supernatural: only natural
Title: Only Natural
Author: kel_fish
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Underage, as well as a few tiny spoilers for the pilot episode and “Bloody Mary.”
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Kripke and others who aren’t I.
Author’s note: This was my first Supernatural fic. I wrote it a few years ago when I was still posting as abstractprose. Thanks to oh_mcgee for inadvertently helping me to refresh my love for Wincest.
Summary: Sam reflects on his relationship with Dean.
There was something wrong with the way you felt about him; that was one of the reasons you walked away from the "family business" in the first place. That and the fact that all of the hunting was really starting to get to you. Your reasoning behind leaving was that you would come back as a stronger, more independent person. But when he came back for your help, you found yourself reverting back to who you used to be. All college had done for you was to make you feel even more confused about your relationship with your big brother.
When you were younger it had only seemed natural to sleep in the same bed. It started when you saw that monster in your closet, and Dad and Dean both ran into your room to find out why you were screaming. Dad handed you a .45 and told you to face your fears like a man, but it was your big brother who held your hand while you shot the beast, and then held your head while you threw up in the bathroom after he helped you get rid of the body. He gave you a glass of water, and then he let you curl up next to him in his bed while he sang Queen songs to help you sleep. Every night after that when you tried to sleep in your own bed, you kept having bad nightmares, so it was only natural that you just crawled into Dean's bed, and he would immediately move over and wrap his arm around you, no questions asked.
When you were twelve, you were attacked by a hellhound. Your father chased it into the woods after looking you over to make sure none of your wounds were fatal, but Dean dropped down to the ground next to you and kissed you hard on the mouth, relieved that you were still alive. You thought it was only natural to kiss him back, despite the fact that you got a boner and were extremely grateful that it was too dark for your brother to see you blush.
You hadn't been able to be alone with Dean for a week after that, and you got sick when you couldn’t sleep because your big brother wasn’t there to make the nightmares go away. So you ran into the bathroom to throw up in the middle of the night, and suddenly Dean was holding your head again and giving you a glass of water. You found yourself back at square one, but you were okay with that. Especially when Dean told you he'd kill you if you ever hurt yourself like that again, before pulling you into his bed and wrapping his arm around your waist. When he thought you were asleep, he kissed the top of your head and whispered, "You scared me, Sammy." He rubbed your back a couple of times and hummed Queen's "'39" softly before falling asleep, and everything between you was back to fine again.
When you were fifteen, your dad was having an especially hard time with a "case," so he'd rented two rooms for the month. You eventually met a girl at the beach that was located nearby, and she asked you out on a date, since you were too shy to make the first move.
You instantly ran home and told your big brother everything, and he flashed that cocky, self-assured grin that tied your insides up into complicated knots, and slapped you on the back a couple of times. Then you got nervous and told him you didn't know a damn thing about kissing, which you just assumed you'd have to do eventually.
Dean just laughed and led you over to the bed. "I'll show you," he said, maneuvering himself so that he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell the Old Spice deodorant he used, making you feel... lightheaded? Excited? All you knew was that everything else in the world disappeared, and your attention zeroed in on the annoyingly but familiarly amused and superior features of your nineteen-year-old brother.
You must have been on the brink of passing out because he placed a hand on your shoulder, the contact branding your skin, and murmured for you to relax. He tilted your face upward with his free hand-he was still a little bit taller than you then-and kissed you softly on the mouth. "No tongue starting out," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. "Make sure she lets you in or she'll end up pushing you away." He kissed you a few more times, each time making it increasingly difficult for you to breathe or even process what he was telling you. After what seemed like hours, he finally slipped his tongue into your mouth and massaged your tongue with his.
When he pulled away again, you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from groaning-he was your brother, and he was only teaching you how to kiss. You realized at some point that he was talking again. "Don't make her think you're eating her face," he said. "You'll just end up looking stupid."
He sat there silently for a few seconds, looking at you expectantly until you figured out that he was waiting for you to give some sign that you were taking in what he was saying. So you nodded your head quickly a couple of times, knowing that you probably looked like an eager dumbass. But Dean just ignored it and leaned in again, adding more detail to the kissing lesson over the following few minutes until you finally lost it and couldn't keep yourself from moaning deep in your throat.
Your gaze snapped down and fixated on your hands, and you knew your entire face was red with embarrassment. But Dean tilted your head up again and he looked at you with an almost unbearably intense look in his eyes. You froze, prepared to flee, but Dean wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him for the best make out session of your life-not that you had any prior experiences to draw from-until you were interrupted by your dad’s knock on the door. You and Dean split apart quickly, and when your father entered the room, he was nearly run over by your brother, who was making a bee-line for the shower.
And all you could think about was Dean in the shower, and you knew the water was freezing because you heard a muffled yelp come from the other side of the bathroom door. There was a part of you that was so confused and frustrated that you wanted to cry right there in the middle of the room while your dad told you how he'd just managed to kill what he'd been hunting for the past month. But there was also another part of you that thought it was only natural for your older brother to teach you how to kiss.
So you'd gone out on that date with that girl-it was your very first date ever and you couldn't even remember her name or where you went-and you couldn't help but notice how Dean sort of disappeared shortly before she arrived, not even showing up to get a look at the girl. And when you and your date kissed, you could only see Dean and the way he'd looked while he was teaching you how to make out. And then you recalled that he'd moaned at the exact same time you had.
You were nervous about going back to the motel and dealing with Dean, but eventually you found yourself creeping into his bed-after all, your dad had only rented a room for you two, and one for himself-and nervously sidling up next to him, cursing the small size of the bed. But Dean just wrapped that familiar arm around you and asked you how your date went, giving you feedback as you recapped the night's events. "Good job, Sammy," he said eventually, yawning. "Now go to sleep." And surprisingly enough, despite everything that had happened between you two that day, you did just as he said with absolutely no trouble at all.
And then there was the time when you were seventeen and you were in yet another small town on "business," trying to keep up with your school work at the same time. But somehow you managed to get asked out again at the store when you only went there to buy popcorn.
You didn't tell anybody about the date beforehand because nobody had shown up at the motel, but you came home afterward, feeling pissed off and ashamed. Your father just got angry and told you to watch your attitude, but Dean grabbed you by the back of your neck and dragged you into the bathroom.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, somehow managing to look down at you, depsite the fact that you were a half a head taller than him by then.
"Nothing," you said, too humiliated to talk about it. But when you tried to leave, Dean placed himself between you and the door and crossed his arms. "I don't want to talk about it!" you snapped.
"Tough," Dean said simply. "Sit down." He pointed to the toilet seat. You slammed the lid down and sat down sulkily, probably looking like a pouty three-year-old that wanted a cookie before dinner. "What's up?" Dean asked, leaning against the bathroom counter, completely unfazed by your sullen demeanor.
Then you suddenly just felt stupid for making a big deal out of the situation. "I… uh… went out on a date tonight."
"Yeah, I know," Dean said. "Thanks for calling so we wouldn't worry."
You flinched at the sarcasm. "Sorry," you apologized quietly, slumping even more. Then you looked up at him in confusion. "Wait, how did you know?"
"I saw you walking out of the diner with a hot chick," Dean explained, shrugging. "It was the only reason Dad didn't grab his shotgun and go out looking for you." He nudged your leg with the toe of his boot. "So what happened during the date that turned you into an asshole?"
You looked back down at the floor in humiliation, feeling the hot sting of tears prick the backs of your eyes as your nostrils flared. "She gave me a blowjob," you mumbled, barely audible.
"She what?" Dean asked, straightening and raising an eyebrow. "And you find this a bad thing?" You could hear the amusement in your brother’s voice as he folded his arms against his chest and leaned forward incredulously. “Sammy, most guys would say you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
"I lost it five seconds into the whole damned thing," you ground out, irritated more with yourself than you were with Dean. You bit your lip to distract yourself with the pain, refusing to cry in front of your big brother, especially if he was going to laugh at how pathetic you were.
But instead he just sighed and rubbed his face with his hand, sitting down on the counter. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, then said, "I'm about to tell you something that I've never told anyone before, so if you spread the word, I'll know it was you talking, and I'll hunt you down and kill you." His voice was raspy as he braced himself for talking about something emotional.
You looked up slightly then, studying him out of the corner of your eye. "Yeah? I won't tell. Promise." A small thrill ran through you as you waited for your brother to share a secret that was so horrible that only you would ever know about it.
Dean leaned forward a little and lowered his voice until it was just above a whipser. "I didn't even last five seconds on my first blowjob," he confessed, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. He looked away, choosing to keep his eyes fixed on a trademark stain on the wall. "Uh… I actually came right after the girl got my pants off. Just pfft-" he said, gesturing lazily with his hand, "and I was done." He brought his gaze back to you and frowned. "And you don't tell anyone that, you hear me?"
"Yeah," you said, trying to keep a smile from spreading across your face. "I already promised, didn't I?" Then you became serious again because there was more to the story. "Did she laugh at you?"
"What? No, she just waited until I was ready to try it again. Why?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
"She… uh… " You coughed uncomfortably. "She laughed at me."
"Aw, shit, man," Dean swore, exhaling and leaning back against the mirror. "Well, she was a bitch, then. I’d offer to kill her for you, but we’re supposed to be keeping a low profile right now."
You snorted at the lame joke, then muttered, "Well, it's not like I'm going to get a second chance, whether or not you keep her from telling everyone."
You heard your dad leave for the bar just then. Dean stood up, but motioned for you to keep sitting when you moved to get up, too. He got down onto his knees in front of you, and before you knew it, he was unzipping your jeans. "What-?"
He cut you off with a look, then said simply, "You want to have a better experience than what you got, right?" You must've still looked freaked out because he straightened up and kissed you briefly, cupping the back of your head with one hand while he unbuttoned your jeans with the other. "Remember when I taught you how to kiss?" he asked softly, his lips brushing against yours as his breath heated your cheeks. "It’s just like that, okay?"
You nodded, your forehead pressed against his. Part of you was screaming for you to put a stop to this, but the other part felt like what was happening was only natural. You closed your eyes and sighed shakily, waiting for Dean to take over.
"Just relax, Sammy," Dean said softly, pressing another quick kiss to your chin, before moving back down to take you into his mouth. You clutched the rim of the toilet seat and gritted your teeth together until they felt like they'd pop out of your mouth, and then Dean's hand was stroking your thigh, calming you down. When you opened your eyes again, he was looking up at you, willing you to just sit back and relax. So that was what you tried to do.
You watched Dean, fascination and mortification making your eyes wide and your breathing shallow and quick. His lips worked their way down until they touched the wiry hairs at the base of your cock, and his mouth was so hot and wet that the edges of your vision clouded over in a hazy, white fog. You didn't last very long, but you managed to control yourself longer than you did earlier that night. And for some reason, you enjoyed the sensation of Dean's throat around your cock a lot more than that girl's.
After you came, Dean wiped his mouth and straightened up in order to kiss you again. "Good job," he said huskily, patting you on the shoulder in a manner that settled somewhere between awkward and reassuring.
"How did you do that?" you asked, wondering how the hell he’d managed to get you down his throat like that.
"You just relax the muscles in your throat," Dean explained, looking at himself in the mirror to make sure he'd completely wiped whatever come that he hadn’t been able to catch in his mouth. "A couple of guys in Olalla dared me to 'blow' a banana once." You weren't sure why, but you wanted to try it out for yourself. You also wanted to ask Dean more about his prior experiences with bananas, and whether or not they were all he’d practiced with. But first, you felt like you should pay him back for turning around what had been looking to be the worst night of your life. You just didn't know how to go about it, so you left the bathroom as fast as you could, avoiding Dean's gaze.
A few minutes later you heard the shower turn on. Before you knew what you were doing, you made your way back to the bathroom, taking your clothes off along the way. You stepped into the shower, forcing yourself to keep your mind blank, and looked at Dean, whose eyes were closed because he was rinsing shampoo out of his hair. And then you just sank down slowly to your knees and took him into your mouth the same way he had with you.
Dean cursed and braced himself against the shower wall, temporarily startled. "What the-?" he cut himself off when you began to take him in further. "Sammy?" he gasped, his voice ragged and deep in a way that made you shiver. You looked up at him in order to try to see what he was thinking, but his eyes were shut tight because of the shampoo that was still running down his face. But he sensed that you were waiting for reassurance, and placed his hand on your shoulder, keeping his other hand on the cheap tiles to keep himself upright.
Getting your confidence back, you began to work your throat muscles exactly like Dean had. But you gagged a little and drew back, feeling embarrassed until Dean started to massage your shoulder. "It's okay," he murmured. "Just relax your throat and it'll be fine."
And it was; you gave your own brother a blow job in the shower while he coached you every step of the way, ending the lesson by exclaiming, "Fuck, Sammy!" And you grinned, proud of yourself because your older brother was amazed and by something that you had just done, which wasn’t easy to do, considering your field of “work.”
When it was over, you sat back on your heels and looked up at Dean, waiting for him to finish rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. You were terrified of what he was going to say, of how things were going to be between you. But then Dean pulled you to your feet and he was washing your hair and your back, and you were doing the same for him, and then you were tasting the bitterness of shampoo lather that had been left behind on his lips.
You both got out of the shower just in time, because your dad got home right after to check in. You and Dean didn't say anything to each other, but instead just got into bed and turned off the light. He wrapped his arm around you, just like always, and you laid your head on his chest and felt his heartbeat, as well as the deep rumble in his chest as he sang "Spread Your Wings," only slightly off-key in the way that you’d always loved.
And all you could think about as you drifted off to sleep was how proud you were about making Dean cry out the way he had, because you knew nobody else had ever made him feel that way before. But you couldn't help but dwell on how what you’d done with your brother was wrong.
By the time you were eighteen, your uncertainty and the feeling that you were being dominated by two very different forces was slowly driving you insane. One wanted you to risk your life every day in order to find the murderer of a woman you couldn't even remember. The other just wanted to be with you; and you wanted to give in, even though your mind screamed that it was wrong. After months of indecision and irritability, you finally decided you had to leave in order to restore your independence and find out who the hell you really were.
You were ready for your father's anger, and when he told you not to come back if you left, it was no shock to you. You hadn't counted on Dean's reaction. "Fine, go make yourself a better man," he said, with no resentment, anger, hurt, or encouragement in his tone; just neutral emptiness. "Good luck, Sammy." And with that, he drove off in his precious Impala.
At first, you wanted to abandon the whole college idea, but then you decided that maybe Dean needed some time away from you, too. So you packed your bags and and left, thinking it was the right thing for both of you; you could find yourselves.
But then, years later, you just ended up in your big brother's car again, taking in the familiar smells of leather, aftershave, sweat, and cheap liquor, while Dean’s most prized possession rumbled as it glided over the road, the sound of Skid Row blaring from the speakers. You realized how much you missed all of this, despite the nightmares and the danger, and you began to let go, falling back into the security that was Dean, even as you tried to keep him apart from Jess’ death.
You knew how much your secretiveness got to him since you'd never kept anything from him before, but you felt like you had to have something that was only yours; you'd spent eighteen years of your life sharing everything with him, and now you just wanted to own something exclusively and leave it at that. But you knew that everything with Bloody Mary had scared the hell out of Dean-he had come back into the room to find his little brother bleeding from the eyes, dying from guilt.
You had to try to lighten up the tension or it would drive you both crazy, which was why you were currently holding each other in Dean's bed, kissing each other in a way that felt so good, even though you knew it was wrong. But it was all so… natural.
"Come on, Sammy, I can hear you thinking," Dean complained, although there was a lazy grin on his face. He ran the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone. "What's wrong?"
"Don't you think this is… wrong?" you asked, afraid of his answer.
Dean was silent for a few seconds. "No," he said simply.
"Why?" you pressed, pulling away a little. "I mean, we're brothers, Dean."
"Yeah, I know." Dean looked away from you for a second and scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind. "But… you know… it feels right to me."
You understood because it was the same for you. Kissing-or even blowing-your brother felt natural to you. If that was wrong, you could blame it on your dad for keeping you so close all the time. Or on your mother for not being there to set an example; in that case, you could blame it on the thing that killed her. You could blame it on Jess for not being enough to make you completely forget about your brother, who just so happened to be the fucking love of your life. But in the end, there was no real reason; it just was. "Yeah," you agreed softly, looking at Dean with an incredulous expression on your face.
Dean smiled-he didn't grin all-knowingly or smirk; he just smiled-and kissed you softly, the same way he'd kissed you that night on the bed when you were fifteen. "I was just waiting for you to figure things out," he whispered.
You nodded, biting your lip. "Um… there are some things, though… " you said slowly, not quite meeting his eyes. "Other people will talk… "
"They don't have to know we're brothers." Dean shrugged. "Trust me; I've been thinking about us for a long time, especially when you left." He shook his head and held up his hand when you tried to explain yourself. "I get why you left, okay? At first I didn't, and I thought you were ashamed of me or something. But I got it eventually, and then I realized that you made the right choice."
He moved even closer to you so that you could make out the freckles on his cheekbones. "People aren't going to be okay with us. It hurts, I know, but it's a fact. Do you think you'll be able to handle it?" He looked at you intently, trying his hardest to keep his fear from showing.
You didn't want to let him down, and surprisingly enough, you found that you didn't have to. "Yeah." You cleared your throat and repeated yourself, reinforcing your decision. "Yeah, I can."
Dean flashed you another genuine smile and kissed you again, and you kissed him back. "I love you, Sammy," he whispered, holding your face in his hands. He'd never said that to you before-he'd never said that to anyone; he’d always been against “chick flick” moments, and what he’d already admitted was hard enough for him.
So you grinned and said, "It's Sam."
"Well, Sammy," Dean said, refusing to back down, and you loved him for it-not that you'd ever admit to the fact that you actually liked it when he called you Sammy-as he trailed his hand down to your hip, his index finger stroking the waistband of your boxers. "How do you feel about us having sex?"
You paused, not because sex hadn’t crossed your mind, but because your relationship with your brother would become real, and you wouldn’t be able to turn back. Then you licked your lips and met his eyes with your own. "I'd say it's about time, since I've wanted to subconsciously since I was old enough to fully understand-and appreciate-what sex is."
"You sound like a college boy," Dean teased, kissing you again before slipping off your tee shirt.
"And you sound like a high school drop out," you retorted, tugging at his boxers while you somehow managed to move even closer to him.
"Bite me."
So you did, and it felt completely natural.
Author: kel_fish
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Underage, as well as a few tiny spoilers for the pilot episode and “Bloody Mary.”
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Kripke and others who aren’t I.
Author’s note: This was my first Supernatural fic. I wrote it a few years ago when I was still posting as abstractprose. Thanks to oh_mcgee for inadvertently helping me to refresh my love for Wincest.
Summary: Sam reflects on his relationship with Dean.
There was something wrong with the way you felt about him; that was one of the reasons you walked away from the "family business" in the first place. That and the fact that all of the hunting was really starting to get to you. Your reasoning behind leaving was that you would come back as a stronger, more independent person. But when he came back for your help, you found yourself reverting back to who you used to be. All college had done for you was to make you feel even more confused about your relationship with your big brother.
When you were younger it had only seemed natural to sleep in the same bed. It started when you saw that monster in your closet, and Dad and Dean both ran into your room to find out why you were screaming. Dad handed you a .45 and told you to face your fears like a man, but it was your big brother who held your hand while you shot the beast, and then held your head while you threw up in the bathroom after he helped you get rid of the body. He gave you a glass of water, and then he let you curl up next to him in his bed while he sang Queen songs to help you sleep. Every night after that when you tried to sleep in your own bed, you kept having bad nightmares, so it was only natural that you just crawled into Dean's bed, and he would immediately move over and wrap his arm around you, no questions asked.
When you were twelve, you were attacked by a hellhound. Your father chased it into the woods after looking you over to make sure none of your wounds were fatal, but Dean dropped down to the ground next to you and kissed you hard on the mouth, relieved that you were still alive. You thought it was only natural to kiss him back, despite the fact that you got a boner and were extremely grateful that it was too dark for your brother to see you blush.
You hadn't been able to be alone with Dean for a week after that, and you got sick when you couldn’t sleep because your big brother wasn’t there to make the nightmares go away. So you ran into the bathroom to throw up in the middle of the night, and suddenly Dean was holding your head again and giving you a glass of water. You found yourself back at square one, but you were okay with that. Especially when Dean told you he'd kill you if you ever hurt yourself like that again, before pulling you into his bed and wrapping his arm around your waist. When he thought you were asleep, he kissed the top of your head and whispered, "You scared me, Sammy." He rubbed your back a couple of times and hummed Queen's "'39" softly before falling asleep, and everything between you was back to fine again.
When you were fifteen, your dad was having an especially hard time with a "case," so he'd rented two rooms for the month. You eventually met a girl at the beach that was located nearby, and she asked you out on a date, since you were too shy to make the first move.
You instantly ran home and told your big brother everything, and he flashed that cocky, self-assured grin that tied your insides up into complicated knots, and slapped you on the back a couple of times. Then you got nervous and told him you didn't know a damn thing about kissing, which you just assumed you'd have to do eventually.
Dean just laughed and led you over to the bed. "I'll show you," he said, maneuvering himself so that he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell the Old Spice deodorant he used, making you feel... lightheaded? Excited? All you knew was that everything else in the world disappeared, and your attention zeroed in on the annoyingly but familiarly amused and superior features of your nineteen-year-old brother.
You must have been on the brink of passing out because he placed a hand on your shoulder, the contact branding your skin, and murmured for you to relax. He tilted your face upward with his free hand-he was still a little bit taller than you then-and kissed you softly on the mouth. "No tongue starting out," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. "Make sure she lets you in or she'll end up pushing you away." He kissed you a few more times, each time making it increasingly difficult for you to breathe or even process what he was telling you. After what seemed like hours, he finally slipped his tongue into your mouth and massaged your tongue with his.
When he pulled away again, you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from groaning-he was your brother, and he was only teaching you how to kiss. You realized at some point that he was talking again. "Don't make her think you're eating her face," he said. "You'll just end up looking stupid."
He sat there silently for a few seconds, looking at you expectantly until you figured out that he was waiting for you to give some sign that you were taking in what he was saying. So you nodded your head quickly a couple of times, knowing that you probably looked like an eager dumbass. But Dean just ignored it and leaned in again, adding more detail to the kissing lesson over the following few minutes until you finally lost it and couldn't keep yourself from moaning deep in your throat.
Your gaze snapped down and fixated on your hands, and you knew your entire face was red with embarrassment. But Dean tilted your head up again and he looked at you with an almost unbearably intense look in his eyes. You froze, prepared to flee, but Dean wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him for the best make out session of your life-not that you had any prior experiences to draw from-until you were interrupted by your dad’s knock on the door. You and Dean split apart quickly, and when your father entered the room, he was nearly run over by your brother, who was making a bee-line for the shower.
And all you could think about was Dean in the shower, and you knew the water was freezing because you heard a muffled yelp come from the other side of the bathroom door. There was a part of you that was so confused and frustrated that you wanted to cry right there in the middle of the room while your dad told you how he'd just managed to kill what he'd been hunting for the past month. But there was also another part of you that thought it was only natural for your older brother to teach you how to kiss.
So you'd gone out on that date with that girl-it was your very first date ever and you couldn't even remember her name or where you went-and you couldn't help but notice how Dean sort of disappeared shortly before she arrived, not even showing up to get a look at the girl. And when you and your date kissed, you could only see Dean and the way he'd looked while he was teaching you how to make out. And then you recalled that he'd moaned at the exact same time you had.
You were nervous about going back to the motel and dealing with Dean, but eventually you found yourself creeping into his bed-after all, your dad had only rented a room for you two, and one for himself-and nervously sidling up next to him, cursing the small size of the bed. But Dean just wrapped that familiar arm around you and asked you how your date went, giving you feedback as you recapped the night's events. "Good job, Sammy," he said eventually, yawning. "Now go to sleep." And surprisingly enough, despite everything that had happened between you two that day, you did just as he said with absolutely no trouble at all.
And then there was the time when you were seventeen and you were in yet another small town on "business," trying to keep up with your school work at the same time. But somehow you managed to get asked out again at the store when you only went there to buy popcorn.
You didn't tell anybody about the date beforehand because nobody had shown up at the motel, but you came home afterward, feeling pissed off and ashamed. Your father just got angry and told you to watch your attitude, but Dean grabbed you by the back of your neck and dragged you into the bathroom.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, somehow managing to look down at you, depsite the fact that you were a half a head taller than him by then.
"Nothing," you said, too humiliated to talk about it. But when you tried to leave, Dean placed himself between you and the door and crossed his arms. "I don't want to talk about it!" you snapped.
"Tough," Dean said simply. "Sit down." He pointed to the toilet seat. You slammed the lid down and sat down sulkily, probably looking like a pouty three-year-old that wanted a cookie before dinner. "What's up?" Dean asked, leaning against the bathroom counter, completely unfazed by your sullen demeanor.
Then you suddenly just felt stupid for making a big deal out of the situation. "I… uh… went out on a date tonight."
"Yeah, I know," Dean said. "Thanks for calling so we wouldn't worry."
You flinched at the sarcasm. "Sorry," you apologized quietly, slumping even more. Then you looked up at him in confusion. "Wait, how did you know?"
"I saw you walking out of the diner with a hot chick," Dean explained, shrugging. "It was the only reason Dad didn't grab his shotgun and go out looking for you." He nudged your leg with the toe of his boot. "So what happened during the date that turned you into an asshole?"
You looked back down at the floor in humiliation, feeling the hot sting of tears prick the backs of your eyes as your nostrils flared. "She gave me a blowjob," you mumbled, barely audible.
"She what?" Dean asked, straightening and raising an eyebrow. "And you find this a bad thing?" You could hear the amusement in your brother’s voice as he folded his arms against his chest and leaned forward incredulously. “Sammy, most guys would say you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
"I lost it five seconds into the whole damned thing," you ground out, irritated more with yourself than you were with Dean. You bit your lip to distract yourself with the pain, refusing to cry in front of your big brother, especially if he was going to laugh at how pathetic you were.
But instead he just sighed and rubbed his face with his hand, sitting down on the counter. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, then said, "I'm about to tell you something that I've never told anyone before, so if you spread the word, I'll know it was you talking, and I'll hunt you down and kill you." His voice was raspy as he braced himself for talking about something emotional.
You looked up slightly then, studying him out of the corner of your eye. "Yeah? I won't tell. Promise." A small thrill ran through you as you waited for your brother to share a secret that was so horrible that only you would ever know about it.
Dean leaned forward a little and lowered his voice until it was just above a whipser. "I didn't even last five seconds on my first blowjob," he confessed, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. He looked away, choosing to keep his eyes fixed on a trademark stain on the wall. "Uh… I actually came right after the girl got my pants off. Just pfft-" he said, gesturing lazily with his hand, "and I was done." He brought his gaze back to you and frowned. "And you don't tell anyone that, you hear me?"
"Yeah," you said, trying to keep a smile from spreading across your face. "I already promised, didn't I?" Then you became serious again because there was more to the story. "Did she laugh at you?"
"What? No, she just waited until I was ready to try it again. Why?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
"She… uh… " You coughed uncomfortably. "She laughed at me."
"Aw, shit, man," Dean swore, exhaling and leaning back against the mirror. "Well, she was a bitch, then. I’d offer to kill her for you, but we’re supposed to be keeping a low profile right now."
You snorted at the lame joke, then muttered, "Well, it's not like I'm going to get a second chance, whether or not you keep her from telling everyone."
You heard your dad leave for the bar just then. Dean stood up, but motioned for you to keep sitting when you moved to get up, too. He got down onto his knees in front of you, and before you knew it, he was unzipping your jeans. "What-?"
He cut you off with a look, then said simply, "You want to have a better experience than what you got, right?" You must've still looked freaked out because he straightened up and kissed you briefly, cupping the back of your head with one hand while he unbuttoned your jeans with the other. "Remember when I taught you how to kiss?" he asked softly, his lips brushing against yours as his breath heated your cheeks. "It’s just like that, okay?"
You nodded, your forehead pressed against his. Part of you was screaming for you to put a stop to this, but the other part felt like what was happening was only natural. You closed your eyes and sighed shakily, waiting for Dean to take over.
"Just relax, Sammy," Dean said softly, pressing another quick kiss to your chin, before moving back down to take you into his mouth. You clutched the rim of the toilet seat and gritted your teeth together until they felt like they'd pop out of your mouth, and then Dean's hand was stroking your thigh, calming you down. When you opened your eyes again, he was looking up at you, willing you to just sit back and relax. So that was what you tried to do.
You watched Dean, fascination and mortification making your eyes wide and your breathing shallow and quick. His lips worked their way down until they touched the wiry hairs at the base of your cock, and his mouth was so hot and wet that the edges of your vision clouded over in a hazy, white fog. You didn't last very long, but you managed to control yourself longer than you did earlier that night. And for some reason, you enjoyed the sensation of Dean's throat around your cock a lot more than that girl's.
After you came, Dean wiped his mouth and straightened up in order to kiss you again. "Good job," he said huskily, patting you on the shoulder in a manner that settled somewhere between awkward and reassuring.
"How did you do that?" you asked, wondering how the hell he’d managed to get you down his throat like that.
"You just relax the muscles in your throat," Dean explained, looking at himself in the mirror to make sure he'd completely wiped whatever come that he hadn’t been able to catch in his mouth. "A couple of guys in Olalla dared me to 'blow' a banana once." You weren't sure why, but you wanted to try it out for yourself. You also wanted to ask Dean more about his prior experiences with bananas, and whether or not they were all he’d practiced with. But first, you felt like you should pay him back for turning around what had been looking to be the worst night of your life. You just didn't know how to go about it, so you left the bathroom as fast as you could, avoiding Dean's gaze.
A few minutes later you heard the shower turn on. Before you knew what you were doing, you made your way back to the bathroom, taking your clothes off along the way. You stepped into the shower, forcing yourself to keep your mind blank, and looked at Dean, whose eyes were closed because he was rinsing shampoo out of his hair. And then you just sank down slowly to your knees and took him into your mouth the same way he had with you.
Dean cursed and braced himself against the shower wall, temporarily startled. "What the-?" he cut himself off when you began to take him in further. "Sammy?" he gasped, his voice ragged and deep in a way that made you shiver. You looked up at him in order to try to see what he was thinking, but his eyes were shut tight because of the shampoo that was still running down his face. But he sensed that you were waiting for reassurance, and placed his hand on your shoulder, keeping his other hand on the cheap tiles to keep himself upright.
Getting your confidence back, you began to work your throat muscles exactly like Dean had. But you gagged a little and drew back, feeling embarrassed until Dean started to massage your shoulder. "It's okay," he murmured. "Just relax your throat and it'll be fine."
And it was; you gave your own brother a blow job in the shower while he coached you every step of the way, ending the lesson by exclaiming, "Fuck, Sammy!" And you grinned, proud of yourself because your older brother was amazed and by something that you had just done, which wasn’t easy to do, considering your field of “work.”
When it was over, you sat back on your heels and looked up at Dean, waiting for him to finish rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. You were terrified of what he was going to say, of how things were going to be between you. But then Dean pulled you to your feet and he was washing your hair and your back, and you were doing the same for him, and then you were tasting the bitterness of shampoo lather that had been left behind on his lips.
You both got out of the shower just in time, because your dad got home right after to check in. You and Dean didn't say anything to each other, but instead just got into bed and turned off the light. He wrapped his arm around you, just like always, and you laid your head on his chest and felt his heartbeat, as well as the deep rumble in his chest as he sang "Spread Your Wings," only slightly off-key in the way that you’d always loved.
And all you could think about as you drifted off to sleep was how proud you were about making Dean cry out the way he had, because you knew nobody else had ever made him feel that way before. But you couldn't help but dwell on how what you’d done with your brother was wrong.
By the time you were eighteen, your uncertainty and the feeling that you were being dominated by two very different forces was slowly driving you insane. One wanted you to risk your life every day in order to find the murderer of a woman you couldn't even remember. The other just wanted to be with you; and you wanted to give in, even though your mind screamed that it was wrong. After months of indecision and irritability, you finally decided you had to leave in order to restore your independence and find out who the hell you really were.
You were ready for your father's anger, and when he told you not to come back if you left, it was no shock to you. You hadn't counted on Dean's reaction. "Fine, go make yourself a better man," he said, with no resentment, anger, hurt, or encouragement in his tone; just neutral emptiness. "Good luck, Sammy." And with that, he drove off in his precious Impala.
At first, you wanted to abandon the whole college idea, but then you decided that maybe Dean needed some time away from you, too. So you packed your bags and and left, thinking it was the right thing for both of you; you could find yourselves.
But then, years later, you just ended up in your big brother's car again, taking in the familiar smells of leather, aftershave, sweat, and cheap liquor, while Dean’s most prized possession rumbled as it glided over the road, the sound of Skid Row blaring from the speakers. You realized how much you missed all of this, despite the nightmares and the danger, and you began to let go, falling back into the security that was Dean, even as you tried to keep him apart from Jess’ death.
You knew how much your secretiveness got to him since you'd never kept anything from him before, but you felt like you had to have something that was only yours; you'd spent eighteen years of your life sharing everything with him, and now you just wanted to own something exclusively and leave it at that. But you knew that everything with Bloody Mary had scared the hell out of Dean-he had come back into the room to find his little brother bleeding from the eyes, dying from guilt.
You had to try to lighten up the tension or it would drive you both crazy, which was why you were currently holding each other in Dean's bed, kissing each other in a way that felt so good, even though you knew it was wrong. But it was all so… natural.
"Come on, Sammy, I can hear you thinking," Dean complained, although there was a lazy grin on his face. He ran the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone. "What's wrong?"
"Don't you think this is… wrong?" you asked, afraid of his answer.
Dean was silent for a few seconds. "No," he said simply.
"Why?" you pressed, pulling away a little. "I mean, we're brothers, Dean."
"Yeah, I know." Dean looked away from you for a second and scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind. "But… you know… it feels right to me."
You understood because it was the same for you. Kissing-or even blowing-your brother felt natural to you. If that was wrong, you could blame it on your dad for keeping you so close all the time. Or on your mother for not being there to set an example; in that case, you could blame it on the thing that killed her. You could blame it on Jess for not being enough to make you completely forget about your brother, who just so happened to be the fucking love of your life. But in the end, there was no real reason; it just was. "Yeah," you agreed softly, looking at Dean with an incredulous expression on your face.
Dean smiled-he didn't grin all-knowingly or smirk; he just smiled-and kissed you softly, the same way he'd kissed you that night on the bed when you were fifteen. "I was just waiting for you to figure things out," he whispered.
You nodded, biting your lip. "Um… there are some things, though… " you said slowly, not quite meeting his eyes. "Other people will talk… "
"They don't have to know we're brothers." Dean shrugged. "Trust me; I've been thinking about us for a long time, especially when you left." He shook his head and held up his hand when you tried to explain yourself. "I get why you left, okay? At first I didn't, and I thought you were ashamed of me or something. But I got it eventually, and then I realized that you made the right choice."
He moved even closer to you so that you could make out the freckles on his cheekbones. "People aren't going to be okay with us. It hurts, I know, but it's a fact. Do you think you'll be able to handle it?" He looked at you intently, trying his hardest to keep his fear from showing.
You didn't want to let him down, and surprisingly enough, you found that you didn't have to. "Yeah." You cleared your throat and repeated yourself, reinforcing your decision. "Yeah, I can."
Dean flashed you another genuine smile and kissed you again, and you kissed him back. "I love you, Sammy," he whispered, holding your face in his hands. He'd never said that to you before-he'd never said that to anyone; he’d always been against “chick flick” moments, and what he’d already admitted was hard enough for him.
So you grinned and said, "It's Sam."
"Well, Sammy," Dean said, refusing to back down, and you loved him for it-not that you'd ever admit to the fact that you actually liked it when he called you Sammy-as he trailed his hand down to your hip, his index finger stroking the waistband of your boxers. "How do you feel about us having sex?"
You paused, not because sex hadn’t crossed your mind, but because your relationship with your brother would become real, and you wouldn’t be able to turn back. Then you licked your lips and met his eyes with your own. "I'd say it's about time, since I've wanted to subconsciously since I was old enough to fully understand-and appreciate-what sex is."
"You sound like a college boy," Dean teased, kissing you again before slipping off your tee shirt.
"And you sound like a high school drop out," you retorted, tugging at his boxers while you somehow managed to move even closer to him.
"Bite me."
So you did, and it felt completely natural.