SPN fic: Got your taste | Sam/Dean | NC-17
Title: Got your taste
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None.
Wordcount: ~2.3k
Genre: Porn!
Characters/pairings: Sam/Dean.
Contents/warnings/kinks: Extreme underage (Sam is about 9), body-hair, hand-job, dub-con, mild exhibitionism, curiosity
A/N: Written for blindfold_spn to the prompt Sam/Dean; exhibitionism, curiosity, extreme underage. Many thanks to dragonspell for taking a quick look at it; further concrit is still very much appreciated!
Disclaimer: SPN and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Sam is curious about the changes puberty has wrought in Dean.
Friday morning brings a sudden, well-worn bounce to Sam's steps; he hops off the bed excitedly, even though it's March in Ohio and the air chills him to the bone. It's earlier than usual, and Dean is still in bed, finally able to hog the blankets and the pillow Sam won't be using anymore and roll over to the warm spot Sam has left behind.
Normally Sam relishes on staying in bed, curled up on his side and letting the back of his palm brush lightly against Dean's back. Normally. But not today.
He gets dressed quickly -- it really is cold -- and then has the pleasure of poking Dean out of bed. "You're going to be late," he informs his brother with the sureness of the one who's got a clock right in front of him.
Dean grumbles something incoherent into the pillow and doesn't move.
Sam says, "I'm not gonna wait for you."
Eventually, Dean gets up. Sam feels magnanimous and does wait for him to get ready, ignoring the possibility that he might miss the school bus.
He doesn't really care; he's smiling.
*
"When's Dad coming back?" Sam asks around a mouthful of SpaghettiO's. He's already got his spoon diving back in his bowl to grab some more, even though he hasn't swallowed yet.
Opposite him, Dean digs into his own bowl. He's using a fork and eating more slowly than Sam, but around his mouth is the same print of the red sauce. He says, "He'll try to make it back by Sunday."
Sam chews furiously and swallows. "He called?"
"Yeah," Dean says. "You were doing homework, so he said not to bother you."
Sam bites his lower lip and looks down at his lap.
"He told me he was bringing you something, when he comes back."
Sam looks back up, this time with an excited grin. Dean smiles at him before breaking into a yawn that brings Sam's attention to the line of his neck. "I'm beat," he says uncharacteristically and gets up. "It's your turn to do the dishes. I'm gonna take a shower."
"Liar!" Sam calls after him. And then, "You owe me for this, Dean!"
The only reply he gets is the snick of the bathroom door as it closes.
*
Dean is a lot more interesting than yesterday's newspaper, so when he comes out of the bathroom with trails of steam billowing into the main room, Sam turns his attention away from today's weather forecast and looks at Dean from the corner of his eyes.
There's color high in Dean's cheeks and water droplets spill down his chest to the towel that's around his hips. Sam studies the slope of his chest, the angle of his shoulderblades, the way his back bends when Dean puts on a clean pair of boxers and nothing else before slipping into the bed they share.
Friday nights, boxers was all Dean wore for bed, no matter how freezing it was outside. Sam's asked him why, before, and all Dean had said on the matter was how warm Sam was at night.
Whenever they have two beds, one is always John's, and Sam and Dean have to share. Dean doesn't seem to mind, and Sam definitely doesn't. He prefers it like that.
From the bed, Dean says, "Sammy, turn off the lights."
"I did the dishes," Sam reminds him.
"I'm already in bed, idiot."
Sam shrugs.
"Whatever," Dean mutters and turn his back to the lamp. It's not like he doesn't know how to sleep when there's light in the room.
Sam waits until Dean's breaths deepen and his limbs look relaxed, watching. He gets out of the chair and turns off the lights. He also wants a shower, and he wants to give Dean some time to slip into deeper sleep before going to bed himself.
The bathroom is still steamy from Dean's shower, the floor tiles wet and slippery. Sam shuts the door behind himself and strips, closes the toilet lid and places his clothes on top of it. He'll be wearing them again tomorrow, and he doesn't want them getting wet now.
Right outside the shower stall he notices a weird substance on the floor. His heart starts pounding; he knows what it is. He's had his hand coated with it enough times.
It's Dean.
He bends over and wipes it from the floor with his forefinger and brings it to his nose, breathing in and smelling Dean. Dean was here, in the shower, and touched himself long enough that he started spewing the white liquid.
Sam would be disappointed, but he's too excited by the thought that Dean did that, right here, where Sam was standing right now, between the shower stall and the mirror on the wall right in front of it --
He freezes, tilts his head to the side, and steps into the shower. He sees himself in the mirror that's right in front of him, sees his hairless, scrawny body with his too-long limbs and too-small penis, and imagines Dean in his place, filled out and hairy and with a penis that's heavier than Sam's palm.
Sam steps back until he hits the wall, the cold tiles sending a shock down his spine and raising goosebumps, and he realizes with a jolt that has nothing to do with the cold that this is where Dean must've stood, to get the white liquid out of the stall. He must've stood there with the door open, looking at the mirror and running his hand all over himself --
His hands start shaking.
Sam stills them and washes up with the shower stall closed and hiding the mirror. He's careful when he washes his privates; because it makes him gasp, and not unpleasantly. But he wants to keep this for later, when he's in bed -- with Dean in his hand.
The chill in the main room doesn't register when he crosses the threshold. Somehow he manages to navigate to his duffel, pull on his briefs and a long flannel shirt that used to be Dean's, and crawls under the blankets. Somehow he manages not to fall over anything they'd left of the floor and manage to cling to Dean's side in order to warm without himself waking his brother up.
It's comfortable, lying on his side with Dean lying on his back next to him, and Sam almost falls asleep without fulfilling his objective for the night. But remembering it made him wide awake again and eager, too warm under the heavy winter blankets that covers Dean's body.
He peels back the blankets, slowly, from his and Dean's bodies. Slowly Dean's torso emerges, pale among the shadows, his ribs only just peeking from under his skin. Sam continues on until the blankets reach Dean's knees, keeping his feet from the cold, but putting his hips, boxer-covered crotch and thighs on display.
Exactly the things Sam is interested in, and he sits on the mattress with his legs crossed, just taking Dean in and imagining how his skin would feel under Sam's hands, warm and soft where the hair is sparse, coarse where it's thicker. Sam wants to reach them and bury his palm in it, grab it in his fist and feel the hairs crunch within his hold.
That's for later, though; first he needs to get the boxers off of Dean's hips without waking him. Dean doesn't know that Sam does this when he sleeps, and Sam would like to keep it this way. He has no idea how he'd explain it if Dean opens his eyes and catches Sam with his hand on Dean's naked body.
Sam can't explain why he decided to take Dean's underwear off, the first time he did it. Until about a year ago, he's been happy just watching Dean with the boxers still on, and occasionally tracing him through the cotton. But then one night he'd become curious with how Dean's penis occasionally grew under his hand, kind of but not quite like his did, and he took Dean's boxers off and hasn't looked back since.
There's a trick to getting underwear off a sleeping person. Sam stands with Dean's hips between Sam's feet, and Sam bends down and slowly puts his hands against the band of the boxers, holding it and distancing it from Dean, then using the slight dent of the mattress to slip them from Dean's crotch.
The first time that Sam had done this, he hadn't pushed them down farther than Dean's genitals, he didn't push them down further than Dean's genitals. Now he knows what he's doing and how to do it, and he pushes them almost to Dean's knees, where he's settled the blankets.
Sam hasn't had Dean spread out like this in almost a month now. Dad's always been there in the room with them, and Sam knows that this is something neither Dad or Dean must ever know happens.
Dean's changed in the month since then. There's more hair on his crotch, and it's coarser. His penis looks heavier, too, and Sam itches to touch it, but he can't, not yet, not until he's warmed his hand enough so Dean wouldn't startle awake.
This is the moment Sam's waited for, longed to reach the entire day. He puts his palm on the front of his underwear, right over his own penis, and traces the contours with his fingers as they change and expand under his hand. It's so different compared to Dean, and he can't wait until his hand is warm enough to touch Dean.
It doesn't take long; when Sam judges that it's time, he does exactly as wants, burying his hand in Dean's thatch of hair. His knuckles skim Dean's skin, touching fleetingly before retreating away as if it burned.
Sam's next touch is more assured than his first, and he doesn't draw his hand back when his skin encounters Dean's. Dean's skin is silky smooth under the hair, a direct contrast to his roughened hands and suntanned arms.
But Sam isn't there to pet Dean's crotch hair. Below it lies the real prize: Dean's penis, smooth and lightly veined. It's grown, Sam realizes, in the two months that passed without him able to do this. Now Dean's penis was wider and slightly longer, hiding his sac from Sam's direct line of sight.
Sam frowns. That's a first. He doesn't like having part of Dean hidden from view. He trails his hand down to Dean's shaft and held it in his fist. At first it reacts the same as Sam's did, growing under his hand and seeming to stand up more and more with each minute twitch, filling Sam's small fists until Sam has trouble telling where Dean ends and he himself starts.
A twitch surprises Sam. It's not the same as the twitches that made the penis grow, it's -- it happens again, and in a way that startles Sam into a heart-wrenching terror, he sees that Dean is moving in his sleep, up and down, and up and down.
Sam tears his hand away.
For a second, Sam thinks Dean's awake. But when Dean's eyes remain closed, and it's just his hips that move, he lets out a sigh of relief and wraps his fist around Dean again. This time when Dean starts thrusting again, Sam keeps it there, occasionally squeezing his fingers to determine the texture and hardness of the penis. He ignores the small, sharp, throaty sounds Dean makes in his sleep, since they're too quiet to wake him up.
One day, he vows to himself, he will be just like Dean. No, not like Dean. He'll be bigger and better at everything, he will show Dean what he can do. When Sam is bigger than Dean, it will be Dean who will wrap a hand around Sam's penis and be impressed with the size of it. Until then, Sam will learn from Dean all that he can.
He slips his other hand down to Dean's sac, kneads it to feel all of the tiny wrinkles that litter it, bends over to see them when he feels them drawing closer to Dean's body, and before he knows it Dean's penis is shooting its pearly white liquid all over Sam's fist. It's the same as it was on the bathroom floor, only warmer and more liquid-y, in a way. The smell of it is sharper now in Sam's nostrils. It disgusts him a little, so he pulls his head away to look at Dean himself.
His brother is breathing heavily, and he's flushed from head to chest. His thighs and stomach tremble. Sam puts his hand on Dean's skin, right below the bellybutton.
Feels like a purring cat, he thinks to himself with a smile.
Sam kept his hand there until he felt the white liquid start to harden and flake, and knew from experience that if he waits any longer, it would be hard to clean -- and Dean has to be clean and with his underwear on when he gets up in the morning, otherwise he'd know that something's happened.
He carefully gets off the bed and heads in the direction of the bathroom, and doesn't notice Dean's glittering eyes behind him as he goes, and if he hears Dean's deep breath, he doesn't pay the source any attention.
For all intents and purposes, Dean is fast asleep to Sam: It doesn't matter that he's wide awake.
originally posted at dreamwidth
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None.
Wordcount: ~2.3k
Genre: Porn!
Characters/pairings: Sam/Dean.
Contents/warnings/kinks: Extreme underage (Sam is about 9), body-hair, hand-job, dub-con, mild exhibitionism, curiosity
A/N: Written for blindfold_spn to the prompt Sam/Dean; exhibitionism, curiosity, extreme underage. Many thanks to dragonspell for taking a quick look at it; further concrit is still very much appreciated!
Disclaimer: SPN and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Sam is curious about the changes puberty has wrought in Dean.
Friday morning brings a sudden, well-worn bounce to Sam's steps; he hops off the bed excitedly, even though it's March in Ohio and the air chills him to the bone. It's earlier than usual, and Dean is still in bed, finally able to hog the blankets and the pillow Sam won't be using anymore and roll over to the warm spot Sam has left behind.
Normally Sam relishes on staying in bed, curled up on his side and letting the back of his palm brush lightly against Dean's back. Normally. But not today.
He gets dressed quickly -- it really is cold -- and then has the pleasure of poking Dean out of bed. "You're going to be late," he informs his brother with the sureness of the one who's got a clock right in front of him.
Dean grumbles something incoherent into the pillow and doesn't move.
Sam says, "I'm not gonna wait for you."
Eventually, Dean gets up. Sam feels magnanimous and does wait for him to get ready, ignoring the possibility that he might miss the school bus.
He doesn't really care; he's smiling.
*
"When's Dad coming back?" Sam asks around a mouthful of SpaghettiO's. He's already got his spoon diving back in his bowl to grab some more, even though he hasn't swallowed yet.
Opposite him, Dean digs into his own bowl. He's using a fork and eating more slowly than Sam, but around his mouth is the same print of the red sauce. He says, "He'll try to make it back by Sunday."
Sam chews furiously and swallows. "He called?"
"Yeah," Dean says. "You were doing homework, so he said not to bother you."
Sam bites his lower lip and looks down at his lap.
"He told me he was bringing you something, when he comes back."
Sam looks back up, this time with an excited grin. Dean smiles at him before breaking into a yawn that brings Sam's attention to the line of his neck. "I'm beat," he says uncharacteristically and gets up. "It's your turn to do the dishes. I'm gonna take a shower."
"Liar!" Sam calls after him. And then, "You owe me for this, Dean!"
The only reply he gets is the snick of the bathroom door as it closes.
*
Dean is a lot more interesting than yesterday's newspaper, so when he comes out of the bathroom with trails of steam billowing into the main room, Sam turns his attention away from today's weather forecast and looks at Dean from the corner of his eyes.
There's color high in Dean's cheeks and water droplets spill down his chest to the towel that's around his hips. Sam studies the slope of his chest, the angle of his shoulderblades, the way his back bends when Dean puts on a clean pair of boxers and nothing else before slipping into the bed they share.
Friday nights, boxers was all Dean wore for bed, no matter how freezing it was outside. Sam's asked him why, before, and all Dean had said on the matter was how warm Sam was at night.
Whenever they have two beds, one is always John's, and Sam and Dean have to share. Dean doesn't seem to mind, and Sam definitely doesn't. He prefers it like that.
From the bed, Dean says, "Sammy, turn off the lights."
"I did the dishes," Sam reminds him.
"I'm already in bed, idiot."
Sam shrugs.
"Whatever," Dean mutters and turn his back to the lamp. It's not like he doesn't know how to sleep when there's light in the room.
Sam waits until Dean's breaths deepen and his limbs look relaxed, watching. He gets out of the chair and turns off the lights. He also wants a shower, and he wants to give Dean some time to slip into deeper sleep before going to bed himself.
The bathroom is still steamy from Dean's shower, the floor tiles wet and slippery. Sam shuts the door behind himself and strips, closes the toilet lid and places his clothes on top of it. He'll be wearing them again tomorrow, and he doesn't want them getting wet now.
Right outside the shower stall he notices a weird substance on the floor. His heart starts pounding; he knows what it is. He's had his hand coated with it enough times.
It's Dean.
He bends over and wipes it from the floor with his forefinger and brings it to his nose, breathing in and smelling Dean. Dean was here, in the shower, and touched himself long enough that he started spewing the white liquid.
Sam would be disappointed, but he's too excited by the thought that Dean did that, right here, where Sam was standing right now, between the shower stall and the mirror on the wall right in front of it --
He freezes, tilts his head to the side, and steps into the shower. He sees himself in the mirror that's right in front of him, sees his hairless, scrawny body with his too-long limbs and too-small penis, and imagines Dean in his place, filled out and hairy and with a penis that's heavier than Sam's palm.
Sam steps back until he hits the wall, the cold tiles sending a shock down his spine and raising goosebumps, and he realizes with a jolt that has nothing to do with the cold that this is where Dean must've stood, to get the white liquid out of the stall. He must've stood there with the door open, looking at the mirror and running his hand all over himself --
His hands start shaking.
Sam stills them and washes up with the shower stall closed and hiding the mirror. He's careful when he washes his privates; because it makes him gasp, and not unpleasantly. But he wants to keep this for later, when he's in bed -- with Dean in his hand.
The chill in the main room doesn't register when he crosses the threshold. Somehow he manages to navigate to his duffel, pull on his briefs and a long flannel shirt that used to be Dean's, and crawls under the blankets. Somehow he manages not to fall over anything they'd left of the floor and manage to cling to Dean's side in order to warm without himself waking his brother up.
It's comfortable, lying on his side with Dean lying on his back next to him, and Sam almost falls asleep without fulfilling his objective for the night. But remembering it made him wide awake again and eager, too warm under the heavy winter blankets that covers Dean's body.
He peels back the blankets, slowly, from his and Dean's bodies. Slowly Dean's torso emerges, pale among the shadows, his ribs only just peeking from under his skin. Sam continues on until the blankets reach Dean's knees, keeping his feet from the cold, but putting his hips, boxer-covered crotch and thighs on display.
Exactly the things Sam is interested in, and he sits on the mattress with his legs crossed, just taking Dean in and imagining how his skin would feel under Sam's hands, warm and soft where the hair is sparse, coarse where it's thicker. Sam wants to reach them and bury his palm in it, grab it in his fist and feel the hairs crunch within his hold.
That's for later, though; first he needs to get the boxers off of Dean's hips without waking him. Dean doesn't know that Sam does this when he sleeps, and Sam would like to keep it this way. He has no idea how he'd explain it if Dean opens his eyes and catches Sam with his hand on Dean's naked body.
Sam can't explain why he decided to take Dean's underwear off, the first time he did it. Until about a year ago, he's been happy just watching Dean with the boxers still on, and occasionally tracing him through the cotton. But then one night he'd become curious with how Dean's penis occasionally grew under his hand, kind of but not quite like his did, and he took Dean's boxers off and hasn't looked back since.
There's a trick to getting underwear off a sleeping person. Sam stands with Dean's hips between Sam's feet, and Sam bends down and slowly puts his hands against the band of the boxers, holding it and distancing it from Dean, then using the slight dent of the mattress to slip them from Dean's crotch.
The first time that Sam had done this, he hadn't pushed them down farther than Dean's genitals, he didn't push them down further than Dean's genitals. Now he knows what he's doing and how to do it, and he pushes them almost to Dean's knees, where he's settled the blankets.
Sam hasn't had Dean spread out like this in almost a month now. Dad's always been there in the room with them, and Sam knows that this is something neither Dad or Dean must ever know happens.
Dean's changed in the month since then. There's more hair on his crotch, and it's coarser. His penis looks heavier, too, and Sam itches to touch it, but he can't, not yet, not until he's warmed his hand enough so Dean wouldn't startle awake.
This is the moment Sam's waited for, longed to reach the entire day. He puts his palm on the front of his underwear, right over his own penis, and traces the contours with his fingers as they change and expand under his hand. It's so different compared to Dean, and he can't wait until his hand is warm enough to touch Dean.
It doesn't take long; when Sam judges that it's time, he does exactly as wants, burying his hand in Dean's thatch of hair. His knuckles skim Dean's skin, touching fleetingly before retreating away as if it burned.
Sam's next touch is more assured than his first, and he doesn't draw his hand back when his skin encounters Dean's. Dean's skin is silky smooth under the hair, a direct contrast to his roughened hands and suntanned arms.
But Sam isn't there to pet Dean's crotch hair. Below it lies the real prize: Dean's penis, smooth and lightly veined. It's grown, Sam realizes, in the two months that passed without him able to do this. Now Dean's penis was wider and slightly longer, hiding his sac from Sam's direct line of sight.
Sam frowns. That's a first. He doesn't like having part of Dean hidden from view. He trails his hand down to Dean's shaft and held it in his fist. At first it reacts the same as Sam's did, growing under his hand and seeming to stand up more and more with each minute twitch, filling Sam's small fists until Sam has trouble telling where Dean ends and he himself starts.
A twitch surprises Sam. It's not the same as the twitches that made the penis grow, it's -- it happens again, and in a way that startles Sam into a heart-wrenching terror, he sees that Dean is moving in his sleep, up and down, and up and down.
Sam tears his hand away.
For a second, Sam thinks Dean's awake. But when Dean's eyes remain closed, and it's just his hips that move, he lets out a sigh of relief and wraps his fist around Dean again. This time when Dean starts thrusting again, Sam keeps it there, occasionally squeezing his fingers to determine the texture and hardness of the penis. He ignores the small, sharp, throaty sounds Dean makes in his sleep, since they're too quiet to wake him up.
One day, he vows to himself, he will be just like Dean. No, not like Dean. He'll be bigger and better at everything, he will show Dean what he can do. When Sam is bigger than Dean, it will be Dean who will wrap a hand around Sam's penis and be impressed with the size of it. Until then, Sam will learn from Dean all that he can.
He slips his other hand down to Dean's sac, kneads it to feel all of the tiny wrinkles that litter it, bends over to see them when he feels them drawing closer to Dean's body, and before he knows it Dean's penis is shooting its pearly white liquid all over Sam's fist. It's the same as it was on the bathroom floor, only warmer and more liquid-y, in a way. The smell of it is sharper now in Sam's nostrils. It disgusts him a little, so he pulls his head away to look at Dean himself.
His brother is breathing heavily, and he's flushed from head to chest. His thighs and stomach tremble. Sam puts his hand on Dean's skin, right below the bellybutton.
Feels like a purring cat, he thinks to himself with a smile.
Sam kept his hand there until he felt the white liquid start to harden and flake, and knew from experience that if he waits any longer, it would be hard to clean -- and Dean has to be clean and with his underwear on when he gets up in the morning, otherwise he'd know that something's happened.
He carefully gets off the bed and heads in the direction of the bathroom, and doesn't notice Dean's glittering eyes behind him as he goes, and if he hears Dean's deep breath, he doesn't pay the source any attention.
For all intents and purposes, Dean is fast asleep to Sam: It doesn't matter that he's wide awake.
originally posted at dreamwidth