Title: When Wrong Becomes Right
Warnings: Incest, underage, frottage, first time, somniphilia, dub-con, public sex (maybe).
Word count: 4,474
Summary: Sam didn't expect his sixteenth birthday to end quite like this.
Sam was wide awake and couldn't sleep. It was too quiet, too hot and his own perspiration clung to him like a second skin. But those were the least of his worries. Those didn't even compare, didn't even come close to the worry that he'd screw everything up, that he'd reveal everything he tried to keep a secret. And each time the sleeping form next to him moved, all the temptation and desire came rising up to meet him in the dark.
Sam's mind buzzed with a million different thoughts that chattered and warred over themselves while he lay there quietly and suffered. Suffered because Dean was lying right next to him, body heat blazing like a furnace. But the temperature of his body wasn't the problem. If that had been the only problem, Sam would have considered himself blessed. It was the fact that Dean was next to him in the first place, their bodies pressed together, skin-to-skin. It was a tease for Dean to be so close and the temptation of his older brother left Sam hard. Half of his body screamed its abhorrence to the attraction Sam had for Dean while the other half wanted nothing more than to give into its desires. It left Sam ripped apart, torn to shreds between wrong and what he felt was so very right. And while it all whirled inside of him, while he debated how to escape, Sam's cock thrummed to its own tune.
They were sharing a motel bed together because dad was too lazy to get Dean a cot. Dad should be sleeping on the floor and not in his own bed, for God's sake, leaving his boys to fend for themselves. Leaving Sam to fend off his demons by himself. At that moment, it was almost as if dad were listening to his thoughts, mocking him as the internal struggle waged on. Dad rubbed it in by turning over in his nice, comfortable bed with the gentle purr of a snore, something that thankfully died down as soon as he got settled. It left Sam's moon dark and chaotic. Nothing else but the quiet hum of a world with too much technology returned to comfort him.
Sam sighed. It was because of that laziness, the inability to provide for his children, that had led Sam and Dean to share a bed together. It was uncomfortable and too small, way too small for two growing boys. Even when Sam tried to inch away, tried to make himself smaller by lying on his side, it wasn't of any use. Sam still didn't have enough room that would allow him to fully escape his brother. It didn't help when Dean was a total bed whore either, lying on his back with legs splayed. Sam scowled as Dean shifted a little right then, taking up even more of the bed like he were some lounging cat in the sun. The quick kick of a foot against legs earned Sam a little more room, but the relief was only temporary. Dean stirred with a snore, just like dad, and moved his legs right back to where they had been. In that second, Sam wanted nothing more than to kick Dean completely off the bed if only to save himself from the utter torture of his proximity.
And this was how he'd end his sweet sixteenth birthday. Tortured and crushed up against his brother in some crappy motel room. Sam shouldn't have expected anything different. He shouldn't have expected a normal birthday with family in a home. His whole life centered around the hunt, jumping from state-to-state and living in cheap run-down places. Why would his birthday be any different? He felt so incredibly stupid and foolish for even hoping for a change. His future seemed bleak and he idly wondered how many different motels they'd sleep in before the week was out. Or how many state lines they'd cross while chasing—whatever the fuck it was they were chasing.
Sam's eyes felt droopy and closed for just a second. He was so near to falling asleep when Dean moved again, stretching with all of his limbs wide and intruding into Sam's space, or what little he had. Though Dean compacted just a tad, folding his arms over his own chest, Sam was blown wide awake again. Fuck. It was as if his darling older brother and his internal demons were in league with each other, finding ways to torture him endlessly. The anger of that thought translated into another jab at Dean's legs, moving them away in some sloppy, desperate attempt. Thankfully, it worked and Dean didn't move them back. Sam issued a huge sigh of relief.
So that was it, then. Sam surmised that taking his mind off how close Dean was, how badly he wanted to touch—
'Shut up, Sam. Think of something else.'
Sam tried to regain his concentration, tried to think of other things. Maybe he would fall asleep again. That seemed to be the key to it all. He had to encourage his mind to cycle through various topics, ranging from academics to the research he had done for dad. Anything that would trigger that sleepiness again. But it all seemed to link back to his disappointment, sadness that he didn't have a normal life like other kids. What was that even like? Having an actual birthday? With a functional family and friends? Sam had barely had a birthday at all. The only thing different about today was the fact that he, dad and Dean ate at a restaurant instead of going through the drive-thru at some fast food place. And while dad and Dean talked about guns or whatever, the birthday boy had no choice but to sit there quietly and read his book. Even 'Happy birthday, Sammy' didn't amount to anything. He just wanted to escape from all of this; the hunts, the broken family life… and most of all Dean. It pained him to think that way, hurt—
Sam froze stiff as Dean shifted in the bed again to—shit!—practically spoon him. To make matters even worse, Dean had thrown an arm over him, hand positioned on his chest with fingers splayed. It was then that everything fell perfectly to pieces. Sam felt shattered by everything that assaulted him at one time; thoughts, desires, sensations that were too sinful to even register. His mind felt too scattered, too numb to even begin to go through his many pieces, to sort through them. The very loud panic in the back of his brain drowned everything out and pointed to one thing and one thing only; danger.
'Sam, you're in danger of screwing everything up.'
The thought running through his head continued to unravel him, fed the fear that lived in the pit of his stomach. He had to breathe. In desperation, Sam concentrated on the even flow of his breathing, pulling in through the nose and pushing out through the mouth. He tried to relax, tried not to think of how Dean's body heat comingled with his, brought each of them to a burning pitch. Sam tried to ignore the sensation of Dean's breath quietly puffing against his neck, his lips so incredibly close to his ear. On a rather unsteady in-take of air, Dean's scent, raw and sweet, filled Sam's lungs so completely, so fully that it seemed as if it were meant to give him life. The scent was strong, sweet with the apple pie he had eaten after dinner and raw with how much the road seemed to savor his skin. The sun, the Impala's grime, the essence of one too many burger-and-fry combos… Sam could smell all of it in the after burn. Everything that made Dean who he truly was.
Sam couldn't stop his body from sending its signals and his cock thickened on its own accord. Sam was convinced that the universe hated him. As if it answered the affirmative, Dean tightened his grip and drew him in closer, face buried into the slope of his shoulder. Sam tried to breathe slowly and evenly, but the air became caught in his chest and couldn't get out. Dean had stolen his breath away with how affectionate he was while sleeping, something he certainly wasn't during the day. Like his subconscious wanted to fulfill that need for closeness, a need he would ignore and shun any other time.
Sam would have contemplated Dean's affections further. He would have marveled at how very similar they were, how they both hid their true selves, had he not felt something at the small of his back. It was hard and pressed flush against the curve of his spine, so hot that he could hardly think. The heat of Dean's hard-on burned through his boxers, was unrelenting against Sam's sensitive skin. The very fact that Dean was hard at all made Sam's head spin, degrading his mental clarity to a frazzled, fuzzy mess.
Sam wouldn't even begin to attribute his brother's erection to any notion that Dean wanted him—no, it was probably because Dean was dreaming about girls and boobs, or whatever it was he liked. Even though he knew the truth, Sam wanted to pretend. He pretended just a little bit that Dean's erection was because of how close they were together, how absolutely satisfying it felt to feel each other's body heat. Like they were always meant to be this close, sharing and touching. It was just a small step away to imagine Dean's cock, swollen, blood pushed to the silky surface and brimming with its desirability to be touched. He wished he could do that now, touch it, feel the heat of it in his hands. Sam wanted to mouth it down and savor its taste on the back of his tongue. These were the things he thought of when his mind was idle. Things he would do to his brother if given the chance. His mind developed fantasies and chose to tease him when he was at his weakest. He had never felt so weak in his life than right now.
And Dean wasn't helping at all. In his sleep, Dean flexed his fingers across Sam's chest, teasing him a way that was too cruel and yet incredibly exciting. Sam was back into the severity of the situation, mind racing at a frantic speed, cock jolting in response to Dean's reflexive movement. Half of him didn't care how wrong this all was. Not when Dean was so close to him, touching him, pressing against him as if he never wanted to let go. Not when every breath Dean took reminded Sam how he couldn't have his brother the way he wanted. Each time Dean exhaled, Sam could feel his breath on his neck, soft and even, warm and heavenly. And each time, it reminded Sam how fucking hard his cock was. Goddamit. He couldn't remember a time when he was more aroused. His urges had been blown into overdrive, had taken control of him, had turned off all sensible thinking. At that moment, decency became some made up word and Sam wanted nothing more than to fully give in to himself—to every terrible, dark thought he'd never allow himself to have when it concerned Dean. Sam knew then that he had crossed a 'point of no return' with himself. He didn't care.
Sam pivoted the roll of his hips backward against Dean just to check and know that his brother's erection was still real. That it wasn't a figment of his twisted imagination. And he nearly groaned in the effort, felt it stiff against his back, hot and nearly throbbing. It was real and thick and everything Sam wanted it to be. He wanted more of it, kept that pressure there if only to feel that constant heat source. He wanted to feel its existence, writhed against it even more, savoring how it responded and twitched against him. If Sam continued, rubbing against it like some desperate whore, he'd come like this. Premature and embarrassing; everything he didn't want.
But Dean's whimper, deep and rich and so very dirty, encouraged Sam in every sense of the word. Even if Dean hadn't sighed breathlessly against him just then, the stuttered breathing, hitched in certain places and easy in others, told Sam all he needed to know. That whatever he was doing was pleasurable to Dean, even in his sleep. Those soft noises against his ear weren't enough. Not for Sam. He needed contact and his body burned for it, screamed with it. And Sam didn't have the willpower to resist. Not anymore.
Sam had himself to blame. In the beginning, when Dean had first turned into him, pressing hot and close, Sam could have ended it right there. All it would have taken was a sharp elbow to the ribs. That was what a normal brother would have done. Sam would then have been left to ache quietly, maybe jerk off in the bathroom the next morning to soothe himself. Instead, Sam was deranged, possibly bordering on the necessity of being committed in some far-off insane asylum, never to be heard from again. But all of that, the fear of being a freak, paled in comparison to how much he needed Dean right now. How much he wanted Dean's hands all over him, caressing and exploring everything the world wouldn't allow. He was desperate for it and his cock pulsed its impatience.
Sam held his breath and laid his hand over Dean's, squeezing it tightly as it rested on his chest. Dean's hands were calloused from working too hard, helping dad with the Impala and everything else. The skin was cracked and rough, but soft and gentle in the way that he used them. Dean's hands were strong when they needed to be, firm and direct when a situation called for it. Sam couldn't feel that now in the way that their fingers were intertwined and relaxed, metaphorical in how they faced the world; hand-in-hand and always together. Sam flinched at his own thought. He could almost hear Dean's voice in his head, admonishing him for his 'chick flick moment'.
The heat of Dean's hand against him returned Sam to his deviance. Unable to wait any longer, he began to slowly move the hand downward, across the broad lines of his chest to his stomach. Sam didn't have a plan beyond that nor did he expect his mind go to hay-wire. That simple action sparked a flood of thoughts, detailed depictions of what Sam wanted Dean to do to him. Throwing him against the Impala and fucking him until he screamed Dean's name. Wet skin sliding over each other, Dean pulling his hair and taking control. Fuck. He wanted Dean inside of him. His cock throbbed, pressed painfully against the elastic band of his boxers, begging to be free. He could feel the head of him poking out from its confinement to taste the motel room's stale air. It leapt with the sensation, brought about a whole new level of excitement. His mind went frantic. Sam wanted to be touched, grabbed, man-handled by his brother so badly that he groaned aloud. Just the thought of Dean taking him provoked another roll of his hips. Backward, the top of his ass brushing against Dean's cock that was still hard, hot and pulsing needfully.
In his aroused state, Sam didn't have a final destination for his brother's hand. All Sam knew was that he needed, yearned and had to have. He pushed it downward again, savoring the heat that his brother's hand created as it traveled farther. Too far. As the tips of Dean's fingers touched his cock, Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, startling himself by how incredible it felt. His hips shot forward to chase at the sensation, groaned again as his excitement got the best of him. This was what he'd been waiting for as long as he could remember. Sam made Dean's fingers caress the crown, glide through the slickness of the precome that had gathered there. It felt… fucking amazing. Sam's breath became shortened bursts, all of them spelling out his want and ending in delicate whimpers. And it was just the beginning. Sam had to have more.
Quickly, Sam shimmied his boxers down to just below his ass and pressed himself against Dean again, having missed his warmth for the few seconds he had been without. Just one more touch, Sam promised himself. Except this time it wasn't a touch. He fell to his greed and wrapped Dean's hand around his cock, squeezing the fingers closed. Sam hadn't been prepared by how his body reacted, how it swelled with adrenaline and dulled every sense to its basic instincts. He only throbbed with how much he wanted Dean, all functionality zeroing in on how to satisfy that desire. Sam couldn't keep himself quiet, groaned loudly with how unbelievable it felt having Dean's touch all over him. And he should have felt disgusted as he made Dean's encircled hand slide down his length. But he didn't, couldn't not when he could barely think let alone discern right from wrong. Sam couldn't help but pitch his hips forward into his brother's hand, couldn't keep another gasp down as Dean's fingers tightened on their own as if they had had new life breathed into them. Frustratingly, Dean's hand didn't move with the same fluidity as it had moments ago, the arm too stiff as if Dean had waken—
"What the fuck.."
Sam stilled, instantly horrified. He wanted to die, to disappear. Sam wanted a fucking wendigo to come out of the woodwork and rip him to shreds. Anything so he wouldn't have to face Dean's judgment. Shit. He should have known Dean had woken up. His brother's body had grown entirely too rigid, his breathing had shifted from easy and slow to nearly non-existent brought about by shock. But it didn't matter now. Sam had been caught, dick in hand and fully guilty. Sam could sense that the both of them were far too shocked to even breathe or say anything. Everything was stuck, frozen in time. In an instant, after that moment of 'oh fuck' had vanished, Sam felt the need to explain and apologize, to beg for Dean's forgiveness. But he didn't get the chance. Dean exhaled sharply and tried to rip his hand away, struggled as Sam held it still in an iron-vice grip. Even though he had been caught, he didn't want Dean to let go. His selfishness and want for his brother overpowered anything he could have ever felt in that moment. It was with desperation that Sam turned to begging.
"Dean, please. I need you…"
"Sammy. What the hell were you thinking? This is wrong—"
The silence that stretched between them was too much for Sam to handle. He couldn't bear the thought of Dean thinking he was a freak, some disgusting pervert that he'd disown and never love again. He couldn't bear the answering being 'no'. Somehow, somewhere, Sam found the courage to fight for what he wanted, found the bravery to that wouldn't allow him to accept rejection as the answer. He was so incredibly close to having Dean the way he wanted and he would fight for that opportunity. Determined, Sam fortified that he'd convince Dean how very right this was, would do it by communicating to the thing that did most of Dean's thinking for him; his cock. It was the only logical way.
Sam reached between their bodies to grab at it through Dean's boxers, rubbing fingers down the length of it, messaging it in a way that would prevent any sort of rejection. In the haze, Sam didn't have time to dissect why Dean didn't struggle, why he leaned into the touch instead. Dean's breath was shaky against his neck and his hips tilted upward, closing the distance between cock and hand. Sam whimpered as Dean pressed against him harder, swiveling his hips hungrily to increase the friction. Barely able to contain himself, Sam groaned again. Dean giving in so easily was too fucking hot. Sam's hand didn't relent and searched to find bare skin beneath boxers, reveled in how hot Dean's cock felt, how it slid in his fingers with no effort at all. It was wet with precome, swelling with an impressive girth under the direction of Sam's hand. Sam could feel all of its details with fingertips; the firm head, the sensitive indentation beneath it, its long and throbbing shaft. All of it was his to explore and abuse if he wanted to. And that point was driven across by the way he applied pressure to the sensitive head, forefinger and thumb squeezing it gently yet firmly. Dean's hips shot forward, mouth biting at Sam's neck for seconds before a groan skittered across the skin.
Sam felt a surge of pride at being able to unravel his older brother; he who was always in control, always knew what to do and when. Dean's soft exhale made it evident that he had fully surrendered. Sam could feel him relax, nearly try to blend into his little brother's space as other parts of his body took over the thinking for him. Dean whimpered as Sam's hand tightened and picked up the pace, sliding over the shaft while continuing to break him apart. Too engrossed in pleasing his brother, Sam was taken by surprise when Dean's hand started to roam all over him. Sam's breathing became short and labored in response, another groan on lock-down in his throat. It felt so incredible that Dean didn't need to be encouraged or directed. Dean wanted all of his of brother, proved it in the way he rolled his whole hand over Sam's balls, caressing him. It was all so unexpected and so amazing that Sam called out too loudly, rocked his hips forward to grab at the passing friction.
"Be quiet." Dean whispered, voice turned to dark glass in its sex-lust.
Sam hadn't even remembered that dad slept in the next bed over, too focused on fucking to think of anything else. Time and time again, dad proved to be a sound sleeper. Thankfully, this time wasn't any different.
Any other thought that wasn't centered around Dean died away as he continued to touch Sam in all the right ways. Sam fell slave to his brother's affections, whimpered face-first into his pillow. Every time Dean ventured lower, grabbing at all of him, his middle finger brushed and teased at his hole. 'More' fueled his desire to thrust up into Dean's passing finger, wanted it inside of him. And as the tip of it went in, Sam was left with no choice but to bite at his pillow. Dean kept it there, moving his finger in and out while kissing at the side of his neck up to his ear. Sam's gasp was muffled by cheap fabric and cotton, body shaking as Dean administered the finger-fucking. Sam knew he couldn't take much more of this and was nearly thankful when Dean's hand fell away. Thankful and yet was left feeling naked without his touch. Sam nearly panicked to think that Dean had changed his mind. But he hadn't.
Sam felt Dean shift behind him, must have pulled down his boxers to thighs before returning. Because, in the next second, Dean was naked against him, bare skin pressed against his back again, hot and yearning and throbbing with its demand to be satisfied. It took little time for Dean to wrap his fingers around Sam's cock, to stroke him, evenly and firm. Sam pulled his face away from the pillow with a gasp and arched his back, throat long and exposed and beautiful its in surrender. He tried to keep himself quiet, but nearly couldn't, and was forced to choke off groans before they could punch their way out of his mouth. Sam couldn't deny the indescribable feeling of his brother's wet cock sliding against his back, rubbing out a rhythm that nearly sent Dean into a chorus of heavenly noises. Deep and raw, honest in his need for his little brother.
Dean kept the pace on Sam's cock while grinding against him, each and every movement drawing out a moan from the pair of them. Just to hold on, to steady himself while he lost control, Sam swung a hand back and palmed Dean's ass, pushing and pressing to draw him in further. Dean used the firmness of Sam's back as his friction and swung his hips forward, over and over, quicker and at a steadier pace while shooting out quiet little whimpers against Sam's neck.
Sam could feel it at the edges, the orgasm that would undoubtedly hit him hard and unexpectedly. He knew it was close in the way his muscles tightened, the way they began to shake under the excitement and the adrenaline. Sam's hips jerked wildly and his cock thickened with its promise of release. And it was if Dean knew, knew that when Sam came, he'd shout out with the glory of it all. Dean slid his free hand beneath Sam's neck and looped it around to fold it over his mouth, to prevent that scream from ever being known to the outside world. Sam didn't struggle against it.
The wet slip-and-slide of Dean's cock against the small of his back hit a frantic pace, rocking Sam's entire body with each and every swing of his brother's hips. Sam could tell Dean was close too. His breathing became erratic, sputtering out in hot torrents of air against his ear. Dean mouthed at its shell, nipped it before burying his face into Sam's shoulder, biting at it roughly before coming. As Dean came and called out his name, Sam followed suit, releasing plentifully and hot into Dean's hand with a cry that never found the light of day beyond his brother's fingers. They fell into each other unconditionally, both breathing raggedly. Sam felt his heart in his throat as it pounded out quick, hard beats, all of them praising Dean's name. He was happy and complete.
But that didn't last long.
When they both came down from their respective highs, there was a considerable tension. Dean returned to being stiff and cold, shrugging off his brother's lingering touch with an edge of brutality to it. Without a word, Dean gathered up his pillow and some of the blankets for himself, moving to position himself on the floor. Sam had never felt more cold and alone in his life. To know that Dean wasn't angry with him, didn't hate him, all Sam wanted was a simple 'goodnight, Sammy'. But instead, it was…
"Don't tell dad."