#bottom!jack

-

-

-

Sam glares but proceeds to pull his shirt over his head.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Jack, who is blissfully unaware of the existence of sarcasm, nods enthusiastically as he steps closer and puts his hands where his eyes are glued to: Sam’s chest, the wide expanse of it and then down his ribs, his abs. He can’t take his eyes off all that newly-bare skin. Jack is already flushed just from this.

This might be a bad idea.

“C’mon.” Sam plucks Jack’s shirt out of his jeans. “Get a move on.”

He’s locked the door. Dean is busy with his new issue of Busty Asian Beauties and maybe that’s part of why Jack brought this up again, seeing it laid out on the table before Dean was reprimanded to please take it to your room, seriously—what he’d like to do with Sam, he’s thought about it and he thinks he’d enjoy it, a lot, and don’t they always say he needs to unwind, get less robotic? Sam begins to sweat, to heat up. His stomach is tense. Jack’s soft touches aren’t helping.

Sam wants to hurry so it’s over sooner.

There’s saying no to someone and there’s saying no to Satan’s spawn.

Okay, no, wrong train of thought; sex. Think about sex.

“Can we kiss?” Jack peers up at him, lets Sam strip him—milky-white underneath, barely any hair and Sam’s very sure he shouldn’t think about that too hard, either. Sam swallows, nods. Tosses Jack’s shirt away and cups that pinked face in both hands, tips it up and leans down and kisses Jack on the mouth. Feels him inhaling, tensing. Hands on Sam’s own. A thumb to one of the popping veins on the back of Sam’s hand. Jack decides, “I like that,” once he can. Sam kisses him again. Jack sighs happy.

Sam undoes Jack’s belt for him. Pulls it out of those jeans and throws it away while Jack keeps looking at Sam’s face, licks his own lip. Dreamy eyes, already glazing over. Jesus. He’s young, isn’t he?

“You ever touch yourself? Here?” Jack’s lips part for the cup of Sam’s hand flat over his crotch. He shakes his head. Of course.

“Is…is that bad?”

“Uh, no. No, just… Nothing. That’s okay.”

More kisses for distraction. Sam brings his tongue into the mix. Jack stumbles around it but eventually gets the hang of it. Like a calf looking for milk. Sam removes his own belt, unzips.

Sam gets a hold of Jack’s wrist to shove that limp hand into his jeans. Jack gasps—squeezes, rubs.

“It’s gonna get bigger,” Sam explains. Rubs at Jack’s dick through his underwear with emphasis. “Like yours. See?”

“Wow.”

“Feels good?”

“Uh-huh.” Jack licks his lips again. He tentatively begins to push up into Sam’s touches. His eyes swim back and forth between Sam’s. “More. Sam, can we do…more?”

Sam doesn’t verbalize but he does press a last kiss to Jack’s mouth before he drops to his knees and tugs Jack’s underwear just low enough.

Jack’s dick is smooth and pretty like the rest of him. Sam switches to autopilot and catches the already-leaky tip with his lips, doesn’t think and just pushes on. He can take Jack all the way, no problem.

Jack gasps so loud Sam’s hair shocks to stand on end.

Hands in Sam’s hair; clasping, holding. He gets a grip on Jack’s hips to push him back, pull off. So he can bob his head, let Jack feel it. Jack sure feels it, all right.

Softest, “Oh,” when Sam pulls back to present Jack how hard he himself is. Shiny with Sam’s spit, throbbing and heated, and Sam makes a show of laving his tongue all around the sensitive head. Makes Jack moan a first time and purses his lips, eyes up to Jack; hollowed cheeks and shallow strokes, just engulfing the tip. He pulls off for good, licks his lip. Grabs between his own legs, holds Jack in place with one hand only, easy.

“Wanna try that on me? Get me nice and hard, Jack?”

Jack nods with his mouth pinched and his cheeks all lit up and Sam directs them over to Jack’s bed, sits at the foot of it and pulls Jack with him. Jack’s adorable in that clumsy kind of way. Eager, and that’s—that’s something, at least. Flattering. Sam hasn’t had the chance for many hookups lately. Not the time nor the mood. That’s part of this, too. Unwinding. Just for ten minutes.

“Easier if you get on your knees—yeah. There you go.” Sam pulls himself out of his underwear and Jack’s eyes go a little wider in the dim light of the room. Sam sinks back, braces himself on his elbow, jerks himself with the other. “Careful with the teeth. Just see what… Jesus, yeah, something like that…!”

Jack does his best to be careful. Mostly tongue but that’s good, enough to tease. Sam keeps stroking the half-soft length of his cock, lets his knuckles bump against Jack’s soft-soft lips up top. God, he wants that. Does a Nephil even need to breathe?

“Doing good.” Jack hums in reply. Points his tongue and prods at Sam’s slit, and Sam groans for that, lets his head tilt back. “Fuck. Try sucking on it? Like I did with yours?”

Jack hums again and shuffles closer to the bed. Both hands on Sam’s thighs instead of touching himself, his jeans and briefs still hanging off his hips. Sam pushes his own clothes lower, gets rid of them entirely with Jack’s help. Laces his fingers into Jack’s silky hair and pets him, directs him. Jack’s scalp is damp and hot with sweat. He looks up Sam’s body for further instructions and Sam’s nuts pull a little tighter with the eagerness in those eyes—that absolute lack of embarrassment.

“So good. Feels amazing.”

Jack reluctantly lets Sam nudge him off his cock with his knuckles from below; Sam strokes himself, now fully erect, tingling with excitement, the slick warmth of Jack’s spit. Jack huffs, wipes at his puffy mouth. Rubs Sam’s thighs, up his hips, his obliques. Sam hums and kneads his balls with his available hand, makes it good. Takes the edge off.

A point of his chin and, “Get up here,” and Jack follows suit. Climbs him and Sam kisses him, tastes himself, lets Jack taste his own dick in return. He could make—Jesus, he could make this kid do everything. Not human; the lengths they could go to…! “Let’s take this off. There you go.”

Jack gasps but curls his now-naked ass right out for the searching push of Sam’s fingers between his cheeks. Trembles all soft and his dick smears against Sam’s thigh, and Sam lets go of his own cock to put that hand on Jack’s ass, too, spreads him open to the room. Flirts three fingers up and down the tight pucker of Jack’s asshole and Jack sighs for it, chases the touch. Sam scoffs. Rubs him firmer.

“Girls have another place, right here.” Jack stares into Sam’s face in wonder as Sam rubs up-down his taint. “For guys to put their dicks inside. But this works just fine.” Back to Jack’s asshole. Jack makes a small noise. “Works just as good.”

“Can we do that? I wanna do that.”

Sam kisses that mouth. Speaks into it. “What? Put my dick in here?” He presses down, breaches the kid just-so. Jack nods against him, slick and choppy. “You sure? It might be a little weird, at first…”

“I want, Sam,” so that’s that. Jesus. Oh, Jesus, Sam, what are you doing?

“Okay,” and God, when had been the last time? Been a while, with a guy. Sam kisses Jack again to distract himself, keeps rubbing Jack’s asshole. First time. No one’s ever…! “Lick my fingers. Here.” Jack does. Sam watches—his dick throbs between their bodies. Back to Jack’s ass, now slick with spit, and Jack obviously likes that. Gasps cute and his expression melts further. His brows flinch when Sam angles one finger in, breaches him just-so. “Okay?” Slowly, Jack nods. “Wait. Actually, let’s… Here, lay down. Yes. Yeah.”

Jack grabs the nearby pillow as Sam gets comfortable behind him, spreads his ass with his hands and dives right in. Eyes closed, tongue firm and prodding—Jack gasps. Sam spreads him with both thumbs. Licks into him. God, yeah, been some time.

Sam grabs his cock—not very comfortable pressed into the bed, so he scoots low until he can kneel on the floor instead, pulls Jack with him to the edge of the bed. Jack lets him, trusts him. Sam works himself slow as he keeps eating Jack’s ass. Squeezes and kneads one juicy globe of it and sucks, hums. Jack’s pubes tickle soft against his lips, catch on his stubble. Jack’s skin heats fast with the irritation. Beard burn. Sam’s nuts tingle with anticipation.

With Ruby, he never—they didn’t have to use protection. With her vessel dead and everything, there was no threat of…well, anything. And technically, Jack’s just a few weeks old. There couldn’t be—anything, right?

Sam’s thoughts double over—shame, want, pleasure, humiliation. He could just fish his wallet out of his jeans, grab the one condom he’s got there or the bunch he keeps in his nightstand, together with the lube he has to grab sometime soon, anyway. But he could also just…not do that. Not like Jack would know any better.

Sam strokes his bare fist over his just-as-bare cock, spreads his precome over the sensitive head. God. God, he…wants.

Jack hums hot for the push of Sam’s thumb. Sam smiles, laps around the pumping digit.

“Better, right?”

Jack uh-hums and rolls his hips into the bed. Fucks himself back on Sam’s thumb, Sam’s tongue. “Feels nice.”

“Good.” Middle and ring instead of thumb. Tighter than just the thumb, but they do slide in. Sam peers up Jack’s arched back. His cute bubble butt. “Still good? Yeah?”

Jack mumbles, “More,” so Sam gives him that. Jack’s face is turned to the side, barely-visible over the hitch of his shoulder, bedded on Sam’s squished pillow. Sam watches him closely, the tremors in his young face. The bite to his lip, feeling it out. He hums when Sam twists his fingers. When he drags them out, stuffs them back in. “‘S good. I feel… Sam…”

“I got you.” Sam lets go of his cock to unearth the lube from the very back of his bedside drawer. He drizzles some on his fingers, the tips still inside Jack, keeping him open—and feeds them back in with another gasp from Jack, a twitch to his legs. “Gotta get you ready, first.”

“That, that is…!” Jack groans, attempts to get his knees anchored to push back against Sam’s knuckles. Sam counter-pushes with his available hand on Jack’s ass, keeps him pliant and right where he wants him to be. Jack huffs, frustrated. Complains, “Sam,” but Sam shushes, watches Jack’s asshole stretch around three of his fingers. The slick makes it so much better. Easier.

“Just a little more, Jack.”

A Nephil. They could use Jack’s grace to—no, the boy’s still too inexperienced, couldn’t control it enough. Sam licks his lip, is highly aware of the scrape of the sheets against the weeping tip of his cock. Just a little more. Jack can take him for sure. A Nephil. You can’t hurt him. Not permanently.

“So soft,” praises Sam, and pushes all the way to his knuckles to emphasize what he means. Jack moans into his pillow. Sam works the prostate apparently even only-half-humans are equipped with. “You wanna try? I think you’re good to go.”

Of course, “Yes,” and, “please,” and some more desperate blabbering Sam cuts short with a kiss. He pulls his fingers out, slicks his cock with the (generous) remnants of lube on his hand. Kid doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, thinks Sam, and climbs the bed anew. Pulls Jack on top of him, makes him straddle Sam’s lap.

Kisses and, “Easy,” and Sam holds his cock straight up but Jack needs a few tries to figure the angle out. Slips a couple of times and that feels good already, too good to be true—and when Jack finally gets it, when Sam’s cock catches and gets swallowed up, it’s—oh, it’s been way too long.

Sam groans, engulfed in too much slick heat at once. Jack trembles on top of him, circles his hips. Choppy, unsure—Sam helps, guides him with his hands. Soft, careful, inch by inch. One step forward, two steps back. Jack gulps wet against Sam’s mouth. Sam swirls their tongues together, eyes closed.

“Feels good,” slurs Jack. Sam hums, sucks at Jack’s lip. “You’re all hot. Like your blood is right under the surface…”

Sam wants to tell him that it is. That Jack feels just as good against him. That he’s throbbing wet perfection inside, clenching and surrendering and letting Sam inside him so easily—easier than most humans had, before. His grace, for sure, making it better and easier and better without him even realizing, working in the background, helping things along…

Sam lifts his ass to nudge deeper and Jack lifts on instinct; Sam firms his hold on Jack’s hip and stops him from squirming. Jack whines, no pain—Sam sucks on his throat. Thrusts up into him in careful, shallow rolls of his hips. Buries himself deeper, makes the Nephil take him, Lucifer’s son—Sam stares up into Jack’s pleasure-tense face, the flutter of his loosely shut eyes, the gape of his pink mouth. Trusting. Enjoying. He’s enjoying this. He likes it.

Sam switches his hold from Jack’s hips to Jack’s ass. Grabs a handful each and push-pulls the kid like that, guides him to bounce on his cock. Despite the lube and prep, of course he’s tight inside, but the ride is smooth and slick and perfect, just loose enough. Sam huffs, snaps his hips rougher, choppier. Jack gulps, dips down for kisses. Sam gives him those. Sucks at Jack’s soft, pink tongue.

“Wanna get on your back, yeah? Here. Let me…”

Jack keeps his arms around Sam’s neck as his mouth flies open further for the new angle, for the push of his own knees towards his armpits. Sam has to muffle Jack with his hand he’s getting so loud.

“Shh, okay? Gotta be quiet, remember?”

Sam’s own goddamn brain doesn’t want to remember, not with something soft and warm underneath him. Sam pumps into Jack’s ass with intent, all the way, balls slapping against Jack’s tailbone on every stroke. Jack’s breath pushes hot against his palm, his cute little moans—he tries, hard, but he can’t keep it down completely (not that Sam would want him to).

Sam hears himself pant, “You like it? You like getting fucked like this?” and Jack sobs as he nods into Sam’s hand, his entire body jostling under Sam’s thrusts, under Sam’s power. Sam could go harder. Sam can.

With another human, it would hurt them for sure—but Jack merely whines louder, still soft, still relaxed, obviously enjoying it. Sam groans, tucks the kid tight against himself. Lets him cling and moan against his shoulder and just pistons into him, makes the bed wobble with the impact. Dean might hear that. Sam decides Sam can’t care.

Jack’s voice rises and then there’s a shudder, deep inside, drawing Sam further in, and Jack gasps for air and there’s a spill between them, sticky between their stomachs and Sam growls, overwhelmed, and stumbles right along without further ado.

He holds himself as deep as he can and just—lets go. Unloads for what feels like ages, and he churns them together while he does because Jack won’t stop squirming, egging him on for more. Whimpers cute and sucks at the teeth marks he left in Sam’s shoulder. Sam blinks, huffs. Trembling. Tucked against the kid.

His cock gives a last, satisfied throb inside Jack’s ass, and Sam groans his sigh. He lets Jack pet his head, card through his sweaty hair.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his brain now slowly trickling back online. Unfortunately. “Fuck, Jack…”

“That was awesome.”

Jack’s voice is all thick. All happy. When Sam peels them apart just enough to check, Jack is smiling at him.

Jack tucks a bunch of wet strands of hair behind Sam’s ear. Jack’s eyes glint with splinters of gold.

Jack reluctantly replaces Dean’s hand that he slapped across his mouth—with his own.

Hears and feels him shushing sweet, gentle, before he returns his hand into the back of Jack’s drooping knee. Dips his mouth back down, back there, and Jack suppresses his next whimper.

Dean groans into his ass. Shouldn’t be this pleased, really shouldn’t, as far as Jack can judge that. As far as Jack can judge anything.

The summer heats the wooden raised hide to a mess. Jack’s sweating through his tee and his shirt. His boots are heavy on his feet, but Dean’s got him. Keeps his legs folded out and away and Jack doesn’t have to think. Jack’s jeans lie in a sad puddle, next to their rifles in the corner of the hide; forgotten.

Nothing but the birds, the faint wind in the trees just outside, surrounding them. The drippy mess of Dean’s mouth working him wet, loud, like this is a porn vid. Like Jack’s something delicious.

Jack gets a thumb, an appreciative sound deep from Dean’s chest. More tongue; the rough ride of Dean’s beard against his taint, his already-rawed skin. Spit drools down his tailbone, tickles like crazy but he can’t, he can’t.

When he squirms, Dean just holds him down harder.

Low, “You’re doing so good,” and Jack huffs into his palm.

Jack’s mouth pulls to a smile before he’s even fully awake.

“Hm. Morning.”

He gets a kiss, sweet and tame. Shifts his legs wider, underneath the covers, so he can feel—more. All of it.

Sam’s large hand, wrapped around him dry and firm; the stubble of his beard catching on Jack’s cheek and the reciprocated, rough, “Mornin’,” and Jack huffs, pleased. Humps Sam’s hand until that retreats, dips down to cradle Jack’s balls instead. Jack pouts. Sam chuckles, “What?” and rubs two stiff fingers lower, down his taint, over the tight-again clutch of his asshole. “You need somethin’, huh?”

Sleepy, “Don’t stop,” and Sam kisses him again, rubs his fingers nice and low and Jack wants to tell him, “No, not that,” but Sam’s already scooting down, below the safety of the blanket and swallows the warm line of Jack’s dick down his throat, easy as that, and Jack’s hips truly rise off the bed for that.

Jack pushes the blanket away so he can watch better.

That effortless bob of Sam’s head.

Jack tucks some of that gorgeous hair behind one of those darling ears. Shifts, uncomfortable, for the dry finger threatening to breach him. Sam stops his efforts to reach across the bed, behind the pillows where they’d stored the lube last night. Squirts some on his fingers and Jack sighs with relief because Sam’s got his mouth back on his cock by then; sinks one finger into his ass so so slow and careful.

Jack tells him, “Feels good,” one hand in that hair just to hold onto something and Sam doesn’t reply. Just swallows around him, makes his throat go all tight and dreamy-perfect and Jack’s eyes roll back into his head and he holds Sam down, right there, and Sam allows it. Not much of a challenge for him, after all.

Sam comes up eventually to ask him, “Two?” and Jack nods, lip between his teeth. Plucks at his own nipple once Sam’s guided his limp hand towards it and winces for the stretch. Sam watches his face, suckles tight on the head of his dick while he does. Wants to know, “Okay?” and Jack nods again, and Sam’s face dimples up for that, and the wrinkles around his eyes smile their very own smile.

Jack huffs. Lets his head drop back into the pillow, feels his cheeks heating up pink. Drifts, relaxes.

Sam doesn’t ask again for the third. Shushes Jack sweet, his free hand on the quiver of Jack’s lower stomach. Keeps sucking him off through all of it, and that helps.

Again, “Okay?”

Jack cringes. “Big.”

Sam laughs. “Well, yeah. Sorry.”

“You wanna try again?”

“You don’t?”

Jack admits, “I dunno,” and Sam pushes himself higher for that, kisses him on the mouth for that. A there-there, it’s okay. Wet and warm and his fingers keep flexing inside Jack’s ass, pull apart and Jack grunts, off-guard.

“Hurts?”

“No.” Jack swallows, searches Sam’s morning-soft face. Cups it, rubs his thumb along one cheekbone. “I want it,”

and Sam tells him, “I know,” and kisses him again, and his knuckles grind flush with Jack’s taint and it feels odd, a little; still. “I know, baby. It’s okay.”

“You can use my mouth if you want.”

Sam hums happy. “Let me handle this. Keep playing with those tits for me, all right?”

Jack nods, frowns. Has Sam kneeling his way down, take a seat between Jack’s legs—pushes his leg back until it almost-touches Jack’s shoulder and Jack gasps, folded up and struggling, and Sam tells him to,

“Here, hold onto this,”

and he does, and.

Sam’s thighs underneath him help keeping his ass tilted up. Helps Sam to get his other hand down there, too, and he slips both his pointer fingers in and pulls him apart, and.

Jack gets a hold of his dick without being told to. Babbles, “Sam,” and Sam just crooks his fingers harder, pulls Jack’s ass wider until it feels weird and then some. Purses his lips, and Jack’s chest hitches with the fat line of spit that disappears inside of him, like this is normal, like this is what it’s for, and the next time he meets Sam’s eyes they’re dark and happy and Sam smiles, asks him,

“Yeah?”

and uses two fingers on each side, uses more force, pries Jack even further apart.

Jack can’t speak.

Can only stare up at his boyfriend, gape like a moron because oh, oh snap, he can’t.

“You gonna come?”

Jack nods, stupid.

“You want me to try?”

Again, “Uh-huh,” and Sam huffs relieved; gets more lube and Jack’s hand is hurrying the heck up. Mutters, “Please, please,” before Sam can lower himself down, keep him quiet with his tongue in his mouth. Pushes Jack’s leg even deeper and Jack feels it, then, the insane pressure and weight of his cock slipping where Jack’s wet and baby-opened, just enough, and Sam grunts like it hurts him as well and he’s popped the head of it inside, then, too-much and hot and slick and Jack comes on that high, shoots messy and choppy over his own hand.

Gasps wildly while Sam groans, rocks himself deeper through the clutch of Jack’s orgasm, curses under his breath and Jack hiccups, gulps for air, because gosh, oh, gosh, it’s, he’s.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Jack whimpers for the next two inches pumping into him, solid and violent and his hand slips on the hard plane of Sam’s stomach, and his mouth is open and sore and Sam looks so—beautiful, right now, so lost in bliss and focus and a snarl dances around his lip and he grits again,

“Shit,”

and rolls his hips, bumps the few inches he’s worked Jack’s ass up to home once, twice.

Dips his head down to kiss Jack on the mouth, drink down his noises. Has Jack scrambling like a bug for inches seven and eight and he seizes, then, a spasm down Sam’s back and Jack fucking feels that, moans with him as his orgasm takes him by surprise, whips him around and has his hips stuttering deep, involuntary.

“Fuck. Sorry…”

Jack promises, “It’s okay,” and feels dizzy with it, with the warmth spreading in his insides, with the flush of Sam’s chest, his face.