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Lay My Hands on Heaven

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Dean has somehow talked himself into this being okay.

It’s hard to justify what he’s doing, what they’ve built up to. And it would be damn hard to explain to Dad how it’s okay that they’re sprawled out on the squeaky bed in their shared bedroom in this shitty rented house, Sam doing a sweet, slow striptease for Dean while Dean rubs himself through his underwear, but. Well.

Dad’s not here.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he grits out, eyes on Sam’s round little butt when he finally shucks his jeans, leaving him in just his underwear, too tight because money’s been tight lately and Sam’s frantically outgrowing all his clothes. All his clothes. “Show me that sweet butt.”

He can see the flush on Sam’s cheeks, still got fat baby cheeks at thirteen, sweat already gathering at his temple. But Sam bends over right there, gets on all fours like Dean’s paying him, lowering his chest to the bed so that his ass is sticking up, like a fucking offering for Dean.

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean feels predatory, has no doubt that he looks predatory as he sidles up, in his own underwear that are tented up like crazy, his dick clearly visible through the worn-out cotton, the fabric damp in a few places where he’s leaking for his baby brother.

He stops himself before he presses up against Sam, his dick throbbing, trying to lift toward Sam’s ass like they’re connected by magnets, like his dick knows exactly how good Sam would feel, like that’s exactly where it’s supposed to be. Dean licks his lips, stares down at the ever-lengthening line of Sam’s back, the soft bumps of his spine all the way up, the soft boy skin all over, the couple of little moles dotting his back that match the one of his face that Dean has kissed since it first appeared when Sam was a shy six-year-old.

“Touch me,” Sam whispers, his back curling and uncurling where he’s working his hips, pushing that ass up and back and shit. Dean hisses when Sam rubs back against his dick, his hands going out immediately to grip Sam’s hips, holding on hard enough to bruise.

“Be good, Sammy,” Dean growls, his eyes falling closed as he holds Sam still, his dick just barely touching Sam now but he can’t seem to pull back away now that he’s felt him, all that warm skin, so close to where he wants to shove in.

The room is burning up, sun scorching through the bare window three days after Independence Day here in Cold Water, Mississippi, the air conditioner rattling in the livingroom, working overtime and futilely to cool the shithole Dad’s left them in for the last week or so. They’d been fighting earlier, arguing and yelling and then finally wrestling, grappling and grinding and now, well. Here they are.

Sam is panting, head hanging low, face pressed into the pillow. His right hand is trembling at Dean’s hip, arm straining so he can reach back and stroke Dean’s side, trying so hard to tug him forward, to get their bodies touching again.

“Just for a minute, Dean. Can you just. Just.”

“Say it.” Dean licks his lips, thumbs massaging up either side of Sam’s spine, eyes on the high tightness of Sam’s ass. “Say it and I’ll do it.”

“Rub against me. Pretend we don’t have underwear on and just--” Sam finally gets a hold on Dean’s hip and he uses his long-limbed boy strength to yank Dean forward, smashing his fuck-hard dick right up against all that sweet little brother ass, and Dean closes his eyes, head falling back to pant up at the ceiling.

He doesn’t know why, doesn’t really get it, but doing little shit with Sam is so much hotter than anything he’s done with any girl. There’s something about how bad Sam wants it, about the way he just gives it up to Dean, just gets all soft and loose-boned and hungry when they’re alone that’s a million times more genuine than all the girls Dean’s been with, even the older ones who actually knew what they were doing.

Sam starts working back on him, grinding on Dean’s dick like he’s giving him some kind of lap dance, and Dean just groans, sinks back on his haunches and hauls Sam back against him, letting him do what he wants.

His clothed dick slots between Sam’s buttcheeks and he fucks his hips forward, thumbs shoving down to push Sam into a dirty arch, to make him look even sexier than he had been. Sam whines, that rogue hand appearing now between Sam’s legs, long fingers rubbing at Dean’s balls where they hang heavy and full and neglected in their humping.

“Shit, yeah, you fucking dirty boy. Get ‘em, Sammy. Full of come for you, ain’t they? Fuck, yeah.” Dean spreads his legs a little, giving Sam more room to rub his balls which he’s doing now with all the devotion of a zealot, like he can just massage the come right out of them. Which he probably could.

Dean yanks his hips back, using his grip on Sam’s hips to flip him over, amazed at how light he is, how easy he turns over, bed shrieking as he bounces down on his back under Dean, and suddenly this isn’t just a porno dream, this is Sammy, staring up at him with those pretty eyes and sweet pink bottom lip and way too much submission for a boy still in middle school.

“Take your underwear off,” Dean orders, making his voice real low in that way that guarantees a shiver out of Sam. He slips his own off while Sam works his own down his long legs and throws them toward the open bedroom door. And suddenly there he is, naked and with a pretty candy dick fattened up between his long colt legs, those legs that Dean wants to live between, that he wants around his waist or his head twenty-four-fucking-seven.

His mouth floods with spit when he sees the first hint of Sam’s hole, sense memory taking him back to last week at Bobby’s house when they had the house to themselves and Sam spent most of one lazy afternoon sitting on Dean’s face, virgin hole riding Dean’s tongue and starved, sucking mouth until it was loose and puffy and as pink as a girl’s insides.

He licks his lips at the memory of the taste, both of his hands gathering up Sam’s legs and shoving them back, showing that hole off for his own greedy eyes. He slides down onto his belly on the tiny bed, feet touching the floor but he can smell Sam down here, sweat and soap and that dirty-secret scent of baby brother asshole.

He wraps his lips around it and sucks.

“Dean,” Sam sobs, one of his hands threading through Dean’s long summer hair and yanking him forward, smashing Dean’s face into his ass, nose nudged up under Sam’s soft pink balls, rubbing at his taint. He wants to fucking devour him, every inch of him.

One of Sam’s hands is bumping alongside Dean’s mouth all of a sudden, blind fingers stroking at his cheek and at his feasting mouth, the tips of them pushing past Dean’s lips to rub at his hole. Sam’s touching his own fucking hole while Dean eats him out.

“Christ,” Dean hisses, right hand wrapping around his own dick so fast a muscle in his arm twinges. “Do it. Fuckin’ do it, Sammy. Finger that ass. That virgin ass. Get in there.”

Sam writhes on the bed, no control over this at all because Dean’s got his legs shoved up practically to his nose, got his ass in the air on display. Dean pulls back just enough to watch Sam rub at his own hole, to watch those bitten-nailed fingers rub Dean’s spit in, obsessed with the way every wrinkle moves, with the filthy slick-slick sound of it, with how tight Sam is that this doesn’t seem to be loosening him up at all.

Dean gathers spit in his mouth, working it all up to the back of his lips and he spits it right at Sam’s asshole, landing perfectly dead center. Sam whimpers for that, the soft flesh of his thighs jiggling when he shudders. Three fingers now, rubbing hard at that hole, slipping through Dean’s spit, the tip of the middle one threatening to push in every time before it shies away.

“Put it in.” Dean sounds wild, like a fucking sex-crazed caveman or something, his teeth gritted because if Sam doesn’t do it soon, Dean’s gonna take care of it. “Now. Now, boy.”

Sam sinks his long middle finger up into himself, just feeds it right in and the sound he makes is so gorgeous, like it aches in there, like it’s such a relief to have something rubbing up inside of him, filling him up.

“Dean,” he sighs, sounding so euphoric, like this is exactly what he needed, like Dean gave it to him. Dean hums in agreement, licking his lips before he goes back in, tongue flicking at Sam’s slow-fucking finger, jabbing inside when he pulls out on every fifth thrust or so. Sam goes in with two fingers next, middle and ring just sliding right in like there’s melted butter inside of Sam instead of the virgin-tight clutch of muscles Dean knows Sam’s got waiting for him.

“Fuck it, Sammy. So fucking pretty, aren’t you? God, baby, so fuckin’ pretty.” Dean is gone now, stripping his dick bare, no lube to ease the way so it aches already but it feels good, gonna be sore for awhile, like it’ll feel when he actually gets to fuck this ass one day.

Sam’s fucking himself for real now, fingers curled up and working in furiously, nailing his prostate because they figured out where that was the day after Christmas last year, spent the entire day fucking every drop of come out of Sam and Merry fucking Christmas indeed.

Dean keeps licking at him, kissing at Sam’s bony knuckles and he leaks all over the bed when those two fingers suddenly push into his mouth along with a new, third one, the taste of Sam’s insides flooding his mouth, fucking delicious. Dean sucks at them like it’ll save his life, swallows down the taste of his brother's ass and getting those fingers dripping wet.

Three fingers plunge inside, stretching the rim so much it’s gotta hurt, gotta ache but Sam is sobbing, the muscles in his arm tight, veins bulging on his hand while Sam fucks himself like a girl would, like girls do in porn, like it feels so good.

“Feel good in there, Sammy? Tell me. Tell me what it feels like.” Dean lifts up finally, crawling up onto the bed again. Sam rests the heels of his feet on Dean’s shoulders, legs for miles and toes curling next to his ears and Dean spits in his hand and reaches down for Sam’s dick, jacking him like Sam likes, relentless and just this-side of too hard.

Sam arches up off the bed with his new leverage on Dean’s shoulders, fingers shoved up hard inside of his ass, clearly just rubbing at his prostate now, and Dean’s other hand is working his own dick, so fucking close, balls drawn up tight, slick oozing from the tip and dripping all over his little brother.

“F-Feels hot. Hot inside a-and tight. So tight for you.” Sam’s so gone, eyes squeezed shut, swollen mouth parted, dick leaking like crazy in Dean’s hand.

“Tight for me. Sammy, fuck. Tight for my fuckin’ dick. Gonna fuck you loose. Gonna fuck you open so much, baby. You’re never gonna feel the same again--”

“Dean, harder, I’m--”

Sam is fucking himself so hard with his hand that Dean worries for a second that he’s going to hurt himself but it’s hot, too fucking hot, and he’s got bigger concerns, like working the head of Sammy’s dick the way he likes it when he’s really about to blow. Sam comes like a fucking freight train, pulled-out streams of come all over Sam’s convulsing tummy, all over his chest and his hard little nipples, nailing his neck, his chin, his fucking cheek. Everywhere. Dean just watches, open-mouthed, hand choking the base of his own dick so he doesn’t come just watching it. Not yet.

He works Sam through it, jerking him off slower and slower until Sam whines, tries to twist away from it. He lets go immediately, letting Sam’s sweet little dick smack back against his jizz-soaked belly and he focuses on his own dick now, right back on the edge immediately as he stares down at his wrecked little brother, the one with his fingers still inside of himself, like he’s savoring it.

Sammy’s gonna be a dickslut, he knows it. He fucking knows it--

“Come on my face, Dean. Please? Come all over my face?” Sam looks so sweet, like he’s asking Dean to take him for ice cream, those puppy eyes all out and trained on Dean. Dean growls, cock jumping in his hand, so close, so fucking close, goddamn.

“Hold that ass open for me, baby. Hold yourself open for me.” Dean’s breathless, barely coherent, free hand wrapping around Sam’s wrist and pulling up, showing Sam what to do. Sam whimpers at the stretch but he obeys, fingers in his ass pulling until he’s gaping a little, just a little, just enough for Dean to get the tip of his dick in.

“Dean, shit. Ohmygod.” Sam’s eyes are wide and staring up at him, his body tense, probably shocked at the first feel of Dean’s dick inside of him. Dean doesn’t push inside even though every single instinct in him is telling him to, telling him to get in there, carve him out, fuck him open and own him. He keeps his dick just there, just inside of that tight clutch and fuck, Sam was right, he’s burning up inside, a delicious, virginal furnace.

“Gonna come in you, Sammy. ‘s that okay? You want it? Want my fuckin’ come in you?”

Sam is nodding frantically, eyes even wider now, like this is better than he ever expected, like this is something he never even let himself think about. Sam’s got both hands down there now, first and middle fingers of both hands prying that asshole open, holding it open just enough to clutch around the head of Dean’s cock.

“Come in me,” Sam breathes, and that’s it. That is fucking it.

Dean feels his entire body tighten, tense like he’s going to pounce and his orgasm explodes out of him, feeding itself into Sam’s ass in thick, hot gushes. He’s moaning like he’s in pain, like it hurts, like he’s dying. He’s holding onto one of Sam’s still baby-soft thighs so hard, gripping too-young flesh just to have something to hold onto, and that’s gonna leave a hell of a bruise.

He can’t stop staring, can’t take his eyes off Sam’s ass, off the way he just takes it, the way that hole just drinks down every fucking drop of Dean’s come like he’s starved for it, like he’s saving it.

“Goddamn,” Dean whispers, reverent, wringing his dick out now, tapping the tip of it around at Sam’s rim, making sure that Sam gets every drop. “Let go. You can let go now.”

Sam pulls his fingers out of himself and sighs with relief when he does. That hole closes up around the very tip of Dean’s dick, kissing it like a mouth, just holding him there while Sam still quakes inside, like he’s milking Dean even now. They’re both panting like they just raced around the house, Sam with his eyes closed, eyebrows drawn up like he’s memorizing this, like he’s taking in every detail of this exact moment.

“Gonna pull out now, Sammy. Close up and keep it in, okay? Can you do that?”

Sam nods, just a thrash of shaggy hair on the pillow, his cheeks stained deep pink. Dean pulls back, letting Sam close up completely now, his hole the same color as his cheeks and slightly puffy now, tender. Dean brings a hand down to it, and Sam jerks when Dean rubs at him, easing some of that ache out.

He stretches out now, covering his little brother and slipping between his sex-loose thighs to line their mouths up. Dean smiles against Sam’s mouth as they search each other’s eyes, Sam’s lashes lifting and lowering over blown-out pupils before he tips his head up just enough to catch Dean’s mouth.

Dean relaxes down on Sam, their bodies sticking together almost immediately as he feeds from his mouth, as he pushes all those long, sweat-soaked strands of hair back off Sam’s forehead.

“You feel me in there?” Dean breaks away from Sam’s mouth to lick at the stray ropes of now-cooling come on Sam’s cheek, on his chin. “Feel my come?”

Sam’s chest jumps as he sucks in a sharp breath but he’s nodding again, his hands wandering all over Dean’s back, his arms, gliding over all the sweat on Dean’s skin before he cups Dean’s cheeks, guiding their mouths back together. Dean goes easily, gladly.

“Feel owned.” Two words, so soft against Dean’s damp mouth, almost shy. They make Dean’s chest tighten, make his heart jump around strangely. And it’s that, that sweetness, the way Sam just gives him words like that, that makes this feel so fucking right.

Dean tips his head up to press a kiss to Sam’s sweaty forehead, right between his eyes.

“Me, too.”