
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6138280.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      VERY_UNDERAGE, Wincest_-_Freeform, Sam_In_Panties, Dean_lovin'_Sam_in
      panties, Feminization, Anal_Sex, Rimming, Felching, gagging, Obsession,
      Fluff
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-01 Words: 2335
****** Wrap Me Up in Your Legs ******
by Scarlet_Ribbons
Summary
     Sam has sugar on his lips and honey between his legs.
Notes
     Title from Bed, by J. Holiday.
 
 
            Sam has sugar on his lips and honey between his legs. 
 
                                      --
 
Sam finds this little tea set in one of the cabins they shack up in, a cabin a
friend of a friend of a friend recommended to John. The family had
recently abandoned the cozy little house, and judging by the slash marks above
the door, deep-trenched into the wood, it wasn't hard to see that they were
spooked away. But the Winchesters have seen worse, known worse, and by the time
Sam and Dean set up in their latest temp, John vanishes to the backwoods. The
fireplace is empty and his boys are cold.
 
Dean cleans the guns while Sammy explores, and his heart-happy little brother,
then ten, cries out in delight when he finds a delicate tea set built in china
and painted in gold and pink, pinker than Sammy's mouth, pinker than his
tongue. Blossoms spray across the spout. Dean's insults clench into a knot in
his throat and stay there until he swallows again, his jeering quelled by Sam's
dimples and the way his spidery fingers fondle the blossoms.
 
"Aren't they pretty, Dean?" 
 
Dean ends up with a teacup hooked on his finger and Sam and his little boy
shorts and loose t-shirt in his lap, his younger brother daintily stroking his
tongue along the remains of a trace of chocolate on the china plate and the
freckles lining Dean's jaw. Dean sips at the sugarless tea without a complaint,
then sets the teacup down and sweetens the taste in his mouth with Sammy's
little heart-shaped one. Their little romp starts with pursed pink lips and
ends with Dean chewing on sweet nipples, Sam arched and bare and quivering like
a tense bow with his floppy shirt rolled up to his armpits and his ribs like a
harp's strings. Dean's hard as hard gets, cock sliding between soft cheeks,
teeth trapping a velvet-soft nipple between his teeth, and Sam is hugging
Dean's head like he's going to use him to climb out of the Hell they
are destined for. 
 
They hear dad clomping up along the steps outside, and Sam is still a delicate
slip, slinking from Dean's lap and crawling into the comfort of his own chair
across the table. He's sipping tea all dainty when John lumbers in.
 
Dean thinks that's it for today. Sam likes to prove him wrong.
 
John's asleep when Sam crawls into bed next to Dean, freshly showered with wet
curls plastered to his angel-cheeks and forehead. When they dry, they'll roll
up into those girly, pretty curls, and Sam's always sort of been able to pull
that off. That girly thing. He moans like one, screams like one. Wet and open
like a whore, Dean's only, before you can even call him a twink. He chews
cherries at truck-stops and makes them dream.
 
"You'll never believe what I found," Sam whispers into Dean's ear, flower
breath warm against his skin. His skin's still steaming from the hot-water
shower, the smell of baby shampoo curling against Dean's mouth and nose,
beckoning him. Innocent, even though Sam's anything but. His boy is so excited
he's wriggling against Dean, little fingers working his pajama pants. Sam's got
cute pajamas with bees and honey jars and it's fitting. He's warm and viscous
and as sweet as honey. 
 
"Oh yeah, Sammy?" Dean whispers back. "What'd my baby boy find, hmm? Hidden
treasure?" Sam gyrates his way along Dean's hips, knees resting in the hollows
of the bed on either side of his thighs, and Dean lifts his hands to cup two
handfuls of his precious girl. Sammy wiggles his hips some more, and Dean eases
away the pajama pants further down, only to end up with two handfuls of silk. 
 
He's confused for a moment, cocks his head to give Sam a momentary frown. But
as he feels his way along the hem, feels the little hoops of lace lining the
openings where Sam's slim, bird-like legs poke through. His bones could be
hollow, Dean would never know; maybe his boy could take flight when he's not
looking. Framed by clouds in the Heavens, that's his Sammy. Dean rises against
Sam's abdomen, gathering the excited boy closer so he can look over his
shoulder and see the silk hugging Sam's ass. 
 
"Where did you find these?" 
 
Sam wiggles his butt once more, just for show (Dean's boy likes to show off how
pretty he is, and Dean can't think of anyone who deserves to more), and the
silk shimmers, glossy and bride-chastity-white as it grazes over Sam's neatly
concealed baby cock. Dean rubs it between his fingers, lets it fall away, makes
a thready, aching sound that rises from his chest. "Unopened, in the closet,"
the petal-lipped boy whispers, then bursts into a peal of nervous giggles,
mesmerizing like little bells. "Do you like them? Are they pretty?" 
 
"Turn for me," Dean whispers, his throat dry, and Sam kicks his pants away and
turns so his ass is facing Dean, slim fingers eagerly yanking his own shirt up
so Dean can see the layers of lace. Dean doesn't let a precious centimeter
escape his notice, not when Sammy's leafed through a package of panties to pick
the one he likes the most, just for Dean. He makes Sam's breath hitch as he
feels his way along his little brother's hips, the cuts of bone that haven't
quite developed. He's teeth-achingly soft. "Jesus, Sammy. You're wearing
panties." 
 
Sam nods almost anxiously, turning so Dean can see his hiked pajama shirt and
the expanse of skin that he's now hurting to touch. Dean sits up, his lips
cocking upwards into a steady, slow smile, and he can almost wrap both hands
around Sam's torso and have the fingertips touch. 
 
"Hold your shirt." He whispers, and Sam tucks the fabric between his teeth and
holds, like a good boy. Like a good girl. Dean lowers his panty-clothed boy
into the mattress gently, so Sam doesn't make even a whisper of sound when he
comes into contact with the cotton-flower bed. "Don't let go." He warns,
thumbing Sam's lower lip, and the boy bites tighter. "You gonna be my little
slut, Sam? Wanna be just a little slit for me to fuck into, all wet and tight?
Or maybe." He tips his head forward, mouthing over Sam's silk-covered cock, as
dainty and small as Sam himself, before suckling just the head into his mouth.
"Don't let go." he repeats, when Sam's mouth trembles. "You wanna be my pretty
girl, Sam? 'S that why you're wearing this?" Rubbing the head between his his
thumb and index finger, he purrs, "Wearin' panties like this?"
 
Sam nods, trembling with excitement, and his hands splay loosely at his sides
as if he isn't sure what to do with them. The nails are bitten down to half-
moons that shine from the lacquer of Sam's slick tongue. Maybe his boy was
worried that Dean wouldn't like the panties, maybe he fretted and paced and bit
his nails in the warm, steam-clouded bathroom after his shower. Sam smells like
bath salts now, so close to Dean's nose. He can pick out a hint of pine, a
touch of amber, but mostly, Sam smells warm, like little boys fresh out of the
shower. Little boys aching to be unraveled by their older brothers. 
 
"Mm." Dean hums, almost contemplatively, gazes down at his spread brother with
his shirt hiked high and pants yanked low and all on display for him, and
thinks he has yet to see a more beautiful sight. He cups Sam's knees, pushing
them back until his limber boy has folded like a paper crane. He tastes a
prayer for forgiveness, but right now, he can only worship Sammy. Closing his
mouth over the silk-hidden hole, he licks, so close yet so far, the panties
dampening until they cling to his lips when he pulls away. Sammy whimpers
around the cloth in his mouth, hips wriggling, and Dean slides one palm along
the boy's waist to soothe him. Then he's gone again, buried into the sweet
haziness of the panties, of Sammy's scent, of the moisture against his lips. He
licks until it's his own punishment, until Sam is writhing and begging
wordlessly for Dean's tongue to actually slick into him. And who is Dean to
deny his brother?
 
Dean frees his brother of the sultry, silky panties, folding them into a square
before tucking them into Sam's mouth to hold and freeing his teeth-wet shirt.
Sam's tongue works the panties open, and he chews on them like they're
bubblegum, sucking away his own taste until Dean's so hard he can't think half-
straight. Sam is soft, here, hairless, still young enough that he doesn't have
even a hair to call his own other than the abundant locks spilling over his
head. Dean dives down into Sammy, his miracle, tongue working puckered muscle
open until he's licking, greedy, into Sam. He holds Sam open as if his boy is a
haphazard butterfly, his wings masquerading as velvet-soft thighs, and opens
him with his tongue until Sam's mouth is wide open, until he's crying out
against the wad of panties and saliva and silk, and only they are what stops
John from bursting in.
 
Sam silences himself with his hand, eyelashes dewy with little droplets, and
lifts himself just slightly to beg Dean nonverbally, but Dean just sucks hard
at the open muscle, hooks two fingers in so he can hold Sam apart and take him
the same way. He maps Sammy's tight, sugar-sweet ass until he could go anywhere
and remember the taste just by touching the tip of his tongue to that spot
 
"Filthy," he whispers, and Sam jerks as if he's been struck. "Dirty. Just want
your brother's cock, don't you? Just want me to split you in two, take you
apart like a deck a' cards and put you back together. Right, Sammy?" He plants
one more sloppy kiss against the rim of Sam's ass and hitches his brother's
lower half until he's forced Sammy to manipulate himself to the height of
Dean's cock. Dean lines the head of his cock with his brother's wetted hole,
but doesn't thrust, not yet. He tugs on Sam's until the boy is practically
flailing with need beneath him, cock twitching between Dean's fingers, and with
a firm hold, Dean pushes forward.
 
He lets Sam envelop him in the tight warmth he craves almost every waking
moment of his day, fist closed around Sammy's little cock as he pushes his
hips. Sam stills beneath him, now, relaxed by the push-pull motion, his tip-
tilted eyes focused hazily on Dean's with pleasure. Dean fills Sammy up, gives
him what he needs, lets his little brother rock against him and beg for each
drawn-out, sticky thrust. He soars off the feeling of Sam's legs clinging to
his torso, ankles crossed all neatly at the small of Dean's back as if it's
taking all his boy's effort to hold onto him It's slow, almost lethargic,
nowhere near as rough as Sam usually takes it or can take it, for that matter.
Sometimes, Dean just likes to fuck Sam loose and sort of sloppy, take his time
and ruin his boy. This is one of those days. 

"'Een," Sammy moans, syllables lost to the cloth between his teeth, and Dean
can see his boy's throat work as he swallows. Dean wants to make him ask for
more, but he can't help himself from bottoming out anyway, and Sammy is past
teasing, sobbing, tears streaming down his face. Dean's embedded in him and
it's a bit much for the little boy, who never admits when it's too much, never
stops asking for more. Ten and the filthiest mouth Dean's seen in any of his
dates.
 
Brave little boy.
 
"C'mon, Sammy," Dean croons, his words like a song commingling with Sammy's
pants and moans and his own grunts. "Wanted to be my little slut, didn't you?
Gotta take big brother's cock even deeper..." He isn't all too big himself, all
things considered, but he can work himself deeper into Sam. "C'mon, baby boy,
relax." He presses on as Sam blooms like a flower beneath him, a brilliant red
rose flecked with droplets of dew, spreading and arching and bowing his back as
he invites Dean into all of him.
 
This rose has no thorns.
 
He folds Dean into his skin and stitches him in. He fucks Sam like that,
spreads him like a quilt over the bed. Comes against just the used, strawberry-
red entrance of the boy's hole, the few drops of his come leaking over the rim
and kissing Sam's skin before rolling downwards. Then, he leans down. 
 
Sam, flushed and sweating from the exertion, pants, loose-limbed and sleepy,
but even still, he spread his legs and holds them open even further so Dean
can lap the boy's hole clean. He cups baby-soft thighs as he probes his tongue
around for that bitter, earthy-warm flavor of himself commingling with Sam's
honey slick. Sam sighs like he does on lazy mornings and gazes hazily at him.
The panties are a crumpled pile of wet silk beside his cheek, and a few beads
of come roll from his own soft cock. Dean licks that away, too. It's sweeter
than sin on his tongue. 
 
"Sammy." Dean whispers, and his brother stirs like an interrupted cat,
sprawling and stretching, fingertips twitching lazily. Dean swallows, throat
suddenly dry, when he hears Sam's bones pop and rearrange and strain against
his paper-thin, cotton-soft skin. He can't help but lean down to kiss both of
his nipples as Sam finds that niche between consciousness and sleep. Dean rolls
Sam's pants back over naked skin, tugs his shirt down, nuzzles his brother's
belly before planting a kiss on his navel. His only keepsake, Sammy. 
 
The panties stay. Debauched silk, tucked out of sight from John's eyes. 
 
He decides he can have one more keepsake. 
 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
