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It was another typical night in the Winchester ‘household’. John was busy leaving his tiny writing on yet another page in his God-it-must-be-full-by-now journal. He was so involved in committing the most recent bit of information to paper that he hardly noticed his two sons sitting across the table from each other. Dean was glad of it for a change as he just couldn’t keep his eyes off Sammy and his father just wouldn’t understand.
He watched his little brother eating supper over his homework and couldn’t keep his mind on his own. The sandwich was one thing, but the drink was obscene. All little pink tongue and then his cheeks hollowed out to suck the liquid up the straw. Dean’s dick twitched in the confines of his jeans. How awful was it that all Dean could think of was the last time Sam had those lips wrapped around his cock. Not very if you consider how fucking amazing it was to have Sam’s gorgeous fucking lips around your cock, but really bad when he let himself remember that Sam was his little brother.
Well, his not so little brother. In the spring of ’98, Sam was still a scrawny, whiny brat as far as Dean was concerned. Then a bunch of things happened. Sam got big. Well not big, but really started to fill out. He turned fifteen and had his first solo hunt and seemed to really stop whining and then it happened.
John was gone off on his own which in itself was almost enough to set Dean’s teeth on edge, but he left them in Arkansas in June and it was hot. Dean hated hot. There was nothing to do because he couldn’t go outside when it was like walking on the dark side of the sun and when it got dark he couldn’t leave Sam. Sam was irritable because Dean was irritable which irritated Dean so it was just a whole big circle of irritation.
Dean hated Arkansas.
Dean was lying on the bed with no shirt or shoes, but still had his jeans on, still bitching about the heat. Finally Sam couldn’t take the mood anymore and let loose. “Will you go take a fucking cold shower or go get laid or something because you’re driving me fucking crazy.”
Dean was a bit taken aback because it was unusual for Sam to cuss him out so bad, but not so taken aback that he’d let the opportunity to ridicule his brother get away. “Sorry to piss on your cornflakes princess. I would if I could but I can’t leave your sorry ass here to go anywhere.”
“Well jack off then because you seriously need to loosen up.”
“And what does Sammy know about jacking off to loosen up?” The question had come from Dean as just another exchange in the heated argument, but by the end of it his dick had other ideas and he swallowed hard.
“Come on Dean, I don’t need you to teach me everything.” Dean had to be imagining the come-hither tone in his brother’s voice . . . didn’t he? Then why had Sam taken a step toward the bed? Had Sam just opened the button on his jeans or had it already been open? Was Dean really thinking what he was thinking and why wasn’t he freaking out? “Unless you want to teach me something.” Sam finished, the inflection a question . . . or a suggestion.
Dean sure wasn’t imagining Sam’s long fingers teasing open the buttons on his thin, too tight, cotton shirt. Wasn’t imagining Sam’s saunter to the edge of the bed. Did not imagine Sam’s index finger running up his belly to tease one of his suddenly erect nipples. Why the hell wasn’t he freaking out? His voice cracked around the question. “What do you want me to teach you Sam?”
“Teach me what you like Dean?” Dear God Sam sounded about five years too young to even be thinking about what was going to happen here. And it was going to happen. Dean was going to hell for sure, but it was going to happen. “Teach me how to make you happy Dean.”
Dean got to his knees at the edge of the bed and took Sam’s face in his hands. “You sure?”
Sam’s head dipped in his brother’s hands. “Mmm, positive. I love you Dean. Show me how to love you.” His hands dropped to his brother’s belt to undo those damnable hot jeans. “Teach me what makes you happy.”
Dean couldn’t stop the low moan that escaped him and couldn’t even imagine wanting to. Nothing in his whole life had been anywhere near as hot as hearing that offer from Sam. Dean was the big brother here, knew he should tell Sam that this was wrong, should just shove him away but realized that there were no rational thoughts left in his brain. “Take it out.” Sam pushed the jeans down and then rolled the briefs after. Dean hissed when Sam’s hand closed around his raging hot cock and gave him one long slow stroke. “Kiss me.”
Sam’s kiss was unsure but determined. Their lips met, softly at first but deepened quickly as Dean opened his mouth, his tongue forcing its way through Sam’s lips to explore. At that moment Dean couldn’t recall any kiss before it and damned if he wanted any but Sammy after it. What was that saying about forbidden fruit? Dean didn’t know but fuck it, he sure wanted some.
Sam pushed Dean back and followed him on to the bed. He lay Dean back and finished stripping him, throwing the jeans across the room. Sam ran his hands across Dean’s chest and down his sides making Dean shiver and raising goose bumps on his skin. Sam laid a wet kiss on the head of Dean’s cock and thought it might be the last spit he had when he considered getting that thing in his mouth, his throat and then just thinking about it his mouth watered. God, he couldn’t think of anything he’d ever wanted more and opened his lips to take what he could. The weight of Dean’s heavy cock against his tongue, the scent of Dean against his nose, hearing the noises he drew from Dean’s throat was almost a sensory overload for Sam. He reached down and released his own heavy cock from his jeans and jockeys and gave himself a few rough strokes to ease some of his discomfort.
“Oh Sammy.” Dean gasped, running his hands through Sam’s hair. “Yea baby, like that.” Dean didn’t really need to utter his directions aloud, when his sounds and actions told Sam he was hitting the right spots, doing the right things. Like the way he moaned when Sam let his tongue dart into the slit and taste the ample pre-come oozing from him. Like the way his back arched when Sam managed to take his thick cock in his throat to the root. Like the way he hissed when Sam pulled off with just the hint of teeth up the sides of Dean’s oversensitive prick. Then there was the way his hand tightened in Sam’s hair signaling that Dean was close. That was when Dean discovered the power of glances.
John was still scribbling notes in the journal when Dean realized he was rock hard in his jeans sitting at the dinner table without an exit strategy. Dean was too old and, his father knew, too experienced to try and explain away a mid-dinner hard on as teen hormones. He dropped his hand below the tabletop and tried to push the rebellious organ back into place, which only served to provide the beautiful friction that would end his misery. And then, he realized, he was freaking out.
Could he really be sitting here jacking off to the memory of a gut wrenching blow job from his brother with his father a sideways glance away from catching him? And what would he say? He hadn’t even seen a decent looking waitress for two states. Or had he? He couldn’t say because he couldn’t think of anything but those lips, that mouth, hands full of that hair.
Dean was still rubbing his engorged cock through the thick layer of his jeans and he knew he was going to come, but couldn’t stop himself and then he must have made a noise because Sam looked up. Those smoky hazel eyes glanced up through the veil of his shaggy bangs, his cheeks dimpled as he slurped the rest of his Dr. Pepper through that lucky fucking straw and he looked for all the world just as he did when he was slurping the last of Dean’s come from him and Dean was lost. He felt the warm wet spot on the front of his jeans just about the same time Sam figured out what was going on. Sam licked his lips seductively before he gave Dean a wide grin and reached out across the table for a napkin and accidentally knocked Dean’s coke into his lap.
“Jesus Sam!” John snatched the journal up before it might get wet. “Watch what you’re doing.”
“Sorry sir.”
“Well you can clean this up while your brother goes to change his clothes.”
“Yes sir.”
While Sam grabbed the rest of the napkins and started to mop the soda off the table Dean went to rummage through his duffel. With a sly grin on his face he bypassed the neatly folded pair of jeans for a pair of grey sweats. “Looks like I don’t have any more clean jeans.”
“Well I guess you can take clumsy here out to the Laundromat, then can’t you?” John sighed.
Dean looked at Sam with a knowing smile. “I guess I can.” He started throwing random clothes into the duffel now that he had to fill a machine. “You gonna bring your homework Sammy?”
“No point.” Sam couldn’t take his lust blown eyes off the tent in the front of those grey sweats. “I can never concentrate in a Laundromat anyway.”