Lie Back and Let Me Unlock You (Sam/Dean)
Eleven days, 4000+ words, and countless frustrated headdesks later, my first foray into Wincest is finally complete.
Thank. God.
Title: Lie Back and Let Me Unlock You
Author: secondplatypus
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, explicit sex, barely legal!Sam (set in mid-May 2000, when Sam is 17 and Dean is 21), snark, a tiny bit of angst, unprotected sex between clean, consenting partners.
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 4245
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all characters therein are the property of Eric Kripke and the WB/CW, I'm just borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes.
Summary: Bored out of his mind after being stuck in a tiny town for two weeks, Dean starts plotting to get his virgin brother laid. A few days later, things take an unexpected turn.
Author's Notes: For ladyeternal; without her comment on my kink prompts post asking for some virginity-class first time fic and suggesting that I "go for broke" and make it Sam/Dean, this wouldn't exist.
- The title and cut text are taken from one of my favorite Nick Cave songs
- By Louisiana state law, seventeen is the legal age of consent. It's a bit of a moot point, since the age of consent for homosexual intercourse in the US is eighteen, but Sam is still technically of age.
- depending on how this goes over, I might write a PWP morning-after timestamp involving waking up to blowjobs.
you have a heart, I have a key
lie back and let me unlock you
The Brothers Winchester had been on their own in Northern Louisiana since John took off the day before Sam's seventeenth birthday - a total of fifteen days, five hours, and twenty-two minutes. Not that Dean was keeping track.
Without the Impala, they were restricted to wherever they could walk; their world was composed of three restaurants, a hotel, and a bar in a tiny town fifty miles from nowhere.
Sam was fine; he had his laptop and the fat bag of books he toted everywhere that grew a little larger with every town they passed through. Their father's absence and the lack of strict orders he'd left behind - "stay here, wait for me, don't get into too much trouble" - gave him a rare opportunity to spend a few precious days reading for pleasure. Dean, on the other hand, was so bored and stir-crazy it was all he could do to keep from climbing the walls; he'd watched every pay-per-view episode of Casa Erotica at least ten times, hit on the few attractive girls he'd stumbled across (and been turned down more often than he cared to think about), and tried every one of the twenty-nine beers on tap at the bar down the street. If he didn't find a project soon that was more involved than counting the tiles that patterned the water-stained ceiling (of which there were seven hundred thirty three plus an oddly shaped half-tile in the corner), he was going to go stark raving mad.
Dean found the solution to his problem on a Wednesday night, as he watched Sam tap away at his laptop with a pencil between his lips. His brain had exhausted all its usual topics of thought, and was making a rare foray into the more serious districts of memory lane. All the snapshots of the time he'd spent with Sam over the last few years were still as clear as the day they'd happened - their first real hunt together, the summer where Sam had stopped being just his brother and become his best friend, the week of relentless teasing Dean had suffered three years before in the aftermath of the massive growth spurt that had left Sam a full inch taller than him - and it didn't seem possible that the broad-shouldered giant of a man in front of him was the same scrawny, awkward kid whose voice had cracked and danced through three octaves in the span of a sentence half a decade earlier.
At that moment, the part of his mind that couldn't stay away from sex for longer than five minutes chose to chime in.
You haven't forgotten, have you, Dean? Sam isn't a man yet - he's still a virgin.
Sam Winchester's virginity was a mysteriously long-lived thing. There was no denying that Dean's geek brother was easy on the eyes, with the added bonus of being smart, funny, and charming when he chose to be. Dean knew Sam had done a decent amount of making out here and there - he'd caught his brother with a pretty, shirtless girl in his lap on a few separate occasions - but as of their last Brotherly Talk, which had involved a lot of blushing and extremely vague terminology, Sam hadn't made it past the vicinity of heavy second/mild third base. Sam seemed strangely unconcerned by his virgin status; if he put a fraction as much time into trying to get some as he did into his reading and research, he'd be able to find a girl in no time, but for some incomprehensible reason, he didn't care enough to bother. Left to his own devices, Sam would be a virgin at the age of 30, and it was time for an intervention; since Sam wasn't motivated to do anything about it, Dean would be motivated for him.
The next night, and every night that followed, Dean dragged Sam to the bar and kept an eye out for potentially suitable girls. His luck finally came around a few days after the commencement of Operation: Devirginator - as soon as they walked through the door, a beauty with full lips and legs for weeks caught sight of Sam, and she kept casting come-hither glances his way for the entire hour and a half they spent there.
They were halfway back to their hotel when Dean made a show of searching his pockets, mild panic flickering across his features as he told Sam he'd forgotten his wallet. He hightailed it back to the bar, and found the girl standing by the jukebox, trying to decide between Heart and Fleetwood Mac.
Dean came away from their conversation with three important pieces of information: her name was Keri, she was a Gemini, and she'd be more than happy to spend a little quality time with Sam.
When Dean came back to the room, Sam was flopped on his bed reading a book by some guy with a Russian-sounding name, neverending limbs splayed and too-long hair hanging in his eyes. Dean sat on the edge of his own mattress facing Sam, a victorious grin playing around his lips.
"So, Sammy, I was thinking..."
"Whatever you're about to ask, the answer is no."
"You might wanna reconsider that. I just got you laid."
Sam looked up, staring at Dean as if lobsters has suddenly begun to crawl out of the elder Winchester's ears.
"What?"
"Remember that gorgeous girl in the bar tonight? I just had a little talk with her, and she wants a piece of you."
Sam's lips moved wordlessly for a few seconds before he remembered how to speak.
"You're unbelievable."
"Yeah, I know. I'm awesome. Think of it as a late birthday present."
"You... just... no."
"What do you mean, no? I was looking for something more along the lines of 'thanks, Dean, you're the best brother ever.'"
"No."
"Have you ever even had a blowjob?"
The embarassed sputtering noise that made its way out of Sam's mouth was cut off by Dean's voice.
"Before you answer, putting a little lipstick on Rosie Palm and her five friends" - Dean wiggled his hand suggestively - "doesn't count."
Sam glared, ducking his head to hide the flush coloring his face and muttering something about it being none of Dean's business.
"Of course it's my business. Since you aren't doing anything about it, it's my job to make sure you don't die a virgin."
Sam pursed his lips, the warning signs of a first-class bitchface evident in the set of his jaw and his narrowed eyes.
"Suit yourself. If you'd rather stay here with me instead of doing a hot chick, go right ahead."
Dean stretched out on his bed, turning on the radio and singing along at the top of his tone-deaf lungs. When his renditions of "Pour Some Sugar on Me", "Knockin' at Your Back Door", and "Cherry Pie" failed to make Sam budge and his excessively loud consumption of half a bag of Cheetos only earned him an exaggerated wince, Dean segued into the most formidible anti-Sam weapon in his arsenal: burping the ABCs. He'd passed Z for the second time and was considering changing it up by going backwards when he heard the sound of a book being shut forcibly, followed by his little brother's irritated snarl of,
"I give up! I'm going, I'm going."
Dean grinned, turning the full power of his patented megawatt smug-smile on his little brother with an, "Atta boy, Sammy. Make me proud," before triumphantly stuffing a handful of Cheetos in his mouth.
As the door swung shut behind Sam, Dean felt an odd lump form in his throat; he wrote it off as jealousy over the fact that Sam had snagged the best-looking girl in the whole damned town and turned his attention to the TV.
------------------------------------
Half an hour later, Dean heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by the entrance of six and a half feet of - if Sam's rumpled hair and slightly reddened cheeks were any indication - freshly deflowered Sasquatch.
He restrained himself, staying quiet for all of twenty seconds as he watched Sam's long, long legs eat up the distance between the door and the mini-fridge. Sam snagged a beer, cracked it open, and took a long drink before rolling his eyes and saying, "Go ahead and ask."
"Ask what," Dean replied, feigning innocence with his best wide, green, "who me?" gaze.
"You're thinking so loud I can practically hear you. Just ask and get it over with."
"I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, Sam. If you want to tell me what happened, don't be shy - you don't need to use me asking as an excuse."
"Nothing."
Dean blinked, momentarily shocked into silence as he gaped at Sam like a puzzled goldfish. "... Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Not even a little bit of something?"
"Nope."
"What the fuck, dude? She was..."
Dean went through a series of complicated gestures and facial expressions that suggested the woman in question could put Helen of Troy to shame, and that Sam was an absolute failure as both a man and a human being for not servicing her in every way the limitations of anatomy and the laws of physics would allow.
"How could you not hit that?"
Sam slammed his beer down on top of the mini-fridge, jaw muscles flexing as he gritted his teeth.
"I know you think I'm a giant fucking pussy for it, but I don't want my first time to be in a bathroom with a girl whose last name I don't even know."
"Come on, Sam, what's it going to take? Moonlight and roses and true love and happily ever after?"
"Fuck you, Dean, I'm not looking for a goddamn fairytale."
"What are you looking for, then?"
Somewhere in Sam's mind, his rising anger crossed a few critical wires, causing his instinctive response to completely bypass his brain to mouth filter. By the time he realized what he was saying, the words were already out.
"Someone like you."
Sam felt like he'd been struck by lightning.
He'd been thinking it since the summer after he'd turned twelve, when that damning heat had first curled in his belly at the sight of Dean peeling the shirt from his tanned, freckled body. After Sam entered his teens, Dean had decided he was old enough to share in the tales Dean's sexual triumphs, and the ache between his thighs was joined by the ache that gathered in his heart when his brother regaled him with stories of his conquests. Sam hated them, those brief flings with nameless faces who would never bandage Dean's wounds, soothe his fevered skin when he fell ill, know his love and his flaws and all the little things that made him beautiful, but who could experience Dean in ways Sam never could.
Sam had known he couldn't hide that kind of emotion forever, but he'd tried, pouring all that love into constructing and maintaining the facade that would keep Dean in his life - hard as it was to want Dean so badly, it was nothing compared to the idea of losing him. It had always been a matter of time, though, and now that time had run out; there would be no taking this back or explaining it away.
The seconds dragged on as Sam tried to quell the shaking in his hands, waiting for the slam of the door or the impact of his brother's knuckles against his cheek.
Instead of the blow-up he anticipated - and God knew, he deserved - silence settled between them, punctuated by the soft rhythm of Dean's breathing.
"Someone like me?"
Sam swallowed, heart pounding in his ears as he stared at the floor, his reply little more than a whisper.
"Someone I love."
The shift of denim met Sam's ears as Dean moved closer. When the drag of feet against carpet died away, Sam could smell him, leather and grease and spice, and feel the heat coming off his body.
"Look at me, Sammy."
There was a softness in Dean's voice Sam had never heard before, a gently reassuring quality that coaxed him to obey. He raised his head, his anxiety instantly soothed by the adoration he found in his brother's eyes. Dean reached up, callused fingertips caressing his cheekbone with a tenderness that made Sam's breath catch in his throat.
"Is this what you want," Dean asked, running his thumb over the mole just to the right of Sam's mouth.
Sam tilted his chin, brushing his lips against Dean's fingers.
The lower's swell caught on a patch of roughened skin, giving Dean a taste of the wet warmth that lay between them.
Dean inhaled, a sharp hiss of air past teeth, as he shifted closer. Thin cotton brushed against thin cotton; Sam was too timid to move, frozen in place as though he were afraid it couldn't be real, that a single motion would shatter the beautiful, impossible thing that flared between him and Dean as their eyes locked. Dean's hand dragged gently over his cheek and through his hair before it came to rest on the back of his neck, gentle pressure guiding him down to close the distance between them. Their noses bumped softly, breath mingling and eyelids fluttering shut as their lips met with a whisper-light press of skin. Tentative caresses soon grew bolder as they melted into each other; Dean's tongue traced the lines of Sam's mouth, seeking permission Sam gave willingly, parting his lips in sweet surrender.
The taste of Sam brought fantasies Dean had spent years shoving to the back of his mind to the surface in an inexorable surge of desire. His self-control forgotten, Dean pushed Sam backwards, tangling fingers in his shirt and shoving him against the wall.
At the feel of the smooth, hard plaster against his back, Sam's shyness fell away.
Heat coiled between Dean's thighs as a pair of huge hands reached up, digging into his shoulderblades and flattening along his spine. Sam was a fast learner, matching him lick for lick and bite for bite, deepening their kiss into a hungry, filthy slide of tongues.
When his little brother started gasping and moaning, the yearning ache pooling in Dean's lower belly blossomed into full-blown need - the front of his pants felt so tight he was afraid he'd bust the seam. The hands on his back traveled lower, wrapping around his hips. Dean bucked forward, grinding their denim-clad erections together; at the discovery that Sam was every bit as hard as he was, Dean groaned and broke away.
"Fuck, Sammy. I... should we take this slower?"
Sam bent his head, capturing Dean's mouth with his own and sucking on the full curve of Dean's lower lip.
When he spoke, his tone was a low, heavy purr that curled around the "no" like smoke, sending another surge of blood straight to Dean's cock.
Dean didn't know where that passionate creature with a voice like liquid sex had come from, but he knew it was for him, because of him, and he found it almost unbearably hot.
Green eyes flickered over Sam's face, greed and lust written in equal measure in their depths and in the guttural rasp that came from deep within Dean's vocal chords.
"Bed. Now."
A blur of limbs and motion later, they were on Sam's mattress; the taller man on his back, Dean straddling his hips. Dean made quick work of their shirts, pausing to strip off his own before catching the hem of Sam's, dragging it up along his body and biting back a moan as Sam lifted off the bed just far enough to allow Dean to pull the fabric over his head and toss it to the floor. Dean's gaze roamed over the newly exposed skin of Sam's body, a reverent, "Jesus, Sammy" escaping his lips. Dean had seen his brother shirtless before, but he'd never let himself look; a glance was all it took to remind him that Sam wasn't a gawky, skinny kid anymore. Sam was beautiful, long and lean and golden and glorious. He took in the stunning V of hipbones, admiration quickly turning to arousal as the lines lured his eyes down before disappearing into a pair of dangerously low-slung jeans. Muscles tensed and flexed beneath him, drawing his attention up as Sam beckoned to him with the enticing promise of kiss-swollen lips and smoldering eyes.
Bare skin met bare skin as Dean moved forward, his mouth seeking Sam's before dragging down his jaw to fasten over one of the pulse points on Sam's neck.
Dean travelled over Sam's body at a maddeningly gradual pace, learning exactly what Sam liked as he sucked, kissed, and laved sensitive skin with his tongue. Nothing escaped Dean's attention - collarbone, nipples, every freckle on Sam's ribcage and scar on his chest - by the time he reached the fine hair trailing down Sam's lower belly, Sam was writhing, his fingers scrabbling for purchase in the short bristles at the back of Dean's head.
Dean caught his teeth on the denim at the top of Sam's fly, freeing the button with an expert pull and giving the zipper the same treatment. He ducked lower, mouthing at the bulge in Sam's jeans before reaching up, slipping a hand inside pants and boxers to curl around Sam's cock and pull it free.
Sam's dick was every bit as huge and gorgeous as the rest of him, and Dean couldn't resist the temptation to wrap his lips around it, licking a slow, torturous stripe along the shaft before sucking the tip into his mouth. Sam cried out, bunching the sheets beneath his fingers as Dean slid down, enveloping as much of Sam as he could.
A wave of possessiveness swept through Dean. He knew he was the only person to ever touch Sam like this, to taste his cock and hear the soft curses and little sounds he made as he came undone, and he was determined to make this so fucking good Sam wouldn't ever so much as think about anyone else.
Dean swapped his mouth for his hand, jerking Sam with teasing strokes and flicks of his wrist.
"I'll do anything for you, Sammy. Anything you want."
"Want you, Dean. God, want you."
"Tell me what you want."
Sam's teeth sank into his lower lip as Dean's thumb swiped over the head of his dick, lust-blown hazel eyes seeking Dean's as he gasped out a ragged, "fuck me."
The eight feet to Dean's bag seemed more like a mile; he groped around, snagging the bottle of lube and a few condoms before returning to the bed.
As Sam wriggled out of his clothes, Dean looked at the foil-wrapped packets in his hand.
Dean had been careful with everyone he'd ever been with, and he had the test results to prove it. This, though, was different; this was Sam, someone he trusted and loved.
He held up the condoms to get Sam's attention before saying,
"Don't want anything between us, if it's okay with you."
Sam looked confused for a second before he realized what Dean meant. His eyes went wide, and he nodded.
Dean tossed the condoms aside and rolled over, his jeans and belt joining them on the floor a few moments later.
Long fingers twined with Dean's, tugging him on top of Sam as his little brother spread his legs, making room for Dean between them. They took a few minutes to revel in the feel of their naked bodies coming together for the first time, exploring every inch of each other's mouths, grinding and groaning at the catch and drag of silky-hard flesh.
The bottle of lube lay forgotten on the sheets until Sam reminded Dean with a string of Gods and pleases, tilting his hips up in invitation.
Dean slithered down Sam's body, squeezing a generous dollop of the thick gel onto his fingers and warming it between them.
Sam let out a sharp moan as a slick fingertip breached his entrance, tensing reflexively against the foreign stretch and burn of the intrusion.
"Breathe for me," Dean said, feeling Sam relax a little at the sound of his voice.
He pressed in further, up to the first knuckle, then the second.
"Gonna make this good for you, promise."
Within the span of three heartbeats, Sam went from mild discomfort to JesusFUCK, yes as Dean crooked his finger slightly, hitting a cluster of nerves that made Sam's world go white.
Dean set up a slow rhythm, working into Sam with smooth, deliberate motions, changing the angle every few strokes to hit the spot that made Sam claw at his shoulders.
When the resistance to his touch melted away, and he glided in and out of Sam's entrance with ease, he coated his fingers with a fresh helping of lube and a second finger joined the first.
By the time he added the third, Sam was pushing back against him, fucking himself on Dean's fingers as wanton noises poured from his lips.
Dean drew out the preparation as long as he could, until the aching throb radiating from his groin was too strong to ignore and Sam was so far gone he was practically begging.
"Ready?"
At Sam's answering "yes", Dean ran his lube-slick hand over his own cock before gripping Sam's thighs and sliding little by little into his incredibly tight warmth. Legs wrapped around Dean's waist, urging him deeper as arms pulled him forward. Dean brushed his lips over a nipple, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the delicate pink skin while he waited for Sam to adjust to the thick length buried inside him; staying still until Sam's arched beneath him in a silent plea for him to move.
They were both too worked up to last long, breathing in shallow, ragged harmony as they rocked against each other.
The head of Dean's dick rubbed over Sam's prostate with every muted slap of flesh against flesh, the overwhelming sensation driving him to the point of incoherence. Sam's muscles felt like they were on fire, tense and vibrating with need; he felt as though he was in danger of shaking apart.
"Dean, please, I..."
"Shhhh, Sammy," Dean said as he reached a hand between them to stroke Sam's cock in time with his thrusts, "I got you."
Sam's cries roughened, turning to growled pleas for "more", "faster", and "harder" until he came with a final surge of Dean's hips, spilling over Dean's hand and splattering his own stomach.
The sound of his name, a broken half-scream ripped from Sam's throat, hummed along Dean's nerves as the convulsions of Sam's orgasm made that perfect heat cling to his cock like a second skin. The combination pushed Dean over the edge in a blaze of ecstasy and light and Sam; he rode out his release with fingers clutching at his back and Sam's mouth sucking a bruise to his chest, pain and pleasure blurring together to take him impossibly higher.
With a final shudder, Dean's orgasm passed, leaving an endorphin-induced stupor in its wake. Boneless and breathless, Dean clumsily maneuvered around Sam's leg, then toppled over onto the mattress, where he lay still until his breathing slowed and his limbs felt a little less fuzzy.
Dean turned his head to look at Sam, smiling when he saw the tranquility and happiness written plainly on Sam's face. Mindless of the mess, Sam reached out to wrap his arms around Dean, pulling him close and nuzzling his forehead.
Dean smiled lazily, relaxing into the embrace.
He'd never been with someone who could hold him properly, and he secretly loved the feeling of safety and security that came with being cuddled by Sam.
He basked in the afterglow until the endorphin-haze began to fade from his mind, replaced by annoyance at the itchy sensation of drying come.
"Well, Sammy," Dean said, untangling their bodies and rolling away, "nice as this girly little snuggle-session is, I need to get clean," adding "bitch" as an afterthought.
Sam stood, all lean, graceful power, snagging Dean's hand and leading him in the direction of the bathroom with a rumbling, "I'll show you who's the bitch, jerk."
Dean's traitorous dick gave a twitch of interest.
His little brother made good on his word.
Dean barely had time to turn the water on before he was pulled into a sinfully thorough, aggressive kiss, strong hands sinking into the curves of his ass. In the span of a few seconds, Dean found himself with his back against the slick tiles and his thighs gripping Sam's hips, hot water coursing down shifting muscles as Sam swallowed the moans that fell from his lips.
They took their time afterwards, enjoying the feel of the spray and the comfortable press of skin against skin as they tended to each other with soapy washcloths. When they finally left the bathroom, Sam collapsed onto Dean's bed, burrowed into the blankets, and was unconscious almost instantly.
Dean looked at him for a minute before sliding under the covers next to Sam, settling his head on Sam's chest and throwing a leg over his body. Warm, cozy, and completely sated, Dean drifted off, lulled by the rhythm of Sam's heartbeat.
and if he murmured an "I love you" against the rise-falling skin as he fell asleep, it was between him, Sam, and the furniture.
Thank. God.
Title: Lie Back and Let Me Unlock You
Author: secondplatypus
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, explicit sex, barely legal!Sam (set in mid-May 2000, when Sam is 17 and Dean is 21), snark, a tiny bit of angst, unprotected sex between clean, consenting partners.
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 4245
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all characters therein are the property of Eric Kripke and the WB/CW, I'm just borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes.
Summary: Bored out of his mind after being stuck in a tiny town for two weeks, Dean starts plotting to get his virgin brother laid. A few days later, things take an unexpected turn.
Author's Notes: For ladyeternal; without her comment on my kink prompts post asking for some virginity-class first time fic and suggesting that I "go for broke" and make it Sam/Dean, this wouldn't exist.
- The title and cut text are taken from one of my favorite Nick Cave songs
- By Louisiana state law, seventeen is the legal age of consent. It's a bit of a moot point, since the age of consent for homosexual intercourse in the US is eighteen, but Sam is still technically of age.
- depending on how this goes over, I might write a PWP morning-after timestamp involving waking up to blowjobs.
you have a heart, I have a key
lie back and let me unlock you
The Brothers Winchester had been on their own in Northern Louisiana since John took off the day before Sam's seventeenth birthday - a total of fifteen days, five hours, and twenty-two minutes. Not that Dean was keeping track.
Without the Impala, they were restricted to wherever they could walk; their world was composed of three restaurants, a hotel, and a bar in a tiny town fifty miles from nowhere.
Sam was fine; he had his laptop and the fat bag of books he toted everywhere that grew a little larger with every town they passed through. Their father's absence and the lack of strict orders he'd left behind - "stay here, wait for me, don't get into too much trouble" - gave him a rare opportunity to spend a few precious days reading for pleasure. Dean, on the other hand, was so bored and stir-crazy it was all he could do to keep from climbing the walls; he'd watched every pay-per-view episode of Casa Erotica at least ten times, hit on the few attractive girls he'd stumbled across (and been turned down more often than he cared to think about), and tried every one of the twenty-nine beers on tap at the bar down the street. If he didn't find a project soon that was more involved than counting the tiles that patterned the water-stained ceiling (of which there were seven hundred thirty three plus an oddly shaped half-tile in the corner), he was going to go stark raving mad.
Dean found the solution to his problem on a Wednesday night, as he watched Sam tap away at his laptop with a pencil between his lips. His brain had exhausted all its usual topics of thought, and was making a rare foray into the more serious districts of memory lane. All the snapshots of the time he'd spent with Sam over the last few years were still as clear as the day they'd happened - their first real hunt together, the summer where Sam had stopped being just his brother and become his best friend, the week of relentless teasing Dean had suffered three years before in the aftermath of the massive growth spurt that had left Sam a full inch taller than him - and it didn't seem possible that the broad-shouldered giant of a man in front of him was the same scrawny, awkward kid whose voice had cracked and danced through three octaves in the span of a sentence half a decade earlier.
At that moment, the part of his mind that couldn't stay away from sex for longer than five minutes chose to chime in.
You haven't forgotten, have you, Dean? Sam isn't a man yet - he's still a virgin.
Sam Winchester's virginity was a mysteriously long-lived thing. There was no denying that Dean's geek brother was easy on the eyes, with the added bonus of being smart, funny, and charming when he chose to be. Dean knew Sam had done a decent amount of making out here and there - he'd caught his brother with a pretty, shirtless girl in his lap on a few separate occasions - but as of their last Brotherly Talk, which had involved a lot of blushing and extremely vague terminology, Sam hadn't made it past the vicinity of heavy second/mild third base. Sam seemed strangely unconcerned by his virgin status; if he put a fraction as much time into trying to get some as he did into his reading and research, he'd be able to find a girl in no time, but for some incomprehensible reason, he didn't care enough to bother. Left to his own devices, Sam would be a virgin at the age of 30, and it was time for an intervention; since Sam wasn't motivated to do anything about it, Dean would be motivated for him.
The next night, and every night that followed, Dean dragged Sam to the bar and kept an eye out for potentially suitable girls. His luck finally came around a few days after the commencement of Operation: Devirginator - as soon as they walked through the door, a beauty with full lips and legs for weeks caught sight of Sam, and she kept casting come-hither glances his way for the entire hour and a half they spent there.
They were halfway back to their hotel when Dean made a show of searching his pockets, mild panic flickering across his features as he told Sam he'd forgotten his wallet. He hightailed it back to the bar, and found the girl standing by the jukebox, trying to decide between Heart and Fleetwood Mac.
Dean came away from their conversation with three important pieces of information: her name was Keri, she was a Gemini, and she'd be more than happy to spend a little quality time with Sam.
When Dean came back to the room, Sam was flopped on his bed reading a book by some guy with a Russian-sounding name, neverending limbs splayed and too-long hair hanging in his eyes. Dean sat on the edge of his own mattress facing Sam, a victorious grin playing around his lips.
"So, Sammy, I was thinking..."
"Whatever you're about to ask, the answer is no."
"You might wanna reconsider that. I just got you laid."
Sam looked up, staring at Dean as if lobsters has suddenly begun to crawl out of the elder Winchester's ears.
"What?"
"Remember that gorgeous girl in the bar tonight? I just had a little talk with her, and she wants a piece of you."
Sam's lips moved wordlessly for a few seconds before he remembered how to speak.
"You're unbelievable."
"Yeah, I know. I'm awesome. Think of it as a late birthday present."
"You... just... no."
"What do you mean, no? I was looking for something more along the lines of 'thanks, Dean, you're the best brother ever.'"
"No."
"Have you ever even had a blowjob?"
The embarassed sputtering noise that made its way out of Sam's mouth was cut off by Dean's voice.
"Before you answer, putting a little lipstick on Rosie Palm and her five friends" - Dean wiggled his hand suggestively - "doesn't count."
Sam glared, ducking his head to hide the flush coloring his face and muttering something about it being none of Dean's business.
"Of course it's my business. Since you aren't doing anything about it, it's my job to make sure you don't die a virgin."
Sam pursed his lips, the warning signs of a first-class bitchface evident in the set of his jaw and his narrowed eyes.
"Suit yourself. If you'd rather stay here with me instead of doing a hot chick, go right ahead."
Dean stretched out on his bed, turning on the radio and singing along at the top of his tone-deaf lungs. When his renditions of "Pour Some Sugar on Me", "Knockin' at Your Back Door", and "Cherry Pie" failed to make Sam budge and his excessively loud consumption of half a bag of Cheetos only earned him an exaggerated wince, Dean segued into the most formidible anti-Sam weapon in his arsenal: burping the ABCs. He'd passed Z for the second time and was considering changing it up by going backwards when he heard the sound of a book being shut forcibly, followed by his little brother's irritated snarl of,
"I give up! I'm going, I'm going."
Dean grinned, turning the full power of his patented megawatt smug-smile on his little brother with an, "Atta boy, Sammy. Make me proud," before triumphantly stuffing a handful of Cheetos in his mouth.
As the door swung shut behind Sam, Dean felt an odd lump form in his throat; he wrote it off as jealousy over the fact that Sam had snagged the best-looking girl in the whole damned town and turned his attention to the TV.
------------------------------------
Half an hour later, Dean heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by the entrance of six and a half feet of - if Sam's rumpled hair and slightly reddened cheeks were any indication - freshly deflowered Sasquatch.
He restrained himself, staying quiet for all of twenty seconds as he watched Sam's long, long legs eat up the distance between the door and the mini-fridge. Sam snagged a beer, cracked it open, and took a long drink before rolling his eyes and saying, "Go ahead and ask."
"Ask what," Dean replied, feigning innocence with his best wide, green, "who me?" gaze.
"You're thinking so loud I can practically hear you. Just ask and get it over with."
"I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, Sam. If you want to tell me what happened, don't be shy - you don't need to use me asking as an excuse."
"Nothing."
Dean blinked, momentarily shocked into silence as he gaped at Sam like a puzzled goldfish. "... Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Not even a little bit of something?"
"Nope."
"What the fuck, dude? She was..."
Dean went through a series of complicated gestures and facial expressions that suggested the woman in question could put Helen of Troy to shame, and that Sam was an absolute failure as both a man and a human being for not servicing her in every way the limitations of anatomy and the laws of physics would allow.
"How could you not hit that?"
Sam slammed his beer down on top of the mini-fridge, jaw muscles flexing as he gritted his teeth.
"I know you think I'm a giant fucking pussy for it, but I don't want my first time to be in a bathroom with a girl whose last name I don't even know."
"Come on, Sam, what's it going to take? Moonlight and roses and true love and happily ever after?"
"Fuck you, Dean, I'm not looking for a goddamn fairytale."
"What are you looking for, then?"
Somewhere in Sam's mind, his rising anger crossed a few critical wires, causing his instinctive response to completely bypass his brain to mouth filter. By the time he realized what he was saying, the words were already out.
"Someone like you."
Sam felt like he'd been struck by lightning.
He'd been thinking it since the summer after he'd turned twelve, when that damning heat had first curled in his belly at the sight of Dean peeling the shirt from his tanned, freckled body. After Sam entered his teens, Dean had decided he was old enough to share in the tales Dean's sexual triumphs, and the ache between his thighs was joined by the ache that gathered in his heart when his brother regaled him with stories of his conquests. Sam hated them, those brief flings with nameless faces who would never bandage Dean's wounds, soothe his fevered skin when he fell ill, know his love and his flaws and all the little things that made him beautiful, but who could experience Dean in ways Sam never could.
Sam had known he couldn't hide that kind of emotion forever, but he'd tried, pouring all that love into constructing and maintaining the facade that would keep Dean in his life - hard as it was to want Dean so badly, it was nothing compared to the idea of losing him. It had always been a matter of time, though, and now that time had run out; there would be no taking this back or explaining it away.
The seconds dragged on as Sam tried to quell the shaking in his hands, waiting for the slam of the door or the impact of his brother's knuckles against his cheek.
Instead of the blow-up he anticipated - and God knew, he deserved - silence settled between them, punctuated by the soft rhythm of Dean's breathing.
"Someone like me?"
Sam swallowed, heart pounding in his ears as he stared at the floor, his reply little more than a whisper.
"Someone I love."
The shift of denim met Sam's ears as Dean moved closer. When the drag of feet against carpet died away, Sam could smell him, leather and grease and spice, and feel the heat coming off his body.
"Look at me, Sammy."
There was a softness in Dean's voice Sam had never heard before, a gently reassuring quality that coaxed him to obey. He raised his head, his anxiety instantly soothed by the adoration he found in his brother's eyes. Dean reached up, callused fingertips caressing his cheekbone with a tenderness that made Sam's breath catch in his throat.
"Is this what you want," Dean asked, running his thumb over the mole just to the right of Sam's mouth.
Sam tilted his chin, brushing his lips against Dean's fingers.
The lower's swell caught on a patch of roughened skin, giving Dean a taste of the wet warmth that lay between them.
Dean inhaled, a sharp hiss of air past teeth, as he shifted closer. Thin cotton brushed against thin cotton; Sam was too timid to move, frozen in place as though he were afraid it couldn't be real, that a single motion would shatter the beautiful, impossible thing that flared between him and Dean as their eyes locked. Dean's hand dragged gently over his cheek and through his hair before it came to rest on the back of his neck, gentle pressure guiding him down to close the distance between them. Their noses bumped softly, breath mingling and eyelids fluttering shut as their lips met with a whisper-light press of skin. Tentative caresses soon grew bolder as they melted into each other; Dean's tongue traced the lines of Sam's mouth, seeking permission Sam gave willingly, parting his lips in sweet surrender.
The taste of Sam brought fantasies Dean had spent years shoving to the back of his mind to the surface in an inexorable surge of desire. His self-control forgotten, Dean pushed Sam backwards, tangling fingers in his shirt and shoving him against the wall.
At the feel of the smooth, hard plaster against his back, Sam's shyness fell away.
Heat coiled between Dean's thighs as a pair of huge hands reached up, digging into his shoulderblades and flattening along his spine. Sam was a fast learner, matching him lick for lick and bite for bite, deepening their kiss into a hungry, filthy slide of tongues.
When his little brother started gasping and moaning, the yearning ache pooling in Dean's lower belly blossomed into full-blown need - the front of his pants felt so tight he was afraid he'd bust the seam. The hands on his back traveled lower, wrapping around his hips. Dean bucked forward, grinding their denim-clad erections together; at the discovery that Sam was every bit as hard as he was, Dean groaned and broke away.
"Fuck, Sammy. I... should we take this slower?"
Sam bent his head, capturing Dean's mouth with his own and sucking on the full curve of Dean's lower lip.
When he spoke, his tone was a low, heavy purr that curled around the "no" like smoke, sending another surge of blood straight to Dean's cock.
Dean didn't know where that passionate creature with a voice like liquid sex had come from, but he knew it was for him, because of him, and he found it almost unbearably hot.
Green eyes flickered over Sam's face, greed and lust written in equal measure in their depths and in the guttural rasp that came from deep within Dean's vocal chords.
"Bed. Now."
A blur of limbs and motion later, they were on Sam's mattress; the taller man on his back, Dean straddling his hips. Dean made quick work of their shirts, pausing to strip off his own before catching the hem of Sam's, dragging it up along his body and biting back a moan as Sam lifted off the bed just far enough to allow Dean to pull the fabric over his head and toss it to the floor. Dean's gaze roamed over the newly exposed skin of Sam's body, a reverent, "Jesus, Sammy" escaping his lips. Dean had seen his brother shirtless before, but he'd never let himself look; a glance was all it took to remind him that Sam wasn't a gawky, skinny kid anymore. Sam was beautiful, long and lean and golden and glorious. He took in the stunning V of hipbones, admiration quickly turning to arousal as the lines lured his eyes down before disappearing into a pair of dangerously low-slung jeans. Muscles tensed and flexed beneath him, drawing his attention up as Sam beckoned to him with the enticing promise of kiss-swollen lips and smoldering eyes.
Bare skin met bare skin as Dean moved forward, his mouth seeking Sam's before dragging down his jaw to fasten over one of the pulse points on Sam's neck.
Dean travelled over Sam's body at a maddeningly gradual pace, learning exactly what Sam liked as he sucked, kissed, and laved sensitive skin with his tongue. Nothing escaped Dean's attention - collarbone, nipples, every freckle on Sam's ribcage and scar on his chest - by the time he reached the fine hair trailing down Sam's lower belly, Sam was writhing, his fingers scrabbling for purchase in the short bristles at the back of Dean's head.
Dean caught his teeth on the denim at the top of Sam's fly, freeing the button with an expert pull and giving the zipper the same treatment. He ducked lower, mouthing at the bulge in Sam's jeans before reaching up, slipping a hand inside pants and boxers to curl around Sam's cock and pull it free.
Sam's dick was every bit as huge and gorgeous as the rest of him, and Dean couldn't resist the temptation to wrap his lips around it, licking a slow, torturous stripe along the shaft before sucking the tip into his mouth. Sam cried out, bunching the sheets beneath his fingers as Dean slid down, enveloping as much of Sam as he could.
A wave of possessiveness swept through Dean. He knew he was the only person to ever touch Sam like this, to taste his cock and hear the soft curses and little sounds he made as he came undone, and he was determined to make this so fucking good Sam wouldn't ever so much as think about anyone else.
Dean swapped his mouth for his hand, jerking Sam with teasing strokes and flicks of his wrist.
"I'll do anything for you, Sammy. Anything you want."
"Want you, Dean. God, want you."
"Tell me what you want."
Sam's teeth sank into his lower lip as Dean's thumb swiped over the head of his dick, lust-blown hazel eyes seeking Dean's as he gasped out a ragged, "fuck me."
The eight feet to Dean's bag seemed more like a mile; he groped around, snagging the bottle of lube and a few condoms before returning to the bed.
As Sam wriggled out of his clothes, Dean looked at the foil-wrapped packets in his hand.
Dean had been careful with everyone he'd ever been with, and he had the test results to prove it. This, though, was different; this was Sam, someone he trusted and loved.
He held up the condoms to get Sam's attention before saying,
"Don't want anything between us, if it's okay with you."
Sam looked confused for a second before he realized what Dean meant. His eyes went wide, and he nodded.
Dean tossed the condoms aside and rolled over, his jeans and belt joining them on the floor a few moments later.
Long fingers twined with Dean's, tugging him on top of Sam as his little brother spread his legs, making room for Dean between them. They took a few minutes to revel in the feel of their naked bodies coming together for the first time, exploring every inch of each other's mouths, grinding and groaning at the catch and drag of silky-hard flesh.
The bottle of lube lay forgotten on the sheets until Sam reminded Dean with a string of Gods and pleases, tilting his hips up in invitation.
Dean slithered down Sam's body, squeezing a generous dollop of the thick gel onto his fingers and warming it between them.
Sam let out a sharp moan as a slick fingertip breached his entrance, tensing reflexively against the foreign stretch and burn of the intrusion.
"Breathe for me," Dean said, feeling Sam relax a little at the sound of his voice.
He pressed in further, up to the first knuckle, then the second.
"Gonna make this good for you, promise."
Within the span of three heartbeats, Sam went from mild discomfort to JesusFUCK, yes as Dean crooked his finger slightly, hitting a cluster of nerves that made Sam's world go white.
Dean set up a slow rhythm, working into Sam with smooth, deliberate motions, changing the angle every few strokes to hit the spot that made Sam claw at his shoulders.
When the resistance to his touch melted away, and he glided in and out of Sam's entrance with ease, he coated his fingers with a fresh helping of lube and a second finger joined the first.
By the time he added the third, Sam was pushing back against him, fucking himself on Dean's fingers as wanton noises poured from his lips.
Dean drew out the preparation as long as he could, until the aching throb radiating from his groin was too strong to ignore and Sam was so far gone he was practically begging.
"Ready?"
At Sam's answering "yes", Dean ran his lube-slick hand over his own cock before gripping Sam's thighs and sliding little by little into his incredibly tight warmth. Legs wrapped around Dean's waist, urging him deeper as arms pulled him forward. Dean brushed his lips over a nipple, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the delicate pink skin while he waited for Sam to adjust to the thick length buried inside him; staying still until Sam's arched beneath him in a silent plea for him to move.
They were both too worked up to last long, breathing in shallow, ragged harmony as they rocked against each other.
The head of Dean's dick rubbed over Sam's prostate with every muted slap of flesh against flesh, the overwhelming sensation driving him to the point of incoherence. Sam's muscles felt like they were on fire, tense and vibrating with need; he felt as though he was in danger of shaking apart.
"Dean, please, I..."
"Shhhh, Sammy," Dean said as he reached a hand between them to stroke Sam's cock in time with his thrusts, "I got you."
Sam's cries roughened, turning to growled pleas for "more", "faster", and "harder" until he came with a final surge of Dean's hips, spilling over Dean's hand and splattering his own stomach.
The sound of his name, a broken half-scream ripped from Sam's throat, hummed along Dean's nerves as the convulsions of Sam's orgasm made that perfect heat cling to his cock like a second skin. The combination pushed Dean over the edge in a blaze of ecstasy and light and Sam; he rode out his release with fingers clutching at his back and Sam's mouth sucking a bruise to his chest, pain and pleasure blurring together to take him impossibly higher.
With a final shudder, Dean's orgasm passed, leaving an endorphin-induced stupor in its wake. Boneless and breathless, Dean clumsily maneuvered around Sam's leg, then toppled over onto the mattress, where he lay still until his breathing slowed and his limbs felt a little less fuzzy.
Dean turned his head to look at Sam, smiling when he saw the tranquility and happiness written plainly on Sam's face. Mindless of the mess, Sam reached out to wrap his arms around Dean, pulling him close and nuzzling his forehead.
Dean smiled lazily, relaxing into the embrace.
He'd never been with someone who could hold him properly, and he secretly loved the feeling of safety and security that came with being cuddled by Sam.
He basked in the afterglow until the endorphin-haze began to fade from his mind, replaced by annoyance at the itchy sensation of drying come.
"Well, Sammy," Dean said, untangling their bodies and rolling away, "nice as this girly little snuggle-session is, I need to get clean," adding "bitch" as an afterthought.
Sam stood, all lean, graceful power, snagging Dean's hand and leading him in the direction of the bathroom with a rumbling, "I'll show you who's the bitch, jerk."
Dean's traitorous dick gave a twitch of interest.
His little brother made good on his word.
Dean barely had time to turn the water on before he was pulled into a sinfully thorough, aggressive kiss, strong hands sinking into the curves of his ass. In the span of a few seconds, Dean found himself with his back against the slick tiles and his thighs gripping Sam's hips, hot water coursing down shifting muscles as Sam swallowed the moans that fell from his lips.
They took their time afterwards, enjoying the feel of the spray and the comfortable press of skin against skin as they tended to each other with soapy washcloths. When they finally left the bathroom, Sam collapsed onto Dean's bed, burrowed into the blankets, and was unconscious almost instantly.
Dean looked at him for a minute before sliding under the covers next to Sam, settling his head on Sam's chest and throwing a leg over his body. Warm, cozy, and completely sated, Dean drifted off, lulled by the rhythm of Sam's heartbeat.
and if he murmured an "I love you" against the rise-falling skin as he fell asleep, it was between him, Sam, and the furniture.