
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1098014.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, Teenage_Sam, Bottom_Sam, Top_Dean, First_Time
  Series:
      Part 7 of Tumblr_Prompt_Fills
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-23 Words: 1967
****** Prompt #7 ('Tis the Season) ******
by Sijglind
Summary
     samanddeanandcasarelove: "How about a little Wincest with Dean
     walking in to find Sam naked with a big red bow wrapped around his
     cock for Dean's Christmas present? (First time & Teen!Winchesters a
     plus)"
Notes
     Give_me_a_prompt on my tumblr.
"Sam?"
Dean comes back to the little house they are renting in Wahoo, Nebraska while
Dad’s away on a hunt, expecting to find his brother curled in on himself on the
couch, reading a book. Instead, he’s greeted by a silent and empty living room,
the only light coming from the hall leading towards the bedrooms. Immediately,
Dean’s right hand goes to the gun tucked into his waistband at the small of his
back, fingers closing around the handle.
"Bedroom," Sam answered finally, voice slightly higher than usual, and Dean
takes a cautious step forwards, eyes searching the room for any sign of
something fishy going on.
"Everything alright?" he asks, hand still on his gun, ready to pull it out,
thumb resting on the safety.
"Right as rain," comes the response and Dean relaxes, taking a deep breath, his
hand falling away from the gun.
He slips his boots off next to the door and throws his jacket over the back of
the couch on the way to his brother, making the old floor boards creak as he
stomps through the hall to the small bedroom they’re sharing.
"Seriously, dude—" he begins as he steps into the room, preparing himself to go
off on a tangent on why it’s a bad idea to scare the crap out of your big
brother on Christmas Eve—only to fall silent abruptly.
Turns out, Sam’s really alright. Physically at least.
Mentally? That’d be debatable.
"Sam?" Dean chokes out, not noticing the breathless, high pitch his voice has
adopted, because he’s far too occupied with staring—
Staring at his little brother, who’s lying spread out on his bed. Naked.
Completely naked, all gangly limbs and wiry muscles, tanned skin almost perfect
but for a few interrupting silvery scars, dark dusting of hair, a trail
starting beneath his belly button, leading down to.
Make that almost completely naked, because—
Because there’s a bow. Around Sam’s cock. Satiny, deep red, perfectly tied
around hardening flesh, and—oh god.
"Hey, Dean," Sam says silently, peeking through his floppy bangs at Dean, blush
on his face spreading to his neck and chest. There’s hesitation in his voice,
but determination in his eyes, and Dean, Dean doesn’t know what to do, what to
say, what to make of this; his little brother, looking for all intents and
purposes like an early Christmas gift, with a fucking bow around his cock,
sitting on Dean’s bed with his leg spread like a fucking invitation, all of his
dreams, wants, needs, finally coming true and—
"Oh, god," Dean says and swallows.
Sam bites his bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth, makes it red and shiny and
look like the most delicious thing in the world. He looks, god, he looks like
the epitome of sin, and Dean feels his body react, takes a step closer,
involuntarily pulled in by the wonderful, perfect view of his—fuck—his naked
baby brother.
Sam looks almost eager as he scrambles upright, to his knees, cock jutting out,
hard and leaking pre-come, beads of it on the head catching the dim light in
the room.
"Jesus, Sammy."
"I know what you want to say," Sam begins and looks pleadingly at Dean, huge
hazel eyes begging. "I know you want to say it’s wrong and that we’re brothers,
but we’re not normal brothers and I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes,
and I know I look at you the same way, too, and I want this Dean. I want this.
More than anything else, so please…”
He trails off, bites his bottom lip again, and Dean wants to take it into his
mouth instead, wants to bite it, wants to kiss it, lick it, suck it into his
own mouth, wants to feel it sliding spit-slick against his lips.
When Sam finally goes on, his voice is barely more than a whisper, “I don’t
care that it’s wrong, Dean. I don’t care. I want this. And I know you want it,
too.”
The words hang there for a moment, in the silence between them, filled with
tension, Sam looking at Dean, waiting.
And Dean moves.
He knows turning around and walking out would be the right, the moral, the
normal thing to do. But Sam’s right. They’re not normal. They’re so far from
normal, it’s like they’re living in a parallel universe, and fuck everything,
because Dean wants this, wanted this for so long, can’t even remember how long.
"God, Sammy, wanted this for so long," he says and then he’s kissing Sam. It’s
urgent and sloppy. There’s too much spit and teeth clicking together, but he
doesn’t care because it’s also perfect. It’s everything he ever dreamed of and
so much more, because Sam’s making these sweetlittleneedybreathy sounds that go
straight to his cock and make his skin prickle, his hair stand on end.
His hands are everywhere, touching what’s been forbidden until now, finally
feeling what they seemingly always wanted—Sam’s smooth skin, the soft hairs,
muscles moving, outlines of sharp bones. The jut of his hipbones, the trail of
hair beneath his navel, the firmness of his ass.
He pulls Sam in, swallows his brother’s groan as his cock rubs against Dean’s
through the jeans separating them, grinds his hips down again and again,
holding onto Sam’s ass, hands kneading his cheeks, fingers slipping beneath
them.
There’s slickness against his fingertips and Dean groans, can’t believe it.
"Sammy," he says, doesn’t have to even say the words and ask the question,
because Sam knows, shakes his head eagerly—so fucking eager.
"Yeah," he responds, huskily, pushes his face into the crook of Dean’s neck,
voice muffled as he goes on. "Didn’t wanna wait. God, Dean, I need this.
Please.”
“‘kay, baby. I got you, ‘s alright. Gonna make you feel good,” Dean rambles and
pushes Sam back and down onto the mattress, fumbling his jeans open with one
hand, the other sliding over Sam’s chest, pinching a nipple, rolling it between
his fingertips. He watches Sam react to it, his hips jerking in search for
friction, hears his breath hitching.
It’s a bit of a fight, getting his jeans and boxers off, and he nearly tears
his shirt while he struggles to get it over his head, but then he’s finally
naked and can climb onto the bed between Sam’s spread legs, slides his hands
over his thighs, feels the shudder of anticipation run through them. One hand
closes around Sam’s cock, jerking it lazily while the other slips further down,
over Sam’s perineum—a groan, hazel eyes blinking quickly in the fight to remain
open—down to his hole.
Dean circles it, feels the warm slickness. The thought of Sam preparing
himself, kneeling on the bed, long fingers up his ass, scissoring, pushing in
and pulling back out while Sam thinks of Dean, thinks of being fucked by
Dean—Jesus—it makes Dean’s cock throb with the need to push inside and feel
hotwettightsweet.
The first finger pushes past the rings of muscle easily and is quickly followed
by a second. Sam’s loose, and Dean has no doubt there would be no problem to
get a third one in, or, fuck, maybe a fourth.
"C’mon, not gonna break," Sam says and arches his back, pushes down onto Dean’s
fingers and Dean fucks them in and out a couple times quickly, drinking in the
sight of Sam writhing and clenching around him.
"Condom?" he breathes and Sam reaches out for the drawer, pulls out lube and
condom with shaking hands. Dean doesn’t hesitate, rolls the condom on and
slicks his cock generously with lube, shuddering as he jerks it a couple times
and then lines it up with Sam’s hole.
With his left arm, he’s holding Sam’s leg up, throwing it over his shoulder,
the other winding around his waist as he pushes in, inch by inch, teeth digging
into his bottom lip until it hurts, because shooting his load now would just be
embarrassing and fucking disappointing.
Sam’s deliciously tight around him, muscles clenching against the intrusion,
and he goes slowly, soothes Sam into relaxing by rubbing circles into his
abdomen with his free hand. He pauses when he finally bottoms out, takes deep,
calming breaths.
"God, Dean," Sam moans, muscles fluttering around the cock inside him. His cock
is flaccid by now, the pain of the first time too much for now, but Dean takes
care of that, discards the bow and jerks Sam’s dick until it’s rock-hard and
drooling pre-come again.
Only then does he start moving, slowly, holding back although his body is
screaming with the need to fuck into Sam hard and fast and deep, and finally
take and claim what’s his, what’s always been his. But he doesn’t want to hurt
Sammy, holds back and sets an even rhythm, pulling out and pushing back in in
slow, tantalizing thrusts.
With each second that passes, Sam relaxes more, face losing the grimace of
discomfort to make room for an expression of ecstasy, eyes wide and glazed,
cheeks flushed, lips slick and parted, and Dean leans in to kiss him again,
breathes a groan into Sam’s mouth when he slips in even deeper. He can’t help
it and pulls back a bit, thrusts in hard and a bit faster, speeding up his
rhythm while he fucks his tongue into Sam’s mouth.
Sam meets him halfway, pushes his hips into Dean’s thrusts, leg tightening
around Dean’s middle, and Dean lets go of Sam’s other leg, lets it slip down to
join the other at his waist, his now free hands tangling with Sam’s hair as he
moves his hips faster and faster.
"Fuck, Dean,” Sam moans, nails digging into Dean’s shoulder blades, dragging
down to leave red welts on his skin.
"Feels so good, Sammy," Dean rambles as he feels himself getting closer, his
rhythm getting more and more sloppy and uneven. He leans back, holding onto
Sam’s hips with one hand, the other starting to jerk Sam’s cock in quick tugs,
thumb brushing over the head, pushing into the slit, and Sam groans, clenches
around Dean.
"Yeah, that’s it, baby. That’s it. Wanna feel you come around me, c’mon, let it
go, I’ve got you," he says and twists his wrist a bit on the upstroke, and Sam
comes, coating Dean’s hand and his own abdomen with his come, muscles
clenching, body going rigid, back arching, eyes rolling back into his head.
Dean fucks him through it, doesn’t stop jerking Sam’s cock until Sam starts
squirming and shuddering, and relaxes completely around him.
Dean takes him by his hips, pulls him down into his thrusts and lets completely
loose, fucks him as hard and fast and deep as he wants, Sam’s breathless and
blissful moans the sweetest music to his ears.
It doesn’t take long and Dean’s coming, too, gasping and shuddering, babbling
something he doesn’t understand as well as the waves of pleasure crash over
him, dragging him through his orgasm.
He collapses on top of Sam, their heavy breaths the only sound in the room.
Their chests are slick and sticky with come and sweat, and Dean doesn’t care,
because there’s nothing that could make him feel as good as he feels right now,
with Sam fucked-out beneath him, the aftershocks of his own orgasm still
chasing up and down his spine, every nerve in his body over-sensitive.
"You’re heavy," Sam protests after a couple minutes, shoving weekly at Dean’s
shoulder until he rolls off him, pulling the condom off his cock and tying it
before throwing it in the general direction of the trash.
Sam rolls onto his side, one arm slung around Dean’s middle, face nuzzling
Dean’s neck, and Dean decides that this is the best Christmas Eve ever.
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