Worth the Weight

by a.lakewood

Wincest. As hunts start becoming far and few between, Sam notices a change in his brother: Dean's been slowly gaining weight due to their increasingly sedentary lifestyle. Sam likes it.

Title: Worth the Weight [1/1]
Author: alakewood
Warnings: Wincest. Future!fic. General spoilers for all aired episodes. Chubby!Dean. Feeding. Stuffing. Oral sex and a hand job.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3600+
Summary: As hunts start becoming far and few between, Sam notices a change in his brother: Dean's been slowly gaining weight due to their increasingly sedentary lifestyle. Sam likes it.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

It's been nearly a year since Sam completed the tasks outlined by the demon tablet and permanently closed the gates to Hell. And it's been three weeks since their last actual, legitimate hunt – and that was a ridiculously easy gig in a little farm town in northern Missouri that required all of two hours research at the library and the burning of an ancient lock of hair to dispatch an aggressively dangerous ghost that was slowly veering into poltergeist territory in an abandoned farmhouse-cum-popular high-schooler party spot.

Dean's across from him in their window booth at yet another nondescript mom-n-pop diner studying a sticky laminated menu. "I think I'll have the cheeseburger," he says after a moment, nodding to himself.

They've driven from coast to coast and border to border in the past months and have spent the majority of their time in the car or researching, sitting on their asses. Sam's done his level best to stay fit during their inactivity, kept up a training regimen consisting of five-mile runs and weight lifting in the Men of Letters bunker when time allows or quick sets of situps and pushups on their filthy motel room floors when it doesn't. But Dean, it seems, has let his training go by the wayside. His face is a little rounder, cheeks a little fuller, and Sam thinks a cheeseburger is probably the last thing his brother needs. "You sure about that?" He glances at his own menu. "The grilled chicken club sounds good. And it looks like they've got a chef salad-"

Dean snorts a laugh and holds up a hand, effectively cutting Sam off. "Let me stop you right there, chief. I'm pretty sure I'm capable of ordering for myself. Not like I've been doin' it for thirty years or anything."

"Just saying: a few vegetables now and then wouldn't kill you. As a matter of fact-"

In typical Dean fashion, he holds his menu up in front of his face, blocking himself from Sam's view, and waves over the waitress that took their drink order a couple of minutes ago. "You boys ready to order?" she asks with a lip gloss-shiny smile and a swish of her blonde ponytail as she glances from Dean to Sam and back.

"Yeah," Dean tells her, fixing her with a smile of his own. "I'll have the cheeseburger basket, extra pickle and extra onion." He gives Sam a little smirk and hands over his menu.

"For you?" she asks Sam, heavily lined eyes focused on her order pad as she jots down Dean's request.

"The grilled chicken club with the side salad," he says, ignoring the way Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Do you have Italian dressing?"

"Umm... I think so," she says uncertainly with a shrug.

"Ranch is fine, too," he relents.

"We've got that for sure. Is that all?" Eyebrows raised, she turns her gaze back to Dean as she collects their menus. At Dean's affirmative nod, she clutches the menus to her chest and nods back at him. "Alright, then. I'll go put this in." She eyes Dean a moment longer before turning away and heading back to the kitchen with their order.

The look Dean gives Sam is half a dare for him to say something and half a warning for him not to. In the end, Sam sighs and leans back against the vinyl seat, leaving Dean to look through the remains of the local paper that was left on the table next to theirs.

The waitress brings back Sam's salad and lingers a bit longer than necessary, finally backing off when Dean doesn't even acknowledge her with a glance. Sam watches her make rounds, topping off coffee and ice water before settling back behind the register, leaning against the counter with her bright pink cell phone in her hands.

Some ten minutes later, a bell in the back dings and the waitress pushes off the counter and disappears into the kitchen only to return a moment later with a small plate and a red plastic basket. She places the plate with his sandwich in front of Sam and slides the basked onto the table next to Dean's open paper. "Can I get you anything else? Refills?"

Dean folds the newspaper and hands his amber-colored plastic cup over. "Thanks."

"Me, too, please," Sam says with a smile, passing her his own cup.

Without another word, Dean digs into his cheeseburger, grease and a glob of melted American cheese dripping back into the waxed paper lining his basket. He moans as he chews, telling Sam around the food in his mouth, "Don't know what you're missing."

"I'm good," Sam says. "Thanks."

Dean polishes off his entire burger, all of his fries, and still somehow manages to find room for a piece of apple pie with a side of ice cream. As they stand to pay the check, Sam notices the way Dean's shirt stretches across his stomach, a couple of the buttons straining. He can't remember ever seeing his brother in anything other than peak physical condition and he has to admit, even for all that it's unhealthy, it's kind of nice – and intriguing – to see this side of Dean. It's somehow just as humanizing as seeing his brother bleed, but on the other end of the spectrum. This is the opposite of a dangerous situation and seeing Dean happy, even if it's just because of an artery-clogging burger, is something that find himself liking.

A couple days later, they're at an IHOP for breakfast because Dean was craving pancakes and Sam is more than happy to indulge his brother. As a matter of fact, Sam orders waffles and bacon in addition to his fruit and yogurt and lets Dean eat his other waffle and the untouched bacon. Their meals continue on like that whenever they're on the road, Sam ordering more than he can eat and allowing Dean to have whatever's left over.

Sam keeps it up for a good three months, slowly watching Dean's belly grow into a soft, undefined mound. It's a chance sighting of the slightly pudgy flesh while Dean comes out of the bunker's bathroom with a towel slung low around his hips, beneath the slight swell of his belly, that get's Sam caught out because he can't stops staring.

Dean's got a Q-tip in his ear, blissful expression on his face from the mundane task of wax removal, and his other hand is resting on his hip, fingers grazing the suppleness of his stomach as he stands there dripping water onto the wood floor of the library where Sam is working. Or was working, before Dean distracted him.

"Sam?" Dean says loudly, drawing Sam's attention up from Dean's belly to the exasperated expression on his face.

"Uh, yeah. What?" Sam blinks and glances down at the book open on the table in front of him.

"I said we're out of Q-tips. And shampoo," Dean says slowly, eyebrows raised. "And I need a couple other things. I'm gonna make a trip to the Walmart in Concordia if you want to make a list of anything else you can think of."

"Whatever," Sam tells him with a shrug, glancing up from the picture of a wraith he's been staring at instead of Dean's distracting, naked skin. Of course, the moment he thinks about Dean's distended stomach, his gaze is dropping low.

"Eyes up here, freak," Dean barks, crossing his arms over his belly to cover as much of himself as he can, blushing from his chest and neck up into his face. Even his ears go pink when he obviously catches on to what has diverted Sam's attention.

Sam feels embarrassed, too – for a completely different reason, however – but he can't stand to see Dean so insecure. "Hey," he says, pushing his chair back from the table and getting up. He crosses to where Dean's standing in the slowly drying puddle around his feet, staring at the floor, and uncrosses Dean's arms. "Don't."

It's the closest they've been, willingly and out of the context of the job, in longer than Sam can remember. Since before Lucifer, he thinks. And that was, what? Four years ago? Four years since they were last in a borderline-intimate situation.

Sam ducks his head down, tilts it to the side to catch Dean's averted gaze, and smiles. "Don't be shy about it." He skims his knuckles over the swell of Dean's stomach and listens to his brother's sharp intake of breath.

Dean bites his lip and shakes his head, chest heaving. "Sam," he says, voice quiet but holding a warning.

"I like it," Sam admits, turning his hand to curve his palm over Dean's skin. "Like you like this."

"I'm- I'm fat," Dean argues, slapping Sam's hand away.

Sam shakes his head. "No." He presses his hand to Dean's stomach again, feels the give, the vaguest flex of muscle as Dean tenses at his touch. "You're not fat."

After a minute of just standing there letting Sam... fondle the slight bulge of his belly, Dean backs away, clearing his throat. "Well. I better... you know. Get dressed. You sure you don't need anything?"

"Yeah, Dean. Just get whatever."

"Okay," Dean says, nodding, still not looking at Sam. "I'm gonna-" He hooks his thumb over his shoulder and turns around, heading out the door and down the hall.

Sam goes back to his reading and isn't surprised when Dean leaves without saying goodbye. He's well into a book on Middle Eastern angel mythos when the heavy, iron front door creaks open. "You need any help?" Sam asks when Dean starts down the stairs laden with gray plastic bags.

Dean glances into the library as he passes. "Uh, no. I've got it."

Regardless of Dean's dismissal, Sam gets up and follows his brother into the kitchen. "I can at least help put stuff away," he says, digging into one of the bags on the counter.

"I said I've-" Dean starts, reaching to pull the bag away from Sam, but he's too late.

The bag is full of nothing but junk food. There are packages of different Little Debbie snacks – Swiss Rolls and Zebra Cakes, Star Crunch and Oatmeal Cream Pies – Oreos, two different kinds of Doritos, and a bag of Cheetos.

Yanking the bag away, Dean turns to the pantry in the corner. "There's still a couple things in the backseat."

"Okay." Sam doesn't even try to hold back his smile. It's pretty clear that Dean's now indulging him.

When he returns to the kitchen with the case of beer and a 24-pack of Coke, Dean's got everything else put away except for a half-pound package of hamburger and a bag of frozen French fries. "Burgers fine?" he asks, rolling up his sleeves to wash his hands.

"Sounds good. Need me to do anything?"

"You can get me a beer, bitch. I'm parched."

"Parched?" Sam echoes with a smirk, crossing the kitchen to pull open the fridge.

"Yes, Sam, parched. As in thirsty."

"I know what parched means, jerk." He pulls two of the last cold bottles from the bottom shelf and pops off the lids before leaning up against the counter.

Dean dries his hands on a thinning red and white checkered towel and takes the bottle Sam holds out to him. "Don't you have anything better to do besides standing there? You're gonna get in my way."

Pushing off of the counter, Sam holds up a placating hand. "I guess I can find something to read."

"Good."

Sam takes his beer back to the library, marking all the relevant pages in the books he left open before closing them and stacking everything off to one side. He pulls his laptop in front of him and sets to the task of finding a job or something that looks like it could maybe be a job because they're long overdue. And Dean has more of a tendency to overeat when they're on the road.

There's not much of anything in the surrounding states, but five bodies have washed up on the banks of the Ohio River in Pittsburgh over the past month with the same kind of trauma and a single, short incision beneath their sternums. By the time Dean comes into the library with dinner, Sam's managed to hack into the Allegheny County Medical Examiner's Office secure server to have a peak at the victims' autopsies. A critical detail has been left out of the police reports: the hearts, lungs, and livers of all five victims are missing.

"I think I found us a job," Sam says, closing his laptop and moving it out of the way so Dean can set Sam's plate down.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, settling at the table across from Sam. "Where?"

"Pittsburgh. Five bodies pulled from the Ohio without their hearts, lungs, or livers. Of course, the police haven't exactly made that little bit of info public knowledge yet."

Nodding, Dean rearranges a slice of tomato on his burger before picking it up. "When do we leave?"

"Should probably head out tomorrow, don't you think?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

After that, they eat in silence. Sam only manages to finish a good three-fourths of his burger and half of his fries before pushing his plate across the table to Dean. "Go ahead," he tells him, "I don't mind."

Dean's already slouched in his chair looking completely sated as he drags the last of his fries through the puddle of ketchup on his own plate. "I don't think I could eat another bite," he admits on a sigh that edges into a groan.

"Sure you can."

Dean eyes the remainder of Sam's burger before picking it up and looking at Sam. With a deep breath, he lifts the sandwich to his mouth and slowly finishes it with even, paced bites. "Seriously, Sam. I'm full."

"You've got enough room for a few more fries, though, don't you?" Sam wheedles, getting up from his chair and rounding the table to sit next to Dean, pulling the chair beside him even closer. "C'mon." He picks up a couple of fries from his plate and swipes them through Dean's ketchup and lifts them to Dean's mouth. "Here."

Dean accepts the food and allows Sam to feed him until both plates are empty save for a few red smears of ketchup. He stares at Sam's face, eyes dark and hooded, breathing slow and shallow, and makes no move to get up.

"How do you feel?" Sam asks, gently placing a hand on the swell of Dean's firm but soft stomach.

"Really fucking full," Dean huffs with a hint of a smile. "And tired."

"Yeah?" The idea of a content, sleepy Dean sprawled out in bed is a nice one, and Sam can imagine stretching out alongside of him, touching and feeling his stuffed-full belly. "Why don't you go lay down, then? I'll clean up."

Hesitating for a brief moment, Dean covers Sam's hand with his own, pressing it against his body a little more firmly. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Go lay down, think about what you want for dessert."

Dean groans and shakes his head, laughs as he stands. "You're shameless, Sammy."

Sam smiles at the nickname he doesn't hear half as often as he'd like. "Go on."

Squeezing Sam's shoulder, Dean nods and slowly makes his way out of the library.

Sam watches him go before gathering their plates and empty beer bottles, heading back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. He rinses their bottles and drops them into the recycling bin under the counter before digging a Hershey bar out from behind the bottles of ketchup and barbeque sauce on the door in the fridge.

The walk down the hall to where their rooms are is a short one and Dean's door is open when Sam reaches it. The lamp on the nightstand next to the bed casts the only light in the room and illuminates Dean's face. "Hey," he greets, voice rough, as he stretches an arm above his head.

"Hey, yourself," Sam says, entering the room, kicking off his boots at the foot of Dean's bed and unwrapping the chocolate bar, snapping off a section and breaking it into individual pieces. He rounds to the shadowed side of the room and climbs onto the mattress behind Dean, stretching out on his side, leaving enough room between them for Dean to roll over onto his back.

"Sam... what are you-" Dean starts as he shifts onto his back, then onto his side.

Shaking his head, Sam pushes a piece of chocolate into Dean's mouth, thumb lingering on his bottom lip before dragging it down to his chin to force his jaw open. Leaning in, Sam presses his mouth to Dean's, delving his tongue into the slick heat to taste the chocolate he just fed his brother. He slides his hand down Dean's throat and over his chest, tugging up Dean's shirt to get to his swollen belly beneath. It draws a low moan out of him, the hot press of bulging flesh against his palm, and the half-mast erection he's had since dinner hardens at the feel.

Dean's arms wind around Sam's neck as Sam plunders his mouth and he tugs, pulls at Sam until he's kneeling between Dean's thighs. "Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean breathes when Sam finally lets his mouth go to kiss a trail down his neck, passing over his chest to press hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses to Dean's stomach.

With a graze of teeth along the fine trail of hair that disappears under the waistband of Dean's tight-fitting jeans, Sam pops the button and tugs down the zipper, exposing the red marks spanning Dean's lower stomach. "Look at you," Sam says, pressing light kisses to the abraded skin. He closes his eyes and mouths at the swell, hooks his fingers under the elastic band of Dean's boxer-briefs and pulls them down and off with his jeans.

When Dean sits up to help Sam get his shirts off, his whole stomach bulges, completely undefined and making it look like he's gained even more weight than he has. It hangs over the creases of his thighs, hides the scars low on his stomach just inside his hip in shadow. "Come on, Sam," Dean mutters as he grips and tugs at Sam's clothes. "Come on."

Sam rises up to his knees and reaches over his head to grab the back of his tee and pull it off, Dean's fingers fumbling at his belt and fly. From his position above his brother, Sam sees Dean's body in a new way, his newly softened middle an out of place contrast with the firmer muscles on display in his defined arms and strong thighs.

The Hershey bar has shifted on the mattress with their combined weight and is stuck next to Dean's hip, probably melting. Dean follows Sam's gaze to the chocolate bar and he laughs, knocking it onto the floor with a nudge of his hand. "I can think of something better to put in my mouth," he tells Sam with a smirk, sure fingers wrapping around Sam's length and squeezing, pulling, catching the blurt of precome in his palm as it leaks copiously from Sam's slit. "You wanna feed me? Come on, Sammy."

"Fucking Christ," Sam gasps, one hand going to the back of Dean's head, the other palming Dean's full cheek as Dean strains up with one hand planted firmly behind him to swallow Sam's dick down. Never in a million years, Sam thinks. Sure, he's imagined this once or a thousand times, but never did he think that Dean would want it, too. But he's so greedy for it, sucking on Sam's cock, licking at the fat head, eyes closed and making these delicious little noises like he does when he's in the midst of a perfect slice of homemade pie or a juicy New York strip.

Dean's enjoying this as much as, if not more than, Sam. And he's so turned on, too, fat red cock flush to his rounded belly.

It's too much: the sounds coming out of Dean's mouth from around Sam's dick, the blissful look on his face, his obvious arousal pressing against the soft mound of his stomach. Sam comes with a strangled groan far too soon, Dean's moan as Sam's taste floods his mouth making him pulse and shudder. Dean struggles to keep his balance and hold Sam's hips in place, but he fails, collapses back to the mattress, wet smear of come shining on his bruised bottom lip.

Sam drops over him in an instant, kneels between Dean's spread thighs with his own weight braced on his forearm, other hand sliding down Dean's heaving chest and soft belly to wrap around Dean's cock. One firm tug has Dean splattering his stomach with thick white pulses of come. Sam can't resist the temptation, smears Dean's release into his fleshy, supple skin. "Did that really just happen?" Dean asks, breath labored as lays next to Sam, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yeah," Sam says, digging his fingertips into Dean's stomach, testing the give of his flesh.

Dean rolls his head to the side to look at Sam and laughs. "You're a kinky fucker, you know that?"

Sam snorts a laugh of his own, stills his hand on the swell of Dean's belly. "Yeah. I pretty much figured that out."