
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8699722.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Drama, Pre-Canon
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-12-22 Words: 5956
****** Recollect Me Darling, Raise Me to Your Lips ******
by keepaofthecheez [archived by sinfuldesire_archivist]
Summary
     Dean's intent on corrupting Sam, but Sam knows what Dean wants and
     gets off on torturing him.
Notes
     Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally
     archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began
     importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in
     November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted
     announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or
     know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on
     Sinful_Desire_collection_profile.
Title: Recollect Me Darling, Raise Me to Your Lips
Author/Artist:
keepaofthecheez
Requestor: notthequiettype
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:Sam/Dean
Rating:NC-17
Wordcount:5, 842
Warnings:m/m sex, incest, underage (Sam’s 16), voyeurism, masturbation
Summary/Prompt:Dean’s intent on corrupting Sam, but Sam knows what Dean wants
and gets off on torturing him.
Disclaimer:None of these characters belong to me. I’m just here to sex them up.
A/N:Wet, lickery kisses to technosage, my partner in all that is awesome, for
the fantastic beta and general brainstorming help. ♥
Also, thanks to merepersiflage, poisontaster and estrella30 for cheerleading/
not letting me delete this in a fit of anxious flailing.


It wasn’t like Dean woke up one morning, sleepy and disoriented and thinking of
how nice it might be to fuck his sixteen year old brother. It happened more
gradually than that; he’d catch sight of Sam doing something totally harmless,
like washing dishes on a warm summer night, and Dean wouldn’t be able to look
away as those long, soapy fingers rubbed plastic and ceramic.

Wouldn’t be able to stop imagining how it might feel were Sam to wrap his
teenage hand around Dean’s cock and tug until Dean’s skin was chafed raw and
over-sensitive and—

Jesus.

None of this had been an issue when Sam was still twelve and chubby and
shadowing Dean’s every move like a frightened puppy. But suddenly, and without
Dean ever really noticing how or why, his brother had sharpened – body and mind
– and now Sam towered where he’d once skulked in the corner. Questioned where
he’d once accepted blindly. He walked around seeming way too damn comfortable
in his long limbs and burgeoning muscles, and if there was one weakness Dean
knew he had, it was confidence and a sexy body to go with it.

The fact that the object of his newfound lust shared the same gene pool he
waded in was just one of many worries. Not even touching on the whole, well,
gay thing…hell, Sam was barely even legal. And while Dean wasn’t generally one
to worry about a thing like that – a little looking never hurt anyone – when
coupled with the other issues, it all added up to One Huge Fucking Problem.

Then there was the fact that Dean was supposed to be looking out for Sam, not
having sick fantasies that involved heat and sweat and bending that oversized
form across Sam’s blue-striped cotton sheets and showing him exactly what could
be better than the muffled handjobs Dean sometimes caught wind of in the middle
of the night. That would be wrong on all counts, and even someone with morals
as twisted and questionable as Dean Winchester’s couldn’t seem to work his way
around that.

He tried not to let it affect the way he treated Sam, tried to keep their
relationship – and Christ, but he hated the word – on the same footing it’d
always stood on. This wasn’t Sam’s problem, after all, and Dean was a fair-
minded individual.

For the most part, he was successful, but then there were the other times.
Times when he’d walk in from a hunt, hyped up on adrenaline and desperate for
an outlet for all that raw energy and the first thing he’d be faced with would
be Sam – all wide, concerned eyes and hands and dispensing that touchy-feely
bullcrap that Dean could write a thesis of hate on. And during those times,
Dean found it pretty damn hard to be fair.

Like now for instance.

“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” Sam whined, hands propped on his hips
and bangs nearly obscuring dark, slanted eyes as he watched Dean in
longsuffering exasperation. “I’ve stayed by myself plenty of times before. I’m
a big boy, Dean, I can handle it.”

Dean refused to flinch at the chosen emphasis, or the other implications that
had absolutely nothing to do with what his brother meant. He didn’t move at all
in fact – except to cross both ankles on top of the cheap coffee table,
dropping his voice to match Sam’s heated belligerence with cool-headed
rationality. “Not about you being able to handle it,” he said, rolling his
thumb in absent circles against his thigh. “S’bout us having a job to do and
needing your help.”

Instead of being flattered by the compliment, Sam’s face screwed up into a mask
of teenage mutiny, an expression all too familiar as of late. When it came
again, his voice was nearly dripping with disbelief. “You and Dad need my help.
To what?” Sam threw his hands up. “Keep the car warm?”

Well, you’ve got the body to do it.

Dean was a bit horrified by that first thought, and Jesus Christ, but he had
problems if he'd started using lines on his baby brother – even if they were
only in his head. Ignoring the trip in his chest, he flashed his teeth and
stretched out in his chair. “C’mon, Sam. You’d just get bored, sitting around
here all day with nothing but your right hand for company.”

Now why the hell had he gone and said that?

Sam blinked long, dusky lashes, and Dean didn’t think he was imagining the pink
tinge to his brother’s cheeks. There was an awkward pause, and then Sam
narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Jerk.”

“Hey, it’s normal.” Dean tried to play it off the only way he knew how:
exhausting the topic until Sam inevitably grew pissed off and stormed out. Or
slugged him. Dean never really knew which one to expect these days. “You’re
getting to that age now, Sammy, where it’s fun to explore and—”

“Say another word and I’ll gut you with your own hunting knife.”

Dean tried to appear affronted, but couldn’t help but laugh a little at the
dark warning look on his brother’s face. Score one for the home team, he
thought, drawing a mental chalk mark in the air. “So, you’re coming, right?”

Sam’s gaze narrowed. “Will you let me drive?”

Of all the fucking ridiculous requests Dean could think of…But Sam was watching
him, smirking and just waiting for Dean to go off about how Sam was too young
to drive his car and give Sam the ammunition he wanted. If he was too young for
that, then he was definitely too young to go chasing after the den of
chupacabras terrorizing the locals.

The problem was, Sam was too fucking sly for his own good. And judging by the
triumphant spark in his sloe-eyed gaze, his baby brother damn well knew it,
too.

Dean’s lips pursed, pouting, and he experienced the most insane urge to grab
Sam in a headlock and dunk him face-first in the toilet. Or…lick him. Right
where his cheek dimpled so deep Dean was fucking sure he could press the pad of
his finger in and have room to spare.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he grumbled, successfully distracted. Turning his
gaze toward the television, he almost missed the flash of disappointment that
darkened Sam’s features, but by the time he’d flicked his eyes back onto his
brother Sam was looking smug and satisfied.

“Whatever you say, Dean.”


 
                                     ♥ ♥ ♥



“Careful,” Dean choked out, resisting the urge to throw himself bodily into the
driver’s seat and save his car from the sacrileges Sam was currently inflicting
upon her. When the gears ground together again, jerking them forward on the
pebbled pavement, Dean’s knuckles went white. “Brake first, Sam! Jesus!”

“We should’ve just taken the Impala. Dad wouldn’t have cared.” Sam’s brow was
furrowed when he let off the clutch, sending Dean a sour look. “And this’d be a
lot easier if you weren’t here yelling at me.”

“Why, so you could fucking throw the entire transmission? And I wouldn’t let
you within five feet of the Chevy,” Dean snapped back, refusing to look as
Sam’s tapered fingers stroked the gear shift when he put it in neutral again.
There was something sublimely erotic about watching Sam drive a stick, the way
his hands lingered and unconsciously caressed. The way the muscles in his
thighs tightened with every press of his feet against the pedals. Even if he
stalled out every five seconds, it was fucking hot.

Not that Dean was thinking about that, sliding lower in his seat and covering
his face with one hand. “Just lemme know before you run us into a goddamn tree
or something.”

“Oh, and I just bet you did this perfectly every time when you were learning.”

Dean looked between his fingers, frowning. “Well, yeah.”

Sam sent him a smile that was anything but amused, deliberately taking his foot
off the gas before disengaging the clutch. The car jerked, again, and Dean
slapped his hands against the dashboard.

“Okay, that’s it. Get the fuck out of my car before I make you walk home.” He
was already half out the door himself, rounding the bumper and holding Sam’s
gaze through the windshield. When he reached his brother’s side, Sam rolled
down the window and stared back at him defiantly.

“How am I supposed to learn then, genius?” he asked, hands loose and pliable
around the wheel. Not that Dean was even looking there. No, he was way too
wrapped up in the slide of Sam’s tongue across his lower lip before his brother
added, “For a beginner, a manual’s really kind of inconvenient, you know.”

Yeah, well so’s my boner, Dean thought, jaw grinding. It was really just pretty
fucking blasphemous that he was here lusting after Sam when his brother had
nearly screwed up his most prized possession. Well, his only prized possession.
And then tried to distract Dean by using his…hands.

Christ.

“Shove over,” he muttered, elbowing Sam through the open window. “And don’t
scuff the interior with your bigass Yeti feet.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but moved over to the passenger side without comment. Dean
slammed the door and immediately reached for the radio, turning it up and
relaxing when the familiar strains of Statesboro Blues came wailing through the
speakers. Sam snorted, but remained silent as Dean shot him a warning look.

After several moments of silent driving, Dean pulled into the gas station-cum-
liquor store by the house, ignoring Sam’s questioning gaze and throwing the car
in park. “Sit tight.” He reached into his back pocket and felt for the heavy
weight of his wallet.

A few minutes later, he returned to find Sam sprawled out in the front seat,
tapping his fingers to some damn cookie-cutter alt rock song. Sam met his glare
with a blinding grin, sitting up and stretching his arms up and out so that the
hem of his shirt rucked up his belly. At the sight of that golden strip of
skin, Dean immediately forgot whatever he’d been irritated about and threw the
paper bag in Sam’s lap with an unintelligible grunt.

The bag rustled as Sam pulled out the bottle of Captain Morgan’s, and then his
brows rose so high they disappeared beneath the fringe of his hair. “Dean?”
There was a wealth of disparagement coloring Sam’s voice, and Dean made a face
and shifted into reverse.

“What?” he asked, smirking a little as he slid a glance Sam’s way. “I even got
some of that fruity drink you like to mix it with.”

Sam eyed him with slightly more interest. “You got cherry Coke?”

Dean couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah, sure, man.”

Sometimes Sam was such a fucking lameass. Not that Dean thought anything about
Sam’s ass, lame or otherwise.

“So, how about a drink?” He cleared his throat, pulling into the driveway of
their modest A-frame. “C’mon, Sammy, live a little.” At the crack, Sam’s eyes
narrowed as he got out of the car.

Sam huffed and puffed over it – “It’s illegal, Dean. You’re not even old
enough” - but he ended up drinking what Dean gave him, sucking the drops of rum
and coke from his lips and swinging his legs from the kitchen counter where
he’d parked his butt.

Dean watched his brother’s eyes grow steadily more blurry, watched Sam’s
movements become more and more lax as the effects of the alcohol loosened him
right up. He almost had to laugh when Sam went into an overly descriptive story
about something at school. Of course, Dean wasn’t paying any attention to it
because he was trying to make sure Sam didn’t put his eye out with a flailing
arm.

“Sammy, you’re a cute lightweight,” he murmured when Sam finally came to a
close long minutes later, flushed and sprawled back on the counter with glowing
eyes. He reached out to take the drink away, but Sam cradled it close to his
chest and sent Dean an equally irritated and smoldering look that had Dean
swallowing hard.

“M’not drunk,” Sam said, sliding down the counter onto wobbly feet. He lifted
his glass in a toast that nearly spilled dark liquid down his shirt.
“I’m…liberated.”

“Great,” Dean drawled, like the sight of Sam as a sloppy drunk wasn’t doing
things to his happy parts. He headed for the living room, calling over his
shoulder, “Is this the part where you take off all of your clothes and burn
your bra and all that shit? Heh.”

The smile froze on his face when he turned back around to find Sam struggling
with the button on his jeans. His shirt lay in a thrashed heap by his feet,
revealing broad shoulders laden with ropy muscle.

“What the fuck, Sam?” And Christ, was that his voice? It sounded like someone
had rubbed him raw against sandpaper.

Sam looked up, grinning wide and loopy as he finally got his pants open. “Let’s
do it, Dean,” he slurred, walking over and nearly tripping as his pants got
caught around his ankles. “Let’s just fucking do it.”

Dean was pretty sure the lump in his throat was his heart. “Do what?” he asked,
trying to appear nonchalant as Sam kicked the offending jeans off and looked
back at him. “What do you wanna do, Sam?” He couldn’t hide the hopeful note in
his voice.

“Whatever we want.” Sam’s expression seemed both open and encouraging, and Dean
took a long sip of his own drink.


“I…think I wanna sleep,” he said, half-hating himself when Sam’s gaze dimmed.
But this was wrong, it was all wrong and he had to be imagining the come-hither
glint in his brother’s eyes. Without another thought, he headed up the stairs,
tugging at his collar and muttering choice curses beneath his breath.

He pretended to be asleep when Sam came in a few minutes later, making as much
noise as he could before he flopped down onto the bed with a sigh. Even with
his back to Sam, Dean could feel him staring, and squeezed his eyes shut. They
stayed that way until the first quiet moan reached his ears.

Dean went tense from head to toe, recognizing the provocative sounds and
knowing exactly what they meant. Sam’s mattress was squeaking now, along with
the breathless pants and softly uttered “Mmm…yeah.”

“Yeah, Sammy, that’s it,” he whispered, urging his brother along in silent
approval. His own fingers curled around his dick and he started to jerk off,
quick and quiet, letting Sam’s vocal masturbation serve as a perverse
soundtrack for the thrusts against his palm. He shifted a little when Sam went
quiet, lifting his gaze and finding his brother fast asleep in his bed.

Sam’s lips were spread wide and satisfied, and Dean came with a muffled groan
before rolling over and staring at the wall.


 
                                     ♥ ♥ ♥



Sam didn’t look at him the next day, just grabbed his forehead and grumbled
every time Dean made some wisecrack about people who “just couldn’t hold their
liquor”. Once he’d realized he was in the clear, that Sam didn’t seem to
remember anything after the alcohol had gone to his head, he mocked a little
bit harder. Sam was always such an easy target, and always responded exactly
the way Dean expected.

“You make a pretty drunk,” he purred when Sam got into the car later that
afternoon, slinging his bookbag into the back of the Impala and ignoring Dean
completely. “Oh, c’mon, Sam…I’m gonna let you drive.”

Sam’s answer, as predicted, was a thrust of his open palm. Dean sighed and
turned off the ignition, yanking out the keys and slapping them into Sam’s
hand. Sam’s fingers tightened before he could pull away, and Dean found himself
nearly nose to nose with his brother before he could blink.

Sam didn’t seem to notice the way every muscle in Dean’s body went rigid with
restrained want, just cocked a brow and said, “Thanks.” Then he let go, pushing
open the door of the Impala while Dean sat there, staring dumbly.

He knew it for the peace offering it was, and yet…there was something
distinctly predatory about Sam’s actions, even if his expression had been
anything but. He got out of the car, passing by his brother and watching him
closely as Sam started the car and smiled smugly down at the wheel.

The ride back was uneventful thanks to an automatic transmission and Sam
letting Dean pick the radio station, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that
last night he’d maybe put into motion something he might not be ready to deal
with. This was compounded when he reached over and slapped Sam on the knee,
congratulating him on a drive well done – “didn’t even run over any squirrels
this time, Sam” – and let his hand rest a minute longer than necessary. Sam’s
throat worked, and he looked up and met Dean’s speculative stare with one of
his own.


 
                                     ♥ ♥ ♥



Dean had to wonder if this was some kind of punishment. Maybe for trying to
corrupt his younger brother. For having dirty, nasty thoughts about him since
the minute Sam had worked off his baby fat, packed on pounds of muscle and
grown an extra three inches.

He pulled harder on his cock, gritting his teeth against the groan that wanted
to slip out from between them.

And then there were Sam’s hands. The goddamn, motherfucking hands that figured
into every single one of Dean’s fantasies as of late. The gigantic paws that
even now were threatening to drive Dean over the deep end. Because if this was
really happening, then Dean was fucking screwed in just about every way.

Sam shifted, naked shoulders catching the moonlight as his blankets slid lower,
and Dean was confronted with the very real sight of Sam’s hand wrapped around
his dick. And even if he could erase that image from his mind, there was no
mistaking the throaty, choked groans coming from Sam’s throat, the faint sound
of flesh on flesh as Sam’s teeth sank into his lip. His lashes fluttered, then
lifted to reveal sleep-sexy eyes trained directly on Dean.

Every curse Dean knew, coupled with a few he made up on the spot, weighed heavy
on his tongue, but the shock of being caught jerking off to the sight of his
brother masturbating didn’t seem to register with his cock. The second Sam’s
gaze slipped from Dean’s face, down lower to where Dean’s fingers squeezed
himself tight, his hips jerked, fucking into fist with a long, steady stroke.

This is what you wanted, he reminded himself blindly, when Sam’s eyes went wide
then settled back into bleary, dazed slits. But his brother didn’t turn away,
didn’t call Dean out in justifiable disgust, just curled his own fingers
tighter, touched his tongue to the corner of his mouth. Dean wondered what Sam
might be thinking, catching a groan in the back of his throat as he let himself
look at what Sam was so blatantly offering in the dark distance between them.

All that golden skin, glowing and iridescent in the pale light and layered with
new muscle and old scars. Dean’s fingers itched when Sam’s slid down the length
of his cock, feeling the phantom weight heavy in his own hand. Sam spread his
legs further apart, turning his face into the pillow and lifting his hips.

“Fuck.” The oath came out breathy and helpless, and Dean worked himself harder
while taking careful note of the way Sam touched himself. Whereas he usually
went for speed and hard, rough care, Sam seemed to linger over every
thrust…dragging his thumb over the swollen head and tickling the underside with
his fingertips. At some point, he slowed, timing his strokes with Sam’s, and
suddenly they were gaze-locked and moving together, perfectly matched whisper-
soft groans echoing like gunshots in his head.

When Sam’s lids went half-closed, mouth open and shiny-slick as he bucked his
hips up and into his fist, Dean wondered hazily just who was really corrupting
who here. He didn’t know what the hell Sam was thinking; his brother’s sultry
gaze seemed clouded and filmy with emotions Dean couldn’t read, and wasn’t
really sure he’d understand even if he could.

Dean feared he was a book, pulled wide open with colored pictures and diagrams
that identified everything he was feeling and thinking. Whatever Sam might want
to know was out there for him to see, and there was a part of Dean that
resented that vulnerability. That wanted to run far and fast from whatever the
hell was coloring Sam’s heavy-lashed gaze and making his brother palm himself
harder and chew his lips like he was chasing after the taste of his favorite
flavor.

The other part of himself wanted to go over there, spread Sam’s thighs and hips
and suck him off so deep and sweet that come morning there would be no fucking
question between them anymore. The image of that, of his mouth wrapped around
Sam’s cock while his brother’s hips jerked and rolled under the press of Dean’s
hands, had him biting off around a frustrated groan.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was thick and slurred, and Dean’s thumb jerked in response,
slipping over the slick head of his cock and ripping a quiet moan from his
lips. When he met Sam’s gaze, his brother looked flushed and rosy. Pretty pink
lips parted to breathe, “This is…this is okay, right?”

It really wasn’t, but Dean kind of figured Sam knew that. His brother wasn’t
asking about propriety, about whether or not this was normal or wrong or right,
but if Dean thought it was okay if they did it. Together.

“Yeah,” he forced out, pumping faster and gripping the sheets with his free
hand. Through slitted eyes he saw Sam roll over and completely face Dean as his
fingers blurred over his cock and his breathing grew so loud it matched the
rush of blood in Dean’s ears.

For all that he’d been acting lately, Sam was still young and ready to snap on
a dime, so Dean wasn’t all too surprised when a gasped curse split Sam’s lips a
moment later. Pale arcs shot across his fingers and lower belly, and Dean let
the forbidden sight and sounds wash over him. His eyes fell closed as he
imagined licking the salt-bitter taste from Sam’s skin and grunting as the
first sharp blast pulsed up and out of his own dick.

When Dean reopened his eyes, Sam was staring at him, long fingers stroking idle
patterns through the sticky streaks on his stomach. He swallowed hard, ignoring
the question in Sam’s gaze. Yeah, he’d been the one to start this entire thing,
but the gap between their beds had grown exponentially from the time he’d first
wrapped his hand around his dick to the moment he’d come all over himself like
a fucking thirteen year old with his first blistering orgasm.

He wasn’t done with Sam, with this - not by a long shot. He just needed time to
recover, regroup, and let everything sink in. So when Sam said his name again,
husky and low and just begging for Dean to look over and give in and make
something of it, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Go to sleep, Sammy.
S’okay.”


 
                                     ♥ ♥ ♥



He woke up to cool air kissing his face and dry semen flaking on his belly. It
caught under his nails when he scratched, his eyes flicking to Sam’s empty bed,
and then Dean sucked in a breath as the night before rushed back into his brain
and sent him reeling. His fingers curled into the sheets as he shoved up,
eyeing the clock and cussing low and unsteady.

He found Sam in the kitchen, calmly eating a bagel with cream cheese and
gulping down the last bottle of orange juice. Sam's eyes followed him, a
palpable weight, as he passed by on his way to the fridge, and Dean shivered a
little in his bare skin and boxers. The coffee pot was flavoring the air with
ground beans and the pansy-ass French vanilla creamer Sam insisted on buying
before he finally mumbled, “If you wanna give the stick another try today, we
could head out after lunch.”

Sam’s answering shrug was noncommittal, dark pink lips pursed around the glass
bottle, and Dean flinched when he caught himself staring at the slow curve of
Sam’s smile. He spun around and scratched his shoulder blade, cheeks hot as he
blew out a shaky breath and gripped the counter.

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked, and goddamn but his voice was everything innocent
and shameless. Dean’s cock swelled at the memory of his brother’s large hands
stroking and petting himself in the dark, completely at odds with the wide-eyed
expression now coloring Sam’s features.

Dean shut the fridge with one hand, forcing himself to walk over and grab the
bread from the box just above Sam’s head. “I’m fine.” He sounded fine, anyway,
and if Sam saw the press of Dean’s dick against his underwear, his brother
decided not to mention it. Dean took longer than necessary to butter two slices
of bread, growing distracted by the steady burn low in his back. He tossed a
look over his shoulder, meeting Sam’s lidded gaze and faltering only a little
with the knife.

There was a loud scraping of chair across tile, and then heavy hands fell on
his hips. Dean went still, feeling wet warmth low on his spine, and dropped the
knife with a clatter and a curse. Sam’s grip tightened, one hand coming around
Dean’s belly and pressing deep, and Dean swayed back on his heels as his eyes
fell shut.

“Sammy,” he managed around a tongue thickened by surprise and desire. “What’re
you…”

Sam shushed him with a light lick, dragging the slick tip of his tongue down
just past where Dean’s back flared and rounded. “Dean, please,” he said, voice
shot and thready. He pulled back and Dean turned around, staring down into
blown-wide pupils and chewed-pink lips. Sam’s hopeful expression warred with
the knowledge darkening his gaze. “Just…let me, okay?”

Dean’s breath caught. This is what he’d wanted; Sam begging, fucking begging.
For him. There was a surreal sort of regret coursing through him, even as he
tilted his hips and let Sam mouth his navel, wetting the short hairs below and
tugging with his teeth as he made soft sounds of appreciation that had Dean’s
knees knocking together.

“Jesus,” he muttered, locking and spreading his legs, taking up two big
handfuls of Sam’s hair and forcing Sam to look up at him. “Sam…”

“I want to, I do,” Sam was saying, his words rolling over Dean’s in a mixture
of frantic vowels and consonants. His thumbs hooked into faded cotton and
pulled, eyes locking on Dean’s as the material slipped down Dean’s hips,
catching briefly on his blood-hardened dick before dropping between his legs.

There was a brief moment of silence as Dean’s cock hovered between them,
flirting in Sam’s direction like it knew exactly what might happen. Dean
hesitated a beat, torn between forcing Sam’s mouth down and shoving him back
before they could cross a line there’d be no coming back from. It’d all seemed
much simpler when he’d never really thought Sam was interested, but now…now Sam
was licking his lips and flicking his gaze back and forth between Dean’s face
and his dick.

“You don’t have to—” Dean broke off when Sam reached a hand up, closing his
fingers around Dean and tugging with surprising force. A rough, ragged sound
left Dean’s throat, and he rocked into Sam’s fist, slack-jawed and heavy-eyed.
“Fuck.”

“You like it hard,” Sam murmured, cocking his head and sounding intrigued and
pleased all at once. “I, um, after last night, I kind of thought you did.”

“Why’s that?” Dean choked out stupidly.

Sam’s lips spread into a smile, voice pitched low. “I watched.”

“Oh, God.”

Sam’s other hand was still around Dean’s hip, palming and rubbing and pulling
him closer. His bangs fell across his eyes as he looked up from beneath his
lashes. “Dean…Can I taste you? Is that okay?”

Dean wasn’t really proud of what happened then, but he couldn’t stop the rush
of come, not with Sam holding him there and tempting him with his fresh face
and dirty words. His hips jerked on the initial burst, and then he was spilling
across Sam’s fingertips with choked groans and apologies.

“SamSammySam…” he keened, fingers tight in the unruly mop on Sam’s head. His
chest worked like a bellows, sweat dampening his skin and drying in the morning
chill.

Sam stared at him for a beat, then brought his fingers up and Dean nearly
staggered when Sam’s tongue came out to taste the bitter salt-slick. He wanted
to yell, groan, fuck, but then Sam was licking his mouth and making a
considering sound Dean couldn’t make heads or tails of.

He wasn’t aware he was waiting for approval or whatever until Sam smacked his
lips, eyes devious and dark. “Tastes like chicken,” he teased, voice deadpanned
and even.

Dean lost it when Sam grinned. He was on his knees before he even remembered
moving, shouldering his way in between Sam’s thighs as his fingers worked at
the waistband of Sam’s sweatpants. He relished the quick exhale from above.
Glanced up and caught his brother’s lashes fluttering as he tugged on the heavy
cotton and whispered, “C’mon, Sam. Lift up.”

Sam did, hands falling on Dean’s shoulders and squeezing as he raised his hips
and let Dean drag the sweats down his legs. “I wanted this…so long…thought
you’d never…oh, Dean. You’re so fucking stupid,” he was babbling, and the
nearly incoherent words fell on Dean’s ears like victory.

“Easy,” he thought out loud, soothing Sam with slow, gentle strokes of his
hands up and down the knotted muscle in Sam’s thighs. He found himself echoing
Sam’s question, voice thrumming and excited. “This okay?”

Sam blew out a laugh, knees spread wide and cock thick and flushed with young
blood as he nodded and reached out to run blunt fingers through Dean’s hair.
His eyes glittered, nearly full-black as he whispered, “Please.”

Dean never had been able to resist giving Sam whatever he wanted.

The first touch of his tongue had Sam jumping, and Dean had to pin his hips
down when he moved to fully wrap his lips around Sam’s cock. His brother’s
response was a guttural moan, followed by Dean’s name uttered soft and sweet.
Sam was petting the back of his neck, slowly rocking his hips as best he could
under the weight of Dean’s hands, shoulders slumped and body bent almost in
half as his cheek pressed to the top of Dean’s head.

Dean didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but it didn’t seem to matter if he
drooled too much or only got about halfway down Sam’s length before his throat
closed up. Sam praised him so colorfully and vocally that once again, Dean had
to wonder just how innocent his baby brother really was. He choked a bit when
the words “Oh God, baby, right there” spilled out of his brother’s mouth, then
pulled back and stared up at Sam in outraged amusement.

“What the fuck, dude?” he asked, watching while Sam blinked lust-heavy lids and
licked at his mouth.

“Don’t stop.” Sam’s whisper was slurred, almost drunken, and he slid his
fingers down Dean’s cheek to pull at his lips. His nostrils flared when Dean’s
bottom lip caught on the pad of his thumb. “God, I fucking love your mouth.”

Dean couldn’t hold back a growl, lowering his head and mouthing the crease of
Sam’s thigh. He sank his teeth in lightly, hearing Sam curse and grip his hair
so tightly it brought tears to Dean’s eyes. Then he let Sam guide his lips
back, opening up and over his cock and sucking hard.

Sam didn’t last long after that, fucking Dean’s mouth in hard, sloppy thrusts
that Dean knew would make his jaw ache for days. But it was worth it – God, it
was worth it – when Sam shuddered and spilled hot and briny down his throat. It
burned from the inside out, dragging a groan up from the bottoms of his feet
through the tips of his fingers.

He pulled back, strings of spit and come still connecting his mouth to Sam’s
dick, and his brother hissed a quiet curse beneath his breath as Dean swallowed
and wiped his mouth. He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes at first, staring down
at a smudge on the floor as he immediately began to catalogue responses to
every reaction Sam might possibly have. Then Sam was squeezing his shoulder,
and Dean looked up from under his lashes, expression wide open and uncertain.

“Dean…you…oh, God.” Sam was panting furiously, flushed red and tousled. “That
was…so fuckin’ sexy, Dean.”

Dean had to agree, even if he’d taken an unanticipated shot in the mouth.
“You’re sixteen,” he pointed out instead, coming to his feet and pulling his
shorts up his hips with a snap. “Doesn’t matter who it is, so long as you’re
getting your dick sucked.”

“No, it’s you.”

Sam’s expression was typically stubborn and frustrated, and Dean spared his
brother a quick glance before raking his fingers through his hair and blowing
out a breath. Now that it was all over, the haze of shame and guilt nearly
choked him. Not for himself…blowing Sam would be something he’d never fucking
forget or even want to, but it wasn’t fair that he’d dragged Sam down into his
sins, too.

“Look…” he started, but was cut off when Sam stood, too…towering over Dean with
dark eyes and flat lips. Dean had a moment to appreciate the long, lean line of
Sam’s half-naked body before he felt himself backed up against the kitchen
counter. “Um, heh. Sammy?”

“Shut up for a minute.” Sam’s tone didn’t leave room for argument, so Dean shut
up. That didn’t stop him from glaring daggers when Sam framed his face and
brought their foreheads together. “Why are you so fucking difficult?”

“Why are you so fucking skinny?” Dean returned, going for light and easy as he
reached out and squeezed Sam’s bicep. He quirked a brow when his fingers met
nothing but solid, lean muscle. “Huh. Guess those push-ups are working…I give.”

Sam was smirking at him, hands resting on Dean’s hips and thumbs rubbing small
circles. He broke out into a wide grin. “Took you long enough,” he purred on a
low breath, and Dean was pretty sure they weren’t talking about Sam’s exercise
regiment anymore.

And when Sam dragged him forward, mouth open under his jaw, Dean figured it was
more than time to admit to himself that maybe he just didn’t care.
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