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Birthdays, like holidays, were never celebrated much in the Winchester family. Most of the time, John would forget, too caught up with the current case, or the next case, or the previous one... Or he would just be too drunk. As Dean grew up and got more independent, he would go out of his way to get Sam a small gift for his birthday. Once Sam was actually allowed out of his brother and father's sights, he would get Dean a gift as well. They never brought it up with John, because the one time either of them ever said anything about it he said they "had bigger problems than bullshit like that".
They would start buying each other gifts for Christmas, too. Small things, but it still meant something. Sam would always wish he could have a nice family Christmas like he'd see on TV, with a pretty, decorated tree, surrounded by nicely wrapped gifts. Sitting next to Dean as he drank hot chocolate, wearing warm pajamas... Dean always wished he could give that to Sam. But they never got to. The closest they would get would be quick glimpses of the joy and warmth through the windows of other families' homes as they'd drive past for another case.
As adults, the only "proper" Christmas they'd gotten was when the looming dread of Dean's death made Sam set up that one last Christmas. It was the best one they ever had, yet the worst, because even though they put on smiles and acted as if it was natural, neither of them could stop thinking about why Sam had agreed to celebrate. Little did they know, it wasn't actually their last Christmas. Dean had been resurrected. Though, that whole ordeal made them realize that they really should start celebrating holidays and birthdays to their best abilities now that they had the freedom to do it.
So, on a birthday that Dean was never certain that he would ever see, Sam once again would take it upon himself to give Dean a gift. Just... Not the regular ones he'd get him every year. Usually it would be something simple, yet meaningful, or helpful. Or Sam would gift him something he briefly mentioned wanting months ago, not that that's exclusive to birthday gifts as he would do that semi-regularly. Half the time, Dean wouldn't even remember saying anything about wanting it, but he'd be grateful nonetheless.
This year, Sam's gift to Dean was different. Dean was starting to think Sam forgot, considering it reached 8pm and he still hadn't received anything. Maybe he did something to upset him and he hadn't realized it. Maybe he forgot to give Sam anything for his birthday last year, and this was payback-- no, Dean remembered the hairbrush and earphones he'd given him last year. So where the hell was his gift?
That train of thought was quickly stopped when Sam came out of the motel bathroom, wearing... Not what he was when he went in. That's lingerie. Dark red, lacy, Victoria's fucking Secret lingerie. And here Dean was, leaning back against the headboard as he stuffed his face with leftover takeout like a pig. He sat there staring, only speaking when Sam had started to get visibly nervous. Dean gulped down whatever food was still mushed up in his mouth, rubbed the grease on his hands on the blanket, and gestured for him to come to the bed.
"Warn a guy first, holy shit. Can't just walk outta the bathroom like that while I'm eating, you could've made me choke." Dean quickly sat up and scooted himself to the edge of the bed, holding his hands out with his legs spread so Sam could slot himself in that space. With the way he fit so perfectly as he stepped in front of Dean, it seemed like his older brother had memorized the area of his body. It wouldn't surprise anybody if that was truly the case.
Sam looked amazing. The lingerie was made to fit a woman, obviously, but with his perfect pecs, his chest filled out the lace bralette just fine. Though, his hardening cock was peeking out the top of the matching panties, which to some may look awkward, but Dean thought it made the picture even hotter. The garters around his younger brother's thin, yet muscular thighs were just the cherry on top. Dean's rough hands ran themselves over the exposed skin of Sam's torso, feeling the ridges of his muscles under his fingers, making sure to trace along that perfect V-line that he would never admit he was jealous of...
"So, you like it?" Dean couldn't believe that Sam had the sheer audacity to even ask that, especially with that shy smile accompanying the unsure words.
His wide green eyes painfully darted away from the lingerie on his little brother's body, lips parted with shock. "Sammy. This is the best birthday ever, you kiddin' me? And the real fun hasn't even started yet."
Sam's smile widened into a proud, more confident one at Dean's words. Before he came out of the bathroom, he'd been staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if he would react like he is now, or if he would burst out laughing and ask for the real gift. Obviously, he was much happier with the results he was getting right now. His hands moved from where they hung awkwardly at his sides to rest on Dean's broad shoulders, massaging them lightly.
"You scared me for a minute, De. You got a real staring problem." He teased, grin softening into a cocky smirk. Of course he was letting the praise get to his head.
"Well-- can you freakin' blame me? Look at you. God, you're gonna look so fuckin' good takin' my cock while you're dressed like that..." Dean's voice lowered to a growling tone as he grabbed at Sam's hips, pulling him closer and kissing at his tanned midriff. The younger brother gasped, and neither of them are even sure if it was because of Dean's words or the feeling of his mouth against his skin.
Sam pushed himself closer to Dean, wanting nothing more than to feel his hands and mouth all over him. But he wouldn't tell him to do anything, it's Dean's birthday after all, he's the one in charge. He gets to choose how Sam will be pleasing him tonight. Not that that was unusual for them, as that was their normal dynamic in the bedroom, but oh well.
After Dean felt he'd kissed over Sam's abdomen enough -- though, it was never really enough, was it? -- he pulled back so he could start undressing himself. He tossed his shirt God knows where in the room, his jeans suffering the same careless fate. He didn't remove his boxers just yet, though. He wanted to watch Sam work for it. He would already do that sometimes, with no special occasion like this, but to watch him do anything while he's wearing that would be a treat. Dean rose to his feet, barely even getting the word "Knees" past his lips before Sam was dropped to the floor. Surely that was painful, but if it was for Dean, he was more than eager to bruise his knees. And other parts of his body.
Dean's fingers threaded themselves into Sam's long brown hair, gently tugging his head closer so his cheek was flush against the outline of his (already) achingly hard cock through his boxers. Sam took the hint and started rubbing his face all over Dean's clothed crotch, like a cat desperate for affection. Then he would start mouthing at him through the fabric, earning a sharp gasp from above him. Sam's large hands trailed up and down Dean's thick thighs, daring to come up to grab at his ass, to which Dean gave his little brother's hair a warning tug.
Really, Dean could have watched this forever. His pretty little brother, dressed in nothing but whorish, red lingerie, kneeling in front of him and mouthing over his throbbing dick that he was denying the poor boy by keeping it hidden in his black boxers. Not to mention those God forsaken puppy-dog eyes that Dean swore he would never get over for as long as he would live. He still thinks that Sam could focus a camera solely on his eyes and turn it into porn, somehow. Only for Dean's eyes, of course, nobody else would ever get to admire Sam the way he does.
When he felt himself getting a little too twitchy, though, Dean realized he should stop before he accidentally ended this little birthday party too soon. He tilted Sam's head back, forcing his mouth away from his crotch, which they both immediately missed. Though, Dean couldn't complain too much, because Sam, as if by muscle memory, opened his mouth in waiting as he stared up at Dean. Waiting for spit or cock, who knows. Dean's hand messily ran down Sam's face before he jammed two fingers over his little brother's tongue and down his throat, biting his lip as he watched him gag. His fingers were out of his mouth as quickly as they went in, though.
Dean removed his boxers and nodded toward the bed, silently telling Sam to move to it. He did, kneeling on the bed as he waited for Dean to join him. Dean had gone to grab the lube from the duffel bag, giving Sam a stupid grin as he wiggled the small bottle between his fingers.
"On your back, legs open." Dean instructed, watching as his brother assumed the position. He settled himself in the space between Sam's legs, kissing the insides of both of his knees before leaning over him to kiss him on the lips, finally .
Dean still held the bottle of lube in his hand as he held himself up above Sam, his cock rubbing against the younger brother's abdomen. The kiss got hungrier and sloppier until he couldn't handle it anymore and pulled back, fumbling with the bottle to open it and spurting some of the cold lubricant onto his fingers. His free hand pulled the lace to the side -- no way in hell was any of this coming off -- and he circled Sam's hole a few times before pressing those two wet fingers inside. Another thing Dean would never get over is the sight of Sam's face contorting with sheer pleasure, the same way, every single time they did this. The way his eyebrows would furrow, pretty pink lips falling open, jaw working a few times before he'd clench it shut. God, and the way his back arched off of the bed...
The way the muscles would clench and flutter around Dean's thick fingers, always so tight, no matter how many times they would do this. Dean wondered if that meant Sam was uncomfortable, like the way it worked with girls -- no, Dean didn't figure that out himself, Sam had to tell him -- but then he'd remember just how easily his little brother would give himself up to him and any worry of him being uncomfortable went out the window. He was always just so ready for him. So willing, each and every time .
A broken, whining "Please" fell from Sam's lips and Dean knew he was ready. He took his fingers out, spread some more lubricant over his length, and pumped himself slowly as he adjusted his positioning between Sam's legs. He somewhat roughly maneuvered those Bambi legs so his thighs were pressed against his own chest.
"Keep 'em there, hold 'em." Dean muttered out, Sam's hands quickly moving to hold his legs up in the exact position his big brother had put them in. "Good job." Even just that was enough to make the younger brother whimper.
Dean's left hand stayed accompanying Sam's at the back of his thigh, holding it up, while his right hand lined himself up with that begging hole he wished to be buried inside every single day. Seriously, if they didn't have work to do? He'd never let Sam out of bed. His plump lips parted as he slowly pushed inside, eyes squeezing shut both from the sensation and the sound of Sam whining beneath him. It should be illegal for a man to sound like that.
"Ohmygod, Sammy," Dean breathed out once he'd fully entered, panting heavily above him. He forced his eyes open and couldn't hold back the moan that bubbled up and out of his throat at the sight below.
Just Sam. His Sammy. All dolled up and full of his big brother's cock.
Dean moved Sam's legs to be around his waist, the younger brother whimpering at the slight change in angles. This gave him a good view, rather than when his thighs were to his chest. As much as they both loved that position for just how deep it allowed Dean to go, he wasn't going to let himself miss the sight of Sam in that lingerie. He wondered if he'd ever wear it again, and not just for the occasion. Maybe they could go shopping for more, different sets, other colours-- God, he'd look good in a dark blue set, wouldn't he? Dean soon realized he was lost in thought and hadn't moved since he pushed inside.
His hands held Sam's waist as he started to move, slowly at first, but they both knew that pace wouldn't last very long, it never did. Dean could never help himself. But they always enjoyed it while it lasted, of course. There was nothing not to enjoy about their sessions. Dean bit his lip hard at the sight of Sam's darkened hazel eyes rolling back at a particularly deep thrust. Oh, and when they came back to meet Dean's half-lidded green ones, it threw them both for a loop. His large hands unintentionally tightened around Sam's waist, only causing another sound to break from him.
Sam's hands, though, moved up to grasp at Dean's forearms. The older brother almost worried that he was trying to stop him until he realized he was only trying to pull him down, closer. He humoured Sam and leaned down, kissing the beauty mark on his chin, peppering more along his cheek before reaching his lips. They parted with a mutual gasp -- Sam's being louder -- and made eye contact again.
"Happy birthday, Dean." Sam strained out, fighting hard not to stumble over his words even as Dean's cock slid in and out of him so deliciously.
Dean huffed out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides like every time he'd smile. "Yeah, happy birthday to me." He pressed another wet kiss to Sam's jaw before he lifted back up, taking in the picture once more.
Then Dean just got straight up desperate, speeding up little by little, thrusting harder. He wanted to do it gradually, but with the way Sam sounded beneath him, those noises of his getting more frequent and higher pitched, those faces that he'd pull -- the ones that women in porn would make that looked stupid, but they looked hot on his little brother, of course -- it all just drove him fucking crazy. Much like everything else about Sam.
Sam grasped at the blanket beneath him, moaning and gasping for air. It was getting harder for him to keep his weakening legs locked around Dean's body the way they were, but he fought to keep them there. He was getting closer, too, but he wouldn't let go until he had Dean's say so. As much as it pained him to hold it in, his big cock twitching and leaking in his panties, he knew he had to be good for his big brother.
Dean was getting rough. Thrusts practically turning into blows that knocked the air out of Sam's lungs, but somehow he still had the ability to whine like a dog. Dean's name fell from his lips, eyes starting to pinch shut as he had to fight his body harder and harder not to come too soon. He was sobbing by this point, legs shaking around his brother's waist.
"Shit, Sammy, you sound so fucking good," Dean breathed out, earning another pathetic, shaky whine from Sam. "You gonna come? You gonna make a fuckin' mess of yourself?"
"Yes-- Dean, please, Dean--" He cut himself off with a yelp. If he hadn't heard him like this so often, Dean would have no idea what Sam was even saying. To the untrained ear, it was just tearful gibberish.
"Let me see it. C'mon, come all over that pretty lingerie, baby."
With Dean's permission, Sam let go, cum spurting out over his stomach, some reaching the lace bralette over his chest, some leaking onto the panties... He really was a mess. And Dean wasn't helping with the slow, but hard thrusts he'd given him to finish him off. Dean had to make a split second decision between coming inside of Sam and pulling out and adding to the mess on his torso, settling for the former and burying himself deep inside of Sam, shuddering as he let his release wash over him. He stilled, the both of them panting, with the occasional whimper still finding its way out of Sam's raw throat.
Dean wanted to stay inside of Sam, but he knew he couldn't, as much as he really, really wanted to. Once they'd both caught their breath, he carefully slid himself out, giving Sam an apologetic look when he heard him wince. Dean got off of the bed to go grab a towel to clean Sam up. As he walked away, even in his fucked-out state, Sam couldn't resist staring at his older brother's bare ass as he walked away. He wanted so badly for him to let him top him just once , but every time he even so much as touched his backside, Dean would shoot him a glare, or smack his hand away. Usually both, actually.
Sam wished Dean would stop worrying about that masculinity bullshit. But he'd nag him about it another time, and hopefully that would be the last time he'd have to nag him about that. About anything, really, but they both knew that would never be the case, because they're the Winchester boys. They're stubborn as fuck.
Once Sam was cleaned up and they'd settled into bed together -- and, unfortunately for Dean, his little brother no longer had the lingerie on -- Dean turned out the lights. He wrapped an arm around Sam's waist, crooked nose buried in his baby brother's too-long hair.
"You ever gonna wear that for me again?" Dean mumbled against the back of Sam's neck.
"..Only if you let me t--"
"Goodnight."