It ain't the heart and soul stuff (that's gonna mess you up) - Sam/Dean NC-17
Title - It ain’t the heart and soul stuff (that’s gonna mess you up).
Author - queerly_it_is
Pairing - Sam/Dean
Rating - NC-17
Word Count - 1.6k
Warnings - Complete smut (PWP); underage (Sam is 15), dickslapping, facial, power exchange, comeplay, dirty (read: filthy) talk. No redeeming plot whatsoever.
Disclaimer - I own nothing. If this happened I want pictures. No, seriously.
Summary - Sam makes a kinky little request, Dean has no objections whatsoever.
Authors Notes - obstinatrix recently mentioned the lack of fic featuring weecest with dickslapping, so, being the creepy fanboy humble worshipper at her alter that I am, I went and wrote some. Title from from Kinleys (with apologies =P)
------------------------------------------------
They’ve been screwing around for a few months now, going from handjobs to blowjobs to fucking; first with fingers, then toys, then cock, ’cos no way was he gonna risk actually hurting Sam, no matter how prettily the kid had begged him for it.
His brother is only fifteen, after all.
Still a little gangly, and on the side of too-skinny that makes Dean want to either feed him up or dress him in baggy jeans and tight shirts and then undo the whole process and fuck him stupid, Sam is without a doubt the sexiest motherfucking thing Dean has ever seen. All dimples and floppy hair, sweet pink lips and tilted-eyes that are never the same colour from one moment to the next. He’s still shorter than Dean, but only just, and Dean knows that won’t last much longer. He’s always tanned no matter how many layers he wears, his skin smooth and flawless apart from the marks Dean leaves on him; out of sight, where only him and Sam know about them.
These days; they’re all over each other soon as Dad is out the door, sound of his truck pulling away secondary to the noise of Sam groaning into his mouth as Dean pulls him close and sucks on his tongue.
Like right now.
Dean has Sam pinned between him and the counter of the rooms crappy little kitchen, laminate surface peeling and coming away in flakes under Sam’s long, spasming fingers where Dean’s got his - fucking enormous - hands pinned down behind him, keeping his body just out of Sam’s reach, connected only by lips and tongue and spit, and the breath that flows from one to the other.
Dean’s been waiting for this chance for nearly a week now, ever since a late-night conversation (in which he’d been drunk and Sam had been uncharacteristically bold) had revealed that his blushing, vanilla - relatively, next to Dean - baby brother pretty much wants nothing more than for Dean to shove him to his knees and slap him with his cock before he comes all over his gorgeous face.
Dean is pretty fucking on-board with that idea.
“God Dean, c’mon man, just lemme.” He’s whimpering, knees trying to bend and get him on the floor with a kind of desperation Dean hasn’t seen since Sam’d been all “Fuck, just put your fucking dick in me already!” the first time Dean had let go of his guilt long enough to get that far.
Christ, work him over enough and Sam can be such a little slut.
“You want it bad, huh Sammy?” Teasing now, rubbing his hips against his brother’s and then drawing back when Sam shoves forward, tiny, broken noises spilling out of him like notes on a keyboard. “You wanna get on your knees for me baby? Lemme mark your pretty face up with my dick?” Another quick, dirty-grind of hips, Sam’s voice sticking with a wet click in his throat.
“Fuck, yes okay, God you know I want it, wanna hear it smack against my skin, wanna be all wet from you, c’mon.” Struggling a little under Dean’s grip, painfully hard in the jeans that are riding a couple inches above his ankles.
“Good boy, asking for it so nicely.” Rubs his nose along Sam’s jaw, sucks a bruise beneath his ear, voice going just the ride side of harsh “Gonna fuck you up, Sammy.”
When he finally lets go and steps back a little, Sam looks so wrecked it takes everything he has not to step back and rub all over him, but that’s not what this about.
“C’mon Sammy, want my cock so bad, come’n take it.” Taunting as he pops the button and draws his zipper down, hadn’t even bothered with underwear he’d been so eager to get to this, his cock springing up and slapping against his stomach, wet spot on his shirt where he’s pretty much drooling precome. He doesn’t miss the way Sam licks his lips.
Realising he can actually move again, Sam gets in front of Dean and down on his knees so fast he’s like a blur. Hands held at his sides, looking for all world like a paid whore, his mouth wraps tight around Dean’s dick with a guttural moan that Dean swears he feels in his bones.
“So fucking hungry for it, Sam.” Slow, sweet slide of his cock into Sam’s perfect little mouth, candy-pink and stretched around him, and Dean wants nothing more than to just screw into him until he shoots down his brother’s throat, knows Sam’d let him, knows he’d love it, Dean taught him how to do this, after all. But there are better things to do with his come, now he knows what Sam really wants.
He grips the base of his dick with one hand, other going into Sam’s hair and - slowly - draws him off of him. The way Sam sucks harder, like he’s trying to get Dean back inside him with the force of his mouth alone almost derails the whole plan; obscene pop as the flared head slips from tight, wet heat. Sam gives up a pathetic little whine at the loss, whole fucking body moving forwards, trying to get back on Dean’s prick like it’s pure instinct.
“Easy baby, gonna give you what you want, yeah?” He runs the wet head over Sam’s already raw-looking lips, paints them shiny-slick with precome that Sam’s little tongue immediately chases like he can’t fucking help himself.
He gives him a small slap to start with, on his flushed right cheek, wet noise going right to the place behind Dean’s balls, sees Sam’s hips jerk forward into empty air.
He’s goes a little crazy with it, after that.
One sharp smack after another, each one leaving little trails of precome on Sam’s cheeks, nose, chin. Dean watches his brother’s hips shiver and twitch with every one, wet spot on his jeans growing darker and darker, tongue lapping up whatever he can reach, eyes shut in pure bliss and heaving in air through his nose, drool running down his chin.
Dean never wants to let him up again.
“You want it on your face, Sam?” Jerking himself off between slaps to Sam’s face and tongue where his mouth is hanging open. “Wanna be all wet and sticky and fucking soaked in it?” No way Dean can keep this up, he’s so fucking hard, pressure in his balls almost painful, this whole insane thing almost unreal in how hot it is. Sam is pretty much beyond speech at this point, nothing but raw animalistic noises and shaky breaths coming from his throat.
“C’mon Sam, ask me for it.” It’s cruel, he knows, when Sam is this out of it, but fuck he just wants to hear the words, memory of the first time Sam’d brought this up serving as bathroom jerk-off material every day this week. “Beg me to come all over your pretty pretty face, Sam.”
Sam just kinda snaps.
Eyes never leaving the slick-slimy wetness of Dean’s cock, throat working in loud convulsions, Adam’s apple bobbing above the delicate hollow in his neck, Sam does as he’s told.
“Please Dean, want your come so bad, want it everywhere, my mouth, my hair. Fuck please come on me big brother.” Word falling out in one long desperate rush, and that’s pretty much the end of whatever control Dean was still clinging to.
Hand shoving back into the tangled mess of Sam’s hair, Dean yanks his head back, baring his long neck, face tilted up and covered in patches of spit and precome that shine tacky-bright under the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. His eyes are closed, face totally slack like he’s not even conscious, mouth open and pink tongue bobbing as he swallows, so damned desperate for it.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
He comes like a tidal wave, feels like he’s dying; thick white ropes shooting everywhere across his brother’s face, each pulse making him wanna bend at the waist from the force of it, Sam making these unconscious little grating noises with every wet patter that lands on his cheeks, pools on the dip of his tongue, drips off his chin and runs down his neck, mattes his eyelashes to his face and clumps in his hair. There are strings of jizz connecting his upper and lower lip where his mouth hangs open.
He’s such a fucking mess.
Dean runs his thumbs through the come cooling on Sam’s face; feeds it into his mouth, feels Sam suck on them as he tries to get it all. It’s then he notices the huge sopping-wet patch on Sam’s jeans when he’d come inside them, not a hand on him, hips still shifting as the last aftershocks run through him.
He hauls Sam up and level with him, looks at the gorgeous wet state he’s left his brother in, licks the taste of come out of his mouth as Sam responds sluggishly, energy completely gone. He kicks his jeans off, thought of dragging denim over his sensitive cock not appealing right now. Kisses Sam again and steadies him as he sways on the spot.
“C’mon baby boy.” Gentle tone now, Sam’s eyes open but wet and blown and not really seeing anything. “Let’s get you outta those jeans and into the shower, huh?” Tries to lead Sam with an arm ‘round his waist to the bathroom.
“No.” Weak grunt of a word, but a word just the same.
“No?” Stepping back, leaning down those few remaining inches to look Sam in the eye.
“Wanna leave it.” Focusing a little now, eyes moving to Dean’s, barely any colour left that isn’t black. “Wanna feel it drying on me. Leave it.”
Dean might be ready for round two a little sooner than he’d thought.
------------------------- END -----------------------