Indecent Obsessions Part II
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Dean Winchester/ Sam Winchester, Dean/ OFCs (minor), Dean/ OMCs (minor), Sam/ OFC (mentioned), Sam/ OMC (mentioned)
Word count: 6600±
Warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content and language, underage, voyeurism, masturbation, outdoor sex, bottom Dean, top Dean, top Sam, anal sex, anal fingering, brief vaginal sex, virgin Sam
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do write these works for commercial or monetary gain. I write them for non-profit entertainment
Summary: Dean and Sam relationship begins to shift as Dean realises that Sam is becoming a man, and has the rather large equipment to prove it. While Sam obsesses over the fact that Dean has the perfect behind.
A/N: I've read quite a few fan fictions where Dean obsesses over the fact that Sam is rather well endowed, I though I'd take a bash at it and write my own one. Hopefully it's not too ridiculous.
By seventeen, Sam was reluctantly well versed in all monster lore, knife skills, and how to be a crack shot at a rather impressive amount of yards. Dean felt confident about leaving him in the hotel room after he’d checked the salt lines, and made sure that he’d checked in with their father for the night.
Sam waved him off dismissively when Dean told him that he was going out, barely taking his eyes off the history homework that he was doing. Dean went to one of the more decent bars in town, because he didn’t feel like going home with a knife wound later and having Sammy stitch him up. Even if the kid did have steadier hands than a teenager giving stitches should.
Dean flashed his one of his fake I.D.’s, even though he was twenty-one, at the door, and entered the low lit room that had swirls of cigarette smoke lazily creeping towards the ceiling, and a jukebox that was lit up and playing some indistinguishable twangy country song. He ordered a beer on tap and downed half of it before the foam had really settled. It didn’t take him long to spot a scantily clad red-head sitting alone at the bar. Her dress was so tight that he could see the faint outline of her pubic hair underneath it, a dead give away that she wasn't wearing underwear, nor was she wearing a bra, by the way her nipples were straining at the tight material stretched over her ample breasts.
He walked up to her, his smile lazy, and let his long fingers slide up her thighs until they parted, leaving little to the imagination.
She was a screamer, that was for sure, not that he really cared with how loud the music was inside the bar. Her dress was pulled down to expose her bouncing tits, and pushed up by how wide he had her legs stretched apart as he fucked up into her. He grunted in surprise when she took her own fingers that she’d slid into her mouth earlier, and trailed them down his back until she circled his tight, pink rim. As he fucked harder into her, so that his dick was just about pulsing inside of her stomach, she slipped two fingers inside of him, and proceeded to finger him rather enthusiastically.
He let his eyes fall shut as his orgasm unfurled inside of him, and the suddenly crystal clear image of having Sam’s long, tanned fingers shoved up inside of him, popped into his head. He managed to grit his teeth and not call out his baby brother’s name as he flooded the condom with his come, and felt the red-head’s nails lightly scratch over his prostate as her dripping flesh convulsed around him.
She gave him one last kiss after she was fully dressed again, well as fully dressed as she could manage, and walked away into the night. He was relieved, the buzz of his orgasm still skittered along his flesh, but he suddenly felt disturbed by his pre-orgasm vision of Sam.
He walked home without incident, having not seen the point of driving his Baby when the town was hardly bigger than a collection of roadside rest-stops.
A faint glow from the lamp inside the room lit the motel room’s curtains, signalling that Sam was still awake. He was probably still doing homework, or watching Star Trek re-runs, the nerd.
Dean opened the door and shut it quietly once he was inside the room. He double checked the salt line again, and then moved away from the door. At first he thought that Sam was watching porn. He was a teenage boy after all, and it wasn’t as if Dean was a blushing virgin when it came to the joys of watching people having sex. But then he realised that there was no cheesy saxophone soundtrack or high pitched squeals intertwined with the lower, richer grunts coming from the room he and Sam were sharing.
He stopped just before the doorway, understanding making his stomach flip and the tips of his ears burn. Sam was masturbating. His seemingly asexual brother was doing something sexual.
In the colourful rush of a few seconds, his mind tripped and floundered over what seemed like a thousand different scenarios. Should he silently retreat and go for a walk, returning when Sam was finished stroking little Sammy? Should he get the whiskey that their dad had left below the kitchen zinc, and knock back a few burning tots, and try not to think how those low moans were making his cock perk up and his ass clench? Or should he walk right in there and replace Sam’s big, bony fingered hand with his mouth? Suck him down until Sam choked him with his come?
Slow down there, Speedy Gonzales. Let’s not jump the dick…um…gun.
One thing he could not stop himself doing, though, was peaking around the doorframe and watching Sam fuck his own fist. He gritted his teeth and gripped the doorframe hard enough to make it creak, something Sam was oblivious to.
Jesus Christ on a pogo-stick. Sam stood in front of the ancient free standing mirror in the corner of the room, stark naked, with his gorgeous dick clutched in his hand. Dean stood absolutely mesmerised as he took in the fact that Sam had two fingers stuffed inside of his dark pink, slick asshole, and the fact that Sam’s dick was like a crimson, almost puce tipped, temple of rock hard flesh in his huge hand.
The smooth skin of his hand was wet with pre-ejaculate and lube, and his glorious cock was surrounded by more smooth, unblemished skin. Sam shaves himself, his mind proclaimed helpfully. Like a porn-star! Don’t think of him like that, you idiot!
Dean stood stock still as Sam tensed up like he’d just put his cock in an electrical socket, and seemingly endless stream of thick, milky come coated the already tarnished glass of the mirror. Dean’s eyes almost crossed as he tried to take in the spellbinding girth of that softening cock, and the way Sam’s blood rich rim suckled around his fingers.
Dean bit his fist as he turned away, feeling slightly dizzy with arousal, his penis thick and hard behind the zip of his jeans, despite the fact that he’d had sex less that half an hour ago. He quietly approached the door, being careful not to make a sound as he left the room again, and made his way to the bag of the motel.
A field with overgrown grass and the rotting carcass of a Volkswagen Beetle were the only witnesses as he furiously finger-fucked himself, and came all over his fist and the pockmarked wall. He gritted his teeth so hard, as not to call out Sam’s name for the second time that night, that his jaw ached.
If Dean had not been in such a rush to leave the motel room, his mind swimming with dirty, bad, wrong thoughts of his younger brother, then he would have registered the fact that it was his name Sam moaned as he unloaded onto the aged mirror.
Unlike Dean, Sam was a virgin. Not because he hadn’t had ample opportunity to do the deed, but because whenever anyone got a look at the monster he was housing in his pants, they all but ran away screaming. Where had the all rumours that people liked to be split wide on a giant cock come from? Whoever started that rumour deserved to be drawn and quartered in Sam’s opinion, because his self-esteem was in the toilet at the moment.
Despite his embarrassing lack of experience, Sam at least knew what he liked. While he was not adverse to the feeling of soft breasts in his hands, and warm, petite bodies, what he really hankered for was a nice, firm, round ass. But not just any ass could meet his specifications, and that was another reality that tormented Sam daily and well nightly.
The person to whom the most beautiful, perfect ass belonged to, was none other than his older brother. His sinfully sensuous, strong, loyal older brother, whom he very much wanted to bend over and fuck until those flawless buttocks were pink with his handprints, and that hole was stretched and leaking his come.
It wasn’t as if Dean was shy about letting people know of his sexual preferences, which were pretty wide reaching, but Sam seriously doubted that Dean was aware of Sam knowing how much Dean liked to bottom.
It had been about two years before, during the sweltering summer in the Lone Star State, that their dad had been hunting a banshee for a couple of weeks, leaving his sons alone in a small rented house. The night was marginally cooler than the day had been, and Sam thanked all the deities above that they had had air-con, even though it groaned rather worryingly. He had been half dozing on the sweat soaked sheets, stripped down to his boxers, when he heard the faint sounds of movement coming from the lounge.
He knew it had to been Dean, but when his brother didn’t come to their room, he decided to investigate. He had a small knife, large enough to seriously injure someone or something, clutched in his hand, as he made his way down the passage. When he came to the alcove leading to the lounge, he suddenly stopped, rendered motionless by what he saw before him.
Dean had brought another man home, and by the looks of it he was quite a few years older than Dean. His white stetson sat on the coffee table, and his jeans, with an absurdly large Texas belt buckle, lay in a tangled heap with Dean’s on the floor. Sam had an almost perfect view of the back of the stranger’s head, neck and shoulders, where he was seated against the back of the old, brown couch. But it wasn’t the stranger that drew and held Sam’s gaze, but Dean, whose close-cropped hair looked almost silver in the moonlight spilling through one of the windows. His eyes were closed, while his pink, shining mouth was partially open, his expression one of almost pained bliss. His large, long fingered hands gripped the Texan’s shoulders, as he rode him, little punched out whimpers intermingling with the other man’s grunts.
Sam felt his cock give a blurt of pre-ejaculate at the sight of his brother, so beautiful, so wanton as he continued to fuck himself on another man’s cock. Sam wondered how the Texan was managing not to come, because if he was Sam, he’d have already lost the struggle.
He knew when Dean was close, because his brother began to desperately bounce and buck on the man’s lap, his even teeth sinking into the swell of his lower lip. He looked almost exquisite as his fingers gripped the other man’s shoulders, his fingertips bloodless, and orgasmed with an almost triumphant, stifled cry.
Sam didn’t know if the other man came, he couldn’t care less, all he saw was his brother. A beautiful, ethereal, unobtainable creature seemingly originating in moonlight and ecstasy.
Sam moved back as Dean opened his eyes, cat-bright in the lowlight, and sank back against the cool wall of the hallway. He listened to Dean and the Texan get dressed, the soft sounds of Dean kissing him goodbye, and the door closing almost soundlessly, before he went back to their room.
When Dean came to their room, he pretended to sleep, his back to the door. He drank in the intimate noises of Dean getting undressed, and his neglected cock pulsed hot and painful in his boxer-shorts.
Now, he panted against the cool glass of the mirror, his fingers slowly slipping out of his body, while his come trickled downwards to the stained old carpet. He sighed, resigning himself to cleaning up and showering before Dean came back to the room and realised what he’d been doing.
On to Part III
Pairing: Dean Winchester/ Sam Winchester, Dean/ OFCs (minor), Dean/ OMCs (minor), Sam/ OFC (mentioned), Sam/ OMC (mentioned)
Word count: 6600±
Warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content and language, underage, voyeurism, masturbation, outdoor sex, bottom Dean, top Dean, top Sam, anal sex, anal fingering, brief vaginal sex, virgin Sam
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do write these works for commercial or monetary gain. I write them for non-profit entertainment
Summary: Dean and Sam relationship begins to shift as Dean realises that Sam is becoming a man, and has the rather large equipment to prove it. While Sam obsesses over the fact that Dean has the perfect behind.
A/N: I've read quite a few fan fictions where Dean obsesses over the fact that Sam is rather well endowed, I though I'd take a bash at it and write my own one. Hopefully it's not too ridiculous.
By seventeen, Sam was reluctantly well versed in all monster lore, knife skills, and how to be a crack shot at a rather impressive amount of yards. Dean felt confident about leaving him in the hotel room after he’d checked the salt lines, and made sure that he’d checked in with their father for the night.
Sam waved him off dismissively when Dean told him that he was going out, barely taking his eyes off the history homework that he was doing. Dean went to one of the more decent bars in town, because he didn’t feel like going home with a knife wound later and having Sammy stitch him up. Even if the kid did have steadier hands than a teenager giving stitches should.
Dean flashed his one of his fake I.D.’s, even though he was twenty-one, at the door, and entered the low lit room that had swirls of cigarette smoke lazily creeping towards the ceiling, and a jukebox that was lit up and playing some indistinguishable twangy country song. He ordered a beer on tap and downed half of it before the foam had really settled. It didn’t take him long to spot a scantily clad red-head sitting alone at the bar. Her dress was so tight that he could see the faint outline of her pubic hair underneath it, a dead give away that she wasn't wearing underwear, nor was she wearing a bra, by the way her nipples were straining at the tight material stretched over her ample breasts.
He walked up to her, his smile lazy, and let his long fingers slide up her thighs until they parted, leaving little to the imagination.
She was a screamer, that was for sure, not that he really cared with how loud the music was inside the bar. Her dress was pulled down to expose her bouncing tits, and pushed up by how wide he had her legs stretched apart as he fucked up into her. He grunted in surprise when she took her own fingers that she’d slid into her mouth earlier, and trailed them down his back until she circled his tight, pink rim. As he fucked harder into her, so that his dick was just about pulsing inside of her stomach, she slipped two fingers inside of him, and proceeded to finger him rather enthusiastically.
He let his eyes fall shut as his orgasm unfurled inside of him, and the suddenly crystal clear image of having Sam’s long, tanned fingers shoved up inside of him, popped into his head. He managed to grit his teeth and not call out his baby brother’s name as he flooded the condom with his come, and felt the red-head’s nails lightly scratch over his prostate as her dripping flesh convulsed around him.
She gave him one last kiss after she was fully dressed again, well as fully dressed as she could manage, and walked away into the night. He was relieved, the buzz of his orgasm still skittered along his flesh, but he suddenly felt disturbed by his pre-orgasm vision of Sam.
He walked home without incident, having not seen the point of driving his Baby when the town was hardly bigger than a collection of roadside rest-stops.
A faint glow from the lamp inside the room lit the motel room’s curtains, signalling that Sam was still awake. He was probably still doing homework, or watching Star Trek re-runs, the nerd.
Dean opened the door and shut it quietly once he was inside the room. He double checked the salt line again, and then moved away from the door. At first he thought that Sam was watching porn. He was a teenage boy after all, and it wasn’t as if Dean was a blushing virgin when it came to the joys of watching people having sex. But then he realised that there was no cheesy saxophone soundtrack or high pitched squeals intertwined with the lower, richer grunts coming from the room he and Sam were sharing.
He stopped just before the doorway, understanding making his stomach flip and the tips of his ears burn. Sam was masturbating. His seemingly asexual brother was doing something sexual.
In the colourful rush of a few seconds, his mind tripped and floundered over what seemed like a thousand different scenarios. Should he silently retreat and go for a walk, returning when Sam was finished stroking little Sammy? Should he get the whiskey that their dad had left below the kitchen zinc, and knock back a few burning tots, and try not to think how those low moans were making his cock perk up and his ass clench? Or should he walk right in there and replace Sam’s big, bony fingered hand with his mouth? Suck him down until Sam choked him with his come?
Slow down there, Speedy Gonzales. Let’s not jump the dick…um…gun.
One thing he could not stop himself doing, though, was peaking around the doorframe and watching Sam fuck his own fist. He gritted his teeth and gripped the doorframe hard enough to make it creak, something Sam was oblivious to.
Jesus Christ on a pogo-stick. Sam stood in front of the ancient free standing mirror in the corner of the room, stark naked, with his gorgeous dick clutched in his hand. Dean stood absolutely mesmerised as he took in the fact that Sam had two fingers stuffed inside of his dark pink, slick asshole, and the fact that Sam’s dick was like a crimson, almost puce tipped, temple of rock hard flesh in his huge hand.
The smooth skin of his hand was wet with pre-ejaculate and lube, and his glorious cock was surrounded by more smooth, unblemished skin. Sam shaves himself, his mind proclaimed helpfully. Like a porn-star! Don’t think of him like that, you idiot!
Dean stood stock still as Sam tensed up like he’d just put his cock in an electrical socket, and seemingly endless stream of thick, milky come coated the already tarnished glass of the mirror. Dean’s eyes almost crossed as he tried to take in the spellbinding girth of that softening cock, and the way Sam’s blood rich rim suckled around his fingers.
Dean bit his fist as he turned away, feeling slightly dizzy with arousal, his penis thick and hard behind the zip of his jeans, despite the fact that he’d had sex less that half an hour ago. He quietly approached the door, being careful not to make a sound as he left the room again, and made his way to the bag of the motel.
A field with overgrown grass and the rotting carcass of a Volkswagen Beetle were the only witnesses as he furiously finger-fucked himself, and came all over his fist and the pockmarked wall. He gritted his teeth so hard, as not to call out Sam’s name for the second time that night, that his jaw ached.
If Dean had not been in such a rush to leave the motel room, his mind swimming with dirty, bad, wrong thoughts of his younger brother, then he would have registered the fact that it was his name Sam moaned as he unloaded onto the aged mirror.
Unlike Dean, Sam was a virgin. Not because he hadn’t had ample opportunity to do the deed, but because whenever anyone got a look at the monster he was housing in his pants, they all but ran away screaming. Where had the all rumours that people liked to be split wide on a giant cock come from? Whoever started that rumour deserved to be drawn and quartered in Sam’s opinion, because his self-esteem was in the toilet at the moment.
Despite his embarrassing lack of experience, Sam at least knew what he liked. While he was not adverse to the feeling of soft breasts in his hands, and warm, petite bodies, what he really hankered for was a nice, firm, round ass. But not just any ass could meet his specifications, and that was another reality that tormented Sam daily and well nightly.
The person to whom the most beautiful, perfect ass belonged to, was none other than his older brother. His sinfully sensuous, strong, loyal older brother, whom he very much wanted to bend over and fuck until those flawless buttocks were pink with his handprints, and that hole was stretched and leaking his come.
It wasn’t as if Dean was shy about letting people know of his sexual preferences, which were pretty wide reaching, but Sam seriously doubted that Dean was aware of Sam knowing how much Dean liked to bottom.
It had been about two years before, during the sweltering summer in the Lone Star State, that their dad had been hunting a banshee for a couple of weeks, leaving his sons alone in a small rented house. The night was marginally cooler than the day had been, and Sam thanked all the deities above that they had had air-con, even though it groaned rather worryingly. He had been half dozing on the sweat soaked sheets, stripped down to his boxers, when he heard the faint sounds of movement coming from the lounge.
He knew it had to been Dean, but when his brother didn’t come to their room, he decided to investigate. He had a small knife, large enough to seriously injure someone or something, clutched in his hand, as he made his way down the passage. When he came to the alcove leading to the lounge, he suddenly stopped, rendered motionless by what he saw before him.
Dean had brought another man home, and by the looks of it he was quite a few years older than Dean. His white stetson sat on the coffee table, and his jeans, with an absurdly large Texas belt buckle, lay in a tangled heap with Dean’s on the floor. Sam had an almost perfect view of the back of the stranger’s head, neck and shoulders, where he was seated against the back of the old, brown couch. But it wasn’t the stranger that drew and held Sam’s gaze, but Dean, whose close-cropped hair looked almost silver in the moonlight spilling through one of the windows. His eyes were closed, while his pink, shining mouth was partially open, his expression one of almost pained bliss. His large, long fingered hands gripped the Texan’s shoulders, as he rode him, little punched out whimpers intermingling with the other man’s grunts.
Sam felt his cock give a blurt of pre-ejaculate at the sight of his brother, so beautiful, so wanton as he continued to fuck himself on another man’s cock. Sam wondered how the Texan was managing not to come, because if he was Sam, he’d have already lost the struggle.
He knew when Dean was close, because his brother began to desperately bounce and buck on the man’s lap, his even teeth sinking into the swell of his lower lip. He looked almost exquisite as his fingers gripped the other man’s shoulders, his fingertips bloodless, and orgasmed with an almost triumphant, stifled cry.
Sam didn’t know if the other man came, he couldn’t care less, all he saw was his brother. A beautiful, ethereal, unobtainable creature seemingly originating in moonlight and ecstasy.
Sam moved back as Dean opened his eyes, cat-bright in the lowlight, and sank back against the cool wall of the hallway. He listened to Dean and the Texan get dressed, the soft sounds of Dean kissing him goodbye, and the door closing almost soundlessly, before he went back to their room.
When Dean came to their room, he pretended to sleep, his back to the door. He drank in the intimate noises of Dean getting undressed, and his neglected cock pulsed hot and painful in his boxer-shorts.
Now, he panted against the cool glass of the mirror, his fingers slowly slipping out of his body, while his come trickled downwards to the stained old carpet. He sighed, resigning himself to cleaning up and showering before Dean came back to the room and realised what he’d been doing.
On to Part III