
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1064134.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Spanking, Anal_Sex, top!dean, Bottom!Sam, Teenage!Sam, Plot_What_Plot/
      Porn_Without_Plot, Weecest
  Series:
      Part 4 of Tumblr_Prompt_Fills
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-30 Words: 2274
****** Prompt #4 ******
by Sijglind
Summary
     loki-ago: "Putting my bashful boots on here... Maybe you could write
     one where Dean gives Sammy a spanking?"
Notes
     So, Sammy's around 15 or 16 here (couldn't really decide, but oh
     well), therefore the Underage warning. Enjoy!
     Give_me_a_prompt on my tumblr.
Dean is angry.
No, that’s not the right word. Dean’s fucking furious.
He’s covered in mud and smelling of smoke and his shirt is clinging
uncomfortably to his back, right between his shoulder blades, sweaty and
disgusting. His right cheekbone is throbbing and he can feel the bruise already
blooming, and his ribs make themselves known with each breath he takes.
But all that, shitty as it may be, is not what’s responsible for his bad mood.
He’s holding the motel room door open for Sammy, mouth a hard line, eyes
narrowed, as he watches his baby brother shuffle into the room, shoulders
slumped and head hanging so that he can hide behind his ridiculously floppy
bangs.
The door is thrown shut with more force than necessary, and Sam flinches,
slumps even more if possible, one arm gripping the other’s elbow as if that
would be enough to shield himself from his brother’s anger. Fat chance.
Dean positions himself between his brother and the door, arms crossed over his
chest, shoulders squared, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. His
anger is radiating off him in waves and Sam is fidgeting beneath his unblinking
glare, the tips of his sneakers digging into the dirty motel carpet.
“Never. Do that again,” Dean finally says, through his teeth, the words sharp
and bitten off, and Sam worries his bottom lip but looks up, eyes full of
defiance. Dean can feel the worn cotton of his shirt giving beneath the
pressure of his hands, hears the seams popping, but he doesn’t let go of his
own sleeves, because he’s scared he’s gonna do something reckless and
unforgivable as soon as his hands are free to grab his brother.
Sam seems to take courage from Dean’s continuing silence, rolls his shoulders
slightly and straightens his spine, his chin rising, arms falling to his sides,
hands balled to fists.
“She would’ve gotten you,” he says with all the cockiness of his teenage years,
but there’s a nearly inaudible tremor to his voice that Dean catches. “What do
you expect me to do, Dean? Stand by and watch you being torn apart by some
shitty vengeful spirit?”
Dean takes a step forward, and Sam makes as if to take a step back in turn, a
tiny twitch of his left leg, but then he decides against it and holds his
ground, raises his chin even more to meet Dean’s gaze.
“I expect you to find another way to distract those damn sons of bitches than
throwing yourself in front of me,” Dean shoots back and uncrosses his arms, one
hand coming forward to grab Sam by the front of his shirt, bunching it in his
fist and pulling his brother closer, leaving only inches between their faces.
“Are we clear?” He asks, low and dangerous, in a voice that allows no talking
back. But he’s talking to Sammy, the fucking prince of back-talk, and Sam’s
getting angry now, too. His cheeks are flushed and his eyebrows drawn together,
his mouth a thin line.
“No,” he says, and Dean wants to punch him. “It worked, didn’t it? We both got
a bit roughened up, but the spirit’s gone, we’ve both been worse after a hunt!”
Roughened up, Sam says and Dean sees him flying through the air after a punch
to his gut by the spirit, sees him landing on the wet ground of the graveyard,
unmoving while the bitch advances towards him, sees his own hands fumbling with
the matches while he tries to light one of the goddamn things—and he snaps.
He lets go of Sam’s shirt and grabs his brother’s neck none too gently, pulls
him towards one of the beds and sits down, Sam stumbling, forgetting to protest
because of his confusion until Dean shoves down his jeans and boxers and flings
him over his knees, naked ass in the air, half of his torso hanging down, tips
of his hair brushing against the carpet.
Only then does Sam remember how to talk, and he says, “Dean, what—“ and tries
to pull his clothes back up, fingers fumbling with his waistband, but Dean
takes both of his wrists and presses them, crossed, against the small of Sam’s
back, holding them in place with one of his own larger hands, fingers
encircling them like a vice.
Dean brings his hand down hard on Sam’s ass, two slaps on each cheek, making
red blossom immediately on his brother’s skin. Sam’s breath hitches, and he
squirms, startled on Dean’s lap, bucking up against his brother’s restraining
hold on him, but Dean doesn’t let go and leans down instead, whispers into
Sam’s ear, “you gonna shut up now, Sammy, and you’re gonna take it.”
Sam shudders and turns his head, trying to protest, but the words die on his
lips when he sees Dean’s face. He shakes his head, slightly, and gets another
slap on his left ass cheek, the sound sharp and reverberating through the
silence in the room, Sam’s surprised shout following in its wake.
He looks incredulous, confused, but Dean isn’t joking. He’s so goddamn angry at
his brother, and he has to let it out.
So he does. Two more strikes against the soft skin, making Sam rock on his lap
and gasp. He’s twisting his hands in Dean’s grasp, but it’s only halfhearted,
so Dean ignores it, brings his hand down again and again, always on the same
spots on each rounded cheek, watches as pink turns to dark red. Slowly, Sam
relaxes, only tensing for the fraction of a second when Dean smacks his ass or
the back of his thighs.
For a bit, the sound of sharp slaps, Sam’s strangled gaps and Dean’s heavy
breathing is the only noise in the room.
“You’re never.” Slap.
“Gonna do that.” Slap.
“Again.” Slap.
“You got that, Sammy?” Slap.
“Yes,” Sam groans and Dean rewards him with another slap against his right
cheek, feels Sam rocking forward with the blow, his hip rubbing against Dean’s
painfully hard dick. His hand is in the air again, ready to come down for
another slap, when his vision finally clears of the red and he comes to his
senses, sees his brother’s angry red ass, feels him squirming on his lap, the
movement sending sparks of pleasure through his dick and up his spine.
“God, Sammy,” Dean chokes out and lets go immediately, and Sam slumps as if
he’s boneless, arms slipping off his back to dangle next to each side of his
head. Dean’s hands are shaking when he reaches out to softly touch the burning,
tender, red skin of Sam’s ass, and Sam hisses through his teeth, makes Dean
snap his hand back as if burned.
“God,” Dean repeats and takes Sam by his shoulders to gently pull him off his
lap and to his feet.
“I’m sorry,” Dean says while he holds Sam up with his arms beneath his arm
pits, Sam swaying dangerously. His face is flushed and his eyes glassy with
held-back tears, his bangs clinging to his forehead with sweat.
“Jesus,” Dean breathes, but Sam shakes his head, mumbles, “’s alright, Dean,”
and looks to the side, worrying his bottom lip.
It’s then that Dean becomes aware of the small wet spot on his left thigh, and
he takes in a sharp breath, startled, eyes dropping to his brother’s crotch—and
yes, Sam’s cock is hard, standing up proudly, head slick with pre-come, and
Dean feels like his own legs are about to give out. Sam’s hands come up to hide
his hard-on from Dean’s view, but Dean pulls him in, against his chest, one arm
around Sammy’s waist, the other hand tipping up his chin.
“’s alright, baby,” he says, voice rough, pupils blown as he forces Sam to look
at him. “’s alright, gonna take care of you.”
Dean leans in and kisses Sam, gently, lips brushing softly, tongue licking
along the seam of Sam’s lips to ask to be let in and Sam complies, parts them
on a silent gasp. Dean’s hand roams over Sam’s back, following his spine
towards his ass, caressing oh so softly over the abused flesh and he’s reveling
in the needy groan he draws from Sam, gently nips his throat when Sam’s head
falls back. His hand slides over Sam’s hip to his crotch, closes around his
cock and tugs, thumb brushing over the head.
“Dean,” Sam moans, blissed-out, and Dean eases him onto the bed, on his
stomach.
“Gonna fuck you good, baby,” he says as his eyes wander down the expanse of
Sam’s back, down towards his perfect ass, showing off his red hand prints like
a brand, a claim. His cock twitches. Shirt, jeans and briefs are discarded
quickly, and Dean climbs onto the bed, kneeling between his brother’s spread
thighs. He leans in, supporting his weight on one arm, his free hand taking
hold of his cock to rub it over Sam’s red ass cheeks, groaning when he feels
the hot skin against the sensitive head of his dick and catches Sam shudder.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promises while he takes lube and condom out
of the nightstand drawer.
Sam wiggles his hips, cock grinding down against the sheets in search of
friction when he hears the snap of the lube being opened and he says, “Dean,
please,” all needy and delicious, a sound that goes straight to Dean’s cock and
makes him bite the inside of his cheek to hold in an unmanly whimper.
“Shh, Sammy,” Dean says as he slicks up his fingers and discards the lube. He
pulls Sam’s hip up so that he’s on his knees, head buried in the sheets,
presenting his perfect ass to his big brother, and Dean has to take deep,
calming breaths to keep himself from foregoing the prep and just shove his cock
into Sammy’s hole.
He’s careful when he pushes one finger into his brother, waits for Sam to relax
again before he moves it, slowly in and out until he feels it’s time to push in
a second digit. Sam keeps on groaning and begging for more, faster, but Dean
shushes him, free hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of Sam’s back.
“C’mon, baby, only a bit more,” he says and scissors his fingers before pushing
deeper and curling them to brush over Sam’s prostrate as a reward, making Sam
squirm.
Only when Sam’s all slicked up and loose, he withdraws and rolls on the condom,
watching Sam’s hole flutter around nothing. Dean sits up on his knees and
aligns his cock, spreading Sam’s cheeks with one hand, slips the head of his
dick into his brother.
He pushes in slowly, waiting again and again to help his brother adjust to the
stretch and only when he’s fully inside, Sam’s ass cheeks pressing against his
hips, he takes the time to take a proper look.
The sight is marvelous; Sam’s perfect tight hole stretched around his cock, his
ass cheeks still slightly red with Dean’s hand prints, and he groans, long and
drawn-out. It takes all his willpower to hold back and not start pounding Sam
into the mattress, hard and fast.
“Jesus, Sammy,” he whispers, rough and breathless, “you have no idea how
fucking gorgeous you look right now. Fucking perfect, baby.”
Sam clenches around him and groans, hands fisting the sheets next to his head,
and Dean starts moving, draws out slowly and pushes back in, speeding up a bit
with each thrust until he’s reached an even rhythm that makes Sam squirm and
press back, meeting him halfway.
“Harder,” Sam begs and Dean complies, making Sam’s breath hitch on each thrust
when the still tender flesh of his ass cheeks meets Dean’s hips.
Dean reaches around Sam’s waist and pulls him up, sitting back on his haunches
with Sam in his lap, Sam’s head falling back onto his shoulder so that his
moans and little cries aren’t muffled by the pillows anymore. Dean’s hand is
around Sam’s cock and with each thrust, he drives Sam forward into his fist,
his hips digging into Sam’s ass cheeks, a perfect balance of pleasure and pain
if the noises Sam’s making by now is anything to go by.
“Dean, ‘m close,” Sam chokes out and Dean speeds up his thrusts, snapping his
hips, thumb brushing over the head of Sam’s cock, pressing slightly into the
slit, and Sam goes taut like the string of a bow, back arching, clenching
around Dean’s cock as he comes with a shout.
Dean fucks him through his orgasm, come-slick hand not letting go of Sam’s dick
until he feels it going flaccid and Sam is slumping against him, loose-limbed
and fucked-out.
“So good for me, baby,” Dean says and nips at Sam’s shoulder, his hands taking
hold of Sam’s hips to lift him up and bring him back down on his cock, driving
it in hard and fast. It only takes a couple more thrusts until his rhythm turns
erratic and he’s coming himself, biting down hard into Sam’s shoulder, groaning
his release into his brother’s skin.
Sam is half asleep when Dean finally pulls out and helps him lie back down on
his stomach in the other bed, but there’s a sleepy smile on his lips, so Dean
doesn’t feel bad at all when he’s gotten rid of the condom and slips into the
bed next to his brother, fingers trailing over the red marks on Sam’s ass.
Right before he falls asleep, Dean makes a mental note to find out if Sammy’s
got any other kinks.
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