
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/238907.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Weechesters, Wincest_-_Freeform, Rimming, Spanking
  Series:
      Part 4 of Everyday_Life
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-13 Words: 3532
****** Extra Incentive ******
by BewareTheIdes15
Summary
     Sammy's been a bad bad boy and he has to be punished.
Sam half-stumbled, half-flew through the front door and right into the living
room wall courtesy of Dean's - maybe unnecessary - shove. He didn't even feel
bad when Sammy's lanky, loose frame slid down the wall, cocking his head like
he wasn't sure how he got there.
"Have you lost. Your. Mind?!" Dean's voice reverberated impressively off of
their thin walls, door slamming shut behind him. If it had been anyone other
than Sam sprawled on his ass, he would have been shaking at the threat rolling
off of Dean, but his little brother knew too well that Dean would never really
hurt him and the thought just crawled under the older Winchester's skin and
pissed him off more. Of course, if it had been anybody else trying to get their
bearings from the living room floor, eyelids blinking stupidly over blown
pupils, Dean really wouldn't have given a shit.
This new rebellious streak of Sam's was just out of fucking hand. It was one
thing to sulk around and bitch about the hunts - hell, Sam had done that since
he'd hit puberty - it was a whole other mother fucking thing to go out with a
bunch of kids he barely knew in the middle of the damn night and get stoned.
Sammy was just lucky Dad wasn't there to deal with this mess - even though Dean
knew deep down that if he had been, Dean would have busted his ass to make sure
Dad didn't find out.
Still that didn't mean he could just stand there and let Sam get away with
acting like, like a fucking teenager! Being out of his head, out of control,
with no one but strangers to watch his ass? That was just asking for trouble,
and it just wasn’t Sam.
Sam still hadn't answered the question, just kind of smiling up at Dean now
like he thought something good was going to happen. What the hell had he been
smoking?
After two fucking hours of driving, practically trembling with panic, – and
Dean Winchester did not goddamn tremble - around every dirt road, and back
woods spot this God forsaken town had to offer before finding Sam like this,
Dean still had a nice hit of adrenaline roaring through him, on top of the slow
burning rage that Sam had fucking snuck out in the first place! He'd almost
called the damn cops! And that was the only reason - the absolute only one - it
felt so good for Dean to reach down and wrap his fist in Sam's overshirt and
haul the long pile of dead weight that was his little brother to his feet. It
felt even better when he just shoved Sam back into the wall, the heels of
Dean's hands digging in too hard under Sam's collar bone to keep him in place.
That hazy smile didn't even have the decency to waiver.
"What were you thinking?" Dean yelled again, right in his little brother's
face. Sammy tried to shrug, but the pressure of Dean's hands made it
impossible. The younger man looked accusingly at his shoulders, as if they had
betrayed him by not performing the non-committal gesture.
"You know what's out there Sam! How many times have you seen a bunch of fucking
kids picked off by something out in the dark!" An idea hit Dean suddenly and
his hands were patting down Sammy's waistband before the question even formed
on his tongue. "Did you have anything with you?"
He was sure he already knew the answer, even as his fingers slid across his
brother's thighs to see if he'd at least had the sense to shove his butterfly
knife in his pocket. Nothing.
Well, nothing except Sam's rock hard cock straining for Dean's touch.
And ok, there were some perks to having sex with a 16 year old - which was
something Dean was never going to let himself think again because he suddenly
felt like the world's biggest pedo. But still, perks. Like the fact that Sammy
could be stone-stiff and moaning for Dean even though his older brother had
gotten him off once before school and once after and then fucked him into the
mattress before he'd gone to hustle some pool after dinner. While Dean couldn't
pretend that the sight of Sam out of his head and begging didn't do absolute
wonders for his own libido, that line of thought brought up a whole other issue
that made his blood boil all over again.
Dean shoved his whole body flat to Sam's, pushing the younger man into the wall
hard enough that his head cracked against it. Dean so didn't care.
"What'd you sneak out for anyway, Sammy? You hitting it with one of those
girls? Got yourself a boyfriend, maybe?"
"What?" Sam actually seemed to sober up a bit at the low purr of Dean's
accusation, "No! Dean, I swear. I woul-"
The bruising force of Dean's lips stopped whatever was coming next because
somehow it might be that much worse to actually hear your little brother say
he'd never date anyone else because he only wanted to fuck you than it was to
really want him to say it. Still, the reassurance cooled the sick churning of
Dean’s stomach, fueled a whole new kind of sickness that it made him so happy.
"Get your pants down," he growled, biting at Sam's lip while the order made its
way trough Sam's fuzzy brain. As soon as it clicked, the younger Winchester was
struggling with his seemingly too-complicated button and zipper.
The second the denim whumped to the ground, Dean had his hand clasped at the
nape of Sam's neck again, moving aside to give him another hard shove forward.
With the fabric caught around his feet, Sam only managed to stumble a step
before catching himself on hands and knees. A grip-tug in the shaggy mop of
Sam's hair urged him to crawl the extra two feet to the coffee table, then bend
himself across it.
"Dean!" Sam whined, trying to lift up before Dean's hand slapped him back down
to the wood finish.
That smooth ass that Dean spent way too much of his time thinking about was
laid out for him like an offering; one he had every intention of taking. He ran
one rough finger down the cleft of Sam's ass, stopping to feel the puckered
opening give under his pressure, still a little loose from the pounding Dean
had given it earlier. Sammy whimpered in the back of his throat and squirmed.
"Nobody touched me, Dean I swear," he promised desperately, maybe worried that
Dean would mistake the reason his body opened so easily. "Nobody ever but you."
Dean had to press his head to the small of Sam's back to catch his breath from
the overwhelming thrill that shot through him at the words. Hearing Sam say it,
just say it like it was the most obvious think in the world, had all of the
wrongsweetrightsick of it mixing up with imagined flashes of Sam bent over like
this with somebody else's hands on him. Sam was still babbling promises nobody
should ever want to hear from their baby brother's mouth and Dean needed him to
stop it right the fuck then before his dick exploded from all of the blood in
his body rushing into it at the same time.
He hadn't made a conscious decision to do it, just felt his arm move back on
instinct the way it did when he drew a gun or threw a punch. Except this time,
Dean was doing a whole different kind of damage when his hand whipped forward
and smacked hard and loud against Sam's ass.
The world narrowed down to the sting of his hand and the warmth of Sam's skin,
the red melting to the pale surface from the force of his blow and the absolute
fucking silence as they both forgot how to breathe. Well, there was another
thing to add to the list of 'shit that's way too wrong to feel that damn good'.
Dean heard the click of wet muscles when his own throat swallowed convulsively.
Sam's hazel eyes looked back at Dean over his shoulder - he hadn't bothered to
lift himself up or even tried to move - pupils still blown wide but whether it
was from the drugs now or the fact that, if anything, the cock fighting gravity
to curve up against his stomach had only gotten harder.
"Eye's front," Dean barked automatically, loving the kind of unquestioning
compliance that he only got out of Sam when he was hard and desperate... or
maybe high. That thought was enough to eat through the numb fog that
unexpectedly spanking – actually spanking! – Sam had put him in and bring the
heat roiling back in. Fearragelustneedterrorlove had been Dean's whole world
since he'd pulled the Impala up to the apartment hours ago to find Sammy
missing, and now his little brother was going to pay for it with the only
currency Dean wanted from him.
"Got your attention now, Sammy? 'Cause after all of the bullshit you put me
through tonight, I think you need to make it up to me. Think you need to be
punished." Dean's fingers soothed over the burning redness of Sam's skin, "What
do you thinks’ fair, huh? Say, ten for sneaking out in the middle of the night,
trying to drive me out of my mind. Another ten for the drugs, 'cause you ought
to know better. Ten more for not even carrying a fucking weapon" – and somehow
Dean just couldn’t resist adding a second smack to the already bright mark on
Sam’s backside – "to protect yourself. Sound fair, Sammy?"
Sam squirmed under Dean's gaze, trying to turn back again and see if his
brother was serious. Dean laid a matching mark across the other cheek, and that
got Sam faced front and still in less than a second. Jesus, he was really going
to let Dean do this.
"That'd be thirty, in case you missed it, honor roll." Dean said, giving Sam
another chance to tell Dean to knock it off and stop being a jerk. He really
expected to hear the words, but all he got was the hitched sound of Sam’s
breath. Well ok, then, if Sammy was alright with this – and by the angry color
of his cock, he was more than alright with this – then Dean could roll with it.
It was sure as hell going to make him feel a whole lot better.
He nudged Sam's thighs further apart to give him a perfect view of his favorite
little hole and didn't even try to fight the possessive flush that flooded him.
"Count 'em off for me," he growled, letting his flattened palm whistle through
the air again. Sam gasped loud but that was the only sound he made.
Dean leaned forward, pressing himself against Sam in one long line and purred
right into his ear the way he'd learned could make Sam lose it just from the
right choice of words.
"That's thirty from whenever you start counting, baby. I can do this all
night," he lied, because he could already feel the tingling rush of blood to
his hand and no matter how pissed he was, he really didn't want to bruise Sam
up. Much.
Dean hauled himself off his brother's body, grinding his jeans clad erection
against that sore ass just a little for emphasis. The next time the harsh slap
of flesh on flesh wrent the air it was followed immediately by a harsh, "One"
from Sam.
Dean, in his storied sexual career had had a bit of experience in this - once
even on the receiving end - but he had never gotten off on it like this. Sam
looked so damn good laid out, sweat starting to bead up along his spine by the
time he'd reached "Ten!", just willing, wanting, to let Dean do this shit to
him. The older Winchester took a second's break from laying handprints over
Sam's ass and thighs to press a long, dirty lick up the length of Sam's back,
starting where the red of his handiwork began at the dip of the spine and going
right up until he met the matching flush of Sam's - embarrassment? lust? - as
it spread from his neck.
By "Fifteen!" Sam was moaning more than gasping, hips canting back into every
blow like it was the sweetest touch he'd ever felt. His ass was cherry red, the
heat of the cheeks almost matching the heat Dean knew was inside, and it only
made him want to lean down and sink his teeth in the meat of the flesh.
He was doing his best to vary the strength and speed of his slaps, noticing the
way quick ones to the tops of the thighs made Sam's hands clench reflexively at
the coffee table, while steady hard ones to the cheeks had his head tossing
back and forth.
At the rasp of "Twenty two!" Dean reached around and let his burning fingers
dance over the hard length of Sam's cock. His little brother groaned at the
contact, hips jerking automatically to try and get more friction. Dean just
eased off a little and let his fingertips sweep up to slide over the mess of
precome dripping from the head. Sam's hand banged hard onto the surface of the
table and Dean was grudgingly impressed at the younger man's control.
He'd known even before the first time they'd had sex that Sam could go off
without his dick being touched - a fact that had brought Dean off like a rocket
more times than he cared to remember - but even a little bit of rubbing was
usually enough to have Sam squirming and shooting over his hand. It was a
testament to how bad he had to want this that he hadn't already stained the
carpet white.
Impossibly harder by the idea that Sam was fucking holding back for more of
this, Dean pulled back and swiped the precome shining on his fingers across
Sam's swelling flesh. Fuck, that was just so goddamn pretty.
"Twenty four!" was almost a sob and it had Sam pushing back far enough that
there wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't open to Dean's hand. By "Twenty six!"
he was trying to convince himself that pinking up Sam's hole would be a bad
idea. By "Twenty eight!" he knew he was going to do it anyway. "Twenty nine!"
was barely audible over the panting as his hand hit right at the tailbone.
"Thirty" just came out as "Uhhhn!" when the tips of Dean's fingers hit with
stinging precision right over Sam's opening.
Sam's body tried to curl in on itself, stopped by the table holding him up, so
he only shot milky heat over his stomach and part of his chest and of course
the table itself. That's what it got for getting in the way when Sammy came
that hard; eyes rolled back in his head, jerking like Dean had hit him with a
taser.
It was the hottest fucking thing Dean had ever seen and if his own cock weren't
strangling itself to death inside his jeans, just getting his hand around it
would have been all it would have taken for him to join Sam right over the edge
in bliss.
Instead he used his aching hand to gentle Sam through the aftershocks, sliding
it slowly up his side, then down over the front of his thigh without touching
the crimson flesh of his ass. Yet.
Once Sam had collapsed into a boneless sprawl across the table, Dean decided it
was time to get his. He didn't even have to lay his hands on the glowing red
flesh to feel the heat coming off it in waves, but when he did, Sam just made
another one of those perfect moans he did, like somehow this was still feeling
really good to him. Dean knew without question that Sam was going to be tender
for days and just thinking about it made him need to get his dick out
immediately if not sooner.
Finally fisting his cock - sweetmotherfucker that felt good! - Dean let his
cheek rest against the abused tissue of Sam's ass, earning himself a whimper
that pooled right in the tight coil of his balls. It felt too good to flick his
tongue out and let it slide over Sam's reddened opening to not do it again. And
again, and again until he was tonguing it in a sharp, steady rhythm that had
Sam's breath coming out thready and beautiful. He was going to come again for
Dean, just like this, and the older Winchester had to grip a circle around the
base of his cock to wait for it to happen.
Dean couldn't help how much he loved being able to fuck Sam into oblivion like
this; the musky taste, the press of heat, the slickness of sweat under his
hands were the only things that really mattered in his whole life most of the
time, the only real way they'd ever had to show how much they needed each
other.
Even though he'd just finished shooting his brain out of his dick, and even
though that was the fourth fucking time Sam had come that day, it didn't take
more than a few minutes to feel the shivering build up in his muscles again.
Dean slid one hand down to cups the tightness of his little brother's balls,
humming his approval into Sam's hole while the hand still tingling from tearing
up Sam's ass worked even harder over his cock. He could feel the heat build,
spread low in his body, so fucking close to losing it that he wasn't even sure
he was breathing anymore and couldn't fucking care less.
He sucked hard on puckered flesh and the muscles under his mouth, in his hand,
spasmed. Sam was screaming out Dean's name like it was the only word he knew
and Dean jerked back, hand working furiously as he painted his little brother's
reddened skin white with ropey streams of come.
Dean gathered up the last barely-there pulse of fluid on his sore fingers and
smeared it right into the mess on Sam's ass. Sammy didn't even bother to groan,
a tiny flicker of muscle the only indication that he even felt Dean touching
his tortured skin.
He did groan when Dean manhandled him off of the table, pulling them both
sideways onto the carpet and ignoring the hiss when he spooned his spent groin
up against Sam's backside. If he didn't manage to recover before they fell
asleep like that, it was going to be a real bitch when they woke up glued
together by Dean's seed. He just crooked his arm so they could both use it for
a pillow and breathed in the scent of sex and sweat and Sam.
"Was this supposed to be incentive for me to NOT sneak out again?" Sam wondered
sleepily after a minute.
"Back in the land of the living, Sammy?" Dean huffed a laugh into his brother's
damp curls, "That was incentive to remember that no matter where you go, that
ass is mine. And I intend to protect it." He let his fingers wander over too
hot flesh in emphasis. Sam just ground back harder against him.
"You go out on your own all the time," Sam mumbled, and even through the
exhausted, fucked-out haze, Dean caught the hint of accusation. So that's what
this had all been about.
"Yeah well," he sighed, "Maybe this was a little incentive for me, too. Remind
me what's worth staying home for." He let his hand press flat over Sam's slowly
steadying heartbeat.
"If that's what it takes to get you to stay, I'm never going to be able to sit
down again." Sam laughed for a minute, lazy and simple like he only ever was
afterward. Then his hand - bigger than Dean's now, just like the rest of his
body - found a home over Dean's on his chest and he half-whispered, "But I
don't mind."
It was Dean's turn to laugh, more subdued than his brother's.
"You're a little twisted, you know that, kid?" Then he hmm'ed and nestled his
lips against Sam's neck. "Love you, baby," he whispered, like he always did
somewhere along the lines of their fucks.
Sam's murmured return wasn't even really words as sleep - and probably what was
left of the drugs - overtook his system, but Dean knew what it meant. With that
knowledge running warm through his veins, he let his breathing even out and
joined his brother in sleep.
In the morning they were probably going to regret sleeping on the living room
floor - on top of Sam not being able to sit down, and the hours it was going to
take to get that mess out of the carpet - but neither of them would have had it
any other way. Fucked up, and wrong, and more than a little painful - it was
everything they were, and sometimes it was nice when the outsides matched what
was within.
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