
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/219969.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weechesters, Wincest_-_Freeform, Sibling_Incest, Sex_Toys, Anal_Beads
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-07-06 Words: 2282
****** Normal Or Not ******
by BewareTheIdes15
Summary
     It's not that they shouldn't be doing this - even though, yeah, they
     so shouldn't be doing this.
It's not that they shouldn't be doing this - even though, yeah, they so
shouldn't be doing this - it's that Sam shouldn't even know about shit like
this. It's the sort of thing he should only have heard about through whispers
in the locker room and skin mags he should have stolen from his big brother. He
shouldn’t have had his big brother fucking whisper in his ear, low and lust-
rough, exactly how they were going to do it, how good it was going to feel;
shouldn’t have felt his brother's dick like throbbing hot steel against his
ass, just begging him to rub back against it. And that's the shit that gets Sam
stone-stiff and aching for it in three seconds flat - that he shouldn't and he
does. Because Dean tells him, Dean shows him, Dean makes him want it so bad he
can't breathe and then fucking gives it to him just like he promised and gets
him coming so hard from it, it's like time stops.

So by the time Dean takes Sam's hands in his own and wraps them around the
metal bars of the headboard, Sam's dick is ready to blow if Dean so much as
fucking breathes on it. Which he doesn't, because Dean knows exactly for far
gone Sam is, and Torture Sammy is Dean’s favorite game. Sam would totally hate
him for it, except he usually blows his wad so hard from this shit that he
forgets how to speak and it's kinda hard to hate somebody for that.

"Move them and we're done," Dean says, tightening Sam's grip on the bars one
last time before letting go. It's as much a warning as reassurance. If Sam
wants it to stop, can't take any more, that's his out, and Dean really would
just back off - he'd never hurt Sam, unless Sam wanted it. He's had an out
every time they've done stuff like this and never used it, even the times he
probably should have. Which is a really good argument for why brothers
shouldn't fuck; sibling rivalry plus kink is a dangerous thing. Sam wouldn't
give it up for anything in the world.

He's never been high - even though Dean has threatened to get him stoned and
fuck him stupid more than once - but he figures it's got feel something like
this. His whole body is all cool/hot tingly and just fucking switched on like
Dean has the magic key to all of his nerve endings hidden somewhere in his
leather jacket. Which he's still wearing, even though Sam is naked as the day
he was born, spread out on the bed under Dean and if he wasn't twelve different
kinds of fucked up, being all exposed like this while his brother's kneeling
over him fully clothed would not make his dick jump at all. But it does, and
even that feels almost too good.

This is the reason, more than anything else, more than the love and the trust
and all of that, - though that's all mixed up in there too and is part of what
makes it so spine-meltingly amazing - that he never wants to fuck anyone but
Dean, because there's no way in hell anybody else could ever do this to him and
now that he's had it, nothing else will ever be good enough.

Dean slides his hands fucking possessively down Sam's chest, calluses dragging
over hardened nipples and making Sam's toes curl from the hot pleasure that
webs out underneath his skin from it. Sam’s stomach muscles flutter under the
too-light caress, breath hitching instantly. The bastard stops before he gets
to the good stuff and if Sam's hips pump up for the touch anyway, he really
can't be held responsible because he brain switched off sometime around the
first second Dean’s skin met his.

Sam can feel the beads - a part of him is dying to ask where Dean got them, but
that would mean stopping and oh fuck that - pressing cool against his thigh and
thinking about where they're going to be in a minute is only making his breaths
go ragged faster. Breathing's a thing of the past though, the second Dean's
thick fingers tease at Sam's hole. He feels the muscle tighten up automatically
even though his body is screaming at him that he needs to get Dean inside him,
like, instantly if not sooner. But Dean's still down for the sadistic bastard
part of the evening so he just smirks at Sam and tickles his fingers just at
the entrance again. Fucking cocktease.

"You finger yourself?" Dean asks, even though he knows the answer. He told Sam
to do it, said it was the only prep he was going to get and even if maybe a
part of Sam wanted to say fuck it and just let his brother do him raw, he knew
it would make Dean feel like shit later so he'd worked himself wide - he'd
needed to come anyway after Dean had purred his plans for tonight into Sam’s
ear. Still that was like, hours ago now, so he wasn't sure how much good it was
going to do him.

Sam nods his head emphatically; barely containing a yell for Dean to just come
the fuck on and do it, because then his brother would just make him wait
longer. Dean chuckles darkly at Sam's eagerness, but it gets him coating the
first bead in lube so Sam just so doesn't give a shit.

"Good boy," Dean rumbles when Sam spreads his legs wider, begging for it like a
slut with his body, but that crap always gets to Dean and even if it costs him
a little dignity, knowing that he can get Dean all worked up just by wanting it
is his own little brand of sadism. What can he say, he had a good teacher.

He just barely picks out Dean's "take it like a good boy," over the thunder of
blood in his ears when that cool, slick bead presses up against him. There's a
flash-fire burn, gone before he's even really gotten a feel of it, that settles
into a sweet ache low in his gut. He can't help but wiggle his hips and shift
around it, body trying to get a feel for the alien object.

Dean's licking his pouty lips compulsively by the time Sam's got two of the
little balls shoved up in him, not nearly enough pressure or friction to really
feel good, just strange, but it's got his dick leaking out onto his stomach so
clearly he's not complaining. The third one bursts past the ring of muscle
easier, Sam really getting a feel for the burn now, and he moans for it like a
bitch because it feels so twistedly good and because it gets Dean's fingers
digging into his leg like his brother's trying not to lose it in his fucking
jeans.

The fourth and fifth come fast, before he's even gotten a chance to adjust and
all of a sudden Sam's too full, no way he can take any more and how many of
those things are there anyway? But all of that pressure has the beads pressing
right on THAT spot and if he moves his hips just so...
ohsweetmotherfuckingjesus.

He's working his hips hard now, clenching down around the shifting weight
inside him and just goddamn fucking himself with them while hisfingers try and
bend the bars on the headboard. Dean's hand slides underneath - fucking
underneath! - Sam's aching cock, which makes him whimper with need right up
until his brother presses down against all of the places Sam can feel the balls
inside of him and oh God! ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod! His nerves are like wires
stripped of their insulation, just hanging out raw and open, firing off sparks
in places that don't make any sense and shouldn’t be connected to his dick at
all.

Dean's suddenly straddling Sam's head - when did that happen? - fly undone and
Sam can see the swath of precome Dean's painting across his own belly. It makes
Sam feel like he hasn't eaten in days. He arches up to get a taste - fucking
sweet, beautiful, sonofabitching beads moving around in him again - and then
Dean does something down there and Sam feels one of the beads pop free.
Everything runs cold for a second when the adrenaline floods him, then it's
back to sweating, searing, burning-alive-from-the-inside-out heat.

He's got the tip of Dean's cock captured between his lips, suckling on it like
a baby bottle and Dean's panting into the crook of his thigh like he's having a
heart attack. Sam's dick needs attention so bad he's pretty sure it's just
going to fucking explode unless Dean does something for him and he bucks his
hips as a not so subtle reminder that he's fucking dying over here!

Dean get's the picture and those pornstar lips are all over Sam's dick, laying
long wet, desperate kisses all over his swollen flesh and the scorching hot
relief of it makes Sam's fingers go numb. Dean shifts a little, angles his hips
and then he's fucking Sam's throat so deep and hard he can't breathe and
doesn't miss it. Who the fuck needs air anyway?

The wet kisses stop on Sam's cock and he's not gonna take any kind of shit from
Dean about crying because goddamnit he needs to come now and instead Dean's
sucking at the fading bruise on the inside of his thigh that marks his
brother's favorite spot. He's almost forgotten what it looked like to not have
Dean's mark there and now just thinking about his brother claiming him again
has his cock swelling impossibly harder. There can't possibly be any more blood
in his body, it's all funneled down to his dick and yes, sweet holy fuck, yes,
Dean's pressing down low on his belly again and those balls are moving inside
him. Dean's cock his heavy and twitching on his tongue and he let go of the
fucking bars whoknowshowlong ago because it was absolutely imperative – fucking
life or death – that he grab Dean's ass and push him into his mouth even harder
and -

Sam's not sure if he's feeling everything or nothing but whatever it is, it's
electric and his whole body is tuned into it. He feels every hitch of muscle as
his come suddenly, almost painfully, shoots out, splattering hot across Dean's
cheek and neck and shirt and jacket – he’s probably going to be pissed as hell
later but fuck it, Sam would lick him clean if that's what his brother wanted -
and the clench of those muscles just makes the beads ram against that spot
inside him even harder. It's like being in a loop and every time the bliss
pounds through him and out his dick, it just sends another, bigger shock of it
shooting through his body. It's like he's being hollowed out by the aching
rightness of it and there's not going to be anything left but a fucked out,
empty shell. People shouldn't be able to survive shit like this and if this is
the end then what a way to go!

Dean's losing it halfway down his throat and Sam swallows around it, loving the
way his brother’s come slides slick and warm down inside him, filling up all
the place he thought were going to be left empty and he's still hungry for more
even after Dean gets too sensitive and pulls off.

It takes four eternities to pull all of the beads out, each one making Sam's
fucked-out body twitch like he's seizing with the screwed up mix of pain and
pleasure. Dean soothes him through it, petting and kissing over his hips and
thighs, pressing little nonsense words into his skin that Sam can't really hear
anyway even if his brain was up to processing language.

"That," Dean mumbles, "Holy shit, that..." Apparently Sam's not the only one
not up to words yet.

Sam half-turns onto his side - fucking A, he's going to feel that for weeks and
damn if that doesn’t make his spent dick try to fill out again - and presses
his face against Dean's legs, rubbing his cheek against the warm denim. His
tongue sneaks out on its own - he's so not in control of his body right now -
and starts licking a wet spot onto the rough fabric because somehow it just
feels good to have his tongue working against something. Yeah, he's fucked up,
he knows.

"You ok, Sammy?" Dean asks, kind of rough and numb like maybe he feels as used
up as Sam does.

"Yeah," Sam croaks out, nuzzling at the wet patch he just made with his tongue
and arching for it when Dean softly palms his ass.

"My baby boy," Dean whispers into the silence, eyes sliding closed as he
presses one last kiss to Sam's thigh.

Sam smiles and manages after a couple of centuries of gonnacomegonnadie, to
wiggle himself around so that Dean's spooning him. His big brother's arm slides
around his waist easy as breathing, nose working itself into the sweaty mess of
curls on the back of Sam's neck. Dean may not be the kind of brother he's
supposed to want - in fact the cops would probably try to take Sam away if they
knew what kind of brother Dean was - but he's Sam's, in all the ways that count
and a couple dozen more that don't even have a place on the scoreboard. And if
Sam can spend the rest of his life falling asleep sore and well-fucked in his
brother's arms, he figures he's pretty damn lucky, normal or not.
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