#sammyinthekinks

Sam can’t believe how close he came to dying today.

Who knew a cursed rabbit foot would be more efficient than demons at taking him down? He feels silly for how vulnerable he was all day long. Yeah, it was Bela’s fault but he can’t chase away the bitter feeling of having been a burden for Dean.

Sam winces while taking off his bloody jacket and shirt. Fortunately, the bullet went through his shoulder and won’t require poking in the wound. He’s almost thankful for that. Dean, on the other hand, is furious.

At first, Sam thought he was still reeling from the loss of thousands of dollars worth of lottery tickets, but Dean didn’t even mention the money when they arrived at Bobby’s late at night. Sam had left the two of them in the living room and went to treat his wound in the upstairs bathroom.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears Dean’s voice behind him.

“How’s the shoulder?”

Sam looks at him through the mirror above the sink and lets out a groan when he fails to shrug with his valid shoulder. Dean enters the small bathroom carrying a clean shirt in one of his hands. He frowns and approaches his brother to get a better look at the wound.

“It’s a clean shot, I’ll just be careful with it for a while.” Sam’s tone is casual while he grabs some supplies.

Dean puts the clean shirt over one of his shoulders to free his hands. He reaches close to Sam’s waist to get alcohol and starts cleaning the tender flesh on his brother’s back.

“That crazy bitch. Fuck shady British people.”

Sam chuckles and raises an eyebrow at Dean’s reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah? What about Alfred?”

Dean makes a confused face before understanding that Sam’s talking about Bruce Wayne’s butler.

“Alfred would never shoot you. And if he tried, I’d shoot him in the face first.”

His words are rough with resentment towards Bela and towards his own incapacity at shooting her after she wounded his brother without even flinching. His hands, though, are careful and soon, he pushes Sam’s hand away to take care of the entire injury by himself.

Sam half-heartedly protests but knows better than to challenge Dean’s stubborn expression. Don’t get him wrong, challenging his brother’s grumpy ways is never something he shies away from but right now, his right hand grabs the sink for support and his shoulders lose some of their tension.

It feels nice, Dean taking care of him like that. He always takes comfort in the fact that they trust each other with their lives. Although they’re not the best at exposing their inner wounds, they never hide their flesh ones from the other.

He can’t hide the smile that tugs at his lips when he remembers the first time he stitched one of Dean’s wounds. He couldn’t reach it so he had to let Sam do it. Sam did an awful job, he knows that, he could see it in the way Dean would sweat and grit his teeth.

His big brother never complained once during his clumsy stitching and Sam knows he even told their father about it later because he found a small note on John’s Journal that read “Sam can stitch wounds now”.

Yeah, normal families keep track of growth spurts and baby teeth but the Winchesters have always been different.

“What you smiling at like a dumbass?”

Dean says that and presses a little too hard on Sam’s injury, causing him to wince and try to escape his brother’s hands.

Dean doesn’t let him back away. He washes his hands tainted with Sam’s blood and dries them before opening a clean compress. He doesn’t look nowhere near Sam’s face while muttering.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Not like I’m not used to you bullying me.”

Dean finally lifts his eyes and Sam understands that he’s not apologizing for having hurt him just now. He’s apologizing for the events of the day. Perhaps even for every failure he’s ever shown as a big brother.

“Dean it’s not your-”

“I underestimated her. I wasn’t careful. Dad taught me better than to judge danger on appearance.”

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s forearm, stilling it on his bare shoulder.

“Dean. Stop.”

Dean clearly doesn’t intend on letting it go. Sam grabs him by the neck, ignoring the pain the sudden move stirrs in his shoulder. He forces his brother to look at him, really look at him, not even through a mirror, while he clearly enounces his words.

“I’m okay. I’ll live. We’re okay.”

Dean lets out a shaky breath and puts his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, minding not to touch his wound. Sam gives him a one arm hug with his good shoulder and keeps him as close to him as he can. Dean’s breath is tickling his skin and he can almost feel his erratic heartbeat. Or maybe he’s acutely aware of his own heart beating wildly.

Goosebumps on his skin, one of his nipples hardens and he softly gasps when Dean’s lips caress his skin while he backs away from the hug.

He avoids Dean’s gaze when they separate but he knows what he’s feeling is probably showing on his confused face. He dares a look at Dean and his breath catches.

His stare is so intense and the air so charged with unidentified tension that he tries - and fails- to fill it with words.

“I…”

Dean steps closer and Sam thinks that for a second, he’s going to punch him in the face. But he doesn’t. Instead, their lips and teeth clash together. Sam’s hand, still covered in his own blood, grabs the sink to stay upright. Dean doesn’t step on his toes to kiss him, he brings Sam down to him.

He’s surprised not to taste beer on Dean’s tongue. Bobby offered them some when they arrived but Sam declined it to go upstairs. Dean never declines Bobby’s beer. It means he came to find him as soon as he was done telling Bobby about what happened with the rabbit foot.

Sam melts a little at that thought and his mouth opens up tentatively. Dean’s lips and tongue are rough and demanding, like Dean always is. It’s like he’s trying to check if Sam really is here with him and not six feet under in that graveyard.

Dean mutters something against his lips but Sam is too busy trying to follow their messy body language to focus on actual communication. His bloody hand releases his grip on the sink and he brings it to Dean’s neck, keeping him close.

Dean stops kissing him, turns his head and kisses Sam’s bloody palm and fingers. His tongue darts to lick some of the blood and he taints his perfect lips with it.

His eyes look up to Sam again, pining him in place.

“I’ll kill her, Sammy.”

Sam can’t help the smile curving his lips at the thought of Bela’s cold body somewhere in a ditch. His thumb paints Dean’s lips with more red before he leans down to taste them again.

A sick thought he fails to understand runs through his mind.

Kill me first, Dean. Right now, and slowly.

                                                       🍒

hey there sweet anon. 💕 thanks for your prompt, hope this resembles what you wanted. keeping things sweet feels nice sometimes, yeah? (a little blood play is considered sweet, yes? yes.)

It’s 9pm in Arkansas. The weather? Chilly. The birds? Asleep. Sam Winchester? Pissed.

Some would call it a romantically lit motel room but truth is, it’s so shitty that the lights aren’t working properly. 

What’s working though, for Dean’s absolute pleasure, is the magic fingers device. 

John left them alone for the night, maybe even days. As soon as the door closed behind their father, Dean had inserted some quarters in the machine and thrown himself on one of the queen beds, ready to be rocked into heaven. 

Sam watches him from the corner of his eye, annoyed that Dean’s first choice now that they have some privacy is to jump on the bed and not on…well, him.

He doesn’t want to seem needy, even though he freaking is. 

A week ago, Dean couldn’t keep his hands out of Sam’s pants, the risk of being caught making them as drunk and horny as the other’s scent. But now, his big brother is acting like he doesn’t crave a dose of the sweet forbidden time they both grew addicted to. 

Did he go to some girl? Maybe Dean needs something Sam can’t give him anymore.The thought makes his heart feel both hollow and filled to the brim with a feeling he can’t identify. It’s like nausea but instead of wanting to puke, he wants to strangle something. Or someone. 

Dean’s eyes are closed and Sam turns to the dirty mirror in the tiny bathroom. He looks at himself and sighs. He’s too thin, so Dean can’t pretend he has boobs. Good thing is, he has no facial hair. Aside from his pubes and messy hair, he’s pretty much smooth. He unbuttons his plaid shirt and takes it off. Beneath it is a tight t-shirt who barely fits him anymore. 

It’s not that he doesn’t have shirts his size, it’s that he chooses on purpose to wear one that rides just above his waist line. 

At a gas station a few days ago, he spotted some gay magazines and most of them featured young men in tight clothes. He can’t go clothes shopping but what he can do is wear clothes he’s outgrown. 

He wants to be sexy for Dean, even though he’s still figuring out how. So much effort and some random bitch could have caught his brother’s attention.

A few days ago, he’d been left alone at the motel and when he turned on the radio, he had heard the song The boy is mine. His father and Dean would have laughed at him for listening to something other than classic rock but he didn’t care.

He remembers thinking ‘Will I have to fight for Dean like that someday? Tell a girl he’s off-limits?’ He can’t imagine yelling at one of the pretty waitresses or bartenders who fall under Dean’s smile and, at the same time, he can’t stop thinking about doing so. 

He approaches the beds and Dean seems to finally notice him.

“Why aren’t you enjoying some magic, Sammy?” 

“Mine’s broken.” It’s a lie but who cares? Not Sam. 

“I’m almost done and then you can use m-" 

Sam doesn’t let him finish his sentence and straddles him, his bangs getting in his eyes and thankfully hiding the blush creeping up his neck for acting so bold. 

Dean seems just as surprised as him. He sits up a bit and inserts a new quarter in the machine. 

“Or we can share, I guess.”  

It’s infuriating, how chill Dean acts when they’re in a so familiar position. The last time Sam sit in Dean’s lap, they had no clothes on and he was choking on his brother’s thick fingers while being pounded without mercy. He remembers feeling every bump on the road for days after that.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Sam can’t hold it in any longer. It’s been a week since he waited for them to have some alone time.

Dean has the audacity to direct his ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about’ look at Sam. It may work on stupid police officers and teachers but, come on, Sam can see through his brother’s bullshit since he was five years old.

He pounds his fist on Dean’s chest and when his brother grabs his wrist and lets his fingers linger there, they both shiver. Dean lowers his eyes before looking at him again. 

“We’re going back to school soon. Dad told me last week.”

Sam doesn’t understand what that has to do with anything. What that has to do with them.

“I thought that maybe you’d want a girlfriend.”

Dean’s tone is neutral, almost cheerful but he can’t fool his brother. He doesn’t say it but Sam isn’t stupid. What he means is Maybe you’d want to be normal. 

They’ve been sharing space since forever. Sometimes, intrusive thoughts take as much space as bodies in a tiny bed. And right now, the bed they’re lying on is so cramped it’s suffocating. 

“Why? Do you want a girlfriend?”

The song keeps turning on repeat in Sam’s head, the thought of someone else touching Dean, kissing him, receiving smiles meant for him…Something dark awakens in Sam and his fingers close in a tight fist. 

He belongs to me. He’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine. 

A part of his brain starts whispering that he knows how to make bodies disappear. He’s a bit frail but he could do it. He could make it look like an animal attack. Or a…

“No.” 

A simple word from Dean makes the darkness in Sam recede a bit. It’s like a fire being put out with a lid and Sam blinks, unable to believe that, for a few seconds, he could actually see disembodied pretty girls, their bodies ruined and cold. The boy is mine. 

Sam leans forward, pining Dean’s larger body to the bed as best as he can. His eyes roam over his big brother’s perfect face and here comes the darkness again. This time, it’s directed at Dean. He fights off the urge to lock him up where no one could lay eyes on him ever again. Where Dad couldn’t find him and send him on dangerous hunts again. He would be Sam’s only.

Sam is distracted from his obsessive thoughts by Dean’s warm hand on the skin exposed by his riding up shirt. 

His breath hitches but he can’t chase the dark whisper locked in his head and heart. 

“You’re mine, Dee.”

His eyes don’t miss the way Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbles up and down. 

“Am I now?”

Sam groans angrily and pounces on his mouth. 

“Yes!”

He’s lost in the familiar leathery and musky scent that his body has learned to identity as Dean. Home. Mine. Sam fears the way he’s shaking isn’t due to the magic fingers’ vibrations anymore.

Sam gasps when Dean’s entire body comes to life. He feels a powerful arm close around his waist while the other grabs his hair. They start kissing and it’s not pretty nor delicate. Sam hisses when Dean bites on his tongue and his lower lip and he scratches his big brother’s neck, tugging impatiently at his clothes.

Dean sits up and tries to remove his shirt. Sam whines and grabs his neck for another kiss, licking into Dean’s mouth while grinding their hips together. Dean forgets anything that’s not Sammy and almost tears the indecently tight shirt from his brother’s body.

“’Have no idea how hard it was, Sammy.”

Sam scratches Dean’s warm skin some more, completely lost in the way his brother has started sucking on his neck and collarbones.

“Mmmh?”

His nose buried against Sam’s skin, sucking hard on a nipple, Dean tugs on his brother’s jeans and underwear until he has access to one of the reasons he’s definitely going to hell. His fingers rub Sammy’s smooth hole and he almost comes in his pants from the way Sam’s arches his back and begs for more.

Sam grabs him for a kiss again and pushes him into the bed so he can get up and struggle out of his pants and boxers. The second he’s naked, he’s back to rubbing himself on Dean’s still clothed body.

Sam’s all whines, pants and sloppy kisses. Dean seizes his chin to look at his needy face and Sam’s glassy eyes devour him. Sam then starts lazily sucking on two of his own fingers. He’s about to use them to finger himself but Dean grabs his wrist and brings the wet fingers to his own lips, sucking on them until Sammy starts dry humping his leg in frustration.

“C’mere Sammy.”

Dean lies flat on the bed and manhandles Sam’s body to make him sit on his chest, close enough to his face that he can blow on the head of his dripping cock.

“F-fuck,Dean…”

“Language.” His stern word is followed by the tip of a finger breaching Sammy’s tight hole.

Sam moans in surprise and bucks his hips forward, filling Dean’s warm mouth with his dick. He grips the bed’s squeaky headboard and starts humping his brother’s face. It’s so good he can feel his eyes tear up a little, turning his vision into a blur of faded flowery wallpaper and Dean sucking him.

He rocks on his brother’s thick finger and cries out when it’s two digits opening him up.

“D-Dean…”

Dean makes him stop moving his hips long enough to free Sam’s dick from his lips. He licks it without breaking eye contact. His fingers stop fingering his hole and Sam doesn’t have time to whine. His thighs circle Dean’s neck and face and he shuts his eyes, overwhelmed by the sloppy kiss Dean gives his balls and then, his needy hole. He’s always brought back to the first time Dean ate him out.

It was after a werewolf hunt. Dean had pushed him against a tree, bared his ass and made him scream with his tongue. The full moon above them, the blood of the fresh kill on their clothes and skin. In other words: a perfect date night, Winchesters style.

Behind him, Sam hears Dean fumble with his pants to free his own hard-on. Sam wants to help him take care of it but is too focused on riding Dean’s tongue in the hope that it will be enough. But he needs more. So much more.

“Dee…I want it now…”

Dean groans under him and pushes a finger next to his tongue in his sloppy make out. Sam tightens his thighs against his head to make him understand how badly he craves it.

“Fuck me…Fuck me now…”

Sam reaches blindly behind him to grab Dean’s cock and he encounters Dean’s tight fist around it. As soon as Sam’s slender fingers grab the shaft, it pulses and releases come shots that land on Sam’s hand and Dean’s clothes.

Dean’s body jerks under him and Sam sits up above him, releasing his cock and ass from his brother’s grasp.

“What the fuck, Dean? M’not there yet.”

Dean’s eyes are glassy from his orgasm and though his chin is full of spit and Sam’s fluids, he still manages to look like a handsome son of a bitch when he smiles up at him.

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Infinite moments of intimacy pass in the blink of their eyes. They stare at each other and Sam rolls his eyes to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He’s still frustrated though. He sees Dean’s come on his fingers from earlier and brings it to his mouth, licking it like he does with ice cream and lollipops. Dean groans and grabs his hips. In a second, his lips are around his brother’s dick again and he apologizes for the lack of fucking with an eye-fucking and a blowjob that make Sam’s body tremble.

Two fingers are back up his ass and Sam’s suddenly feeling more forgiving. He rides them urgently and lets ou tfamiliar incoherent whines, signs that he’s close. 

When Sam starts coming, he fills his big brother’s perfect mouth but then pulls his dick out and paints Dean’s chin and cheek with the last spurts. 

The boy is mine. 

Sam feels an unspoken satisfaction at having marked him like that. For a second, he wonders what Dean’s reaction will be but his brother licks Sam’s still stiff cock and doesn’t wipe the come off his face. Not yet. 

The magic fingers vibration has resumed by now but Sam can feel his body buzzing from pleasure and contentment. Dean still owes him but Sam knows his big brother always delivers after some rest. 

When they’re both lying on the queen bed, smelling like each other, the taste of Dean’s come still on his tongue, Sam closes his eyes. The boy is his.

The dark rumble in his soul is at peace. For now. 

                                           🍒

hey there babe, sorry for the delay but here is your prompt. 💕

if you don’t like it, you’re free to come fight me in the cute coffee shop near me (no, it’s totally not an excuse to see your pretty face, don’t know what you mean ~)

Dean knows that he shouldn’t be watching. 

Hearing Sam’s desperate cries is torture enough. He knew that seeing him in pain while he’s sweating out the demon blood would be even worse. But he’s here anyway. Bobby had needed to get out of the house for a few hours because he couldn’t stand Sam’s agony. It was probably a mistake to leave Dean with Sam.

It would be so easy to open the door, go to him, hold him and tell him that it’s gonna be okay. Demon blood or not, Dean will never leave him to fend for himself. 

Right now, Sam is laying on the iron bed. He stopped screaming and his eyes are open. His head moves and follows something invisible that only he can see. Bobby had said that there would be hallucinations. Dean is about to close the little window and go back upstairs when he hears Sam’s voice.

“No…”

 It’s hoarse and broken from all the screaming he did earlier. If that wasn’t enough, there’s also the deepest hint of desperation in it.

 “Don’t say that to me…”