
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7212265.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Wincest_-_Freeform, Weecest, Well_Sam_is_17_so_kinda, Emotional_Hurt/
      Comfort, Massage, Riding, Bottom_Sam, Top_Dean, Established_Relationship,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-15 Words: 4195
****** Shelter Me ******
by non_tiembo_mala
Summary
     Sam has been stuck in a rundown motel for three days doing homework
     and waiting for Dean to get back from a hunt. When he finally comes
     back, his big brother is in a really shitty mood. It's not quite the
     homecoming Sam had been distracting himself daydreaming about. He
     hates to see his brother worked up like this but he won't be like
     this long - not when there's something Sam can do about it.
     And Sam knows exactly what to do about it.
Notes
     *sing song* it's more PWP people! *sprinkles pointless sexy words all
     about*
     Someday I will write real stories again I swear to you I will. But I
     also tend to write through my emotions and I started this ages ago on
     a particularly pissed off day. Found it sitting unfinished in my
     folder and decided to wrap it up. Sam takes care of his big brother
     because damn, if I don't love me some vulnerable Dean and his tender,
     adoring little brother.
     Hope you enjoy, friends!
     Title from The Arkells' Come to Light, a wincest anthem if I've ever
     heard one.
     Thanks to my bestie with the hawk eyes Dancing_Adrift for the after-
     posting beta.
See the end of the work for more notes
Sam is elbows deep in calculus homework, hunched over the cracked and worn
formica table in their rundown motel-of-the-week when he hears the familiar
rumble of the Impala pulling into the parking lot outside. He registers the
sound of it implicitly, an echo rippling under his skin even though he doesn’t
lose his focus on the numbers he’s working through on the page. Dean is back
and Sam isn’t the same anymore even though his brother hasn’t shut off the
engine yet. Sam’s thoughts are, impressively, still all arithmetic, desperate
to finish at least this one last question, racing his own ability to deny the
way his body is humming in an answer to the otherwise pregnant quiet as he
hears the keys jingling in Dean’s hand, the sounds of the metal frame moving
under his brother’s shifting weight, the door closing, and the heavy footsteps
that follow.
 
Sam doesn’t look up when Dean turns his key in the door and swings it open even
though he wants to. He knows better. He’s almost done with this problem but if
he lets his eyes find Dean’s he’s done. Dean’s been gone three days and that’s
three too many as far as Sam is concerned. So his brother steps inside and Sam
frantically continues to scribble numbers when suddenly the motel door slams
shut with enough force to seemingly shake the questionable structure of the
decrepit building. Not what Sam was expecting, he startles, dropping his pencil
as his shoulders jump and he blinks. He twists in the seat to look over at his
brother in surprise only to catch him as he chucks his duffle blindly at the
foot of his bed and stomps directly into the bathroom, yanking the door behind
him just as violently.
 
Sam’s stomach instantly knots. He caught enough of the high, tight set of
Dean’s shoulders as he disappeared on the other side of the slamming door to
know that his brother is pissed . Sam is stuck staring at the closed bathroom,
worrying his lip and thinking fast. Dean was fine on the phone last night -
tired , but fine - and things were going okay with the hunt. Still haven’t
heard from Dad since last week - maybe he called Dean? Maybe Dean has to leave
again? Sam pales at that thought, his teeth still working over his bottom lip.
He prays that isn’t the case.
 
He can hear his brother shuffling around in the bathroom, the shower turning on
and his brother stepping in, the telltale clinking of the curtain rings. Sam
wonders if maybe… But if Dean is really angry, and Sam doesn’t know why, then
maybe not. He sighs and takes his pencil in hand, finishes his last question
and tucks away all his homework while Dean is still in the shower.
 
---
 
When what seems like a lifetime later Dean emerges from the bathroom,
silhouetted by the light before he turns it off and encased in the steam that
escapes around him, Sam is sitting back against the headboard of his bed in
nothing but his underwear and Dean’s old Skynard t-shirt, The Two Towersopen
against his knees and his thumb absentmindedly in between his lips where he’s
biting at the nail and trying not to read the same line over and over as he
waits. He sneaks a look up at his brother through the veil of his messy hair
where it’s fallen over his eyes and his stomach tightens again in time to the
way he sees Dean clench his hand around the towel at his waist, his knuckles
shifting in a wave. His brother is still wound up, still mad, and silent but
for a loaded sigh as he stalks towards his bag to dig around for clean clothes.
 
Only the ancient lamp on Sam’s bedside table is on and Sam holds the book where
it is and his posture the same but it’s only a piss-poor charade because he
couldn’t tear his eyes from Dean’s still dripping skin if a hellhound was
barking at their door. He watches through half-lidded eyes, his thumb still in
his teeth, as his brother drops his towel and pulls on a pair of black briefs.
He stands a moment at the foot of his bed, still not looking at Sam, not having
said a word to him, before he sits down on the edge of it with more violence
than is necessary, facing away from Sam as he does it. Sam would be hurt except
that he knows Dean; he knows whatever that’s gotten under his skin - orders
from Dad, a close call on a hunt, biting words from a stranger or particularly
perceptive monster - Dean won’t be like this long, not when there’s something
Sam can do about it.
 
And Sam knows exactly what to do about it.
 
Sam’s always been a quick study - astute, eager - and there’s no subject he’s
studied more than his big brother.
 
Sam watches Dean’s back a moment before building up the courage to move. His
eyes track the flexing of the muscles in his shoulders as Dean no doubt
clenches his fists in front of him, anger and God only knows what else making
him tense with energy that makes him want to lash out, punch something or
worse. Sam knows it’s at least partly why his brother doesn’t just come to him
right away; Dean doesn’t always trust himself, doesn’t want to hurt his little
brother, even though Sam knows he never could - not really. Another ripple
visibly sweeps down Dean’s back, the light and shadows moving in waves on his
freckled skin, and Sam can’t sit still any longer.
 
He puts the love-worn copy of Tolkien down on the table and moves with
impressive quiet for the lanky seventeen year old body he’s piloting, all too-
long limbs and boney bits, still knobby knees and elbows framed by lean muscle
from a lifetime of training. He crawls down the length of his bed before taking
the one step across the space between his and his brother’s, the mattress
dipping under the weight of his knees as he shimmies closer to Dean. Sam
doesn’t miss when his brother stiffens and his one hand fists in the comforter
next to him just before Sam’s fingers light on his shoulders. Sam can hear when
Dean opens his mouth and takes in a breath to speak, and he knows that when
Dean sighs his name, long and broken, it’s not intentional; Dean was going to
warn him, growl maybe, low and threatening like he does, beg Sam to go back to
his bed, but Sam knows how to work his brother - always has. So right before
the edge can fill his brother’s voice Sam digs into the muscles under his hand,
his still spit-wet thumb pressing up the line of Dean’s neck, reaching for that
soft skin behind his ear, and Sam can feel the exact moment when Dean
involuntarily shudders and his body starts to give, stealing away the warning
before it even had a chance.
 
Sam works the tips of his fingers into Dean’s flesh, rough because it’s how
Dean likes it and how, sometimes, he needs it, and he hums contentedly when
Dean finally melts under him, tilting his head back so his towel-dried hair is
cool against Sam’s stomach where it makes the threadbare cotton of his borrowed
t-shirt damp. Sam leans forward to see that Dean’s eyes are closed and his
expression is softening, the lines at the corners of his eyes smoothing away.
His lips part as he rocks his head languidly from side to side against Sam’s
stomach while those long, little brother fingers work their magic.
 
Sam has always worshipped his big brother, and even though he’s had his hands
on him for his whole life, he’s already hard and leaking where he’s trapped in
the hollow between Dean’s shoulder blades. As he smoothes his palms across
Dean’s collarbone, pressing his brother against him, he can’t help that he
makes a small sound in the back of his throat at the perfect pressure of it,
the way his hips push forward without any conscious thought.
 
“Sammy…” Dean breathes out, voice low and husky as he reaches back and grabs
Sam’s wrist.
 
Sam knows he’s going to be taller than his brother - they’re already eye-to-eye
and at seventeen Sam is hardly done growing - but his brother’s hand still
looks unreasonably giant when it closes around him, thick, rough fingers making
the bones of his wrist look fucking delicate, and Sam feels like he should
resent that but instead it just makes his face hotter and his breath catch.
 
“No,” he croaks out. His voice breaks even on the one small syllable because
all it takes is a single deliberate touch from his brother and Sam starts to
come undone. Dean always puts Sam first - even now when he’s the one stressed
out and tense - and Sam wants this to be for him. “Let me, Dean.”
 
His big brother makes a grumbly, wordless sound by way of answer but it’s
assenting enough, dragged out at the end as Sam slides his hands back and
kneads into Dean’s shoulders. Sam ignores the way his dick throbs and twitches
in his boxers, instead watching as Dean’s hands alternatively fist in the
comforter and then relax, going loose as Sam rubs up and down his brother’s
neck, pressing circles in behind his ears. Sam keeps focused on his task until
he’s fairly certain the soft, almost too quiet to hear sound he’s picking up is
Dean, practically purring.
 
His brother’s body is heavy and lax along the tops of his thighs, his head
still lazily tipped back against his stomach and his eyes are closed; just when
Sam thinks Dean is completely gone, his brother hums deliberately and starts to
turn to look at him.
 
“Sammy-” he starts, but Sam cuts him off.
 
“Dean, wait-”
 
“Sam, I know what you’re doing.” Dean talks over him, grabbing his wrist again,
and looks up at him with his chin pillowed on Sam’s stomach, his body twisted
as he’s still sitting facing away. Sam huffs.
 
“Well, yeah. But…” Sam bites his lip and looks away. When his eyes find Dean’s
again, his brother is just waiting, eyebrows raised in question. Sam sighs.
 
“You don’t have to talk about it. I just… want to make you feel better.” Sam
chances a look at him again only to see Dean’s smile slowly turn into a broad,
lascivious grin. Sam feels his cheeks heat instantly and he huffs again,
frustrated at how quickly Dean is turning this around, pulling the rug of good
intentions out from under him.
 
“You always make me feel better, little brother.” Dean says it emphatically,
lewdly stressing the words and wiggling his eyebrows as he starts to move,
getting his knees up on the bed like he’s about to stalk forward and plough
right over his brother.
 
“Dean,” Sam whines, trying to cross his arms. He didn’t mean for it to come out
so petulant but Dean always does this. Meanwhile, his brother is chuckling
softly under his breath as he shimmies forward on his knees, reaching to undo
Sam’s arms.
 
“What? This isn’t what you want?” Dean is still smirking.
 
“No.” Sam says, and his voice trembles still because his brother is looking at
him darkly and those big hands of his are closing around his wrists; Sam tries
to resist only because he had other plans.
 
Dean notices the shaky sound and stills, hesitating, and for a split second Sam
sees in his eyes a flicker of worry as he misinterprets his brother’s unsteady
no.
 
“No, not-” Sam quickly reassures him, then takes a deep breath. “Just… let me
do it?Let me, Dean.”
 
Dean takes in Sam’s expression seriously for a moment, still on his knees in
front of him with his hands on Sam’s wrists, his thumbs gently moving across
the tender skin like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. Sam swallows thickly,
waiting for Dean to agree.
 
“Yeah, okay. Okay, Sammy. What…?” He starts, not sure what Sam wants.
 
“S-sit back?” Sam stutters quietly, cursing his nerves as he gestures behind
him to the headboard. This isn’t new between them but it’s too easy, usually,
to follow Dean’s lead.
 
“Alright.” Dean starts to move, but only after leaning forward to place a kiss
at the corner of Sam’s mouth, lingering there for just a moment, telling him
without words that everything’s okay.
 
Sam turns to watch his brother crawl up the bed and as he stacks the pillows
Sam finds his voice again.
 
“Take off your clothes.” It’s barely above a whisper but Dean hears it anyway.
 
“Hmm,” he grins. “Good idea. Always so smart, Sammy.”
 
Dean strips quickly, tossing his shirt and boxers somewhere on the floor. He
sits, settling against the pillows with his legs relaxed and fallen open in
front of him.
 
“You too, kiddo,” he grins. He’s only four years older but times like this -
using nicknames Sam loves more than he will ever admit out loud - Dean always
makes Sam feel so young. A part of him thinks it’s another thing he should
resent but here, when it’s just the two of them, he really, reallydoesn’t.
 
Sam obliges his big brother, moving slowly as he folds his arms to grip the
ratty hem of Dean’s old t-shirt and tugs it up and off, shaking his mussed hair
out of his eyes as he drops it off the edge of the bed. Sam can feel the weight
of his brother’s heated gaze and it sends a flush up his chest and into his
cheeks; it makes him shake a little but he loves it, all of Dean’s attention on
him and far away from whatever had him so wound up when he first got in.
 
Sam makes a show of the way he slides his boxers down, crawling forward and
leaving them forgotten behind him while his brother’s eyes fall to his dick.
Dean bites his bottom lip and clenches his hands where they lay. Sam is almost
impressed; Dean’s cock is hard and leaking on his thigh, twitching at the sight
of his brother coming towards him and Dean doesn’t reach of himself or Sam,
just waits.
 
Dean meets Sam’s gaze as he straddles his big brother’s lap and tucks himself
in close. Sam swears he can feel Dean’s lashes flutter as they shut when they
kiss. Their cocks are trapped between them as Sam settles, and he rocks his
hips to rub them together while he teases Dean’s lips apart with his tongue.
 
“Gotta touch you Sammy, please. Can I, little brother?” Dean mumbles it against
Sam’s lips and it makes Sam shiver as he nods. Both of Sam’s hands are on
either side of Dean’s face and as they keep kissing, Dean’s find a home, too;
one hand buries in Sam’s hair and the other spreads warm and encouraging across
the small of his back.
 
Dean lets Sam control their pace, just opens for him as he kisses deeper,
echoing Sam’s hungry little sounds with pleased moans of his own. Every time
Dean tugs a little at Sam’s hair, Sam’s fingers shake and hold a little more
tightly where they’re clutching at his big brother’s face. Dean’s other hand
roams up and down his back, big and rough against his skin when he presses Sam
in closer because they just can’t get close enough.
 
It isn’t long before Sam is breaking the kiss, gasping for air and the way they
feel rubbing together, rock hard and getting sticky with each other’s precome.
 
“‘K, Dee, just-” Sam pants and lifts up a little off his brother’s lap, though
he keeps leaning down to kiss at Dean’s bruised mouth because he simply can’t
stop. It’s enough of a distraction that Dean doesn’t realize what Sam is doing
until he’s steadying himself with a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
 
“Oh, fuck- yeah, Sammy. Shit,” he curses, his voice breathy and touched with
awe as he tilts his head to better take in the sight; Sam’s back is bowed, his
chest pressing out and against his brother, his other arm reaching behind him.
 
Sam lets himself be loud as he works his fingers in. Their dad is two states
away and he could care less about the neighbours; surely this motel has seen
and heard worse than them. Sam knows Dean loves it and that’s all the reasons
he needs. He moans at the stretch, his other hand digging into the meat of
Dean’s shoulder as he hangs on. Dean’s eyes are completely focused now on Sam’s
face - he can feelthe way the his brother is looking at him - and his hands are
gently stroking up and down Sam’s arms.
 
“That’s it, baby. Get yourself ready for me, yeah.” Dean’s voice is husky and
makes Sam shiver even as he strains to get deeper. Dean tilts his chin up to
nose along the side of Sam’s face, nip at his jaw. “How many you got in there,
Sammy?”
 
Sam is panting so hard, writhing on his own hand, that it take a moment before
he can get the right sound out.
 
“Three,” he finally answers, the word cut short by a sharply drawn breath, and
Dean honest to god growls as he buries his face in Sam’s neck.
 
“Jesus Christ,” Dean says through his teeth, like it hurts. “Fuck. You got lube
up there, too? Already open yourself for me, baby, is that it? When I was in
the shower?”
 
Sam nods silently as Dean asks, his hair shaking about his head, getting in his
eyes or sticking to the sheen of sweat at his temple. He whines because Dean is
dragging his teeth along his jaw and his big brother’s hips are moving in a
choppy rhythm underneath him, restless and demanding.
 
Sam’s fingers brush his prostate and he cries out, his bitten nails digging
deep drawing half-moons on his brother’s skin, his body jerking forward.
 
“Sammy ,” Dean moans, too. “Gotta get in there, baby. Can’t- uh! Can’t wait
another minute. Need you- need you now. C’mon.”
 
It’s everything Sam wanted to hear. He winces as he takes his fingers out.
They’re slick and he uses them to reach under him for Dean’s dick.
Dean gasps as Sam touches him and keeps him steady. In the next breath, Sam is
lining up the slick head of his brother’s cock at his hole and as he relaxes it
pushes easily past the first stretched out ring of muscle and then Sam is
sliding down, settling back on Dean’s lap while they both suck in harsh breaths
and their chests heave.
 
Sam stays still for a moment, adjusting to the pain-pleasure of the stretch-
burn, feeling his brother hot and thick inside him, making him full, so much
more full and so much better than his fingers.
 
“Dean,” he breathes, his hands digging into both of his brother’s shoulders
like he’ll die if he lets go. Sam can barely think past the intoxicating
pleasure that sweeps through him every time Dean gives an experimental thrust
of his hips. It’s good it’s so good but it’s not enough; Dean doesn’t have the
leverage to do more in this position but then that was the point. Sam pants and
moans, near-mindless as he rubs his nose and lips, tongue and teeth along the
side of Dean’s face, kissing, nipping, licking but mostly just trying to
remember to breathe.
 
“Aw, Sammy, yeah, that’s it. Ride me, baby,” Dean’s voice is rasping and
desperate but still gentle like his hands, light and encouraging on Sam’s side.
The words somehow make it through to what’s left of Sam’s brain and he finally
remembers to move, too.
 
He pushes himself up until he feels the head of Dean’s cock catching on his rim
and slides back down.
 
“Fuck!” His brother cries out and Sam could just float away, it feels so good
to be the one wrecking Dean like this. He grips Dean’s shoulder tighter with
one hand and the other slides up the curve of his brother’s neck. Then he does
it again - all the way up, all the way down.
 
“Jesus, shit. God, Sam,” Dean shudders underneath him as Sam sits all the way
back down. His hands slide down Sam’s back and then they’re cupping his ass
cheeks, pulling Sam to him fiercely as his head tilts back against the
headboard.
 
Sam grins. He is breathless and panting then as he starts up in earnest, not
slow and stilted but a steady rhythm as he fucks himself on his big brother’s
dick. Dean’s hands stay tight on his ass, lifting and pulling and grinding them
together. He tugs Sam in that little bit closer and the angle changes just
enough, each stroke brushing Sam’s prostate and making him shake and cry out.
He’d be afraid he’d break apart but Dean’s lips are against his, kissing when
they can despite the jostling rhythm, and his big brother is mumbling near-
incoherent reassurance and love, words like blessings and praise and dirty,
dirty sin all wrapped up together because neither of them can keep anything
straight when Dean is getting lost in Sam’s body, when he’s making them whole.
 
“Yeah, yeah, uh, uh, uh , fuck , Sammy, yeah- so tight, so fucking tight- god,
you’re perfect, so good to me baby, take me so good, shit- everything, you-
Sam, uh, you’re mine, baby boy. Gonna make you mine, mark you up inside, little
brother. Feel so fucking good, gonna fill you up-”
 
“Dean!” Sam comes with a shout. He drops his head to his brother’s shoulder and
as he shudders through it, his hips bucking, his rhythm breaks but Dean’s hands
are still digging prints onto his ass and Dean is grinding him down as he fucks
up into Sam’s tightening heat. Sam can feel the wet hot mess he’s making
between them but then Dean grunts and lets out a strangled sound that could
only have been Sam’s name and he’s coming, too. Sam feels every twitching pulse
of his brother’s cock, the blooms of heat inside him and he sighs, long and
satisfied.
“Dean, Dean, Dean…” Sam is quiet now, they both are. His body is heavy and lax
and he is simply crumpled in his brother’s lap, curled into his brother’s body.
He rocks his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, his eyes closed as he whispers his
big brother’s name.
 
Dean gingerly lets go of Sam’s ass and smooths his hands up and down his back
instead, just for a moment, before he uses them to smooth back Sam’s hair,
petting it back and leaning down to kiss the sides of Sam’s face.
 
“Yeah, Sammy,” is all he says, just as quiet against Sam’s temple, and Sam
shivers but hums in response. There are a lot of ways to say I love you in
Winchester, and the boys have always been able to say everything they need to
in so few words, in just their names.
 
Sam feels Dean smile against him before he hugs him tightly and tucks his head
in close next to Sam’s, sighing.
 
“Thanks, kiddo,” he adds eventually, nuzzling that little bit further into the
hollow of Sam’s neck.
 
Whether he’ll go on to share what was bothering him, Sam doesn’t know. He also
isn’t worried. Dean is loose, content and satisfied because of him. As far as
Sam is concerned: mission accomplished. He smiles drowsily to himself, a little
smug. It’s no secret to anyone that Dean’s first priority in life is taking
care of him. He loves Dean for it even if sometimes he still wants to punch his
brother in his perfect, protective face, but what Dean might not realize is
that he’s Sam’s first priority, too. Dean would probably baulk at the idea if
Sam ever said it in so many words - yeah except I’m the big brother here,
squirt. ‘S my job to look out for you - but Sam figures that’s okay. Sam will
always take care of him anyway.
 
He shifts a little and feels the tacky pull of the mess drying on their
stomachs, the slow drip of Dean’s come as it starts to leak around his brother
where he’s getting soft, but Sam only moves enough to tuck his arms in between
them, trapped between their chests, and Dean tightens his embrace as they
settle again. If Dean’s in no hurry to move, neither is Sam; it wouldn’t be the
first time he fell asleep like this, fucked out and still full, only to wake up
in the morning cleaned up with Dean curled up behind him and a vague, dream-
like recollection of his big brother moving them and tucking him in.
 
The sleepy tracing of Dean’s thumbs moving on his back and the feeling of home
warm in his chest are the last things in his mind as Sam drifts off, safe in
the arms of his big brother knowing they’re both safe - in each other’s arms.





End Notes
     Thanks, as always, for reading. Comments and kudos make my wee little
     world go round ❤
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
