Flare
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural and I'm not making any money from this fic
Summary: Dean and Sam get into a food fight before school
Prompt: 14 – school, heat, frustration
Implement: Hand
Type of Story: Teen!chesters; drabble
Warning(s): Spanking
"So, Sam, any chicks at school who might be attracted to a nerd like you?" Dean asked, managing to resist the temptation to flick some cereal at his brother; more because their father was close by, doing some research. No matter how involved John seemed to be in his work, he always seemed to know when his boys were just starting a fight – or about to get in one.
"Shut up," Sam muttered without looking up. He was eating, but Dean noticed the way he avoided looking at him.
Dean smirked a little, pleased to get a reaction out of him. "Aw, is Sammy embarrassed?" he teased. "You shouldn't be. I hope you finally get laid, though. Hey, if you need any tips, I'll be happy to give you some." The air conditioning wasn't working, and Dean had to keep wiping sweat away from his brow. Really, he was mostly needling Sam just to take his mind off of how hot it was.
"Shut up!" Sam snapped again. After casting a surreptitious glance at their father, he flicked a spoonful of cereal at Dean.
"Hey!" Dean protested. He flicked a spoonful of cereal back at Sam.
Of course, things escalated from there. Or, at least, they started to. Dean was just starting to grab a jug of milk to pour over Sam's head when he felt his arm grabbed, and a ferocious swat landed on his bottom. A moment later, John did the same thing to Sam. "You should be ashamed of yourselves!" he snapped.
"Dean started it!"
"It's Sam's fault. Just because he can't take a joke...!"
"Enough!" John raised his hand for silence. "You've both got school soon, and you don't need to go there angry with each other." He paused, then continued, "Since you both started this, I'm going to punish you together. Bend over the couch, both of you, with your bottoms bare."
Dean and Sam knew better than to argue. Down came the jeans and underwear, and they bent over the couch.
John rested a hand on each of their bottoms, watching the way they clenched their cheeks, and then gave them both a powerful smack. Not giving them a chance to react, he continued until a good two dozen spanks had been given, then rested his hands on bottoms that were flushed pink. "This doesn't happen again, okay?"
"No sir."
"Good." John patted their backs, then moved away. "You can get up now." What he didn't want to tell them was the reason behind it – that he didn't want either of them to get into danger because they were messing around.
The End