
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/64110.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Sam/Dean
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Wincest_-_Freeform, Topping_from_the_Bottom
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-02-20 Words: 5771
****** When I get to where I wonder ******
by rivers_bend
Summary
     Sam knows what he wants from Dean and is determined to get it.
Notes
     Warnings/Enticements: bottom!Sam, Sam is 14
Sam is torn. On the one hand, now he's fourteen he's finally old enough to be
left alone—to be treated like Dean got treated when he was half Sam's age. On
the other hand, left alone is left without Dean, and it already feels like it's
been a hundred years since they had more than a few minutes alone together.
Dad checked Sam into the room, left him enough food for the thirty-six hours he
reckoned to be gone, and told Sam not to leave or do anything to call attention
to himself. He promised he and Dean would only be gone one night—nothing
dangerous, just research, but it's going to involve dealing with the police,
and a fourteen-year-old kid doesn't really fit with their cover.
Sam's not scared. He isn't. He just misses Dean.
He's also pretty sure Dad didn't look too closely at what kind of motel this
was before he left his youngest son here.
In the four hours he's been in his room, he's seen three different men go into
the room next door, their arrival followed by loud sex noises each time.
There's a condom machine next to the ice machine outside his door. Both seem
popular with the motel's guests. The good thing about the situation, as far as
Sam's concerned anyway, is that the TV plays five-minute previews of all the
films you can then pay to watch.
After discovering this, Sam carefully closes the curtains—he has no interest in
being mistaken for one of the motel's regulars, thanks—and settles on the bed
with the lotion he pocketed the last time he was in a drug store, and the TV's
remote.
The first channel has a bored-looking blonde with blood-red talons prying open
another woman's girl parts. (Vagina, Sam's brain supplies, mindful of his sex-
ed class, and then pussy, which is Dean's favorite, but Sam doesn't much like
either of those alternatives, so sticks to girl parts.) It looks dangerous and
not very sexy, so Sam changes the channel.
The next clip is much better: a dark-haired woman bobbing on a large purple
dick. The man has one hand on the back of her head, and he's jerking his hips,
fucking her mouth. It looks like he's choking her a little, but she also looks
like she's enjoying it. Sam knows porn movies are as likely to be fake as
normal movies, but it could be real. Sam thinks he might like it if Dean did
that to him. Especially if Dean made the noises the guy on the TV is making.
Not that Sam wants to be choked, but Dean's always so careful—letting Sam press
his lips there, and use his tongue, but pulling Sam up to kiss him whenever Sam
tries to take Dean into his mouth, tries to suck him. Dean's never held Sam's
head or taken charge like the guy on screen.
The preview ends before it gets more interesting, and so Sam moves on. The next
video is two men, both thick with muscle and sporting Marine haircuts. Sam is a
little disappointed neither of them looks more like Dean, but he's fascinated
by what they're doing. His grip on his prick tightens and it feels like his
chest is on fire.
The darker man is standing behind the paler one who is bent at the waist and
has his chest plastered to a table. There are broken-down guns on a green cloth
at the other end. The man's legs are spread in a wide V, and his hands are
cuffed together at the small of his back. The standing man is fucking his ass
with sharp jabs of his hips. Every time he moves forward, his balls slap
against the fuckee's (there must be a better word, but Sam doesn't know what it
is) and both men grunt loudly.
Sam knew that men could fuck each other. That they did fuck each other. He'd
just never really thought about what that meant. What it looked like. His
fantasies up to this point involved touching, rubbing, kissing—anything that
would get him closer to Dean. Sitting on Dean's lap, arms wrapped around his
neck, legs around his waist, their dicks hard and slippery between their
stomachs; Dean's hand slick with lotion or snagging with sweat and rushed need
on Sam's dick; nothing but soap and hot water between them pressed against each
other in the shower; or Sam's favorite: Dean on top of him, holding Sam's
wrists above his head, hovering with his lips just far enough away Sam can't
quite reach when he strains to kiss him, the tiny frictions of hipsbelliescocks
not quite enough until Sam's begging, "Dean, please, Dean!" and Dean finally
kisses him, lets his hands go free to grip tight, pull closer, move just the
right way so they can finally come.
But this. God. The thought of Dean inside him. On top of him like that, holding
Sam so he can't move, can't do anything but feel Dean—Sam comes, shaking, just
as the clip ends and the ad suggesting he buy the rest of the movie starts.
It's not enough, not nearly enough; Sam's still buzzing with need—wants the ad
to end and the clip to start over. Dropping the remote—he doesn't plan on
changing the channel, maybe ever—Sam uses his t-shirt to rub his jizz into his
stomach with one hand and fumbles for the lotion with the other. He squeezes
too hard, squirts it on his wrist and the bedspread before he gets it on his
fingers and smears it around. The muscles in his arms are twitching with nerves
and excitement. He's not sure which hand he should use—his right, which is his
"smarter" hand, or should he use his left and keep his right for jerking off?
Left, he decides, and he scootches down so the small of his back is flat on the
bed, then reaches between his legs with his left hand, feeling for his hole.
The lotion is cold and he feels suddenly silly doing this while the woman on
the TV tries to seduce him into putting Jar Heads 6 on his credit card, but he
keeps going, rubbing his fingers along his crack and over his balls until it's
all slippery and warm. Between the sensations, the excitement, and the thoughts
he's having about Dean doing this to him, Sam's getting hard again already. His
thighs and ass are clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing. He feels
crumpled up which makes it hard to breathe, so he adjusts the pillows which not
only makes breathing easier but gives him a better view of the TV just in time
for the "marines" to return, groaning, grunting, mid-fuck.
The camera is zoomed in on the pale guy's hole, stretched bigger than Sam could
have imagined by the other guy's dick. His own hole is puckered tight against
his fingers when he tries to poke inside. Sam takes a deep breath and watches
the screen, rubbing instead of poking, and he feels his muscles relax a little.
One fingertip dips in, a strange sensation: it feels deep in his ass, but only
a sliver on his finger. It feels good but in a squirmy way that's unfamiliar.
Pushing harder hurts, a sharp shocky pain, so he jerks his hand away breathes
again, draws his knees up and open, and tries more lotion. This time he knows
to rub first, and with his finger slicker, it slides inside more easily. It
feels better now he knows what to expect, and he grips his dick with his other
hand, tries sliding his finger in and out a little while he slowly jerks
himself. He can't think, his brain rapid firing between thinking about Dean's
finger inside him like this and his own finger inside Dean. It's too much and
too good, and he has to stop moving, just catch his breath.
Sam focuses on the men on his TV, tries to imagine the tight grip on his finger
relaxing enough to get something as big as a cock up there. Tries to imagine
how much fuller he'd feel. He wiggles his finger and pushes at his opening with
a second one. He gets it in and it hurts, but a stretchy rather than a shocky
pain, so he doesn't stop, just pushes more, rubbing his balls and pulling on
his dick until both fingers are straight together as deep inside as he can
reach. Shallower and gentler, but in time with the men on screen, Sam fucks
himself with his fingers, getting used to the sensation, the stretchy-full
feeling.
Why didn't Dean ever tell him about this? Sam knows his brother has watched
porn movies without him, so he must have seen butt fucking before. Sam can't
imagine Dean is scared to try anything; he's the bravest person Sam knows
except for maybe Dad. But maybe Dean thinks Sam is too young or he needs
protecting from this for some reason. Dean is always thinking Sam needs
protecting from something.
Sam doesn't want protecting from this though. It's good. Really good. And it
would be even better if it were Dean kneeling between Sam's legs, sliding his
fingers inside, feeling how hot Sam is for him. Sam can tell that it's not
going to be as easy as he thought to take Dean's dick, but they can practice,
and the practicing will be almost as good.
It's getting back to the part of the clip where it's going to cut off, and Sam
jerks harder, fucks himself faster, trying to come before the credit card lady
is back. He fucks upwards, trying to ease the cramp forming in his wrist, and
it feels even better, all tingly in his balls and like he wants more. He gets
just the tip of a third finger in before he comes, stomach and thighs
clenching.
His ass is clamped tight around his fingers, and it hurts to pull them out, but
Sam likes the feeling, too, and he wants to do it again. Wants Dean to come
back now so Sam can show him, can make him put his fingers inside Sam's ass.
See if he'll let Sam do the same to him. Tomorrow night can't come soon enough.
But in the mean time, Sam intends to keep practicing. As soon as he gets his
breath back.
 
The next night Dad calls at 9 PM , says, "We'll be there in a few hours, be
packed and ready."
Sam shoves his come-stiff t-shirt into his duffel, getting out one that is at
least marginally clean, and goes in to have a shower. The hot water wakes up
the stings and aches in his ass and on his dick. He's masturbated more in the
last thirty hours than he usually does in thirty days. Every time he thought he
would stop jerking off, the ass-fucking clip would start over, or he'd think
about Dean pushing his legs open and holding him down, fucking him, and he'd
start again.
Around midnight last night, he went out to the condom machine, just to get some
air, and saw something called AstroGlide that he thought might work better than
the lotion he had, so he dug around in his bag until he found four quarters,
and bought it.
It wasn't just a little better; it was way better. He turned off the TV, got up
on his knees with his ass in the air, and, going slow, imagining Dean watching
him, Sam managed to get three fingers all the way in to the last set of
knuckles. It felt so good that he thought he might be able to come just from
that, but he'd already come six or maybe seven times since mid-afternoon, and
in the end had to rest his weight on his shoulder and jerk his dick while he
twisted his fingers in his ass. It hurt to come, with practically nothing left
in his balls, but it was enough, and Sam finally fell asleep.
This morning he took a bath when he woke up, debated whether he could risk
walking down the highway to find something other than granola bars for
breakfast, decided not to—not that he thought Dad would catch him, just, well,
it would suck if something happened and Dad caught him—and then settled down
with his book. That lasted less than an hour before he was back to fucking
himself with his fingers while he fantasized about Dean fucking him in every
imaginable position.
He ended up sleeping most of the afternoon, filthy with his own come, and so
when Dad calls, he doesn't mind as much as usual that it sounds like they're
going to be driving all night.
The knock on the door comes at 11:30 PM. Sam is glad to see just Dean on the
other side of the peep-hole.
"Jesus, Sammy," Dean says, stepping inside and sniffing deeply," Did you do
anything but jerk off while we were gone?" He has his annoyed voice on, but he
is also pushing Sam up against the wall with his palm hot on Sam's dick, so Sam
is pretty sure he's faking the tone.
"Not really," Sam admits, giving Dean his best and what are you going to do
about it? look.
Dean cups Sam's head with both hands and kisses him hard and deep, moaning when
Sam wraps his arms around Dean's back and pulls Dean closer, hooking a leg
around his thigh.
"Where's Dad?" Sam asks when Dean finally pulls away to gasp in some air.
"Convinced him—" Dean kisses Sam's jaw, "—to go get gas—" bites Sam's neck hard
enough to ache deliciously but not to mark, "—while I woke you up, made sure
you were packed."
"Of course I'm packed," Sam says, stung that Dean would think he wouldn't be
ready.
"I know. But I missed you." He kisses Sam again, lifting his face, holding him
tight. "And we can't exactly do this in the back seat while Dad drives."
Sam would say, "Good point," except that would be wasting time he could be
kissing Dean, so he does that instead.
He squeezes his hand between them, fingers the shape of Dean's dick through his
jeans, thinks about sucking it, kneeling at Dean's feet with Dean holding his
head just like he's doing now, fucking into Sam's mouth.
"I want to suck you," Sam says.
"Jesus, Sammy—" Dean shudders, his hips jerking against Sam's. "You can't say
that when Dad's going to be back to get us in two minutes."
"I do though," Sam insists. "And I want you to fuck me." Might as well put it
out there when there's no time for Dean to argue—give Dean a chance to get used
to the idea before Sam states his case. Because Dean is going to argue, same as
he always argues with anything new that's Sam's idea: wash the bloody clothes
separately in cold water, stay home alone, suck Dean's dick.
"I don't think—" Dean starts.
"I do," Sam says, and then giving Dean one last quick kiss, he wriggles away,
saying, "Dad will be here soon."
"Sam—" Dean's frowning, looking at Sam like something's happened while they
were gone—like maybe Sam's lost his mind.
"I want it, Dean. I'm big enough. Ready. We can talk about it later."
Dean looks skeptical and pulls the curtain aside to peek out the window.
"Later," he says, "Dad's back, anyway."
Sam grabs his bag and opens the door.
They drive all night, John and Dean taking turns behind the wheel and sleeping
in back, Sam curled in the passenger seat using his sweatshirt as a pillow.
They get to Lincoln, Nebraska about seven in the morning, and Dad pulls into a
motel. Sam hopes he's going to get them two rooms—sometimes he does—but he just
gets one, asking for a roll-away bed. They stay three days there, Sam going
completely insane watching Dean be a dutiful hunter, unable to touch him.
Finally, Dad gets what he needs from whoever they were here to see, and they're
off again, south and west, towards the desert. Dad doesn't say where or why,
just puts them in the car and goes. When they get there, "there" is an old
mobile home up on blocks at the back of a ranch.
Dad pulls up next to the aluminum Airstream and finally outlines his plan. But
Sam doesn't listen after "you boys will be safe here for a couple days,"
because he's going to be alone with Dean, half a mile or so from Dad's friend
in the ranch house, and miles from anyone else. Nowhere for Dean to go, no one
to interrupt them; whatever Dad is doing is of less than no interest in
comparison.
Sam is imagining the cramped quarters as his and Dean's private getaway spot
from the moment he opens the door and sets his duffle down on one of the bench
seats. His eyes drink in the double bed at one end and the kitchenette at the
other, the little door that he knows from experience goes to a tiny toilet and
shower, and his imagination fills with images of him and Dean living here, just
the two of them, living off the land, having sex whenever they want, not having
to—
"Sam!" Dad interrupts his train of thought. "Are you even listening to me?"
Not having to follow Dad's orders all the time.
"I said let's go," Dad continues. "I need to have a chat with Archie up the
house. You and Dean can drop me off and go get some supplies. You'll need some
food. Figure on three or four days to be safe."
Dean's already out the door, so Sam just picks up his sweatshirt and follows
Dad out to the car.
While Dean's waiting at the deli counter, Sam heads down the pharmacy aisle
where he grabs a bottle of lube, then another—a different brand—not sure how
long one bottle lasts or what the best kind is. Always be prepared is one of
Dad's mottos he can get behind.
Somewhere between the toilet paper and the deli, the bottles disappear into the
folds of Sam's clothes. Too many conversations he's not ready to have yet if
they find their way into the shopping cart.
When they get back, Sam figures Dad will take off, but he stays, spreading
papers out on the trailer's small table, asking Dean questions about their last
few stops, forcing Sam to take off instead, head out to where a pile of rocks
stands up in the distance, because if he doesn't get his hands on himself he's
going to come in his pants the next time his brother looks at him.
Sam jerks off into the dirt, back against a sun-warmed boulder, and when he's
done, he climbs to the top and lies down, looking out over the teeming
nothingness until the sun sets and Dean comes to find him.
"He's leaving at first light," Dean promises. "But he's gonna be sleeping right
next to us, so we've gotta—"
"I know," Sam says. He's not stupid. He's seen the looks Dad's been giving them
lately when he comes to wake them and finds them draped over one another.
Noticed that Dad's been getting a roll-away more and more often. They need to
be discreet. He gets it. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.
Not that they have to worry about being discreet tonight, because Dad takes the
double bed and leaves the bench seats on opposite sides of the table for Sam
and Dean. No need to be on your guard against accidental cuddling when there's
a table between you.
Sam is awakened by a loud crash when the sun is barely a sliver on the horizon;
It seems Dad let the wind bang the door against the side of the trailer when he
went out to put his stuff in the car.
"Sorry," John says when he comes back in and spots Sam peeking bleary-eyed from
behind the table. "Go back to sleep. Be good for your brother."
Sam nods and puts his head down, but doesn't go back to sleep, instead staying
alert for the sounds of Dad driving away so he can drag Dean to the bed, sleep
with him there. It seems to take forever for Dad to go, but the sky out the
window is still glowing pink when the impala's engine fades into the distance.
Dean's hard to rouse, but Sam manages to get him over to the bed where he curls
up in the curve of Dean's body and closes his eyes.
When he wakes again, it's to a patch of hot sunlight on his feet and Dean, head
propped on one fist, staring at him.
"What?" Sam asks, reaching to touch the sheet-wrinkle mark on Dean's cheek.
"Just wondering if you were ever going to wake up." Dean rolls on top of Sam
and kisses him.
At the feel of Dean's weight holding him down, Sam goes from dozy to desperate
in moments, and, aware that they are truly alone, he moans aloud as his hips
find their groove against Dean's.
"Missed you," Dean says, "missed you."
They buck and twist together, kissing, licking, biting, writhing, coming before
either of them can organize getting their PJs off.
Lying there afterwards, grinning at each other, almost laughing, Sam remembers
when Dad leaving them meant sulking and complaining on his part and worry and
bossiness on Dean's. He likes this better.
When Sam's stomach starts growling, they get up and eat, taking toast out onto
the steps, sitting in the sun, Sam between Dean's knees, Dean with one hand
down the wash-worn collar of Sam's t-shirt tracing idle lines over his collar
bones and between his nipples.
"I think we should have sex today," Sam says when he's finished his toast.
"I thought that's what we were doing."
"No, I mean like fucking. I think you should fuck me."
Dean's hands still and Sam can feel his thighs tense around Sam's ribs. Before
he can protest, Sam continues. "I've been practicing. You won't hurt me. I
promise."
Cupping Sam's chin and tilting his head back so he can look him in the eye,
Dean says, "What do you mean, you've been practicing?" He looks scared and
angry like the time Sam ran off in the park when he was six.
"With my fingers. Please, Dean. I can't stop thinking about it. Want it so
bad."
"Fingers are different." Dean lets go Sam's chin and goes back to rubbing Sam's
chest. "It's different."
"Well, you can just use your fingers then," Sam says, thinking he has a better
chance of convincing Dean once Dean sees how much Sam likes it. "Please?" he
adds when Dean doesn't say anything. Reaching back to hook an arm around Dean's
neck, he twists and pulls himself up so he's sitting across Dean's thighs and
can kiss him. When Dean relaxes into the kiss and pulls him closer, Sam figures
he's won.
The airstream is really a little small for Dean to be carrying Sam bride-over-
the-threshold style, but Dean doesn't let that stop him, just relies on Sam to
keep his gangly legs from knocking anything over. When he gets them to the bed
he tosses Sam onto it, and with a hungry grin on his face, Dean pulls his t-
shirt off over his head.
His shoulders look huge and his arm muscles flex and bulge as he pushes his
sweats down over his hips. Sam is too distracted by the sight to take his own
clothes off, thinking of the things he hopes Dean is going to do to him. Then
Dean tugs at the ankles of his pajama bottoms and Sam hooks the waistband below
his dick, totally willing to help.
Once his pants are off, Sam sits up which allows him to pull his shirt off and
reach for Dean's wrist so he can get him on the bed and within kissing
distance.
Sam loves the feel of his brother naked; too often they have to fumble quickly
under clothes, under blankets, under cover of darkness, being still and quiet
as possible. Now he wraps his legs over Dean's, uses his feet to feel Dean's
calves, the back of his thighs, Dean's leg hair crisp and tickly on his soles.
He palms over Dean's back, down over his ass, trying to tug his brother closer
though they are plastered together already.
They roll across the bed, kicking the covers to the floor, gasping out "please"
and "yes" as fingers and lips find almost the right, just the right spot, until
they're flushed and panting, lying on their sides, Sam's leg hooked high over
Dean's hip, Dean's hand on the small of his back, stroking, but stopping short
of going where Sam wants him, needs him.
Sam brought the lube over while Dean was in the bathroom earlier, hid it under
the edge of the mattress, and now he twists and dives down, saying "Just a
second" when Dean asks where he's going, pressing it into Dean's hand when he's
pulled himself back onto the bed.
Dean looks at it and then at Sam like Sam's just handed him a tarantula.
"C'mon," Sam cajoles. "It feels so good. Want it. Please, Dean." He takes the
bottle out of Dean's hand, flips the lid, and pours some of the goop onto
Dean's fingers. "Just try it," he adds and then pushes and wiggles until
they're back on their sides the way they'd been before.
Finally giving in, or just not sure what else to do with his lube-slippery
fingers, Dean rubs them down Sam's crack, flirting over his hole, making Sam
whimper and try to press back into them.
"You said we'd go slow," Dean says, then kisses Sam, rubbing down over Sam's
hole, pressing in at the familiar spot behind Sam's balls.
Sam wants to beg, to grab Dean's hand and put it where he wants it, almost
does, but Dean's as stubborn as Sam is and then some when it comes to what he
thinks is good for Sam, so Sam focuses on kissing instead, acting like he's
patient and not about to fly out of his skin if Dean doesn't fuck him now.
Tilting so Dean has a better angle and Sam can get a hand between them, stroke
his thumb over the crown of Dean's dick, seems to do the trick. Dean stops
teasing and rubs a finger over Sam's hole with enough pressure to push a little
ways inside. It makes Sam claw at Dean's shoulder, and Sam's belly jerks
against his fist where it's wrapped around Dean's cock.
"Okay?" Dean asks.
"Yes. God, yes." It's all Sam can do to stay still, not fuck back, force Dean
in farther. "More," he begs, and wiggles a little.
Dean pushes in more, and his eyes go wide. "Fuck," he gasps. "Oh, Sam. Fuck."
Eyes riveted on Sam's, Dean moves in a fraction more, pulls most of the way out
and then pushes back all the way, until Sam feels Dean's knuckles hard against
his ass crack. Sam can feel Dean's arm shaking where it's resting along his
thigh.
"You can move," he whispers, thinking maybe it's a strain for Dean to hold
still.
"It's so—" Dean trails off, still frozen and staring.
Sam is scared suddenly that Dean isn't moving because he thinks it's gross or
something. "Do you like it?"
Dean answers with another question. "You like it?" Sam listens carefully to
Dean's tone, and he doesn't sound disgusted.
"Yes." Sam rocks a little on Dean's finger, assessing just how very good it
feels. "Even more amazing than I imagined it."
Dean flinches back, sliding halfway out before Sam clenches on his finger,
stopping him. "You said you tried it," Dean admonishes.
"I did." Sam relaxes, pushes back, hoping Dean will take the hint. He does. "I
just knew it would feel even better when it was you. Didn't know how much
better, though."
That seems to reassure Dean, because he starts fucking his finger in and out
then, and when Sam responds, fucks back, he doesn't stop.
"I can take more," Sam says, and Dean doesn't protest, eases a second finger in
alongside the first.
He doesn't go as deep, but Sam feels stretched wide around him. Like Dean is
taking him, making room. Sam gets his hand as far around both their dicks as he
can from this angle, and the pressurefriction makes both of them start humping
in earnest, driving Dean deeper, forcing a keening noise from Sam's throat.
It's good, amazing, a burning stretching fullness, Dean fucking him with his
fingers now, no longer hesitant. Until Sam begs for more.
"Another one. Please, Dean."
But Dean just says, "This is good," like he knows best, and kisses him.
Sam doesn't want to be patient anymore. He reaches back and pushes his finger
in beside Dean's. Dean tries to stop him, but Sam's arm is trapping his, and
while Dean's stronger, Sam is a hell of a lot more determined.
"Jesus," Dean says when Sam puts a second finger in, making two of his and two
of Dean's.
Sam is frantic with the sensations: his ass so full, Dean right there clinging
to him, the twitching heat of his ass, Dean's knuckles slippery under his
fingertips, and Sam is going to come—so close—but he wants Dean's cock in him
first. Needs it.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck, Dean."
Dean looks shell-shocked as Sam pulls their fingers out of his ass, grabs for
the lube again and spills way too much on Dean's dick.
"Fuck me," he says again as he gets on his knees, spread wide as they can go.
He pokes his brother in the ribs when Dean just stares at him, and to his
surprise, that actually gets Dean up and kneeling behind him.
"My god," Dean says. "Sam, I don't—"
But Sam gropes over Dean's hip and down until he finds Dean's dick, not
interested in what Dean doesn't want or doesn't think. His grip is slippery,
but he manages to tug Dean forward, line him up, and push back onto Dean's dick
as he guides it inside.
It's a different shape than fingers, flared at the end, blunt, and as he pushes
it in, there's the shocky burning pain again. Sam gasps, muffling it against a
pillow, and then takes a deep breath as Dean jerks back.
"I told you," Dean says, "you're too young. This is a bad idea."
"No." Sam grabs Dean's thighs and holds him, hips tight to Sam's ass. "I just
got excited. Went too fast."
Dean leans down, wrapping his arms around Sam's chest, crushing him in a hug.
"I don't want to hurt you." He's kissing Sam's neck and shoulders, quick pecks
interspersed with the words.
"I want you. Please, Dean." Sam doesn't say that the hurt feels good, that he
wants Dean to just push into him and make him feel it; he just grips Dean's
dick with his ass cheeks, holding Dean in the heat there, until Dean sighs and
lifts up, letting Sam take him in his hand and guide him forward again.
Remembering what he did in the hooker hotel, Sam rubs Dean's dick against his
hole, teasing himself with it until Dean's practically hyperventilating and Sam
thinks he's going to go insane if he doesn't get his brother inside now. This
time it doesn't hurt, just fills him up with stretchy-burny fullness.
Dean doesn't move a muscle once he's inside, just crouches over Sam like he's
afraid of setting off a bomb if he so much as breathes. Sam moves instead,
arching and then pushing back. Lube is dripping down his thighs, and he thinks
about what it will feel like when it's Dean's come. The thought has him
grabbing his dick, jerking it, and begging, "Move, Dean. Fuck me. Want you to
come inside me."
That gets the response he was hoping for.
Once Dean starts moving, Sam has trouble staying up on his knees. Before long
he gives up trying, getting driven flatter with each thrust until he's half on
his stomach on the bed, one leg out behind him, the other folded up by his
chest, Dean's weight heavy on his back. There's no room to jerk himself
anymore, but every thrust pushes his dick through the cuff of his fingers, and
that, plus the feeling of helplessness, Dean huge over him and inside him, is
making Sam sob, "yes, yes, yes," every time Dean shoves into him.
Dean is babbling, has one hand fisted in Sam's hair, the other gripping the
thigh Sam has folded underneath him, and Sam feels trapped, caged, yet like
he's flying, totally free, and it's all overwhelming him. Then Dean starts
shaking violently, shouts Sam's name and he's coming, unh unh unhing with every
jerk of his hips.
Sam comes too as Dean collapses even heavier on top of him and Sam feels his
brother's come dripping hot down his balls.
He can't breathe with Dean's full weight on his ribs, but manages to elbow Dean
until Dean moves, tipping them both on their sides, Sam spooned against his
chest. Dean's dick feels weird slipping out of Sam's ass, but it's comforting
nestled in his crack, nudging up against his balls.
Their hands find each other, their fingers weaving together as they shift until
they fit, Sam's head tucked under Dean's chin. "I told you," Sam whispers.
"You did," Dean says, and Sam can feel his cheek moving in a smile against
Sam's temple.
"You didn't hurt me."
Dean just nods and tightens his grip.
"And you liked it, right?" Sam's pretty sure Dean liked it. But he wants to
check just in case.
Dean's laugh is a burst of air against Sam's ear, and a jerk of Dean's chest
against his back. "Yes, Sam. I liked it." He chuckles again and then nibbles on
the shell of Sam's ear. "I really fucking liked it."
Sam squeezes Dean's fingers and wiggles his ass a little until he's perfectly,
exactly comfortable."I told you," he says again, huge grin on his face.
"You told me," Dean affirms, and Sam lets his eyes close, feeling snug and safe
in Dean's arms.
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