Work Header

Summer Lovin' Had Me a Blast

Work Text:

The first time Sam got a hard-on for his big brother, he was twelve. Late one night he heard the Impala pull into the driveway, but there was no sound of slamming doors or footsteps on the porch. Crawling out of bed, Sam went and peered through the grimy front window, and what he saw knocked the air out of his lungs like a well-placed kick.

Dean, in the back seat, his shirt rucked up and his pants pushed down to his knees. There was a girl with him, her legs hitched around his hips, but Dean was on top of her, covering her and all Sam could see was the line of his back and the pale curve of his butt, flexing as his hips rolled in an unmistakable movement.

Sam felt hot all over, flushed and lightheaded, like being piled under blankets after a fever had broken. He darted back into bed, pulling the covers over his head as if Dean might sense his spying and come to threaten him, and it wasn’t until he was lying in the darkness, in his hot, damp cocoon of sheets, that he realized his prick was standing up against his stomach and throbbing.

It happened again. And again.

Dean picking him up from school, clapping a hand on his shoulder and running it possessively down his back. Sam had to put his backpack on his lap as he got into the Impala.

Dean coming out of the bathroom, steam billowing around him, with a towl sliding off his hips, and Sam shut himself in their bedroom and buried his face in his pillow until he could breath normally.

Watching TV on the couch together, Dean looking over and cracking a joke, winking broadly at Sam, and Sam had to hold a throw cushion over his crotch for the rest of the episode.

Sam turned thirteen as the sunny Iowa spring turned into a muggy, scorching summer. Dad had taken off in the truck, scouting a hunt in Nebraska; he wouldn’t be back for a week. Dean had taken advantage of his absence to ignore the local water conservation guidelines and give the Impala the full spa treatment of car washes.

It was only midmorning when Sam rolled out of bed, wandering to the front door in his boxers and sleep shirt, but Dean, usually a late riser, already had three buckets and a dozen wet rags in the driveway, and had his baby all lathered up, dripping and gleaming. The early sun was already beginning to sizzle on the pavement, and Dean was shirtless, barefoot, wet up to his elbows with sudsy water and with sweat spiking up his hair. He had already started to tan golden all over, and his shoulders were covered in freckles.

Sam couldn’t stop the way his mouth went dry and his eyes trailed down the lean curve of his brother’s back, to the waistband of his pants. Dean was wearing cut-off jeans that hung low on his hips, but Sam couldn’t see the elastic of Dean’s white briefs under them. Sam shuddered and felt his cock, already half hard, throb and fill as he imagined Dean pulling on his jeans that morning in their shared room, buttoning them bare over his skin, getting them damp as he washed the Impala, leaning up against her sides as he scrubbed her roof, feeling the sun-warm metal through the denim, nothing but one layer of worn, fraying fabric between them.

Sam jerked away from the screen door. It felt like being on a hunt, his whole body singing and shivering, but instead of fear and clarity, it was hot and blurred, he wasn’t thinking straight. He meant to head for their room, but he crashed down on the couch instead, pushing a hand inside his boxers.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he imagined Dean, hard in his cutoff jeans, pressed against the side of the Impala, rubbing off against his baby. Sam whined into the couch cushions, hips rolling up instinctively into the hot, sweaty press of his palm against his prick.
In his head, Dean unzipped his jeans, pulling himself out. What would it look like, hard and flushed? Pink like Sam’s or a deeper purple? Which way would it curve? Would the vein stand out? Dean was cut, he knew. He imagined the flared head of Dean’s cock, gleaming and wet like the Impala, Dean taking it and rubbing it against the warm metal, smearing sticky fluid on the pristine paint. Dean bent over the hood, rutting his hips against his baby, gasping, breath making clouds of condensation on metal, cock red and leaking between them.

Panting, Sam squeezed his dick clumsily, sending shocks through his body, making his hips jerk reflexively. He’d touched himself before, rubbing against the bed in the mornings and petting himself in the shower, but then the water would run cold, or Dean would be yanking the sheets off and prodding him out of bed and the urge went away. It had never felt this urgent, this electric, like his whole body was caught up in it, shaking and sweating, back sticking to the couch cushions. His prick felt raw and his wrist ached, and there was something... something...

The screen door slammed, and Dean’s voice called, “I hope you didn’t finish the soda, squirt.”

Sam squeaked and fell off the couch, yanking his hand out of his pants. He caught a glimpse of Dean standing in the doorway of the kitchenette, but kept his face turned away as he sprinted for their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean blinked at the door that had slammed behind his brother. “Sammy? Are you ok?” There was no response. Frowning, he crossed to the bedroom door and tapped on it. “Sam?”

“I’m fine! Go away.” There was something wrong with Sammy’s voice. He sounded hoarse, tense.

“I need you to tell me if something’s wrong, Sam. I’m gonna come in there if you don’t tell me.”
“No! No, don’t! I’m fine, please go away Dean!” Sam’s voice was almost panicky, and what could he possibly be so desperate to hide? Except... oh. Oh.

“On the couch, really Sam?” Dean groaned. “Normal people do that in the shower, freak.”

“Go away!”

“I’m going, I’m going! Never let it be said I got between a man and his right hand.” Turning away he ran his fingers through his hair. “The couch, jeez Sammy,” he sighed to himself. Like it wasn’t bad enough that his baby brother had spent the last ten months growing out of his baby fat like a banshee out of hell, gaining height and muscle definition. Christ, it wasn’t something he should have noticed about his baby brother, at least not the way he had.

Glancing at the couch, Dean grimaced. Now he would never get rid of the mental image of his little skinny, gangly brother sprawled out on the stained cushions, sweating and panting as he fisted his little prick. Swearing, Dean palmed his own half-hard cock and headed to get a cold soda out of the fridge.

The Coke can left chill water on his skin as he rolled it against his forehead. Sure, their lives were pretty fucked up, but most of the time Dean didn’t think about. Killing monsters was all for the good. It was a whole different kind of fuckery to jerk off in their shared room at night, listening to the soft whoosh of his brother’s breath. To look at his brother out of the corner of his eye when he came home from soccer all sweaty and filthy. To cut sparring practice short because he was hard from wrestling with his brother. Now he’d be lucky if he didn’t pop wood sitting down to watch a movie.

Chugging the last of the soda, he crumpled the can in his fist and tossed it in the bin on the way out the door. His baby still needed a wax job.

Half an hour later, his wet jeans were starting to chafe. Possibly, he should have worn underwear. Anyway, he needed a change of pants. How long could it possibly take a thirteen year old to come? Maybe he’d fallen asleep.

Inside, Dean knocked softly on the bedroom door. “Sammy? You done in there? I wanna change clothes, if you’re not, uh...” He trailed off as the door was cracked open. “Sam?” Sam was red faced, eyes a little swollen, like he’d been crying. “Sammy, what’s wrong?”

Sam’s face crumpled. “I can’t... Dean, I can’t, I don’t know how, and it hurts, it hurts so bad, I can’t make it go away.” He had a blanket off the bed wrapped around him.

“Oh Sammy,” Dean’s first instinct was to fold Sam in his arms, and he did, reaching out and tucking Sam against his side, and his brother relaxed into him, burying his head in Dean’s shoulder. “It’s ok, Sam, lots of people have a hard time with it before they figure out what their body likes.” Well probably. He’d never had any problems, but for all he called his brother a freak, he hated when is brother actually felt like one. “You can’t come, is that it?” Sam made a muffled noise and nodded. “That’s... wow, it’s been a while, huh? I bet that hurts. It’s ok, we’ll do something about it.”

“We?” Sam squeaked.

“Yeah,” Dean said more firmly, squaring his shoulders. He could totally do this. Sam was in pain. It was important. Just a little lesson between brothers. “Go sit on the couch, I’m gonna grab some stuff.”

His brother shuffled past him into the living room, blanket still wrapped around him, and Dean took two deep breaths before grabbing the box of tissues from his bedside, and rummaging under the bed. Grabbing the lube, he hesitated as his fingers brushed the magazines and VHS cassettes of grainy porn that he’d been hoarding since he was fourteen.

That would be normal, right? Put on a porno and jerk off together – more normal, anyway. Biting his lip, he shoved everything back under the mattress and picking up the lube. If this was the only time he ever got to see Sam... that way... he didn’t want to remember it with a soundtrack of fake moans and slapping skin. Goddammit, he was allowed to be selfish sometimes.

In the living room, the fan whirred and groaned, barely moving the thick air. Dean felt his chest clench at the sight of Sam, huddled on the couch with his blanket around him. Poor kid was really freaked out. It made Dean feel calmer. That had always been true. When he had his brother to protect, he had a sense of purpose.

Sam wouldn’t look at him when Dean sank down on the couch beside him, but he leaned into his brother when Dean put an arm around his shoulders. “Hey buddy. Don’t be embarrassed. This is supposed to be fun. Hey, congratulations, you just discovered the number one perk of puberty!” Sam snorted a laugh, and glanced sideways at him. “That’s right. Let me tell you the number one secret to performance problems – you’re never going to come if you’re worried that you won’t. I’ve got this, alright? Not your problem anymore. Stop thinking about it.” Dean almost said, Getting you off is my job now, but stopped himself. There would be time for his sick fantasies later, when he was alone. “You gotta take the sheet off, squirt.”

Sam flushed ever brighter, but shrugged it off. As it slithered to the floor, Dean’s mouth went dry. He was naked underneath, knees drawn up to his chin, blush going all the way down his chest.

“How should we do this?” Dean asked, mostly to himself. His dick twitched at the thought of leaning over Sam, pushing him back on the couch cushions and watching his face as he jerked him off, but with Sam’s current level of embarrassment, that probably wasn’t the best option. “Do you want to sit on my lap, kiddo?”

After a moment, Sam nodded, and Dean had to concentrate on his breathing as his baby brother crawled naked into his lap. He sat tense and uncomfortable and Dean ran his hands up and down his brother’s arms, murmuring nonsense until Sam settled back with a sigh.

When Sam was little, they used to do this all the time, in the car, watching TV, just cuddling, but it was so different like this. Dean had his shirt off, working on his baby, and Sam’s back was hot and bare against the length of his chest, skin sticking with their sweat. Sam was taller too, so tall Dean had to slide Sam forward in his lap before he could rest his chin on Sam’s bony shoulder. It made his erection press against the small of Sam’s back, through his jeans.

And then he was looking down the length of Sam’s skinny, adolescent body, Sam boneless and relaxed on top of him, hotter than the sweltering summer air. His skin was just beginning to turn golden in the sun, and his pink nipples stood out tiny and stiff. He was hard, cock flushed red and wet at the tip, curving up against his belly, and Dean couldn’t help the way his hips hitched up when he imagined it in his mouth. It was bigger than he had expected, than he remembered being at that age, Sam was going to have a huge dick when he grew up, but he was still basically hairless down there, and small enough that it would be impossible to mistake him for a grown man. That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.

Sam let out a heavy sigh as Dean ghosted a hand experimentally across his chest, and then shivered hard when he brushed over a nipple. “You like that?” Dean breathed, and Sam nodded.

Pressing harder, Dean dragged his fingers over the pebbled skin again, and then pinched lightly, swallowing a groan when Sam bucked his hips and whined. Lifting his other hand, Dean rolled both nipples gently, making Sam mewl like a fucking animal and push his chest up into Dean’s touch. Dean breathed out hard, nose buried in Sam’s neck. His smell was so overwhelmingly familiar, like the Impala and gunmetal and sweat, just beginning to smell sharp with adolescence.

“Dean?” Sam whimpered. He was squirming on Dean’s lap, every pump of his hips putting pressure on Dean’s dick, which was painfully hard, trapped in his jeans. “Dean, please!”

“I’ve got you Sammy.” He gave the stiff, swollen nubs of Sam’s nipples a hard twist, making Sam yelp and jerk, and slid one hand down the soft skin of his stomach.

Sam’s cock was already drooling, leaving a little clear pool on his belly where the tip was bouncing at every twitch. When Dean brushed his fingers along the length, Sam’s hips came up off his lap, pumping in the air. “Dean!”

Dean dipped his finger in Sam’s slit, making him cry out. “Look at you, so fucking desperate for it. I’ve barely touched you and you’re leaking everywhere.”

“Is that... is that okay?” Sam panted.

“It’s good, it’s perfect, god, you have no idea how hot you are.” Dean shouldn’t be saying these things, but he can’t help it, can’t stop, always been a talker, and he’s so turned on he can barely think straight, let alone censor himself. “Gonna make it so good, gonna show you everything.” He fumbled with the lube one-handed, popping it open and almost spilling it over the couch cushions. His hands were shaking.

Sam wailed at the first slick touch, shivering all over. “Sshhh, shhhh, it’s okay. You rubbed yourself raw, didn’t you? Needed it so bad. We’ve all done that. But this’ll make it so much better.”

When he actually got his fingers around Sam’s prick and stroked it for the first time, his brother yowled loud enough to wake the dead, and it was a fucking blessing that their rented bungalow was on the outskirts of the town, away from other houses, because Sam was making noises Dean had heard from wounded werewolves and feral cats.

It covered the noises Dean couldn’t help making, little pants and grunts. Sam was rolling his hips up to meet Dean’s fist like a natural, a teasing, rhythmic pressure on his erection, and god, Sam would look just like this riding his dick, naked on top of him. Dean could only imagine the sounds he would make with a cock inside him, if he sounded like this just from Dean stroking him. The thought made him dizzy, and he bit down on Sam’s shoulder blade without thinking about it.

Sam bucked and shouted wordlessly. “Dean,” he groaned. “Dean, Dean!”

“Yeah, that’s it baby boy, so perfect, god, fuck, you’re close aren’t you?” Sam just wailed, cock twitching in Dean’s fist.

Squeezing at the tip, Dean ran his other hand down over Sam’s balls, getting a sick, delicious thrill feeling the hairless skin of his sack, wrinkled and silky, balls drawn up tight to his body. He was making noises that didn’t even sound human, twitching and writhing on his lap.

Dean pressed two fingers just behind his balls, and Sam howled, arching up and trembling, and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off his glistening red cock as it twitched and spat long strands of come across Sam’s stomach.

Dean felt his balls clench as well, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and dig his nails into the skin of his thighs to stop himself coming on the spot. Sam had gone boneless against him, twitching and murmuring at aftershocks. They were so sweaty their skin was sliding together instead of sticking and the room was full of the smell of it and of sex and spunk, and Dean wanted to bury his face in his brother’s neck and rut against his back till he came.

That thought got him moving, shifting Sam, who made a grumpy noise, off his lap and jumping up off the couch. “I’m just... I’m gonna...” He glanced down and saw Sam’s face for the first time since the start. Sam’s cheeks were flushed, hair sticking up and his mouth, god, his lips were red and swollen like he’d been biting at them. He was watching Dean, eyes bright and sleepy, looking young and debauched, and fuck, fuck, Dean was going to come.

He ran for their bedroom, one hand clenched over his crotch. He reached the doorway, but made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder, in time to see Sam run two fingers across his belly, hold them up, studying the sticky white fluid, and then stick them thoughtfully in his mouth.

Dean swore and clutched at the doorframe as he came in his pants like a fucking kid. It was one of those orgasms that felt like it happened to his whole body at once, lancing through his chest and making his toes curl. His cock throbbed and pulsed, and he could feel the hot, sticky slide of semen coating the inside of his jeans. It seemed to last for ages, and when he opened his eyes, slumped against the wall, Sam was looking at him, face flushed, hair tousled, playing with the mess of come across his belly. An aftershock ripped through Dean, dick twitching.

He slumped against the wall, covering his face with his hand. When he got up this morning, he thought he was going to wash the Impala, make lunch, maybe get Sam to do some knife practice. Instead, he just creamed his pants in front of his kid brother, who just had his first orgasm writhing naked on Dean’s lap. And his wet jeans were rough and chafing at his sensitive cock.

“Dean?” Sam said softly. “Are we gonna talk about this?”

Trust Sam to want to be a fucking adult about it. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, I guess. You hungry? I’ll make mac n cheese for lunch, if you want. Breakfast. Whatever.”

Sam made a face at him, like he knew he was deflecting. “Sure. Dean?”

There was spunk all over Sam’s stomach, glistening in his belly button, and Dean wanted to go over there and lick it off, suck him till he was hard again. Actually, he really wanted to kiss Sam, long and lazy and warm, with no real purpose except closeness, but that was much more frightening. “Yeah?”


“Yeah. Okay. Okay.” Get a grip, Dean. “Mac n cheese. Just let me change my pants first.”