Fic: Too Far Gone For Lullabies (Dean/Sam)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU - boys not related, underage, mouth-lovin'
Notes: Part of the 'Not A Verse' because I just can't stop. Also, a little bit of b.j. porn for my darling stillastranger 's b-day (yep, I punned it!) - have a happy one bb!
Summary - Dean's opening Sam's eyes to all kinds of new worlds.
Follows Love and Other Processed Sweeteners in the verse
Sam doesn't wake up to the sound of the catch on the window giving way, or the wood on wood grate as it slides up. He doesn't wake up to the soft sound of booted feet stepping into his room or to the sound of zippers when those boots are removed. He doesn't wake up, like people always do in the movies, to the ominous sensation of someone standing by his bed watching him sleep. In fact, Sam doesn't wake up at all until a warm, heavy body presses up against his back and Dean's voice whisper-rumbles, "Hey baby," with his lips close enough to the shell of Sam's ear that he can feel the way each syllable forms.
It probably says some really scary things about Sam that even with the knee-jerk dump of fear from being woken up like that, his dick's already straining against his pajama pants. Then again, it probably says even scarier things that Dean knows it too, hand sliding under the covers and below Sam's waistband to give him a firm squeeze. Dean chuckles at the high sound that pours out of Sam's mouth because of it and kisses him softly behind the ear.
He really can't help that his hips pump into Dean's hand, wanting more, because he's twelve and if it wasn't for Dean he probably wouldn't even know what his cock was for and Dean's hand on him is pretty much the greatest thing in the history of ever. It doesn't really make any sense why, but for some reason, Dean's hand feels so much better than his own, even when he tries to do it the same way - when he can anyway, most of the time Dean doesn't like for Sam to touch himself if Dean's not there to watch.
"So eager, Sammy," Dean says, his voice all low and sandpaper rough, which means that Dean's turned on too. He won't go any faster, though, no matter how Sam moves his hips and whines and it's not like Sam takes a whole lot to come or anything, but it's still not enough. He has a feeling Dean's doing it on purpose.
Sure enough, "Don't you even want to see what I brought you?" is the next thing that comes out of his mouth.
It's teasing; not the joking kind of teasing Dean does when they're just hanging out and playing Nintendo or whatever, the other kind that Dean swears Sam does to him all the time when he's drinking from a Coke bottle or eating a popsicle - which Dean gives him practically all the time now, even when it's too cold out - though Sam never really means it to be a tease.
Dean squirms around on the bed behind him and when Sam looks over his shoulder to see what's going on, Dean's pulling a folded up magazine out from under his shirt. It's always pretty bright in Sam's room with the street lamp shining in the way it does, but he still can't make out what's on the glossy pages that Dean flops onto Sam's lap until the older boy reaches out and clicks on the bedside lamp.
It's porn. Not Hustler or Playboy, which is what Dean normally steals for the E-Z Stop, this one doesn't look quite as nice; it's a lot thinner, for one thing, and the cover is a plain white background with nothing but this pretty brown-haired girl with lots of eye makeup on looking over her shoulder at him so her butt sticks out under the title 'Babez'.
It's not like it's a big deal or anything, Dean's shown him porn before; likes to sit back with Sam sitting in the V of his legs, chest to back, and play with Sam's dick while they flip through the pictures, making Sam tell him which ones he likes and why.
But for Dean to have brought this one over tonight means it must be special or something - usually when they have porn, they read it in the afternoons while they're dads are gone so nobody will overhear. He shrugs, trying to look cool like he doesn't care - the way Dean does all the time - but it's kind of hard to pull off when he's still tenting his PJs.
"We're gonna play a game, Sammy," Dean grins and Sam's known his neighbor long enough to have figured out that that expression means trouble. "See, you're gonna look through here and pick out your favorite picture. Just one."
"And?" Sam asks when Dean doesn't seem like he's going to continue.
"And, you'll have to wait and see." Yeah, totally trouble.
Sam's pretty sure his parents must have dropped him on his head or something when he was a baby and for some reason the side effects only show up when Dean's around because he can already tell this is one of those things he should just say 'no, Dean' to, but that's not what he's doing at all. What he's doing is licking the tips of his fingers wet to flip through the pages and trying to pay attention to the girls in the pictures while Dean stands up and starts taking off his clothes. It's really distracting.
Dean slips back into bed with him, under the covers this time, and Sam barely even gets a good look at Dean's cock - hard and red, standing up proudly against his belly - before it's covered up again.
"So?" Dean raises his eyebrows in question but that grin's still plastered all over his face and maybe if Dean's hand wasn't sliding up under Sam's t-shirt to stroke his belly, he'd remember about saying 'no', but he doesn't. He flips back a page or two to the picture of a blonde girl with some guy's dick in her mouth. You can't see the guy at all, just his dark, veiny dick, and you can't see much of the girl either besides the way her lips look wrapped around him but it makes Sam feel like all of the blood is rising to the surface of his skin; too hot, too sensitive.
"BJ," Dean's eyes darken and it looks like his smile gets wider but then he's dipped his head to kiss into the crook of Sam's neck, so he can't really tell what else that might mean. The magazine ends up somewhere on the floor and Sam doesn't care anymore because Dean's laying those little biting kisses up the length of his neck up to the tender spot under Sam's ear. "Good choice, Sammy," he kisses Sam's earlobe and then slowly sucks it into his mouth, making Sam shiver hard all the way down to his toes.
Dean's hand slides out from under Sam's shirt and pushes down at the waistband of his pants instead, until his junk is exposed. He still gets all flushed and embarrassed whenever Dean makes him take his dick out of his pants to do stuff, especially like now when the light's really good. He's a lot smaller than Dean is, scrawny, and even hard everything looks too little and thin and not grown-up and sexy the way Dean's is. Still, Dean swears Sam's hard-on is the hottest thing he's ever seen - and Sam kinda believes him since the first time he ever got one, Dean had rubbed him raw, getting him hard over and over again just so he could stare at it and touch it and play with it - so he tries not to whine too much.
Before he can think about anything else, Dean's flipped so he's sitting between Sam's legs and leans down to run his pink, shiny tongue over the very tip of Sam's dick. He whimpers; knows it, hears it, is just way too shocked to care about it because Dean just licked his cock. Dean. Licked. His. Cock.
If there's still air left in the room Sam can't find where it's hiding.
The heat and the wetness don't even register under Dean slips back down and takes the whole head in his mouth and licks at it like a lollipop. Sam makes a sound he doesn't even know the word for, all of his senses narrowing down to slick, hot, wonderful, please. And just as soon as he's fallen totally in love with it, the feeling's gone, Dean's breath trailing up to shuff across Sam's lips. In a flurry of panicked motion his hands find Dean's head, try to shove it back down because there's a really good chance Sam's going to die somehow if Dean doesn't keep sucking him; his whole body's telling him so.
"You like that?" Dean laughs, batting Sam's hands away like they're nothing. He kisses Sam softly, the bitter-sharp flavor that he's learned from licking it off Dean's fingers coating Sam's tongue. Dean breaks away panting, "You want more?" and all Sam can do his nod so hard he can't see straight, feeling like he's already shaking to pieces. He's not sure he'll ever want anything besides 'more' ever again.
"Ok," Dean assures him, forcing Sam to quit nodding with a gentle hand on his jaw, "but you have to do something for me, ok? It's really easy." Sam nods again - stilted by Dean's grip on his chin - since that's the only thing he can seem to remember how to do and he can't think of anything Dean would ask for that he wouldn't give up happily right now to replace the slow, infuriating stroke of Dean's fingers up his length with the perfect, heavenly feel of Dean's mouth. "Good, baby," Dean murmurs, "So good. All you have to do is say 'I love you', alright? And then I'll give you everything you want. Take such good care of you, baby."
Sam starts nodding again, or maybe he never stopped, but either way, yes, he loves Dean, he loves Dean's hands and his mouth and if he doesn't come soon he's going to curl up into a little ball in the corner and never be able to move again.
Dean kisses him, one more quick peck, and then he's bending over Sam's dick, hovering there, not quite close enough.
"Say it, Sammy," he whispers, the cool brush of air over the wetness he's leaking making Sam writhe.
"I- huh- I love you, ngh-" Sam's throat closes up as Dean's mouth comes down on him, wrapping him up in that heat and that slipperiness and that... that... God.
Dean keeps threatening to 'train' Sam to last longer, and he doesn't exactly know what the means, but he's not too scared because he kind of thinks Dean likes him this way. The other boy gets in all of three mind-blowing, retina-searing sucks before Sam's gone; temperatureless buzz slamming through him in waves.
He can't think, can't breathe through the sharp, shocky pleasure of it raining down on him, so when he feels Dean's lips pressed against his own, he opens automatically for a kiss, barely even jarred by rush of heavy liquid filling his mouth instead.
"Swallow," Dean says thickly and Sam doesn't have enough braincells to do anything else. He feels Dean's come splash hot against his hip as his throat works down the bitter fluid. Then Dean's kissing him again, licking all around his mouth and Sam can't do anything but lay there and let him, just enjoying the way his body's swamped with feeling.
"S'good, baby. So good," Dean whispers against his skin. He feels sticky and sweaty, but also, yeah, really good, and it only gets better when Dean cuddles in tight to him, their skin sliding slickly against one another.
Soft kisses are pressed down the line of Sam's sternum, nuzzled over and over into the place where Sam can feel his heartbeat still churning like a revved engine. He fumbles the sheet up over them, letting the gentle swoop of Dean's hands on his skin bring him back to Earth.
"Love you, Sammy," Dean whispers, the words painted onto his chest with silky lips. Sam opens his mouth to answer on instinct but catches himself, the butterfly flutter in his chest matched by one in his stomach. It's different somehow, to say it now, like this, and Sam's voice stalls out with the words on the tip of his tongue. Dean doesn't say anything else, and the stuttering sigh he lets out after a minute is probably just because he's tired.
It's an awkward reach to contort his arm back and flick the lamp off again. The room seems pitch black now that his eyes have unadjusted and he curls his arms around Dean's shoulders, keeping him close even though Dean never lets go unless Sam makes him anyway. He buries his nose in the bristly hair at the top of Dean's head, presses a dry kiss there and Dean's hold around him tightens slightly.
"Goodnight, Sammy," he breathes into the dark, pressing his ear flat to Sam's chest. His fingers move slowly along Sam's ribs, feeling over each ridge, and if Sam had the energy, he'd maybe wonder if Dean really was sleepy after all.
Instead he cups his hand over Dean's shoulder with one quick squeeze and says into the warmth of his pillow, "Goodnight, Dean".
Next in the verse - A Part To Play