"Sammy, what the hell is this?"
Sam looks up from the duffle bag full of dirty clothes in his skinny arms at Dean's words. He blows his shaggy hair out of his eyes with a huff of breath to see that Dean has stopped walking and is pointing his chin at a sign hanging on a fence.
They have been in their current motel a little over three weeks and this was the route they took to the laundromat every Wednesday. They passed the sign once a week, like clockwork.
Sam swallows hard when he sees the graffiti written there; he has almost forgotten he'd done it. It was right when they were about to head home last week, duffles and a garbage bag full of clean, folded laundry still warm from the dryer.
Dean had been flirting with a girl almost the entire time they were there and an unfamiliar ache of jealousy had burned in Sam's belly seeing it. Even at the tender age of 14 Sam knew it was wrong to think of his brother the way he did; wishing he could feel Dean's full lips against his just once, wishing that the hand around his dick was Dean's and not his own when he fantasized in the shower. He knew he shouldn't have such thoughts but he couldn't help it. He was a hormonal teenage mess, but despite that he knew what was true in his heart: Dean was the only thing that mattered in his life and he loved him with everything he was.
Seeing Dean sneak out the back door into the alley behind the laundromat with that girl while Sam was folding the last of the clothes, pushed him over the edge. Didn't Dean care about his feelings at all? Tears blurring his vision, his cheeks burning hotly, Sam balled up the rest of the clothes and smashed them into a bag. Then he bolted. Didn't even take any of the bags with him. Dean can just carry it all home himself , Sam thought bitterly to himself.
He had seen the 'non-potable water' sign on his way back to the motel and purely on hurt-fueled impulse, he had written it - Dean Sucks - with a rudimentary dick drawn after the words. Because Dean did suck dick. He was a jerk and obviously only cared about himself and all those girls he always found to make out with. Sam was sniffling and dashing hot tears away from his cheeks with the heels of his hands as he ran the rest of the way back to the motel.
Dean was mad when he came back, having to carry all the clothes himself, but he had never even asked Sam what was wrong and hadn't mentioned the graffiti at all. Maybe he hadn't seen it. But not talking about anything that hurt your feelings or pissed you off seemed to be how they handled most things, those Winchester men, ignore it, bottle it up, brush it off. And Sam had learned from the best, so he had dropped it and trudged through the rest of the week without another word about it.
"I'm waiting for an answer here," Dean says, standing on the sidewalk with his arms full of dirty jeans and boxers. "C'mon, Sammy, I know what your handwriting looks like."
Sam blushes from his hairline down to his toes but he keeps his mouth shut. He shakes his head and tries to start walking around Dean. But Dean moves in front of him and bumps Sam back a step. Dean is taller than him so he has to crane his neck up to look at his brother. Seeing how utterly beautiful he is in the late afternoon sunshine makes Sam angry all over again. He is mad and heartbroken at the same time for what he cannot have.
"I wanna know, Sammy. Why do you think I suck dick?" A teasing smile pulls at the corner of Dean's lips.
Sam's mouth goes dry and he can feel a throb punch low in his gut. Dean just said dick. He actually said the word . Sam's brain short-circuits when it processes the movement of Dean's lips and tongue around the vowels and consonants in 'I suck dick'. The throb has pulsed its way into a near hard-on and he almost fumbles the duffle bag in his arms.
Giving his head a rough shake, he sidesteps around Dean, not trusting his voice to form a sentence that won't tremble or squeak. God, what the hell is wrong with him?
They make it the next three blocks to the laundromat in silence with Sam pulling in deep breaths to try to calm his thundering pulse and Dean walking beside him and shooting him curious glances. The place is empty when they get there and Sam feels relieved. He doesn't have to worry about sharing Dean with the girl from last week. Wait. Share? Sam berates himself with a harsh and humourless chuckle. Dean isn't his in the first place.
Slumping his shoulders, Sam shuffles his way to the change machine. With the absence of the rumbling hum of washers and dryers running in the empty room, it's almost eerie. The tiny hairs on the back of Sam's neck prickle but it's not from the unsettling quiet, it's because Dean is suddenly standing behind him. Sam can feel Dean's breath ghosting over the top of his head and he shivers.
He starts feeding a wrinkled dollar bill into the machine, trying really hard to ignore how close Dean is to him. The bill gets spit back out and Sam has to focus all his attention on trying to smooth it out before putting it back in the machine. The warmth of Dean's body heat is radiating into Sam's back and he feels the ache in his belly tighten even more. The dollar is trembling in his grasp like a crisp autumn leaf and he can barely concentrate on the task at hand.
"I don't like it when you're mad at me, Sammy." Dean's voice is low and deep and
Jesus, did he have to keep saying his name like that? It was making Sam's insides quiver whenever he heard it.
"I'm not mad," Sam argues, huffing out an irritated sigh when the dollar gets spit out a second time.
"Bullshit."
The word is so surprisingly close to his ear he lets out a little yelp and jumps back into the unyielding wall of Dean's chest. Dean chuckles behind him and suddenly Sam feels big hands curling over his hipbones. He is pulled back fully against Dean's front and his bottom nestles right against Dean's crotch. He knows because he can feel the hard column of Dean's cock pressing along the curving seat of his hand-me-down jeans.
Sam lets out a helpless moan and drops his hands to his sides, his wrinkled dollar bill floating down to the dingy laundromat floor, forgotten. Dean's hot breath rushes against his ear and he nuzzles his nose into the long hair curling over the back of Sam's neck. Sam feels like he is going to pass out. There is no way any of this is really happening to him right now. It must be a wet dream; he's been having them more and more lately.
But no, this is really real. This is so much more detailed perfection than his dreaming brain could ever conjure up. The smells of stale detergent and sun-warmed dust and Dean's Old Spice deodorant, the sounds of traffic rushing by outside and a far-off police siren somewhere, the feeling of his heart beating a million miles a minute and his inexperienced yet eager fourteen year old cock leaking enough to soak the front of his briefs. It's achingly real and Sam feels in that moment if he doesn't get off soon he might just die.
"I know when you're mad at me, Sammy,and this is one of those times. Tell me what I did so I can fix it. Tell me why you think I suck dick." Dean rasps the words against Sam's hair, tightening his grip on Sam's bony hips.
Sam's control slips and he grinds his ass back into Dean's crotch. "T-the girl l-last week," Sam stutters, scrunching his eyes closed to try and forget how he had caught just a glimpse of Dean slotting his perfect lips over her's before the door had closed them away in the alley. "I wanted it to be me," he finishes, ashamed.
Dean goes stock-still behind him, even his breathing stops, and Sam feels his cheeks burn and his heart plummet. Dean is going to think he's a freak, he's going to laugh at him, and Sam starts tearing up 'cause he knows he would not be able to handle that, not from Dean.
But that's not what happens at all. Dean is suddenly around in front of him, moving faster than Sam can even blink. Dean's putting his big hands on Sam's narrow shoulders and he's brushing his thumbs over the sides of Sam's neck. He's looking at Sam so openly and earnestly that Sam feels a lump form in his throat.
" I wanted it to be you ," Dean whispers.
And before Sam can even reply, Dean's mouth is covering his own. It's warm and wet and everything Sam has ever wanted. The perfection of it makes Sam choke out a little sob and bring his hands up to dig into the back of Dean's leather jacket. This is his first kiss and even though he knows it's probably painfully obvious to Dean he has no idea what he's doing, it's okay. He knows Dean will show him and guide him, just like in every other aspect of his life.
The soft press of lips turns into something heavier and more heated within the span of only a few moments and Sam feels like he's drowning. It's the best feeling in the world. Dean's tongue is in his mouth and Dean's hands are tangling up in his hair and Dean's cock is pressing up against his belly. Sam is trying to mimic the movements of Dean's lips and teeth but gives up, just letting it all wash over him, letting Dean use him as he pleases.
Just when Sam feels like he's going to pass out from lack of oxygen and overabundance of pleasure, Dean pulls back and falls to his knees on the peeling linoleum under their feet. He starts unbuttoning Sam's jeans and Sam's spit-slick lips fall open in shock.
"Dean, what're you doing?!" he shrieks.
Dean flashes him a sideways grin then fishes Sam's hard cock out of the little pocket on his briefs. "I'm showing you that I really do suck dick, Sammy. Well, only yours actually." He stretches his neck forward and rubs the slippery head of Sam's dick over his plush lips. "I've never done this before."
A high-pitched whine escapes from Sam's lips and he threads his fingers into Dean's short hair. "What if someone comes in?" he asks frantically.
Dean looks up at him, the freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose standing out in stark contrast to his green eyes. Sam can't catch his breath. "I turned the sign to close when we came in," he says.
Sam pushes his hips forward a bit, gasping. His heart is beating hard enough to thump right out of his chest "You were planning for this to happen?"
"I was hoping it would," he replies with a shrug, swallowing Sam's cock down in one go.
Sam sees stars and he staggers. He's about to go down but Dean's hand snakes up the back of his thigh and holds him steady with his palm cupping Sam's left ass cheek. The feeling is better than anything he could have ever imagined.
Dean is licking and sucking at his cock and making little moaning noises that vibrate through Sam's entire body and Sam knows he won't last long. Hell, all those times in the shower he could only jerk off for a few minutes before coming. But now he's so amped up and so very aroused that he can only hold on for another two seconds.
The tight coil in his belly finally lets loose and it's like Sam's very soul is being sucked out of the end of his dick. He tightens his fingers in Dean's hair, slamming his hips forward, pushing into Dean's mouth as deep as he can go.
He cries out Dean's name, shaking with the force of it. A muffled groan drifts up to Sam and he can actually feel Dean's throat constricting around the head of his cock as he swallows. It makes Sam spurt again, draining all he has left into Dean's mouth.
And all at once it's too much stimulation. Sam puts his hands down on Dean's shoulders and pushes him back. "S-stop," he pleads.
Dean pops off with a grin and looks up at Sam, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He has never looked more gorgeous; his full mouth is even more puffy, his cheeks are stained red, and his pupils are depthless and dark. Sam's knees feel weak and he sinks down into Dean's lap bonelessly. He is sated and happy in a way he could never hope to describe.
Dean welcomes him into his arms and cradles Sam close to his chest. Sam is about to ask if he needs help 'finishing', but then his elbow brushes over a wet stain on Dean's jeans and Sam knows his brother has found his own pleasure in it all.
"What should we do about the sign?" Sam asks meekly, tucking his face into Dean's shirt and taking a deep breath of his scent.
Dean's arms tighten a little around Sam's lanky body. "Well you're not still mad at me, are you?"
Sam shakes his head immediately and he can feel the rumble of Dean's chuckle in response. He really shouldn't have acted so impulsively, he knows, but he had been hurt in that moment and it was all he could think of doing to lash out. "I'm sorry I did it, Dee," he murmurs.
Dean shushes him softly and hooks a finger under Sam's chin to bring his gaze up. "Don't be sorry, okay? I think we should leave it there," Dean says, rubbing his thumb along Sam's smooth jaw. "It'll be a reminder of a good memory now, instead of a shitty one. Every time we walk past it, it'll remind us of today."
Sam feels his chest tighten with emotion and he nods. Dean smiles and brings his face in close, his lips hovering just inches from Sam's, his breath washing gently over Sam's skin. "Besides," he whispers, "we know it's really true now, don't we?"
Sam giggles and throws his arms around Dean's neck, closing the distance between them, sealing Dean's words with a kiss.