he
has to grind to keep his balance, his abs clenching, his bare chest on display.
Somehow he's lost his flannel and his t-shirt in the five minutes since he
walked through the door.
“Go ‘head,” he says, “I like it when you touch me.”
At that, Sam does a little more than simply touch.  He pretty much manhandles
Dean until the boy is facing away from him.  He’s not sure he’ll be able to
resist Dean’s freckled face otherwise. Then he licks a necklace of kisses
across the yoke of Dean’s shoulders and asks: “Why?”
The answer, which Sam wrings out of him between moans and pleas, is pretty much
what Sam had suspected.  After all, he is an excellent listener. 
Professionally trained, even. It hasn’t escaped him that what Dean had enjoyed
about his illicit encounters with that neighbor,Tyler, was  actually pretty
tame: being held and watching porn.  And the porn he had enjoyed was the sort
where pleasure was used to push people to ecstasy.  Force, yes, but nothing
violent.  Pain didn’t do anything for Dean Smith, and neither did real
humiliation.  But a little flicker of shame, of seeing people persuaded to go
just a little farther than they might have gone on their own? That makes
Deanwild. And Sam’s hands on him always raise that possibility. 
Sam wrings two orgasms out of Dean that second meeting, and the first one is
pretty, but the second is spectacular. Sam slicks his fingers with Dean’s own
cum and gets one up Dean’s hole, jacking him firmly with his other hand, and
the whole time, Dean is whimpering that he can’t possibly come again, no, he’s
too sensitive, he just-oh, oh, god, yes, Saaam!
Afterwards, Dean slumps against Sam, slippery and gasping, his hole still
clenching spasmodically around Sam’s finger as the aftershocks race through
him.
“Now?” He asks hopefully, still too shy to actually spell out what he really
wants to say: Will you fuck me now?
Dean is growing, but he’s still so much smaller than Sam himself.  Sam can
cradle him with one arm, especially when the kid is limp and satisfied like
this. 
Sam crooks his finger.  “Push down for me, sweets. Open up.”
Dean does, his mouth opening, eyes widening, as Sam eases another finger
inside.  The soft little dick lying flaccid on Dean’s belly twitches, but just
barely.  Dean is panting at the stretch already, his chest rising and falling
so rapidly that his perky little nipples are moving targets as Sam dips down t
suckle one. 
Dean hand comes up to ruffle Sam’s hair, to hold the man’s head to his chest. 
“Erogenous,” he says, sleepily.  His pronunciation has improved since Sam
taught him that word.
“Mmm,” Sam suckles his approval, feels Dean go tight, despite the fingers in
his ass.“One more?”
Dean shakes his head, reluctant, like he’s not sure whether to ask for what he
wants or keep teasing.
“One more,” Sam says decisively.  “Just the tip. And then I want you on your
knees, thanking me with that gorgeous mouth for making you feel so good.”
He can tell from the tremor of arousal that courses through Dean’s body that
he’s gotten the tone just right: bossy without being degrading.  And the way
Dean flinches just a little when Sam eases that last fingertip inside is just
right, too.  Just a little more than he thought he could take.
Dean is very grateful, if the blowjob he gives ten minutes later is anything to
go by. 
Later, when it is Sam’s turn to bask in post-orgasmic satiation, when Dean is
dressed in his street clothes and it is starting to get dark, Sam gives him one
last instruction: “Your neighbor? Tyler?”
Dean looks up from where he’s tying his laces.  “Yeah?”
“I don’t want you to see him again.” 
Dean blinks, like it has suddenly occurred to him that challenges can be
emotional as well as physical. And then he gives that heart-shattering shy
smile.  “Yeah, ok.”
                                      ***
Two weeks later, when Sam stops by Castiel’s desk to fill out his timesheet,
Cas remarks, “That crazy lady—the one with the kid?  She thinks you’re a
genius.”
It takes Sam a second to realize which crazy lady Castiel is talking about:
there are several who frequent the San Mateo Counseling Project. Plus, Cas has
a tendency to give all the more colorful patients nicknames (‘the San Mateo
psycho,’ ‘the Hannibal-wannabe,’ ‘that crazy lady with the kid,’) in a way that
is both HIPAA-compliant and totally unprofessional.
“Ms., uh, Smith?”  Sam’s throat catches between the words.  The previous Friday
had been the day his colleague had stayed late to talk some studio exec off a
ledge and Sam had cancelled on Dean at the last minute.  Had Dean said
something to his mother?  Had his mother finally gotten suspicious about the
new, frequent trips into the city?
“Yeah, she’s called, like four times? She can’t say enough good things about
how you’ve cured her son from all his evil urges,” Cas rolls his eyes.  He
himself is gay as a maypole and couldn’t care who knows.  “Apparently the kid
has split up with his little boyfriend.  Mom is thrilled, she’s got high hopes
for prom season.”
Cas is still talking—“Be careful or you’ll be getting referrals from everyone
in her Bible study group…”—but Sam isn’t really listening.  Part of it is the
relief that Ms. Smith hadn’t called to tell Cas exactly what has been going on,
but the other part is a creeping astonishment:  Dean has actually acted on
Sam’s request.  Their connection is more than just mutual curiosity, a chance
for stolen pleasure in an empty office.  It has had consequences in the real
world. Beneath that sobering thought is a molten current of satisfaction: Dean
is his now, his alone.
Sam brings Dean a special treat the next Friday they meet.  He waits until
after he’s sucked the kid to his first nuclear-hot climax and then climbs onto
him.
“Yeah, please,” Dean squeaks, breathless between the chaise longue cushion and
Sam’s full-grown weight. Sam wedges his cock between Dean’s slick thighs and
gently bites the rim of his ear.
“How’s Tyler?”
“Uhm…dunno?”  The neighbor certainly seems like the farthest thing from Dean’s
mind as he screws his ass back against Sam’s stomach. “Haven’t seem him for…”
“Good,” Sam praises.  His hips start moving of their own volition, working
against Dean like he’s fucking, and Dean says he hasn’t, not yet, but something
in him clearly recognizes the rhythm because he presses his legs together and
it’s tighter than a handjob.
“Want you inside,” Dean whines and he slithers his hand out from where Sam’s
grasping his wrists, touches the sensitive cockhead thrusting between his
thighs, teases until Sam spills all over him.   
“Well, I want you to do something for me,” Sam whispers, after he’s recovered
his voice, after he’s kissed each and every bitemark he’s left on Dean’s
shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Here,” Sam fumbles for his work bag, a gorgeous leather satchel Jessica bought
him when he graduated from Stanford., “Got you something.” Inside one pocket is
another present from Jessica—or, rather, from Jessica’s significant sex-toy
collection.
Dean sits up, so childishly eager it is almost possible to forget that he’s
butt-naked, his sweet little cock small and soft against his belly.  Almost. 
He takes the sandwich baggie Sam offers him with a quizzical expression and
tips out the contents.  The toy sits in the center of his palm, an egg smaller
than a chicken’s, in the pearlescent pink manufacturers seem to think is
appropriate for women.
“What do I—?” Dean gasps, laughs, nearly drops it, when it starts to
vibrate.   
Sam holds up his hand, revealing the remote control.  “So, speaking of inside…”
Dean’s eyes grow wide.  This is clearly not something Tyler had ever told him
about.
“Only if you want to,” Sam cautions.  This is not what he wants Dean to do for
him.  No—this is just the icing on the cake.
“Yes!”  Dean flops down onto the chaise with haste that would be unseemly if
Sam weren’t just as eager.
“Good boy,” Sam says. It’s automatic—what else can you say when you have Dean
Smith tipped ass up right on your wet spot—but it makes Dean flush and hide his
face in his arms.
Sam’s brought lube, too.  The good kind.  That had been a special purchase, not
something pilfered from the toybox that Jess will never miss. They never use it
at home, since Jess gets almost embarrassingly wet (well, she finds it
embarrassing, Sam loves it).  He leaves lube-sticky fingerprints up the
vulnerable backs of Dean’s thighs, slowly but surely working his way closer to
Dean’s puckered little hole.  The kid shakeswhen Sam finally rests his
forefinger there.
“Shhh,”  Sam whispers and Dean  gulps, audibly. 
One finger.  Two, three, in quick succession.  Once Dean starts, he just opens
right up, moaning when Sam slips his fingers out.  He tenses when he feels the
egg, his hole winking.  Sam coaxes him through it, one big hand on his lower
back, holding him steady.  Sam had spent a boring conference call earlier in
the week making a little cats-cradle for the toy using dental floss.  He hadn't
been sure Dean would be interested, but he'd had a pretty good guess and he’s
always been good at knots, thanks to his upbringing.  When he finally eases
Dean into his lap, there’s just a little braid of thread hanging between Dean’s
firm asscheeks.
Dean reaches down, tugs at the string, gasps.  The gasp becomes  a whine when
Sam manages to trigger the remote. He turns it too high at first—just because
his fingers are slippery with lube.  That’s the only reason, not because he
wants to feel Dean jerk and tremble against him at the sudden intensity.
Dean sags against him in relief when Sam reduces the speed.
“Good?”
Dean nods. “Uhm.”  
The toy isn’t really meant for this purpose, but Dean doesn’t know that and
Sam’s guess about his pleasure spots has evidently been close enough.  Sam
nudges the remote higher. Dean writhes, pulling the man’s bigger hand t rest on
his belly.  Sam can’t feel anything but Dean’s trembling abs, but Dean is
panting like he’s about to give birth.
“Hmm?  What’s that, sweets?” Sam can’t quite makes out Dean’s breathy words.
“Fuck!...fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Dean chants, his eyelids fluttering, green
irises a slim ring around big dark pupil when he tilts his face to Sam for a
kiss.
Sam reaches for Dean’s cock, but the kid yelps and pulls so hard he nearly tips
off Sam’s lap.
“T- too...”
“Ok, buddy, too much, I got it.”  Sam eases the remote down.
“Don’t stop!” Dean commands.
“Nope, just getting you a li’l more comfortable…”  Sam shifts Dean so he’s
propped up against the back of the chaise, with his twitching hips still
squarely in Sam’s lap.   Now he can see Dean’s pretty face, his flushed cheeks
and bitten lips. He folds up one of Dean’s coltish legs , touches his hole
accidentally-on-purpose. 
“Do you want it out?”
Dean shakes his head. “Want…”
He blushes furiously.  Sam leans in to kiss him.  “Deeper?” he whispers, and
feels Dean nod.
Sam does turn the egg off for this.  “Could feel a little. Uhm. You can play
with yourself, if you want.”
Dean just looks at him, blessed out, so Sam leans in again, this time to lick
Dean’s  left nipple.  The boy relaxes into it, going limp in Sam’s arms, as Sam
knew he would.  Barely a hitch in the kid’s breathing as Sam slips in a finger,
nudges the egg right where he wants it.
Sam sits up before he turns on the remote; he wants to see Dean fall apart. It
starts with a tremor in his thighs, not unlike Jess when she gets close.  But
then Dean’s trim little hips start rocking.  Sam is careful not to touch Dean’s
cock, but he keeps his palm on the kid’s belly, rubbing gently, keeping the
vibrator right where he wants it.  Dean himself has one hand tugging at his
tit, spit-wet from Sam’s mouth, and the other gripping the frame of the chaise,
like he’ll fly right off if he’s not holding on.  Maybe he will, given the
supple, athletic way his pelvis is grinding against Sam’s rock-hard dick.
It’s not long before Dean starts making the sweet, desperate sounds that Sam is
getting to know.  The ones that mean he’s on the brink, but can’t quite let
himself go.  Sam tries to imagine Dean holding back, not wanting to let Tyler’s
mom know what they were up to.  Not wanting to let Tyler know how much he
enjoyed it. Not letting himself know how much he enjoyed it.
Well, the hell with that!  Sam presses down harder on Dean’s stomach, holding
the egg in place despite the kid’s rocking body.  Dean comes for what must be
three solid minutes, first shooting jets of cum all over himself and Sam, then
shaking, dripping, twitching until Sam turns off the remote and gathers him
up. 
Dean clings like a limpet, slick and wet, winding his arm and legs tightly
around Sam.    Sam pulls at the egg’s string and Deam squirms.  “C’mon,” Sam
says.  He suspects Dean’s about to crash, and it’ll be easier to get this out
before he does.
He gives gentle, rhythmic tugs, whispering sweet nothings—how beautiful he’d
looked, how good.  And Dean shivers and stretches and finally sobs as the egg
slips out. 
Sam holds him until the sobs become muffled sniffles
“I’m sorry,” Dean snuffles, tucking his tear-stained face into Sam’s shoulder.
“Nothing to be sorry about. You were gorgeous.”
“I liked it, really!  It was just…”
“A lot?” asks Sam.
“I was ready!” Dean sound defensive.
Sam strokes his bare back, soothing.  “I know, I know, you were so good for me,
sweetheart.”
“But you didn’t even get to—”
Sam chuckles, loves the way Dean curls into the sound. “Oh, I came, babe.  You
were a little too out of it to notice. But I definitely came and I bet…” he
bucks Dean’s ass with his cock, half-hard from feeling Dean struggle with that
egg. “I bet I could come again.  If…”
Dean turns to look at him, wary but hopeful.  “If?”
Sam calculates quickly.  Dean’s too fragile to be fucked today.  He may be too
fragile to even have any part of his anatomy referred to as tits.  Sam settles
for: “Nurse me?” and gets one of Dean’s pretty blushes and a mouthful of teen
boytit while he jerks off slow and leisurely.
After, when they’re all dressed (Dean’s chest so sensitive that he winces
donning his worn t-shirt), Sam kisses him goodnight.  Then he issues his
challenge.  “I want you to do something for me.”
“Ok,” Dean says—doesn’t even bother to ask what.
“I want you to ask a girl to the prom.”
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