
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/975741.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, Frottage, Underage_Sex, Sibling_Incest, Comeplay, Implied
      Felching, Anal_Sex, Clothed_Sex, Bottom_Sam, Top_Dean, Angsty_Schmoop,
      Come_as_Lube, Butt_Plugs
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-22 Words: 2286
****** Through and Through ******
by saltandbyrne
Summary
     This was easier when Sam was younger.
     (Ages unspecified, mentions of previous frottage when Sam was 13)
This was easier when Sam was younger.
 
Well, it was sort of harder, too, not doing it but getting Dean to stop being a
total spazz about it. That's how they'd figured it out in the first place, Dean
and his stupid made-up rules about shit.
 
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean purrs, his head angled up against the mis-matched
pillowcases. The freckles on his chest stand out against the pink flush of his
skin, the fresh crop from their summer retreat to scenic-nowhere Whitefish,
Montana smattered over the older ones. Sam huffs out a frustrated breath and
buries his neck against the kiss-bitten crook of Dean's shoulder.
 
“Dean, I can't, c'mon, just let me touch-”
 
“Sammy,” Dean chides, shaking his head and dragging the bitten-off edge of his
nails up Sam's back, which, yeah, at least that sort of helps. “I already let
you cheat.”
 
Sam huffs again, out of frustration and just to feel his breath puff warm
against Dean's skin, just to smell that salt-wet-kiss smell on Dean's neck.
Sam's hand is starting to ache from grabbing the headboard but he needs every
inch of leverage he can get.
 
“Come on, baby, I can feel how hard you are.” Dean slides his hand down,
slipping it between them and dragging the heel of his palm over Sam's hard-on.
The fabric's starting to chafe and Sam whines, rolling his head to the side to
glare at Dean.
 
“I know it's not as good as the real thing but at least you got something in
there,” Dean says, all slow with that fucking put-on drawl of his that makes
every girl at the lake down the road melt out of her swimsuit. It sort of works
on Sam, too, but Dean doesn't need to know that, and it's easy to act like the
shivers down his spine are all from Dean trailing his fingers over the crack of
Sam's ass.
 
“S'not the same,” Sam groans, hitching his hips to let his cock slide against
Dean's hand. His briefs are already soaked in the front, the darkening spot of
his precome mingling with Dean's own because of course Dean doesn't have to
keep his underwear on.
 
“Tell you what.” Dean slides his hand further down, tickling his fingers over
the theadbare hole worn away somewhere over Sam's taint. Sam arches back into
it, which really isn't Sam's fault because fucking Dean and his fucking hands
and the fucking sex toy shoved up Sam's ass like a useless spaceholder for
Dean's fucking dick.
 
“You come for me, right through your shorts like you used to?” Dean arches an
eyebrow, all promise and slick-lipped intent as he threads two of his fingers
through the small tear and presses them against the butt plug he'd so proudly
procured on their last trip to a big city.
 
“I'll take this out,” Dean whispers, licking his lips and curling his fingers
to angle the toy around and fuck, yes, fine, so it's not totally useless. Sam
makes a sound he's not proud of and starts to move his hips a little faster,
grinding his cock against the hot, steady pressure of Dean's hand.
 
“And I'll let you ride my cock as long as you want.” Dean hooks his fingers
around the flared base and tugs, sending a shower of sparks and a deep groan
shooting up Sam's skin.
 
“Let me, like you don't, fuck,” Sam huffs, curling his back as Dean sinks the
ridged rubber back inside him. “Like you don't want it. Asshole.” Sam keeps his
face pressed tight against Dean's neck, the tug of his lips against Dean's skin
the only tell Sam gives of the surge of fondness that runs through him. Dean is
such an asshole with his rules and his challenges and his endless need to be
reminded that Sam wants it, wants it so fucking bad he'll hump away against
Dean's bare dick just to cream himself if Dean says so. Dean with his fucking
“it doesn't count if we're in our underwear” nostalgia, like it hadn't driven
Sam half-crazy to have to steal what he wanted like a thief under covers. Dean
who could still make Sam come in under a minute just by whispering in his ear
and rubbing him through his jeans in some fluorescent nightmare of a truckstop.
Dean can be such an asshole and Dean is the fucking best.
 
“'Course I want it, Sammy,” Dean smirks, all self-assurance and slow cool but
Sam can hear the hammer of his heart against his chest, the way his breath
catches a little when Sam gets the angle just right and grazes the crown of
Dean's dick with the blunt, worn edge of his cotton-smothered hard-on.
 
“Just want to see you jizz yourself like you're 13 again,” Dean wheedles, and
he says it soft, and Sam knows it still spooks him sometimes. There are times,
lying in bed with sweat beaded on their foreheads and their chests heaving from
finishing quick before Dad gets home, when Dean looks at him like Sam will wake
up and change his mind and go back on it all. Like Sam hadn't been picking at
the frayed edges of Dean's moral center since he figured out what his dick
could do, like Sam hadn't spent his fourteenth birthday on his knees, first
begging Dean to let him and then finally, finally sucking Dean's cock. Like
anyone could know Dean and ever want anything else.
 
“That's it, Sammy, you can do it for me, let me see it,” Dean chants, his voice
gruffer with each quickening pass of Sam's dick against his. Sam releases his
death grip on the headboard to plant his elbows next to Dean's shoulders,
bringing them closer together. Dean draws his hand back from Sam's dick and
curls it right up into Sam's hair, catching it against the sweat-damp tendrils
tangled at his neck.
His keeps his other hand flush against the base of Sam's plug, giving Sam
something to fuck back against and this is it, Sam's got it, that tooth-clench
slip and slide against Dean's body, Dean's fucking hands all over him and
Dean's skin sticking to him. Sam pants through his mouth, eyes narrowing as he
stares down at Dean.
 
“Yeah, that's my boy.” Dean's eyes are wide and his mouth is open and more than
anything he looks captivated, like it's only Sam's weight against him that's
reminding him to breathe, and more than the slick grind of their cocks
together, more than the flush-full pressure of the toy in his ass or the gentle
tug of Dean's hand in his hair it's this, the warm curl of Dean's rapturous
attention that lets the tension in his body furl out all at once. Sam gasps and
rears back just in time, muttering something wordless and warning like he needs
to tell Dean what's happening, like Dean isn't already staring down at the
strain of Sam's cock through his old, worn briefs as he spurts through the
fabric.
 
Sam can feel himself clenching around the plug inside him, his toes curling and
his head going sort of fuzzy as Dean just stares, transfixed and cursing. Sam
gets two full, arching ropes of it onto Dean's stomach, and fuck Dean and his
fucking rules and how he's always fucking right because fuck if that isn't the
hottest fucking thing ever, the way Sam's dick twitches and jerks into the air
while Dean's chest heaves beneath him.
 
“Fucking Christ, Sammy, I gotta, just, fuck.” Dean sits up suddenly, jostling
Sam back and groaning as he clamps his hand around the base of his cock. Sam's
head swims with the last surges of his orgasm and the joy of watching Dean come
apart a little. Dean looks like he's about to blow his load and forget the
English language all at once, and Sam did that, Sam made him look all desperate
and flushed and dumbstruck like that.
 
“Shit, just turn around, Sammy, please, just,” Dean growls, and how Sam manages
to keep his balance and swing his leg around is a mystery that Sam feels no
particular urge to solve, not when Dean wriggles his fingers into the hole of
Sam's briefs and draws in a ragged breath.
 
“Fuck it,” Dean mumbles, his index fingers catching at the thin fabric and
pulling, and while Sam knows every one of Dean's sex-noises, the sound of Dean
ripping his underwear in half because he's so desperate to fuck Sam instantly
climbs to the top of the charts.
 
Dean draws the plug out with a slow groan from both of them. Sam shivers as he
feels a wet trickle of lube run down after it, because Dean always, always uses
so much more than Sam needs. Dean chases it back in, dragging his finger over
the seam of Sam's balls.
 
“You good?”
 
Sam looks back over his shoulder, glaring at Dean and the incredibly stupid
questions he asks sometimes. Sam backs up until he feels Dean's nuts jut up
against his ass and Dean hisses, which is totally also on the list of best
noises because Dean does it through his teeth and it just makes Sam want Dean
inside him as fast as possible.
 
“Think we could get it a little wetter,” Dean husks, his voice shaky like he's
clinging to his swagger with sheer willpower. Sam's neck aches as he arches
back to see but God it's worth it, Sam's mouth falling open as he watches Dean
scoop up the white lines of Sam's come. Dean catches his eye, and only Dean
could manage to make his fucking eyelashes look cocky and arrogant and so
goddamn perfect as he arches his eyebrow and spreads Sam's come over the head
of his cock like made-to-order lube.
 
Sam's mixed sentiments of “I fucking hate you” and “can we just run away
together and never come back” get lost in the shameless, filthy sound he makes
as Dean lines his cock up and sinks in with a slick push. His fingers curl over
the waistband of Sam's ruined briefs as he pulls Sam back, guiding him until
Sam's fully seated and so full it's almost too much. Sam tenses, his skin going
hot-cold-hot and two sizes too small all at once, his breath catching in his
throat until suddenly he's past it, open and ready and flushed with warmth.
 
Dean always says he likes Sam on top because he likes the view, but Sam knows
Dean wants him to lead, set the pace and take charge and it's a burden Sam is
happy to bear. He cants his hips, just the smallest incline to drag Dean out
and make him groan like that, and Sam doesn't need to look to know that Dean's
biting his lip and digging his fingernails into his palm. Sam draws him out to
the tip and sinks back and he can practically feel Dean shaking under him.
 
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean grates out in his trying-to-act-like-he's-not-close voice,
one of Sam's other favorites, and Sam just plants his hand on Dean's thigh for
leverage and fucking rides him because it feels good, because it sounds fucking
amazing and because sometimes Dean is such an asshole and Sam learned from the
best.
 
“Come on, Dean, get it,” Sam urges, arching his back to slap down wet and
dirty, the intact seam of his underwear catching at the taut skin of Dean's
nuts. It doesn't take long, not that Sam is keeping track for future
appropriate teasing opportunities or anything, and after a few more rolls of
his his hips that Dean eagerly rises up to meet, Dean comes.
 
Dean always says Sam's name when he comes. When Sam was old enough to know
better, and young enough to make Dean shut himself in the bathroom and freak
out afterward, he'd heard Dean, heard him whisper his name over and over while
Sam lay there with the measured breaths of someone faking a snore.
 
Dean doesn't whisper any more, not when they've got the rental to themselves
for three days and no neighbors in earshot. Dean digs his fingers into Sam's
hip and grinds out a dozen variations on “Oh, God, Sam, fuck,” until he goes
boneless under Sam and smiles so broad Sam could swear it's audible.
 
There's always this quiet lull after Dean comes, one of the few times Dean
doesn't have to fill the space around them with his wise-ass jokes and
perpetual mangling of classic rock. Sam breathes it in, ignoring the ache in
his spread legs and the chafe of his come-wet briefs against his skin. Dean
makes a displeased grunt as his cock goes soft, slipping out and leaving Sam
feeling empty, wet and full of bad ideas.
 
Sam shifts his leg and feels the scratch of his ruined underwear rubbing
against him, and Sam grins as wide as he can before reaching around to tug the
torn shreds of his underwear back over his asshole. He can feel Dean's come
leaking out of him, wet and soaking into whatever scant dry spots remain. Sam
inches up Dean's chest, knee-walking backwards over his torso until he's
hovering over Dean's face.
 
“Oh fuck, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, his voice thick as he runs his hands up Sam's
thighs. It's not like they haven't done this before, like he hasn't watched
Dean's mouth close over the spreading wetness in his shorts and suck at it with
his eyes rolling back but Dean still manages to sound shocked that Sam would
think of it.
 
“Come on, Dean,” Sam says sweetly, turning to smile as he lowers himself onto
Dean's mouth. “I know you can do it.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
