Splintered, Part IV, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Splintered, Part IV ( Part I Here, Part II Here, Part III Here)
Characters/Pairing: John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam
Rating: VERY NC-17
Word Count: 20,787 (total)
Summary: Dean is always in the middle, struggling to hold his family together, to take care of his father and Sam...no matter what that means...no matter what that costs.
Warnings & A/Ns: Written for johnsgillygirl who bought me in the Sweet Charity Auction. Please read the Pairings and understand that this includes father/son incest as well as brother incest. This is also dubious con/non-con (depending on how you read Dean's choices) and contains under age sex (Dean's 16 when it begins. Sam is 15 when sexual interaction begins with him). This is dark and scary and creepy and not a John I'd like to encounter.
Big thanks to my betas and hand holders:
varkelton,
ysbail, and
shotofjack
You start to avoid him when he’s normal…because you can’t stand the lying. You don’t know how to make it easier, on any of you….and you think maybe he’s starting to remember, to know…but he never says anything. Sam finishes the year and the three of you head out, chasing rumors of something that sounds like the incuntubus bastard that got away. Together, the three of you corner it in an alley in Chicago and Sam gets to do the honors, cutting the damn thing’s head off. To celebrate, you get him a bottle of Tequila and wait for your father to head off to the bar before you break it out.
“If I didn’t know better, Dean, I’d think you were trying to get laid.” Sam said as he took the shot glass.
“Your scrawny ass? I don’t think so.” Dean said before tipping his glass back and swallowing the amber heat.
Sam coughed as his burned down his throat. “You’re always trying to get me drunk.”
“Not drunk, Sammy, just…pleasantly buzzed.” He poured a second shot for each of them and waited until Sam had downed his before adding. “Getting laid will have to wait until we get your fake id tomorrow.”
“Dean!”
“What? I told you…my sacred duty.”
“I don’t need your help to get laid, Dean.” It was Sam who poured the next shot.
“Oh?”
“Shut up and drink.”
“Keeping secrets from me Sammy?” Dean downed his shot and held out his glass.
“I’m the little brother, that’s my sacred duty.” Sam said. His words were starting to slur and his eyes were droopy.
“Okay, little brother, enough of the celebration. Let’s get you up to bed.”
Dean peeled the bottle out of Sam’s hand and set it on the coffee table. “Don’ wanna.” Sam whined, though he came up off the couch with little effort.
“No? What is it you do want?”
“You.” Sam pouted, then laid his head on Dean’s shoulder.
“You got me, Sammy. I’m right here.” Dean got them turned around and headed up the stairs.
“Wan’ you Dean…wan’ you to make it all okay.”
“What isn’t okay, Sam?” Dean maneuvered them to Sam’s bed, lowering Sam down, but Sam’s arms were around Dean’s neck and he wasn’t letting go. “God, you’re a sloppy drunk, Sam.”
“Me…I’m not okay, Dean.”
Dean pried Sam’s hands loose and moved to put his legs up on the bed, pausing to pull his shoes off. He sat beside Sam on the bed and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “You’re better than okay, Sammy. You killed that thing tonight, like a real pro.”
“Dean.” It was a prolonged whine that reminded Dean of Sam at 8 who couldn’t say anything without whining.
“What Sam?”
“My head hurts. Kiss it better?”
Dean rolled his eyes and leaned forward, brushing his lips lightly over the bruise on his brother’s forehead. “Better.”
Sam’s eyes were closed, and he arched up, his lips pressing against Dean’s cheek. “Kiss it better?” Dean closed his eyes as Sam’s lips found his…soft…the tang of tequila and the warm, sweet taste of Sam…then he pulled away.
“Sam…you’re…drunk. Go to sleep.”
“Stay with me.”
“No.” Dean stood up and moved away. “I have to go clean up. Dad will be home…he’ll be pissed.”
Sam whined, but Dean turned on his heel and left him in their room. He went straight to the bottle of tequila, forgoing the shot glass all together and swallowing, hoping it would burn away the taste of Sam…but it was all mixed up with the tequila on Sam’s breath and all the alcohol in the world wasn’t going to help.
Just like it wouldn’t help him forget the way his father tasted. And fuck. Just fuck. Dean sat hard on the couch. He wanted to go out and find the nearest piece of pussy and fuck it…hard…repeatedly…until he couldn’t get it up any more. He was hard even before he heard the sound of his father’s truck.
By the time John came in the door, Dean knew it was going to be bad. Not only was it one of those nights, but John was drunk on top of it…and for that matter, so was Dean. Drunk enough that he stood up when his father came to him. “No. Not tonight.” He pushed past John, but John grabbed his arm, pulled him back.
“Need.”
Dean pulled away, swiping the bottle of tequila and headed into the kitchen. “No. Dad. It’s over. I’m not doing it anymore.”
John’s big hand pushed Dean face first onto the table. “Fuck.”
“Need.” John’s free hand was at his zipper. Dean knew the sound all too well. He bucked up, but his father’s large hand held him.
“No…not like this…God…Dad….stop.”
This was wrong…this was…not happening. Dean bucked again, swinging out with his foot and catching John’s knee. He let go, backed off a little, though his hand was still on Dean’s neck. “Fuck…Dad. Okay…just let me up, okay…let me help…”
He managed to turn around, drop to his knees. His father’s cock was already oozing. “It’s okay Dad…it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”
He opened his mouth and John shoved into him, harder than usual…not letting Dean do his job, just taking what he needed. “Fuck. Need.” John grunted and Dean did his best to just hold on and take whatever his father needed to give him. His own cock hurt and he found himself unzipping his jeans and sliding a hand in to cup his cock.
“Dean.” His father came and Dean couldn’t help but swallow with his cock so far inside his mouth. When he was done, he stumbled away, grabbing the bottle of tequila Dean had left on the table and going out to the porch.
Dean wiped his face and got up. The combination of come and alcohol in his stomach was sickening and hot. He couldn’t bring himself to shower, or even throw up, he just crawled up the stairs and stripped out of his jeans before crawling into bed. He curled up around his hard on, his back to his brother in the other bed.
He wasn’t crying…because Winchester’s don’t cry. But fuck, his father had nearly…and…Winchester’s don’t do that either…and worse, he was hard because his father had…had what? Fucked his mouth like he was a two dollar whore? Dean groaned and slowly stroked his cock. He couldn’t come from that…couldn’t be hard from his brother’s kiss and his father’s cock…but he was…he was…and he couldn’t fucking come.
He didn’t feel the movement at first, the dip of the bed, the shifting of his sheet…but then Sam was there behind him, his big body curling around Dean’s, spooning against him…his hand sliding over Dean’s hip to circle the tent of his boxers. Dean started, pulled away, but Sam followed, his face near Dean’s ear. “Shh…it’s okay….let me help, Dean. Let me take care of it.”
And his lips were hot on the skin of Dean’s neck, his fingers strong, sure as they moved over the cotton, pushing Dean’s hand away. “Sam…” Dean’s warning sounded more like begging and he couldn’t stop the jerking motion of his hips if he’d tried…but he couldn’t try…he gasped for air and fought the orgasm Sam’s hand was bringing him to until his drunk brain couldn’t remember why that was important and he came hard, doubling forward.
Sam’s strokes slowed and his hand slipped back to Dean’s hip. His lips kissed over Dean’s shoulder. “Shh…sleep….its okay, Dean. I’ve got you.”
In the morning, Sam’s in his own bed, and you’d think you dreamed the whole thing, but there’s come dried in your shorts when you slink down to the bathroom to shower. You look in the mirror and all you can see is how fucked you are. You want to think you’re in control…but it’s pretty fucking obvious that isn’t true. It’s bad enough that you can’t find a way out of the thing with your father, now you’re dragging your baby brother into it, letting him touch you…and liking it…
The next time it happened, Dean didn’t fight, just closed his eyes and opened his mouth and did his duty. John collapsed into the broken down chair and Dean followed. John’s hand fell on the back of Dean’s head as he bobbed up and down over his cock. He was moaning and his hips moved, but as much as Dean tried, he wasn’t coming. His cock just looked angrier and more swollen than when he’d started.
Dean sat back and stared into John’s dark eyes. “I don’t know what else to do.” He reached for his father’s cock with his hands and John grunted. “Okay. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Dean was partially hard as he ran up the stairs to the room he shared with Sam, checking to be sure Sam was asleep, then pulling a bottle of lotion out of the drawer. It usually helped when he was having a hard time.
His father hadn’t moved. Dean exhaled slowly and sank to one knee before squirting a generous amount of lotion into his hand. He rubbed his hands together to warm it through then reached for John. His cock slid through his hands easily on the lotion and Dean tightened his grip as John started thrusting again. “Need. Harder.”
Dean nodded and pulled harder. “Dean, need more.”
His eyes were closed, his teeth bared. “I know Dad…I know…” But Dean didn’t have more…couldn’t do more…Because he was at his limit…because more would mean…he wasn’t sure…but he didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted it to be done so he could shower and crawl into bed.
“Dean.” The name was filled with dark desire and need and Dean couldn’t help but turn away from it.
“Dad, please…just….finish…”
“Dean…need.”
Dean knew what he needed, what he wanted, but he wasn’t ready for that…couldn’t just give him that. It wasn’t even that it was wrong…everything about his life was wrong and he knew it…Dean pulled away, stood up, pacing. “I can’t.” He couldn’t give it…but if his father wanted it…if his father took it…
He never heard his father move, just felt him, behind, pushing until Dean’s face was in the wall, and Dean gave a half-hearted attempt to push him away, but he just didn’t have the strength to fight what he’d known was coming all along…his father’s hand pulled his sweats down and Dean closed his eyes, bracing for the pain.
At first it wasn’t pain…it was pressure…the blunt head of his father’s cock pressed against him, and Dean was grateful for the lotion as “pressed against” became “pressed into” and Dean bit into his arm to keep from yelling.
It seemed to take forever, that first slow push…and a low growl sounded from John’s throat through the whole thing. Dean held his breath, squeezed his eyes shut, tried to imagine this was something else…that this wasn’t happening…that he was safe in his own bed, with the hunting knife under the pillow…
It didn’t take long, three, maybe four slow thrusts and Dean felt something hot deep inside him. He didn’t move as his father backed away, stumbling off to his bedroom to sleep it off. He didn’t move, even after he heard his father’s door close…it wasn’t until he could feel it…it…his father’s come, oozing out of him that he bent slowly to pull up his sweats.
He moved slowly, his ass stretched and hurting, oozing…into the bathroom where he turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it and stood under it for a long time, just letting the spray wash the dirty feeling from his skin. As the water started to cool, he turned and delicately spread his ass cheeks, letting the water wash away the cooled come…erasing the evidence…so he could pretend.
He crawled up the stairs, exhausted, disgusted, hurting. He stood between the beds for a long time, then slipped in beside Sam, relishing the way his brother rolled into him, drawing him close with long arms that held him. He’d never needed this…the comfort of this…it had always been his gift to Sam…now though…Dean pulled Sam’s arms closer around him and closed his eyes.
You can’t blame him. You know how to end it. And you know you never will. Never. Because the only solution you’ve found is one you won’t accept. You have a choice, and you’ve made it. You do this…you do this or you kill him. That’s it. That’s all. And it isn’t like it happens every night. Not even every week. Sometimes it’s months between…You only wish things with Sam were as cut and dry…but Sam…he’s nothing like your father…
The apartment in Chicago suited John fine for the start of the new school year. It was close enough to other stuff that he could do day runs for hunts, and with Sam’s proven prowess on the hunt, he was more comfortable with leaving him home alone, sending Dean out on solo hunts for simple things and bringing him along for bigger ones.
Dean got home from a poltergeist in southern Illinois and the apartment was empty. That suited him fine. He was sore and achy from the hunt and wanted a long, hot bath. It had been a fairly simple hunt, but he’d never understand why spirits felt the need to slam him into every wall they could find.
He eased into the water, hissing as the heat seeped into his ass, still sore from the night before he’d left on the hunt, when his father’s needs had been…nearly violent. He’d slept on the couch after, unable to move enough to get upstairs. He’d jacked off there on the couch, imagining it was Sam’s hand on him, and he’d come with Sam’s name on his lips.
Dean shook his head and settled deeper into the hot water, letting it pull the fatigue from his muscles. He had to end this thing with Sam. It was all kinds of wrong. The kid was confused and Dean wasn’t helping…but every time Sam touched him, Dean gave in to his whispers of “it’s okay” and “let me help”…He closed his eyes, his hand moving now to his cock. It was hard.
He stroked it lazily, almost gently…just enjoying the feeling of his arousal, and trying to focus his mind on something other than his father or brother…but it kept coming back to Sam’s hand on his…Sam’s fingers circling his cock…Sam’s thumb glazing over the tip.
Slowly, Dean let himself relax, let the fantasy fill him…until it was almost too real.
“Shh…easy…I’ve got you.” Sam’s voice floated to him and Dean opened his eyes, starting when he found Sam on one knee by the tub, his hand closed over Dean’s.
“Sam…shit. Stop.” Dean jerked away, splashing water everywhere. The look on Sam’s face was confused, but he pulled his hand away.
“You said my name.” Sam said as he stood. “I thought…”
Dean shook his head, pulling the plug on the tub and reaching for a towel as he stood up. “No…Sam…I…” But he didn’t know what to say or how to say it. “You shouldn’t…I shouldn’t…it’s…wrong…okay?”
Sam shook his head. “Why? Why is it wrong Dean?”
“Sam…we’re brothers, okay? It’s just…and you’re…you’re only fifteen…and it’s wrong.”
“How old were you?”
“What?”
Sam turned to look at him, his green eyes blazing. “How old were you when it started?”
“When what started?” Dean couldn’t look away, not with that look in Sam’s eyes…the one that told Dean that Sam knew way more than he’d ever dreamed.
“You…helping Dad…” Sam said, almost as if he didn’t really want to say it. As if not saying it was somehow protecting Dean.
“Sam…you don’t know what you’re saying.” Dean reached for him, but Sam pulled away.
“I do. I hear you. I see it in your face, when you send me to bed and wait up for him to come home.” Sam was as tall as Dean now, eye-to-eye as he stepped closer. “I hear you with him. I hear you tell him it’s okay…to let you help him.”
Sam was up close in Dean’s face, his lips just a breath away. Dean didn’t move, didn’t breathe…just stood there as Sam took that breath away, his dry lips pressing to Dean’s damp ones, his tongue licking lightly until Dean’s lips parted almost as if he didn’t control them.
“Is it okay, Dean?”
Sam’s hand pushed at the towel, then slowly re-wrapped itself around his cock, then Sam deepened his kiss. His free hand slithered up Dean’s body to the back of his neck, tilting his head as his mouth claimed more of Dean’s.
Dean groaned, his cock sliding through Sam’s fingers. Warning bells and danger signs flared in his head, but his body was sluggish and unresponsive to the fear, clinging instead to the relief Sam held in the circle of his hand.
“It’s okay…” Sam whispered as he ended the kiss. “Let me…I want it…I want you…”
“Jesus…Sam…” Dean fell toward him, fell until his lips found his brother’s, opening and devouring everything Sam offered as his hips stuttered and his body tightened and he came.
“See?” Sam whispered. “It’s okay.”
“No…Sam, it isn’t.” Dean whispered back, whispered into the flesh of his brother’s neck. It wasn’t okay…it hadn’t been okay for so long…Dean could feel himself trembling, feel the shaking that started in his stomach. Sam knew…and Sam…
“Shh…I’ll take care of you…” Sam soothed him, gentle hands over his head, gentle kisses along his forehead. He was vaguely aware they were moving…out of the bathroom…toward the bedroom…then Sam was holding his head, cradling it and encouraging Dean to lay down. “Get some sleep. I’ll make dinner.”
With a kiss, tender and chaste, on his lips, Sam was gone. Dean wanted to call him back, to tell him this couldn’t happen…that none of this was supposed to happen…but his lips tingled from that last kiss, and his body was still sluggish and sated and sleep sounded like the better plan.
You keep thinking you should talk about it. But you don’t. You exist between them…between your father’s taking and your brother’s giving…until you’re not sure anymore where the lines are…or if there’s even anything left of yourself outside them…outside this…You tell yourself it’s just masturbation…so what if it’s Sam’s hand instead of yours? And you remember thinking the same thing when it was your father’s dick and your hand. You remember even though you’ve tried to forget. And you think by now he should know. It makes you angry the ease with which he denies the memory loss, the haunted way he watches you, but says nothing. You think he probably suspects, and can’t face it…and that cuts deeper and harder than any wound you ever got on a hunt. So who can blame you for taking comfort where it’s given?
Christmas Eve saw the end of Chicago and by the start of the second term, they were living out of a two-bedroom shack on a ranch in New Mexico, where the owners gave Dean a fair salary to do some physical labor and John picked up a few bucks making antique motors run again.
Dean wasn’t fond of the work, but it paid well and put a roof over their heads…and there were interesting hunts in the area. It was quiet at night and they could go days without seeing other people, except when Dean dropped Sam off at the bus stop into town for school.
He took a job a few hours north, an angry spirit with a penchant for young girls…and when he came back it was nearly one in the morning. His father was on the porch. There was a glow of a cigarette, but John didn’t move. Dean sighed and stared and waited.
He was tired, dirty from the grave digging, and he didn’t have the strength to do this. He wondered what his father would do if he just pulled out and drove away. His eyes drifted up to the bedroom window…where Sam was waiting…where Sam was sleeping, unaware…or so he hoped. Dean looked back at his father. He’d go to Sam. The hunger needed to be fed. He’d fixated on Dean that first night…and only Dean could relieve the need…but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to find it with another…the boy at the bar proved that.
With a heavy sigh, Dean leaned over and popped the glove box, pulling out a plain brown bag. He’d bought it days before, knowing it was coming soon and the lotion was gone. He opened the car door and got out, surprised when his father was right there.
He wanted to go inside, but John stood in his way and the look on his face told Dean they were doing this here. In plain view of the window…in front of God and anyone else out wandering this far from the main house at this hour.
Dean nodded and started unbuttoning his jeans, then reached in the bag for the bottle of lube. He didn’t say anything. He’d run out of words for this…he just opened his father’s jeans, slicked up his cock and pulled his own jeans down. John pushed him forward, pressed his face to the hot hood of the Impala and shoved inside him.
The metal under him burned against his skin, against the cotton t-shirt and his fingers scrambled to find purchase on the slick surface, something to hold onto as his father grunted. There was a vague movement and Dean turned his face. A dark silhouette filled the bedroom window. Dean groaned as his cock filled and hardened, the idea of Sam seeing this somehow making it something more than it had been before.
Dean pushed back against John’s thrust, making him growl, shifting the angle just enough that it found his prostate and Dean jumped. John pushed on his back, pushing him down against the car, bumping Dean’s cock into the grill. He saw stars; coming seconds before his father did, painting the grill of the Impala with strings of stickiness.
He felt old when it was over and his father had wandered off in the dark with his cigarette. Old and stretched out. He went inside, found his way to the shower and crawled up to bed, surprised that Sam was snoring in his bed. Obviously the show hadn’t affected Sam the same way it did him.
The old lumpy mattress was comfortable enough in his state and it didn’t take long for sleep to claim him. He dreamed of killing his father…of all the ways he could…of all the reasons he should…because John Winchester wouldn’t want this to be his legacy…this twisted up, fucked out thing that ate him alive and stole his memory…that turned Dean into his whore…that painted them all into this corner just to survive.
Inevitably, those dreams turned on him…turned to dreams of his father and Sam…of kissing and fucking like lovers…of Sam’s hands and his father’s mouth…of Dean sandwiched between them, lost in the throes of passion.
He woke slowly, still feeling a hot, wet mouth working over his cock…and slowly realizing that was because there was one…hot and wicked…tongue curved to the underside while lips closed tight around his swollen flesh.
Dean’s hips flexed up involuntarily even as he reached to pull Sam away. Sam shook him off and went back to sucking, licking…and fuck… “Sam… god… Sam… stop… fuck… so good… Sammy…”
He could feel Sam smile around him, smile and keep working, his hands reaching down to fondle Dean’s balls and Dean grabbed for him again. “Sam…I’m….gonna….”
He felt it coming and Sam winked at him before he swallowed Dean’s entire length…even as Dean’s come exploded out of him. Sam kept swallowing and milking Dean’s cock until he whimpered…whimpered and pulled Sam off…up.
Sam stretched out languidly beside Dean. “Happy Birthday.” Sam whispered.
“Birthday? Sam…you shouldn’t have done that.”
Sam frowned at him petulantly for a minute, then grinned. “I couldn’t help it…you were so hard and it was so pretty…and I’ve been wanting to taste you for so long.”
Dean shook his head. Those were not words he wanted from his brother. “No…hand jobs are one thing…but this? Just…no Sam. I don’t want that for you.” Not this…never this…and Dean knew it was his fault…knew that he should have stopped this…should have pushed him away…should have protected him better.
“It isn’t about what you want, Dean. It’s about what you need.” Sam said, one hand sliding down over Dean’s chest.
“I mean it.” Dean got up, fishing around for a pair of boxers.
“Oh…so it’s okay if Dad fucks you on the hood of the Impala, but I can’t suck your dick?”
Dean closed his eyes. “Yes. I mean…no. Sam. Stop.”
“No. I won’t. I’m not stupid Dean. Last night isn’t the first time I’ve seen you with him.”
Dean groaned and tried to move away but Sam’s hand caught his elbow and turned him around. “Dean. I keep telling you it’s okay…it’s what I want…to help you.”
“I don’t need your help, Sam.”
“Right, and it wasn’t my name you were calling out in your dreams?”
“Sam. Please. You’re my brother and I love you…but this is…”
“Wrong?” Sam supplied. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“What? What kind of sense is that? Wrong is wrong, Sam.”
“Is it wrong? What you let Dad do?”
Dean hung his head. “Yes.”
“Then, why?”
Dean didn’t want to answer that. He turned away and sighed.
“Let me tell you why.” Sam said, his voice softer now. “Dad’s sick. There’s something wrong with him…something from that hunt in Boston. When it flares up, he has to get off…probably with you because somehow you were what he fixated on. And the only way to stop it from happening is to kill him.”
Dean closed his eyes. He’d tried so hard to keep it all away from Sam, to protect him. “How long have you known?”
Sam approached from behind, wrapping his arms around Dean from behind. “Since Pastor Jim’s. I mean, I suspected before that…but when I found out what he was researching, it didn’t take much to figure it out.”
“Pastor Jim…he doesn’t…?”
“No. He doesn’t suspect. I covered for you, told him I knew the kid.”
“I told him I’d deal with it.” Dean couldn’t pull away, the comfort Sam’s arms offered was dizzying.
“And you are dealing with it.” Sam said almost matter-of-factly.
“I can’t…won’t…kill him.”
“I know.” Sam said softly. He kissed Dean’s neck. “So you deal with it. Right?”
And there it was. The whole fucked up mess in a little package. Dean couldn’t deal with it, so he dealt with it. He couldn’t take his father’s life, so he gave his up. And now, Sam…
“Stop thinking.” Sam whispered. He kissed his way around the back of Dean’s neck and up to his other ear. “Come back to bed. It’s way too early to be up.”
“Don’t you have school?” He felt Sam smile against his skin.
“So I’ll miss a few classes. Won’t be the first time.”
Dean turned in the circle of his arms and Sam took advantage of it, his lips closing over Dean’s in a sloppy kiss. “Are we…doing…this?” Dean asked breathlessly, his eyes closed as his hands came to rest on Sam’s hips.
“Will you let me?” Sam asked in return. “I’ve waited so long Dean.”
Dean groaned at the raw, naked need in his voice and his lips parted for Sam’s tongue without really thinking about it. “What about Dad?”
“He’s already gone…went to town…” Sam’s lips sucked Dean’s lower lip in, his teeth scraping over it lightly. “I want to touch you Dean…want to taste you and kiss you…want to make it okay…”
Okay…you think maybe Sam never really learned the meaning of that word, but he’d learned other things. Somewhere along the line, he’d learned uses for his fingers and tongue you’d never seen…or felt before…and you’re pretty damn sure that a boy of fifteen shouldn’t be that good at sucking cock…but he’s eager and talented and good god he can make you come…and it’s wrong and so fucking beautiful you can’t help yourself…and before you know it, the only time you sleep in separate beds is when your father is home…and on those nights, Sam is there waiting for you when your father is done with you, and he holds you and softens the sting and makes you come…makes you forget…
“Hey…thought we were going into town to pick out your birthday present.” Dean said as he got to the bottom of the stairs.
“I already told you what I want.” Sam said, a smirk on his face as Dean’s eyes shot to their father at the other end of the couch.
“And I already told you no way.” Dean answered.
Sam pouted up at him, then jumped up. “Okay, let’s go to town then.”
“You’re not taking your brother to a bar, Dean.” John said, looking up from his journal.
“No, knife shop. Told him I’d get him something nice.”
“Make sure it’s more than pretty.”
“Yes sir.”
Sam was fairly quiet until they were on the road headed in to town. “Why?”
Dean glanced at him, then turned his eyes back to the road. “Why what?”
“Why won’t you give me what I want?”
Dean sighed in exasperation. They’d been dancing around it for weeks. Almost since Dean had given in to Sam’s touch, to Sam’s fucking seduction. “Stop it. You know why.”
Sam sighed too. “Yeah, right. I can’t believe we’re still having this conversation.”
“I can’t Sam. I can’t do that to you.”
“Not to me, Dean. With me.”
“Trust me on this Sam…it would be to you.”
“You say that as if you think I’ve never-“
“No!” Dean pulled the car off the road onto a gravel drive that headed back to the ranch, and threw the brake on. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
Sam turned to him, taking Dean’s hands. “You’re shaking.”
“Sam…I mean it.” Of course he was shaking. His sixteen year old baby brother was asking him to hurt him…use him…to make him his fucking whore.
“I know you do. I know. But…Dean…I want it. I want you to fuck me.”
Dean pulled his hands free and looked out his window. “No.” His voice was small and soft. “Sam.” He’d let it go too far already. It should never have gone anywhere. He should have put an end to it before it started.
“I learned…I learned how, Dean. So I’d be ready when you were.”
“God!” He didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to think about his baby brother with some stranger’s dick up his ass. “Please, Sam. Just don’t say anymore.”
But Sam was far from done. He was on his knees now, leaning into Dean’s space. “I figured out the hand thing myself…I know what I like…stands to reason you’d like it too, right? Well, that and I watched you masturbate.” Sam turned Dean’s face toward him, kissed him lightly. “The blow job though…that was…different. I’d never had one.”
Sam’s lips skipped up over Dean’s chin. “Remember NY? I asked Joey to show me.”
“Fuck.” Dean wanted to pull away, wanted to deny his brother’s words…to get out of the car and scream into the sky.
“He sucked my cock Dean…in the supply closet at school.” He slid a hand into Dean’s hair, tilted his head so he could nip at Dean’s neck. “I sucked his in the men’s room at the Burger King.”
Dean wasn’t breathing…he was shaking and not breathing and just fucking sitting there while his brother touched and kissed and licked him and told him how he’d learned what to do to make him come.
“I wanted you even then.”
“Sam.” Dean groaned. “You were thirteen. You couldn’t know what you wanted.”
“I wanted you…always wanted you.” Sam countered, then licked a long line up Dean’s neck and chin. “Look at me.”
Dean’s eyes fluttered open. Sam’s were intense, his pupils blown wide. “Last summer, Chicago…remember?”
“Yeah…I remember.” Dean murmured. Sam’s hand slithered down Dean’s body and between his thighs, palming his cock.
“You got me drunk…I told you then. I wanted you then. But you weren’t ready.” Sam slid up to Dean’s ear, grabbing his cock and holding it tight. “I’d already done it that night Dean…he looked like you…he was hot…but not as hot as you…a senior in that school in Florida…”
“God…” Dean couldn’t believe how hot he was listening to his brother’s breathy confession. “Sam…”
“Taught me how to use the right kind of lube…how to make it good for you…want to make it good for you Dean. Let me make it good for you.”
Dean wasn’t sure where the bottle of lube came from and he couldn’t move as Sam turned his back and pulled his jeans down. He could have come in his pants as Sam shoved two slicked up fingers into himself. “I did this earlier in the bathroom…want you so bad…Take it out for me Dean…let me see how hard you are…”
Dean knew it was a bad idea…knew he should slap Sam’s ass and drive straight back home and lock Sam in the closet until he came to his senses, but his cock was in his hand and he was really fucking hard.
“Want it Dean…want it inside me…please Dean…” Sam was inching back toward him and Dean was all but helpless as he watched, unable to bring himself to do more. “That’s it Dean…want it…want you inside me…”
Dean shuddered as Sam spread himself and the head of Dean’s cock was nestled there against him. “Sam…please…” His last plea to make it stop…and it went unnoticed as Sam pushed. Dean closed his eyes, remembering that first time…that first, long, slow thrust of his father’s cock into him.
Then Sam was sitting on his lap, head and shoulders bent forward and pressed against the roof of the car. “Fuck…tight…hot…fuck…” Sam rocked a little and Dean saw stars. “Damn it Sam…just…fuck…”
Dean shifted, moving Sam forward so he was on his knees and Dean could move a little more. He pulled out and pressed back in and Sam groaned. “Again…do it again…”
Sam’s body was so hot, Dean wasn’t sure he could hold on…wasn’t sure he’d last more than a few more thrusts…tight, even with the lube….Then Sam did something with his hips that made Dean’s insides turn to liquid and come shooting out through his dick.
Sam moaned and shook as he came. “Happy Birthday to me.” Sam said with a laugh, turning to kiss Dean before wiggling his jeans back up around his hips.
Part Five Here