On a particularly lazy Tuesday morning at nearly 10 AM, Dean was stirred out of his slumber to the feeling of warmth on his cock.
It was always a tossup which of Sam’s holes would be on the other end when he opened his eyes; one morning he found Sam turned away from him, sliding slowly and deliberately across the topside of Dean’s cock like he was in a trance. This time, however, he was met with Sam glancing up at him, smiling as he cradled the underside of his cock with his tongue.
Dad had been gone for three weeks, and it felt like Dean and Sam had been sent off to some foreign country for their honeymoon. They only waited an hour after he walked out the door to start screwing each other’s brains out, Sam being the instigator with his shy perching in Dean’s lap and rubbing against him until his clothed erection was prodding at the tight, wet space between his thighs. It was summer vacation and they had practically no obligations.
Every morning Dean woke up to Sam sprawled across his lap, pushing the covers aside to alleviate Dean’s morning wood, adjusting himself just so until Dean’s hand was cupping his hot cunt. They spent each humid morning tangled together, trying every position and act they could think of and experimenting with stuff they read in Sam’s library books. He’d never known Sammy was such a slut, but better it was with Dean than with anybody else.
“Mornin’,” he drawled, almost sounding like Dad.
Sam furrowed his brow and raced his tongue upward, sinking his lips down over the head of Dean’s cock and sucking at it gently. He moaned and tipped his head back, reaching one hand down to grab at his little brother’s messy hair. It got him hot, the small sound Sam made in response becoming muffled on Dean’s length.
He was living most guy’s dreams, if those dreams happened to be about their younger brothers who weren’t brothers only a few months ago.
Around the time Sam started asking for Dean to please stop calling him by his full name and started pulling his hair back underneath his hood, things were already getting decidedly less familial between them. At first Sam was more distant, like he was trying to create space out of nothing and keep them apart. Dean tried to oblige but failed, and the standoff ended with Sam crawling into Dean’s bed and lying on top of him, asking for Dean to be his first.
He was sure to start slow, kissing and groping leading to grinding and removing clothes. It wasn’t until Dad left that Dean finally took his pants off and taught Sam how to give a hand job. Their “lessons” tended to happen twice a day, but now that Sam could teach his own sex ed class he was getting more comfortable improvising: thus, morning head for the past week.
Dean scraped his nails across Sam’s scalp and made him exhale hard as he tried to take more of his brother’s cock into his mouth. He had to force Sam off when he wanted to try his hand at deep-throating: he could already see the looks he’d get bringing Sam to the ER with come in his lungs. It wasn’t like he needed to suffocate himself or inhale viscous liquids, anyways, not when all Dean needed to reach climax was looking down and seeing Sam on the end of his cock.
He twisted his head around Dean’s shaft and he swallowed hard, tightening his grip on Sam’s hair. There was less of it now, still enough to pass as girlish but almost a foot less than what he had before Dad left. It was luxuriously soft under Dean’s palm, smooth and easy to manipulate with his hand. Dean was a big fan of the hair.
“Hey, hey, cool it, Speedy,” Dean half-heartedly chided him as he felt Sam starting to actually suck on his cock, “I’m done if you get me off now.”
Sam raised his head and met Dean’s eyes, rolling his own in retaliation. He opened his mouth and let Dean’s cock fall out of his mouth so he could accentuate his expression with a pout. “I hate the nicknames.”
“Too bad.” Dean stroked his hair, bringing his hand to the back of Sam’s head and gesturing for him to come back up.
Sam crawled up his body and when his face was only a few inches from Dean’s, he leaned in and gave Sam a gentle kiss on the lips. It didn’t necessarily not feel weird kissing Sam like he’d kiss a girlfriend, but the rush he got out of it and the way Sam’s face always softened when they kissed outweighed the weirdness. Dean pulled him back in and kissed him again, harder this time, and wedged Sam’s mouth open with his own to slide his tongue inside.
If there was one thing Dean wouldn’t have expected from Sam, it was his seemingly unquenchable libido. Sam hid it well in public, but the second they were alone he’d practically jump on Dean. He just always anticipated Sam to be something of a prude, but maybe that could just be chalked up to the layers he put on to hide his body from outsiders—anyone who wasn’t Dean.
Dean grabbed Sam and turned him over, feeling a rush of something fantastic when he looked down to see Sam wide-eyed and breathless.
He grabbed Sam’s tiny tits, the both of them combined not even big enough to fill Dean’s palm, and squeezed them gently. It made Sam whimper and arch his back, moving up into Dean and smiling as he fondled his chest.
“Don’t stop touching me,” he pleaded. Like Dean could stop now, when Sam was soaking wet and writhing underneath him.
He threw one leg over Dean and drew their bodies closer—Sam’s pussy was inviting, warm and soaked and so soft against his cock. Dean tightened his grip on one of his tits, making him whine and bare his teeth. He was such a perfect little thing, and Dean was going to be miserable if he ever had another growth spurt. His head only came up to Dean’s sternum and that was as tall as he hoped he’d ever get. He also hoped he’d stay gangly, despite how much Sam seemed to hate his long, skinny limbs. Dean was never going to get tired of Sam’s tiny, perfect tits and his cunt that looked too small to stick anything in.
Dean leaned down and rocked his tongue across Sam’s erect nipple: soft pink and so hard underneath Dean’s tongue. The noises that he milked out of Sam when he licked it and suckled at it were downright sinful. His chest rose and fell hard as Dean played with him, teased him until he inevitably came. He moved his hips up into Dean and moaned, his pussy sliding against Dean’s thigh and smearing clear slick against his skin. Like he was branding Dean as his own personal pleasure machine. He didn’t mind that much, actually.
“D’you want more?” Dean asked, his voice a little slurred as he kissed Sam’s softening nipple, moving over to the other to bite at it and circle his tongue around it.
“Please,” Sam begged, arching his back, “it feels so good, Dean.”
He reached one hand down between his narrow thighs, his thumb finding Sam’s clit easily. Dean grazed it gently, thrilled by the startled exhale he got out of Sam. Another graze and he moved up against Dean. His small body twisted when Dean clamped his teeth down with little force onto his nipple, flicking his tongue against the peak while he circled his thumb into Sam’s clit.
Dean was surprised to feel Sam getting wetter with each rotation of his thumb, and he pressed down, following instructions he’d asked Sam to give him what felt like ages ago. He struggled to remember what life was like outside this room, that he was a hunter and he was only staying behind to rest off a leg injury and watch Sam. Dean thought he was doing a pretty good job of watching Sam, all things considered.
Sam was like a space heater between his legs, the longer Dean touched his pussy the more he felt like his skin was burning. Dean had no idea how he lived like that, but maybe that solved the case of his unquenchable libido—he always ran hot, and he finally had an outlet to work that heat out of himself. Dean was more than happy to keep his brother cool, even if the method they’d chosen seemed counterintuitive.
The mid-morning sun was starting to pour in from around the edges of the curtains, reminding Dean that they’d have to get up eventually. But, eventually would have to wait: Sam was close to coming, he could feel it.
Sam whimpered, squeezing his thighs together and biting down on the pad of his thumb. He clenched tightly around Dean’s hand, pulling it close to his pussy and sighing with the added pressure.
“I’m gonna pee,” he sounded deeply embarrassed, his eyebrows raised and knit together. “God, I really need to go.”
Dean grinned, stroking harder and making Sam’s thighs shudder as the muscles in his legs tensed. “Just sit tight, okay?”
Sam’s hips rolled and he continued to whine and sigh as Dean stroked and ground his thumb into his clit, losing friction as he only got wetter and wetter. His increasingly frantic noises were like music to Dean’s ears, and curiosity kept him going. This wasn’t something they’d done yet, anything in the vein of watersports, and that meant Dean needed to try it at least once. Sam could hate him forever if he wanted, but Dean was pretty sure he’d get over it by nightfall.
It was sick, the pleasure he felt watching Sam clench his thighs together and whimper through the discomfort. But Sam stayed in place, gripping the sheets and moving his hips up into Dean’s hand all the while he whined out of desperation. The bed was going to be disgusting afterward, but at least they were staying in a double. Dean would just sleep on the couch when Dad got back, insisting that the bed smelled gross and he didn’t want to use it. It was an omission of truth, not a lie.
Sam finally gave up, pulling himself back just as Dean started to feel a trickle of something warm against his hand. Dean hadn’t expected that to get his dick hard again, and he reached his hand down to touch the highest point of Sam’s thigh. A stream of piss spilled down Sam’s slit like a waterfall before suddenly shooting out like a geyser, creating an arc that Dean had to jerk away from.
“Jesus!” Dean laughed, but Sam’s face was bright red from what he could see past his crossed arms.
His hips jerked and his thighs clenched together again for a second before going lax, and the arc quickly shrunk down to a minor dribble. Dean watched Sam finish, finding himself fascinated with what looked like Sam gushing, like his pussy was drooling. He moved two of his fingers down to catch some of it, spreading it across Sam’s vulva and making him gasp.
The sheets weren’t yellow, but they were absolutely soaked, especially where Sam’s piss had pooled underneath his ass. There was a slightly acrid smell in the air, undercut with something muskier that Dean wasn’t exactly opposed to—his hard-on didn’t falter in the slightest.
Sam refused to bring his arms down from his face, continuing to hide even after he’d stopped peeing.
Dean touched one of his forearms softly, trying to coax him out.
“That was so gross,” Sam groaned, “I feel so gross.”
“You’re not gross, Sammy. I promise.” Dean tried not to touch him with his dirtied fingers, but he was pretty sure Sam wouldn’t care right now.
Sam lowered one arm and peeked out at Dean, his eyes watering like he was about to cry. “You’re sure?”
Dean smiled gently, getting Sam to bring one arm down and properly look at him. It was fucked up how pretty he was like this: bright pink cheeks, watery eyes, his hair mussed up where he’d been moving against the pillow. He spread his legs as Dean moved closer, and that only made the image of him sweeter with his pink, wet pussy on display. Dean was a sick bastard and he was absolutely going to Hell, but he had no regrets about that fact.
“I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to piss on me while we’re boning.” He got a giddy rush when Sam shoved his arm, laughing uncomfortably.
“You’re so gross!” He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing his legs up as well until he was sitting just above the lake he’d made on the sheets.
Dean moved closer, bringing himself flush to Sam and noticing how flustered he got feeling his brother’s hard-on sliding between his folded legs. He could feel the heat radiating off of his pussy.
“You sure you’re out? I don’t think I’d mind getting a taste, actually,” he scarcely got the words out before Sam was covering his face again, groaning and laughing into his palms.
Dean snaked his hand down to his crotch and started rubbing at his clit again, hoping that might shake a few more drops out of him. Sam moaned and dropped one hand, his other staying by his mouth as he bit down on the back of his palm. He sank against the wall and splayed his legs open, letting Dean massage his clit while he muffled all of those gorgeous sounds he’d spent so long only dreaming of.
His fingers scooped up some more slick to work into his clit, and Dean felt himself filling with a warm sense of pride when he saw Sam biting down hard on his hand, his fingers clenching to his palm as he panted. He almost felt like less of a screw up if he made Sam happy, and right now he was very certain of his happiness.
Dean gathered more of Sam’s slick and moved his fingers down, circling them around the furl of his asshole. Sam moved back at first, crushing Dean’s fingers underneath him.
“Tell me if you’re going to do that,” Sam breathed, moving back into place and spreading his legs.
“My bad; I like it when you squirm.”
Sam furrowed his eyebrows with worry, leaning back on one hand and folding one leg at his side to give Dean better access. “I’m embarrassed enough right now.”
Dean eased one finger in, making Sam exhale sharply as he pressed past the stubborn muscle. It was like tempting fate, but he was sure Sam would find a way to overpower him if he really needed to; he’d done it before during training. Now, Dean was happy to make Sam writhe and whimper as he pushed in to his middle knuckle.
Sam’s moans were pretty, they had been ever since he started touching himself a couple years back. Dean would pretend not to hear it but found it harder and harder to deny how much he liked his sighs, his muffled gasps, so sweet he thought they’d give him a toothache. Dean was sure Sam didn’t know how much enjoyment he got from listening to him jerk off, but he felt the need to thank Sam for getting him through more than a few near-sleepless nights. He pushed his second finger in, over-lubed like the first, and Sam bared his teeth and tipped his head back.
“How do you not know what it feels like?” Sam’s voice was rough, and Dean felt a desire like hunger swirl around low in his core.
“I never liked any guys until you decided to be one.”
But that wasn’t entirely true—Dean had crushed hard on a guy two schools back, but he never did anything about that infatuation. He let it fade, but it haunted him on those nights where listening to his little brother grind his clit into dust hadn’t put him to sleep. He didn’t know now if he liked that guy anywhere near as much as he liked Sam, but he had the upper hand: for starters, they’d said more than three words to each other.
“I didn’t decide,” Sam sounded irritated, but that irritation melted away with two fingers knuckle-deep inside him. Still, when Sam tilted his head down to look at Dean, unresolved anger was flashing behind his eyes.
Dumbass, he chastised himself as he scissored his fingers inside Sam.
“Sorry, Sammy. I don’t wanna be an asshole to you; you know that, right?”
He struggled to balance his emotions: justified anger and arousal, Dean could see plain on his face that he didn’t know how to feel. He grabbed Dean’s wrist and made him stop moving, glancing down at him with strangely dark eyes.
“Just don’t say I’m trying or deciding to be a guy again. Please.” Sam’s voice was wavering, like all of his conflicting emotions ended up crashing into each other and he’d been caught in the middle of the wreckage.
“I won’t. Promise.”
Sam pulled himself off of Dean’s fingers, pulling his lips together tightly as they slid out of him with a sickly ease. He gestured for Dean to move over to the other side of the bed, away from the cool puddle sinking into the mattress, and seemed pleased when Dean obeyed him. He lied down and watched as Sam climbed over top of him—his body was riddled in bruises from both his fingers and his mouth, bite marks, all in various stages of healing. Dean tried to pinpoint which marks came from this morning and could only be confident in the ones around his nipples.
He spread his arms out to brace himself on either side of Dean, and he looked at him like he wanted to ask him something. Instead, he shuffled downward.
Sam sat down in Dean’s lap, exhausted and barely able to keep his eyes open, and he lowered himself onto Dean’s aching, leaking cock. Dean exhaled a sigh and Sam moaned as he sank, stopping only when he was flush with Dean’s lap and his balls were pressed against Sam’s ass. He breathed gently and raised himself up, sinking again, riding him slowly and making Dean feel like all his thoughts had turned thick. He grinned crookedly and leaned up to kiss Sam, thrilled by the feel of his clumsy lips moving against his own.
He was overstimulated, Dean could see how haphazard his movements were getting, and he wanted to let Sam rest once he wasn’t suffocating his cock like a boa constrictor killing a rat. Sam sat splayed in his brother’s lap and waited for Dean to thrust up into him, clashing their pelvises together and making him grunt like it was hurting him.
“You’re okay, right?” He stroked his hip, feeling the slightest stretch marks at the flare of his waist.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying.”
He wanted to intervene again, wanted to tell Sam to take it easy, but it felt so fucking good he struggled to get any more words out. Dean tossed his head back and breathed in time with Sam’s thrusting, felt his toes curl and his nerves go up in flames.
Sam forced himself down onto Dean hard, slamming again and again until he finally cried out, freezing in place and shuddering. The insides of his thighs were wet with come, and he looked tired but deeply satisfied.
His stamina was insane, even more so the way he could build orgasms on top of each other until he was panting for air and unable to move. Dean caught Sam when he fell forward, flopping onto him and burying his face in his chest. He was still inside Sam, and if he wasn’t already struggling to catch his breath he would have finished himself off. Instead, he let his cock slowly go limp in Sam’s pussy while he cuddled up to Dean, so limp he felt boneless.
Dean felt himself dislodge from Sam just as his eyes started to slide shut—he would have been happy to go straight back to bed, but his stomach was growling and he needed to take a piss of his own. But, he lingered in bed for a while, letting Sam recuperate from one of their most strenuous “lessons” to date.
Sam’s breathing started to slow, and his weight and warmth on top of Dean made it harder for him to stay awake. His relaxed breathing against his skin, his soft hair tickling his collarbone, his gangly legs tangling with his own—Dean thought he was in Heaven. He stroked Sam’s back and leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
It was too perfect, he really should have heard the anvil whistling as it hurtled down to Earth.
Sam looked up at him, his eyes bleary and his skin flushed and glowing from exertion. Dean would see him like that every time he closed his eyes from then on.
“Dad’s gonna be pissed about my hair,” Sam said softly, and Dean reached out to tousle it between his fingers.
“He’ll like it if we tell him it’s more practical. Monsters can’t grab you by your ponytail if you don’t have one.”
Sam beamed at him, moving close and leaning onto his side to kiss Dean again. His small body slotted naturally against Dean’s—their bodies made for one another, something he would never be able to thank their parents for properly. One hand braced against Dean’s chest and the other moved up to his jaw, holding him in place as Sam opened his mouth to let him inside. Dean tasted himself on Sam, but both of their tastes were so familiar to him now that he couldn’t be sure.
“He’d be doubly pissed if he knew about this,” he said with a smile, always eager to raise Dad’s blood pressure. Dean was just happy he didn’t seem so sad anymore. “How d’you think he’d react if I told him I’m not a girl and we’re together?”
Dean scoffed, pushing Sam’s face away playfully. “It’s like you wanna kill him.”
Sam went quiet then, looking Dean over and frowning slightly.
“He wouldn’t kill you if he found out, would he?”
Dean knew the answer to that question, and Sam knew it, too, but he didn’t want to put it out into the air around them. He went quiet, looking up at the water-stained ceiling and thinking about the consequences. Thinking about the possibility that he might’ve knocked Sam up, and how Dad would’ve killed him twelve times over for it. He was already staring down a death sentence fucking his baby brother once, let alone more than a dozen times since Dad left. Dean wouldn’t even be getting a shallow grave on the side of the road, the amount of remains Dad would leave behind.
He knew Sam would take the fall if worse came to worse—he’d make up some boy at school who he’d spent all summer break with despite Dean trying to stop him, and he’d take the brunt of Dad’s anger. Dean was sure Dad wouldn’t fuck Sam up, no matter how dumb of a mistake he made.
But Dean really wished Sam would let him take the fall. It killed him thinking of Dad even yelling at Sam, calling him reckless and stupid for something Dean shouldn’t have allowed to happen in the first place.
After breakfast, he’d scrounge together what he could to pay for morning-after pills for Sam and hope those flushed whatever hellspawn they might have just made straight out of his body.