Chapter Text
Dean was watching TV while Sam cleaned the kitchen. They barely talked now that Jess had left, and Dean didn’t know what to do toward his brother’s silence which felt like a quiet accusation. Rationally, he knew that Sam didn’t hold him responsible for anything that had happened between him and Jess, her departure or her shouting even before that, years before that. He had been too young back then to understand the real issues, but at thirteen, Dean got it, at least the bigger picture.
He had not been one year old when their parents died, had ended up with Sam and Jess as surrogate parents, and they had done a fine job at bringing him up. Well, mostly.
Dean was changing channels, trying to find something that could ease up his mind of all the tension that was now a natural atmosphere at home. Finding nothing, he settled on a animal documentary, still listened to Sam, hoping to hear something other than a tired sigh.
He was fucked up in his head, and so was Sam, they both knew it, and Jess had known it. Everyone, the teachers, other parents, classmates and family friends, everyone had noticed their close relationship, but had never thought anything of it; explained it by the fact that they were the only “real” family they had, and that it was normal to be so close to each other after such a tragic accident. Well, there was nothing normal about being sexually attracted to your big brother, and somehow father. And Dean, still watching the turtles hurriedly laying their eggs in the sand, lain himself on the couch, and thought about those brief moment when had caught Sam staring at him too intently. They were both fucked up, and that’s why Jess was gone now.
Sam was drinking his evening-tea, still in the kitchen, isolating himself from Dean. He tightened his fists and sat back up.
“Hey Sam!” he called “Let’s watch ‘How to train your dragon’, there’s nothing on the TV.” He heard the chair rattling on the floor, heavy steps coming his way, finally, and stopping just behind him. He felt Sam’s hand just above his head, but it never petted his hair as he had expected.
“It’s kinda late Dean, you should get yourself ready for school”. Dean turned then, and looked at his brother. The sight broke his heart. Sam was exhausted, deep bags under his eyes, cheeks hollowed out, the light gone from his pupils. Even his dimples had almost disappeared. Dean remembered how he used to comfort Sam after a fight when he was younger. He reached for his brother’s hand and saw him shiver.
“C’mon Sammy, can’t we just...” Dean sighed. “Just like before, huh?” He knew his voice was trembling, vulnerable, childish, but what could he do? Sam was only the shadow of himself, and five months after Jess’s departure had done nothing to help him get over their break up.
Sam took a deep breath, “’kay kiddo” and stiffly sat down next to Dean. Sam played with the remote, went to the settings and pressed ‘play’. The intro hadn’t even started yet, that Dean lain his head on Sam’s laps, just like he used to. Sam almost jumped at that.
“Come on Dean, you’re too-”
Dean shifted, hid his face in his brother’s legs, whispered, almost begging, “Sammy, please....” and Sam deflated. “’kay”. It sounded so sad, empty, Dean felt guilty for asking Sam, but what could he do? He was so alone, so deprived, he’d take just a little bit of affection, any kind of affection his brother was willing to give up, even if it wasn’t what Dean dreamed of at night. Sam’s hand settle on his hair, fingers shyly running down on his shoulder and going back up again, just like he had done not so long ago. Without Jess around, their limits got blurred.
None of them were paying attention to the movie, Sam too tensed to really enjoy anything and Dean too ashamed to let himself appreciate this henceforth rare time of physical closeness. He fell asleep anyway.
He woke up in his room at 7 am sharp, still clothed. Sam hadn’t even dared to change him before putting him in bed, and Dean didn’t know if satisfaction or remorse flood through him over this realization. Sam didn’t have the force to resist Dean. Whatever he said, only a look from Dean was enough to make his resolve dissolve, to make him give up, to make him do what Dean wished. Well, almost. He got out of bed and headed to the shower.
He undressed himself in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. He had lost all of his baby-fat, but still seemed soft and plush, hairless, feminine somewhat, with his his big green eyes, full lips and curvy body. He turned around and peered at his rear; firm and round, the same way they were supposed to be in adult movies. He faced himself again, touched his mouth, his throat, let his hand glide down his chest, over his nipples. Pinched one of them and flinched, felt it harden under his fingers, saw the flush creeping up his face, imagined his brother. He reddened even more when his prick twitched at the image, and he jumped in the shower, setting the water as cold as he could stand.
After a few minutes, knowing he still had time before Sam woke up, Dean accepted that he needed to take care of his little problem, couldn’t deny himself for too long, even if it meant fanaticizing on his big brother . He had discovered that not so long ago, Jess had caught him right in this shower and had perfectly explained everything to him. Beside the part about his brother, though Dean suspected that she had known something was up. He was grateful he had had such a person in his life, so confident and comprehensive. Dean was convinced that Sam would’ve managed as well as her, would’ve been turned on if he had seen him in such a situation, the same way Dean was when soft moans were coming from Jess and Sam’s room. With a touch of jealousy, Dean touched himself, recalling these noises, mostly his big brother’s grunts, his large shoulders and tanned body.
His back against the cold tiles, head thrown back, soft puffs were escaping him, slowly becoming discreet moans, as he portrayed in his mind how Sam’s cock would look like, feel like, smell like; all swollen, ridged with veins, beautiful and long. Dean’s hand was moving faster on his own sex, white flashes appearing behind his closed lids, something tightening inside, gripping his guts, heart slamming in his ribcage, trembling and-
“Dean, if you don’t wanna be late you better come down!” Sam yelled from behind the door, interrupting Dean as something, something special was happening.
“Y-yeah, ‘kay, c-coming!” He answered back, getting out of the shower, almost sliding on the floor. Frustrated, dried himself off, being peculiarly careful with his now sore prick.
He ran to his room, changed himself as fast as he could; he had taken too much time in the bathroom and was almost late. He heard the garage’s door opening, meaning that Sam was already in the car waiting for him. Dean rushed to the kitchen, took an apple, rushed some more to the car and threw himself in the passenger sit, buckling his seatbelt in less than a second. Checked the hour on the dashboard: just in time.
“O-okay, s-sorry, we c-can go now” Dean tried to breath, his heart racing a mile a minute, he always had a hard time dealing with stress and tardiness. His chest was heaving, fast. Dean closed his eyes, rested his head on the back seat, trying to calm himself. When the car hadn’t started yet, Dean dared to look up at his brother who averted his gaze on the exact moment it crossed his. And he understood suddenly what sight he gave to his brother all flushed and exerted, panting like he had...
“Yeah, was just thinking if we forgot something” Sam stated, neutral, and turned the contact on.The grip he had on the steering wheel was iron clad, knuckles whitening, veins bulging out of his forearms.
The ride lasted twenty long minutes, the discomfort palpable. They both knew what it was about, obviously, but only Sam was still denying their attraction, still holding to the ideal he had of a perfect family.
Dean sighed, leaned on the door and let his stare wander somewhere, anywhere but in the direction of his greatest failure. Who was Sam kidding? He knew the dam would break, Dean was planning on that; one of them had to take things in hands. But somehow, he feared that all the frustration Sam had stored inside, all the ignored feelings might get too much if he finally embraced them.
He got dropped off just in front of the school, as would any other parents do but Sam hadn’t even looked at him, had barely said goodbye, mumbled something about working late or something, that food was in the fridge and “here, money for the bus” and before he even finished his last sentence, the car was already moving.
Dean stayed there, confused, disappointed, angry, staring at the blue blur that was his brother’s car.
Dean got late in class, hadn’t heard the bell.
He had arrived home at 4pm, ate a little snack, watched TV, played some games on his computer, read, watched TV again and slept ‘til 9pm. Dean didn’t have many friends, had always felt a huge gap between him and the other kids.
Not so long ago, it hadn’t been a problem, he had had both Jess and Sam as company, his brother had been doting on him on every occasion, sometimes it even got too much. He hadn’t been shy, he had smiled and laughed at Dean’s poor attempts at jokes, had encouraged him to talk about his day at school, had played whenever Dean had begged him to, video games and sparring, never letting the controllers get cold or their clothes clean. Jess used to shake her head every time she saw them together, but little by little things changed and then she had left.
Dean waited on Sam to eat diner, still wouldn’t admit defeat. Wouldn’t give up on him, even if that meant that he would never have him the way he yearned for. Lying on the couch, gaze fixed on the ceiling, he dozed off, again.
He woke up when the lock made noise and he perched up the couch, watching Sam as he entered the hallway. He seemed agitated.
“Hey Sammy.”
“Hi.”
Sam strode to his room. That was odd, Dean thought and he slowly followed him, suspicious, and stagnated in the corridor. Arms crossed over his chest he asked “How was work today?” not so subtlety. Sam trode out of the room and almost stumbled on Dean, ignoring his previous question; he seemed annoyed. “Don’t stay in the way, Dean” Sam huffed, and shoved him aside to go in the kitchen. Dean’s eyebrows shot up as he glared at his brother and then suddenly, realization fell upon him: Sam wasn’t really annoyed, not the way someone would be after a shitty day at work, he was dodgy like he was hiding something. The fridge’s door was being opened.
“You haven’t eaten yet?” Sam called.
“Nah, ‘was waitin’ for you”
“You shouldn’t have” he said harshly.
Dean stepped in the kitchen, near his brother and contemplated his back, his ruffled hair, loose cravat. He was busily rummaging in a cupboard. Dean surreptitiously went behind him, mere inches, and waited for Sam to turn. And he did, facing his brother up front, surprised. “What the fuck Dean?” he nearly yelled, shocked.
Dean put his hand on Sam’s chest, and looked directly in his eyes. Dean’s head was tilted up and right, questioning, brow frowning, trying to understand the sudden embarrassment of his brother; ‘till then, he never explicitly expressed his unease towards their more-than-brothers kind of relationship, so what was up with being jumpy and all? And then, it hit him; the smell.
Dean took a step back, almost tripping on his own feet. Sam reeked of sex and cheap perfume. His lips were bitten, his hair greasy with sweat and he could see the few hickies under Sam’s white shirt. Dean’s eyes were as big as the one of a deer caught on the light. He felt nauseous.
“Listen Dean-”
“No, please don’t” he trembled. He refused to hear another word coming from his brother tonight, wouldn’t be able to deal with them. He was possessive, but when Sam had sex with Jess, it didn’t hurt that bad. He knew Jess and had always grown up like that, it was a fact, nothing new. But, this- this other woman, who was she? A coworker, a prostitute, some clerk in a random shop? Dean had no idea who Sam decided to have instead of him. And Sam tried to hide it, hide his betrayal because he knew, deep down, that it was one.
Sam wasn’t even looking at Dean, had shut up the moment he was asked to.
They stood like that for a few minutes, none of them wanting to break the corrupted spell. Eventually, Dean walked out of the kitchen and managed to flap in the bed. As if knocked out, he fell into a fitful sleep.
They didn’t speak at all for one week. Sam hadn’t come back from work late anymore. He tried to talk to Dean, tried to tell him that they had to get over their issues and live a normal life. Dean knew that, knew his brother like the back of his hand, but still, with big gooey eyes he always managed to shut Sam’s mouth. Threw some sad look toward him, lopsided smile plastered on his face, cheeks red from the few tears he dared to shed when his brother was near. Dean wasn’t oblivious; he was aware that it was torture for Sam to be the one to make his baby brother suffer so much, but as Dean loudly sniffed when Sam came to the living room, he bitterly thought that he deserved to be reminded every single day of his betrayal, deserved to bare his guiltiness, even if he had never promised anything to Dean.
When Sam popped into a room, Dean left it, when Sam was going to say something, Dean put on his earphones. He realized that this little game couldn’t go on for ever, and there was only one thing left to do: break Sam. Break Sam’s righteousness, his will, make him admit that he wanted Dean’s cherry pie the same way that Dean wanted his thirty-six-year-old-brother to mark him up good.
He went in his room, flopped in his bed and read for some times; the occasion would come by itself.
A few days later, Dean’s eyes opened on the alarm clock, at 01:34 am. Still deep into the numbness of sleep, Dean rolled out of bed and made his way outside his room to get himself a glass of water. In the hallway, he saw the moving lights of the TV, heard it’s muted sound. Sleepily, he went in the living room to shut it off when he realized Sam had fallen asleep on the couch. All his senses lightened up. He was still sitting, though his head was laying on the backseat, knees invitingly spread wide, muscles completely relaxed. Dean roamed his brother’s body with his eyes, savoring this brief moment of freedom and then, he caught sight of it, this big bulge inside Sam’s pants. And oh god, Dean nearly whined. He took some more time, looking at it, imagining the flesh underneath and without even realizing what he was doing, he got down on his knees, settled between his brother’s legs and started to peel the layers of clothing covering his most wanted desire.
Softly, gently, without any hurry, always aware of Sam’s mere movements, Dean opened Sam’s pants and took his gorgeous cock out of his boxers through the seam made for this exact use.
It was warm, smoothly dry, bigger than he had expected. He stared at it, fascinated by all the details he had imagined but weren’t there or by the fact that he could feel its discreet pulse in his hand. The head was glistening with precome, a pearl already forming on the tip, and Dean didn’t have the patience anymore. Aiming for the slit, he licked it with the flat of his tongue relishing the bitter taste of it or its soft texture.
Still in a haze, he took his brother’s cock in his mouth, careful with the teeth, tenderly as not to wake him up. Dean loved the sensation, the heaviness of his shaft in his mouth, its heat, loved feeling the precome leaking drop by drop on his tongue, could come from having his mouth so... so stuffed full of Sam.
He lowered himself on Sam’s girth, tried to go as deep as he could which wasn’t too far since he was practicing that for the first time in his young life. Maybe, that also had something to do with his mouth, to small to fit so much of his brother. But Dean didn’t care, he’d choke on him if that meant he’d get to do that more often.
Dean closed his eyes while he bobbed up and down Sam’s dick, sensed it swelling on his tongue, sensed every veins running on it, hummed around it with a little smile.
His head was roughly yanked back by the hair and before he could register what was happening a huge hand slapped him hard.
Flabbergasted, he stayed still, cock still in hand, lips parted, face turned right, didn’t dare to move, just his eyes searching for the known origin of the slap.
Sam was heaving, his breath short and ragged, cheeks red with arousal but his eyes so huge and scared and confused, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He tightened his grip on Dean’s hair, maybe fearing him to leave. Sam had never hit Dean, and it hurt, broke something inside that wasn’t his heart.
The plan, Dean had thought, was to get Sam and himself off, without waking him up, go back the way he had came and he wouldn’t have known anything. No harm no fool. But obviously, getting caught and slapped kind of ruined everything. Even if Dean did get back to his room without finishing his brother, they would still know, and their situation might worsen. Dean stared back at his brother, right in the white of his eyes and as a last gesture of defiance against everything Sam had fought for, a big “fuck you”, Dean pulled his tongue out and licked one long strip just under the head with the flat of his tongue.
Sam released him, nearly pushed him and was getting up when Dean came full force on his brother, pushing him back in the couch, holding his hands down on the seat, slithering closer to him between his legs, standing on his knees, mouth on Sam’s neck, pinning him not with the weight of his body but the one of his desire, whispering, hushing him, trying to calm the war that was his brother at this exact moment. “Please, please” he said against his soft neck, “Sammy, let me,” but he still felt his reluctance, still felt him on the verge of bolting. “Sammy, Daddy please.” At those words, Sam stiffened, noisily swallowed and rested back on the couch, the fight leaving him. He had hit where Sam was the weakest it seemed.
Dean sighed in relief. Slowly sitting back on his heels, he directly went for the prize in front of him, eager to help Sam resolve his inner conflict by giving the right answer, the one only him could give.
Sam was worriedly watching, biting his lips, barely breathing, hands plastered on the couch, didn’t dare to touch. Dean, on the other hand, was showing how he enjoyed the hard weight in his mouth, softly moaned from time to time, stared at his brother with teary eyes, tried to smile as well as he could.
Sam’s hips bucked even if he tried to restrain himself, Dean heard his head thump on the couch’s back, his breathing getting labored, felt the pumping in his cock get faster, the swelling. He popped it out of his mouth and moved his hand up and down the shaft, tightening it on the tip, giving it a twist every few times. His bruised cheek brushed against its head. Dean’s eyes weren’t leaving Sam’s face and he was a wreck. His hair sticking to his brow, all flushed, on the verge of crying, he looked like it hurt him to have Dean between his legs. Sam wanted to say something but Dean knew his words were stuck in his throat, completely stupefied.
Now, rubbing his face against his big brother’s length and humping his own hand, Dean mouthed silently “I love it Sammy” and Sam’s hands clench against the hard leather of the couch. Just a few more pushes and Dean would make Sam surrender. “Please, Daddy”.
A curse, a hand suddenly grasping his hair and warm sticky come stained his freckled skin. It splattered on the bridge of his nose, on his eyelid, his brow, his mouth. An obscene moan escaped Dean’s lips.
Sam was trembling, cursing through his teeth, hand back to himself, one on his forehead, one on his knee. “shit shit shit shit”. When the come on Dean’s face got cold, Sam’s gaze fell upon him, was ready to say something, to dismiss everything that had happened, but Dean promptly took Sam’s hand in his, surprising his brother and shutting him up at the same time. He had to make a point and with that thought in head, Dean rubbed his come-stained face on Sam’s hand and made a show of eating it right in. “Oh fuck” Sam whined. He tongued between the fingers, sucked them, licked his palm with the dirtiest noises, wrecking Sam a little more. No one could love that the way Dean did. “Oh go-Oh my god, Dean”.
After he cleaned both Sam and himself good, Dean got up and straddled Sam’s thighs, getting close enough to kiss him.
Unexpectedly, Sam yanked Dean’s head toward him and smashed their lips together, forced his tongue in, explored every confinement of his mouth, bit his lower lip, scratched his nails on Dean’s scalp, almost hurting. And it was so good, feeling Sam finally letting himself go, letting himself desire Dean the way he always wanted to do. Dean whimpered when Sam’s hand started to rub on his crotch. “S-Sam”.
“A-are you even for real?” he asked and Dean couldn’t help himself but to blush, ashamed somehow to have come with barely any stimulation. Sam seemed pleased.
Dean wanted to stay on the couch with him, to get marked, to get to be Sam’s, but his brother cut him off in his musings. “Go to bed, it’s late”.
His expression was unreadable, but after years of living under the same roof, Dean understood what it meant, that Sam, even if he accepted the idea of sexual intercourses with his little brother, was still searching the correct approach of the situation. Dean trusted Sam on this matter and went to his room, satisfied.
The next day, Sam acted as if nothing happened. Woke Dean up for school, prepared a breakfast and now he was casually reading the journal, lying on the counter, mug of coffee in hand, making a point in looking adult and responsible. Dean was not impressed.
“You liked it?” Dean dismissively said between two spoons of cereal. Sam put down his journal and looked in his direction, the embarrassment clearly visible by the way he was avoiding his eyes. Dean stood up and walked to his brother and stood up in front of him, cornering him. Physically talking, Sam could shove Dean, or anyone actually but Dean’s eyes were fierce and cold and pinned Sam where he was. Still, Sam tried to back up, almost ended up hopping on the kitchen counter. Dean was stoic.
“You loved it.” he claimed, unbuckling Sam’s pants, letting it slide down these miles long legs. His big brother’s breath hitched, threw his head back, trying not to watch what would happen just before they go to school. Dean knew he was weakened enough to bring in the final strike.
Dean dropped to his knees and pulled down Sam’s boxers, reveling his already semi-hard cock. He was such a sensitive guy, so sweet and soft, everything was enough to turn him on, but Dean wanted to see the glimpse he had had of his brother last night, all savage and aggressive.
“I love your cock Sammy”, Sam shivered and Dean smiled. Heard the gasp as he started the bathe the dick in front of him with kitten licks, focusing on the head were the precome was dripping. “love it” he whispered, popping the head in. A choked sound came from above, he looked up and Sam was watching him now, all wonder and astoundment. Dean guessed that the reassuring words were a bit responsible for that; he took note of that.
Gently, he let his left hand travel, down the shaft to Sam’s firm and full balls. He caressed them, rolled them, even left the head to suck them. Sam hissed. Slurping sounds came from his mouth, obscene, but turning on Sam even more if he took the sudden trembling of his brother as a sign. After a few minutes, he went again for the cock, tried to swallow it down, ended up choking on it, tears in his eyes and frustration in his throat.
Sam’s hands suddenly cradled his head, thumb rubbing his bruised side, his plush lips “T-take a deep breath first, a-and try to relax” he mumbled, barely voiceless, expression on his face looking as if someone was tearing something apart from him.
Dean listened to his brother, tamed his eagerness a bit, and did as he was told several times. The first few tries were good, but not good enough to Dean who wanted to take Sam all the way down his throat. Even with that in mind, it didn’t lessen the pleasure it brought him to listen to the grunts coming from Sam.
At least, when Dean deemed himself ready, he said loud and clear “Fuck my throat” and he went all the way down, nose buried in his brother’s crotch, spit steadily leaking on his chin and stayed right there, unmoving, waiting. Sam whimpered, tensed, gripped Dean’s hair even harder and he could only hum in acceptance. Then, with a shaky breath, Sam started to move slowly, gently, with shallow thrusts first, still holding Dean’s head in place, “Jesus”. Dean swallowed around his cock, showing him that it was alright, that he could relax and go for it, that he’d take it, that he craved it. Another curse and Sam’s thrusts became harsher, faster, went all the way out to just push back deep inside, ramming his mouth, his throat, his palate, loosing all the restraints he had put on himself, now moving Dean’s face in rhythm with his thrusts, making Dean’s jaw ache, tears rolling down his cheeks.
He loved it, loved the way Sam just unraveled his inner aggressivity, shoving the frustration of so many years down inside, using Dean the way they both yearned for. Dean shimmied away from Sam, hands back on Sam’s cock, watching him “T-tell me Sammy, tell me how you like it” he smiled and went back in business again. Sam moaned.
“You’re so tight!” he slammed hard inside. “C-Can’t believe,” and he did it again, “that you let me,” and his hand moved down his neck, “use you like that” tightened it enough to feel the bulge of Sam’s cock moving in a steady pace inside his throat. He gripped harder, Dean couldn’t breath correctly anymore but the roughness made him feel owed, made him feel Sam all over. With one final shove Sam hurriedly panted “G-god you’re such a slut” and Dean closed his eyes as warm come flooded his insides, deep and soothing, filling him good.
They didn’t move until Sam’s cock softened in Dean’s mouth and let it slowly slip out. He stood up, closed the few centimeters that were separating him from his brother. Standing on the tip of his toes, he nuzzled the base of Sam’s neck, took one of his hands in his and led it inside his pants. There, Dean’s briefs were soaked with come couldn’t help himself, got so turned on by his brother, this man towering him, owning him. Sam gasped as he felt the stickiness, knew Dean didn’t touched himself for one second. “’m your slut Sammy” he kissed and then went back to the kitchen table, grabbed an apple and walked to the door. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late” he smiled, smug and satisfied. None of them had time to let Dean change himself, but somehow, Dean liked to keep the filth Sam made him feel.
A few beats later, Sam sighed and followed Dean outside.