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justinedelargeAuthor: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is a few months shy of legal age)
Word Count: 3000
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters and plot. Just for fun.
Summary: Sam and Dean learn what John and Bobby really went to pick up; and they have some more alone time.
The scent of bacon woke the boys, still wrapped in each others’ arms. They stared at each other in shock, both knowing that sometimes John would just walk right into their room with only a brief knock to announce himself.
“Gotta put a lock on that door today,” Dean muttered, as they threw on their clothes hastily. Dean sat on the bed tying his shoes. “You go down first, Sammy. “
Sam leaned down and brushed his lips against Dean’s cheek, then headed for the door. Dean pulled him back and threw him down on the bed, straddling him, pinning his wrists to the mattress and kissing him like he was starving.
Sam whimpered, arching his back. “Not fair, Dean.” Dean sucked on the lobe of Sam’s right ear. Sam shuddered, then immediately pushed Dean off forcefully. “Stop.”
Dean stood up, legitimately surprised. “Sorry. Thought you’d like that.”
Sam fixed Dean with a serious expression. “I do. That’s the problem. You can’t… you can’t just DO that.”
“Why not?” Dean was perplexed.
Sam’s entire body was rigid, muscles in his neck standing out. “Because… that goes straight to my dick. You do that… if you don’t let me come…you can’t just do that and make me go downstairs.”
Dean got it.
He pushed Sam back down on the bed and lay alongside him, hands scrabbling at Sam’s jeans. “How fast can you come for me, baby boy?” Dean shoved his hand inside Sam’s pants, wrapping his fingers around his cock, and latched onto Sam’s earlobe, sucking and lapping at it.
The answer was pretty damn fast. And hard.
Then Sam sank to his knees and wordlessly asked Dean the same question as he took his cock into his mouth, staring up at him with his big hazel eyes.
Dean answered him in record time.
~
They went down for breakfast. Bobby had made thick-cut peppered bacon, a huge pot of strong coffee, and was working on something on the griddle.
Dean stopped dead. “Are you making… chocolate chip pancakes?”
“What, you didn’t think I could handle a basic quick bread? More to me than meets the eye, Dean.”
“But…” Dean was at a loss for words. “Chocolate chip. Pancakes.”
Mary used to make chocolate chip pancakes.
John never made pancakes, with or without chocolate chips.
Dean stared at Bobby with something close to awe.
Bobby’s mouth softened into a smile. “Just glad to see you boys again, is all. Wanted to make something nice. Besides, me and your dad had a real good night.”
Sam sat down at the table, pulling out the chair next to him for Dean. Dean sat down, a little dazed. Sam poured them both a cup of coffee, adding cream and sugar to his.
Dean took a deep swig of his black coffee. Bobby stacked three fat pancakes onto a plate, tucked a nest of bacon strips alongside and set it in front of Dean.
“I’m dead. And this is heaven.” His glance at Sam was loaded with meaning, and he squeezed Sam’s thigh under the table.
Dean squirted a generous amount of Mrs. Butterworth’s over the top of his stack and took a huge bite. “Mmmphing heaven,” he muttered.
Bobby turned away from the boys and went back to the griddle. “Yours are coming right up, Sam.”
Sam watched Dean eat, a funny smile on his face, his tongue darting out to swipe over his lower lip.
“Drink your juice, Sam. Help you get big and strong.”
“Not yet.” Sam swiped his tongue over the seam of his lips again.
And Dean realized what he was doing. Tasting Dean on his lips. And liking it. Liking it a lot.
Dean had to close his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. When he opened them, Sam scooped his finger through the mixture of syrup and melted butter on top of Dean’s pancakes, slipped it between his lips and sucked it clean, eyes locked onto Dean’s.
Dean cocked his head and sent Sam a stern look promising him so very many things the next possible chance he got.
John thumped into the kitchen like a general, crackling with energy.
Bobby set a plate of pancakes and bacon down in front of Sam.
“Thanks, Uncle Bobby,” Sam said, but didn’t touch his food.
John walked to the counter and began eating bacon off the platter.
“Eat your damn food, Sam,” Dean whispered.
“Don’t want to get the taste of you out of my mouth.” Sam whispered back.
Dean pressed his palms flat on the table and took a few deep, steadying breaths. Then he leaned over and whispered in Sam’s ear, “I’ll give you more later. As much as you want.”
Leaning back in his chair, he said at a normal volume, “Eat your food before it gets cold, Sam.”
Sam mouthed, “Promise?”
Dean crossed his heart.
Sam ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek one last time, then forked a large triangle of pancake into his mouth.
After they had all eaten their fill and thanked Bobby profusely, John and Bobby sat the boys down in the living room and explained what had happened the night before.
“We’re getting closer to finding the demon that killed your mother.” Dean sat up straight, and Sam leaned forward in his chair. “Got a lead on a…”
“A nest,” Bobby spat.
John laughed humorlessly. “Yes. A nest of demon sympathizers.”
Dean blinked. “Of what?”
“Humans, if you still can call ‘em that,” Bobby continued. “People that want to help the demons. Work for them. Do favors. Demons give them a little taste in return. Make ‘em a little bit demon.”
“That’s horrible.” Sam shook his head in disbelief.
“Yes. It is.” John’s face was hard. “They’re every bit as much a monster as anything we hunt. You can’t let yourself be fooled by the fact that they look human. That they are mostly human. Because mostly isn’t enough.”
“But demons are super powerful. Why would they need people to do stuff?”
“We don’t understand most of what they do or why they do it, Sam,” John said.
“They’re just another tool in a really big arsenal that helps them fuck shit up.” Bobby went to the table in the far corner of the living room to retrieve a folded-up piece of paper.
“Anyway, so we got a call last night that one of our people had spotted one of these demon sympathizers and had snatched him up for us.”
Dean frowned. “That thing you had to pick up? Was a person?”
“NOT a person, Dean. Ain’t you been listening? A demon sympathizer.” Bobby unfolded the paper, smoothing it out on the table.
John continued. “So we interrogated this…thing. Extracted some very useful information.”
Sam held up his hand. “Wait. What? Interrogated? Like… how?”
John leaned forward. “We’re hunters, Sam. Not babysitters. And we’re at war. You know that.” Sam lowered his gaze. He knew it was true. “Those things aren’t human. There’s no Geneva Convention for them.” Sam squirmed visibly, but couldn’t come up with an airtight argument, so he remained silent.
“What kind of information did you get?” Dean pushed the conversation back to where it had been going.
“How many in the nest. What they were doing for the demon. Best of all, he let slip where they’re based.”
“Wouldn’t give us no address, though. Not even with your dad working him over. Tough son-of-a-bitch.” Bobby shook his head with grudging respect.
Sam and Dean stared at their father with a mixture of admiration and something darker and far less pleasant.
“So we’re gonna put a plan together and go after them. We need the head of the nest. We can use him as bait. Trap the demon.” John’s face was lit up, happier than either of the boys remembered seeing him before. Bobby motioned to the boys to come look at the hand-drawn map he’d unfolded and pointed out to them where the demon sympathizer said the nest was based.
John joined them at the table, and explained his general plan. “…and that’s where we can flush them into our trap. But we need to run around a bit and set things up. We’ll need your help later, but for right now, it’s best if we leave you here for a little while. Can you boys take care of yourself for a few days, maybe a week?”
Dean looked over at Sam. His expression was placid, oh-so-casually accepting. “Yessir. Take as much time as you need. We’ll be fine. I’ll take care of Sammy.”
John headed toward the stairs. Sam took a deep breath. “Dad? What happened…after he gave you the information?”
John stopped, and looked back over his shoulder. His eyes were sad. “Son, if you trap a rabid dog, you don’t just let him back out in the world.”
~
Bobby took the boys to the grocery store and let them pick out what they wanted to eat. Sam chose stuff to make salads and his new favorite thing that he’d learned how to make: stir-fry. Dean grabbed fixings for hamburgers, hot dogs, spaghetti with meat sauce, and the only other thing he knew how to make, tuna noodle casserole.
Bobby slipped three six-packs of beer into the cart. “This is to keep you two out of my whiskey. Not a drop of my whiskey, and don’t even try the watering-down trick with me. And I know the level of each bottle, and you don’t wanna test me on this.” Bobby rubbed his beard. “For the love of all that’s holy, do not tell your father about this. And don’t drink it all at once. Only one per night, for each of you. Two if you absolutely have to. And if you drink any more ‘n that, you puke in the toilet and not anywhere else, and you take your hangover like a man. Got it?”
“We got it.” Dean grinned.
“Thanks, Uncle Bobby.”
Bobby had Sam and Dean put the groceries away, slipping into the pantry to hide the beer, signaling to Dean where he stashed it.
John slammed a cup of cold coffee and grabbed his Army surplus bag, packing up the rest of what he needed. Dean followed him from room to room, making sure he didn’t forget anything, so there was no unpleasant, “Oops, I forgot something” returns to the house.
“I’ll call you every night and let you know what’s up. Sam, Bobby’s got you set up to start school next Monday. We should be back by then, but if we aren’t, Dean, I need you to take him at 7 am to meet with his counselor and get his class schedule. Information’s in a manila envelope on top of the fridge.” John ruffled Sam’s hair. “And see if you can’t talk him into getting a damn haircut, wouldja?”
“Good luck with that,” Sam retorted with a smile.
“And don’t get lazy. I want you two training every day, rest day on Sunday. What are you working on right now, Dean?”
“Target practice—accuracy hitting a moving target. Sparring. Endurance.”
“And Sam, what are you two going to study?”
“Memorizing the exorcism ritual. Native American lore. And flash cards.”
“What kind?”
“How to kill what.”
“Very good.” John smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Proud of you boys.”
Sam gasped, very quietly. But Dean heard.
“Ok, we have to head out. Got a lot to get done. Dean, don’t work your brother too hard.”
Dean licked his lips. “Don’t work Sammy too hard. Check.”
“Let him have some fun, alright? Blow off a little steam. Do what he wants sometimes.” Sam fought to keep his expression innocent.
“Alright. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” John gave Dean a man-hug (one arm around the shoulders, a single step closer, thumping the other hand twice across the upper back), and walked out the front door.
John and Bobby’s footsteps echoed down the entryway and down the front steps. Bobby’s truck started with a tubercular cough and a rumble, and they drove away.
They waited in silence. The truck stayed gone.
Sam smacked Dean’s arm. “Didja hear Dad? Gotta let me have some fun. Do what I want.”
Dean bumped against Sam, hands curving around his ass. “Sure, sweetheart. After I work you hard.”
Sam leaned in hungrily, kissing Dean like he’d been dying for it all morning.
Which he had.
Dean luxuriated in the feel of his little brother opening to him, want radiating off him.
“You taste like coffee, Sam.” Sam’s breath was already coming faster. “I promised I’d take care of that for you.” And Dean didn’t even have to put any pressure into his hands on Sam’s shoulders.
Sam fell to his knees, and let Dean take out his cock. He rubbed it over his lips, against his cheek, let his hair spill forward and brush over it. Dean groaned. “Never cutting your hair, Sammy. Fucking never.”
Sam licked Dean’s cock in broad, flat strokes like an ice cream cone, flicking the tip of his tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of the droplet of pre-come he teased out.
“Christ, you love it, don’t you. You really love it.”
Sam sucked on the head, then pulled off and stroked Dean’s cock with his fingers. “You taste good.” Sam took a deep breath, blew it out. “Been wanting to do this for so long, Dean. You don’t even know.”
Dean trembled. “When? When did you first think of sucking my dick?”
“A real long time.” Sam plunged his mouth down over Dean’s cock, driving rational thought from his mind. He worked him with a bit more finesse this time, learning from Dean’s little sounds and breathing what felt good, and what felt “holy shit I’m gonna lose it” good.
And then Dean had an idea.
He pulled Sam to his feet. “Clothes. Off.” He quickly stripped, kicking his trainers to the side, peeling off socks, jeans, boxers and t-shirt. Sam did the same, eyes darting around the room, at the window in the kitchen that looked into the living room. “Are you sure—“
“They’re gone, Sam. Just us.” Dean pulled Sam to him for a kiss, unable to keep his mouth off Sam’s. Then he took his hand and led him to the wide, comfortable couch. “Lay down.”
Sam stretched out on the couch. Dean knelt next to him at an angle, facing away from Sam’s head, his left hip touching the side of the couch, and lowered his mouth on Sam’s cock. He worked him for a moment or two, until Sam was moaning and letting his thighs fall open. Then he said, “You want me in your mouth again, Sammy?”
“God. Yes.”
Dean rose up, throwing his left leg over Sam, bringing his right knee up, sliding back and settling over Sam, his cock poised over Sam’s mouth. “You’re gonna love this, baby boy.” He lowered himself slowly into Sam’s open mouth, Sam taking him in with a groan, and dropped his mouth onto Sam’s cock, hands moving beneath him to grip Sam’s ass.
The sound that came out of Sam’s mouth was low, feral. He sucked Dean’s cock feverishly, hips bucking up, fucking Dean’s mouth, crying out with each exhaled breath.
Dean could barely stand the pleasure of it, sharp and shaking, so open, so exposed, his mouth full of Sam, Sam’s mouth full of him, right there on the couch. The symmetry of it was astonishing. Him sucking Sam’s cock. Sam sucking his cock. Hands gripping each other’s asses, kneading, taking each other as deep as they could, answering each wet push/pull of lips and tongue with a groan, a roll of the hips, groaning and growling and hissing, sucking the head of Sam’s cock, and Sam answering, mirroring everything Dean did to him, a flick of the tongue on Sam’s cock answered with a perfect parallel of Sam’s tongue on his.
Dean slowed down and sucked slowly, so slowly, down the length of Sam until his lips touched the base, driving tears from his eyes, then pulling back slowly, so slowly, tongue pressed against Sam’s hard flesh, all the way to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head, then back down again, trying to prolong the pleasure of it.
Sam followed Dean’s lead, and Dean realized Sam was letting him teach him like this. Teach his little brother how to suck his cock.
“Fuck,” Dean moaned, his mouth full. “So good, baby boy. Gonna make you come in my fucking mouth.” Wasn’t going to last. Couldn’t possibly last. Didn’t want to. He wrapped his hand around the base of Sam’s cock and sucked on the last third, hard and demanding, his fist following the rise and fall of his mouth.
Sam fell apart under him, body shaking, mimicking what Dean was doing to him, crying out without breaking the seal of suction, then wrapped both arms around Dean’s lower back and held him tight, taking him deep, making the sweetest, most helpless cries of pleasure, bucking up into Dean’s mouth, spilling hot and salty into his mouth, an intense flavor but not unpleasant, not unpleasant at all, because it was Sam. Sam coming in his mouth.
And suddenly, all Dean wanted to do was make Sammy come in his mouth, over and over, feel that total trust and abandon, feel Sam give himself to Dean, give part of his body, his essence to Dean for him to swallow, take inside, make part of himself. This is my body, thought Dean, as he swallowed Sam’s come, and then Dean lost it, fell to pieces, shivering and moaning, his Sammy’s mouth wet and hot on him, sucking him, pulling it out of him, wanting it, wanting to taste him again, wanting it. Wanting Dean.
And Dean raised his head up, pressed his cheek against Sam’s thigh and howled, and gave Sam what he wanted.
