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I Was the Dirty Little Boy

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They’re wrestling in the red dirt out behind the shack they’re calling home these days and Dean’s bigger but Sam’s faster and he knows he won’t win but he thinks he can get a good elbow to Dean’s solar plexus if he’s lucky. 

Instead, he finds himself on his knees, hips over Dean’s lap and his cheek pressed to the ground. Dean’s laughing, has his palm flat against the middle of Sam’s back, holding him down, and Sam can feel Dean’s fingertips starting to dig in. 

No. No, Dean is not going to tickle Sam, he’s fucking sixteen, he’s not a little kid and Dean knows how much Sam hates being tickled. 

Sam doesn’t think to wonder what Dean’s doing with his other hand until it comes down on Sam’s ass, more a swat than a spank but it stings nonetheless. Sam lets out a yelp, heat rising to his cheeks, humiliation and anger and that other thing, the thing he doesn’t let himself think about, the thing that’s making Sam want to go limp and let Dean do it again. 

This is why Sam doesn’t let himself get pinned anymore - one of these days, Dean’s going to notice how Sam’s body reacts, how Sam’s breath gets short and his heart goes too fast and fuck, his hips are pressing down against Dean’s thighs, his cock hard and leaking like it always gets when Dean holds him down. Sam might actually die of embarrassment if Dean notices, but Dean’s still laughing as his hand comes back down on Sam’s ass. 

It stings and the sensation goes straight to his cock in a way Sam’s pretty sure that it shouldn’t. His face is burning and his eyes are stinging but he doesn’t think Dean’s noticed he’s hard, so maybe if he can just - squirm away or something - 

Except he can’t, because Dean spanks him again, still laughing, and this time Sam’s body moves without his permission, grinding his cock down hard against Dean’s firm thigh, the seam of his jeans digging in, and Sam feels Dean go still. 


Sam’s a mess, nerves strung tight and practically humming, caught between nervous excitement and sickening dread. This is it, the moment Dean pushes him away for the first time in their lives and Sam knew this would happen.

But Dean eases up, stops pressing Sam down and lets that hand slide up and down Sam’s back instead, like he does when Sam’s upset. 

There’s this moment - this moment where Sam could swear he can feel Dean hesitating and it’s like that time he almost fell into an open grave, feet half over the edge and arms windmilling until Dean yanked him back to safety. 

"You want me to keep going?" Dean’s voice is curious, wary but Sam can hear something that might be a half-smile. He should say no, get up and walk away and brush it off and never, ever speak of this again but his whole world’s been turned inside out and upside down in the span of three minutes so his judgement’s a little off when he nods and breathes out a quiet "please". 

Dean shifts a little, and then he’s back to pressing Sam down and this time Sam dares to let his back arch just a little, lets his hips come up. Fuck, this is so far from okay but all Sam wants to do is present his ass for Dean, let Dean do whatever he wants as long as he holds Sam down like this, as long as he makes Sam take it. 

Dean’s hand comes down on Sam’s ass harder this time, with intent, and Sam doesn’t bother trying to hold back a choked sob. His last shred of control disappears when Dean starts spanking him, raining down blows on Sam’s skinny ass, the backs of his thighs, every inch stinging and heating up and it feels so good Sam might be crying. 

Sam knows Dean better than he knows himself, but there are times when he has no idea what’s going on his brother’s mind and this is one of them. He can feel Dean getting hard under him though, cock pressing up into Sam’s lower belly and the knowledge that this is getting Dean hard, that having Sam over his lap is getting to his brother like this just serves to get Sam that much closer to losing it. 

He’s going to come in his pants, the force of every blow pushing his hips down against Dean, cock sliding through a mess of precome and damp cotton, stimulation too much and not enough and Sam realizes with a fresh wave of humiliation that he’s thrusting against Dean’s thigh, humping his brother like a fucking animal and there’s no way he can stop now, too close to the edge to do anything but bite his lip and pray Dean keeps going. 

Dean’s hand lands on Sam’s ass one more time and doesn’t come away, resting to grip and squeeze at Sam, the rough sensation of fabric against sensitized skin lighting up nerves Sam didn’t know he had. Dean presses at Sam’s ass, digs his fingertips between the cheeks and grinds Sam down and Sam realizes with a jolt that he’s rubbing Sam against his cock, using Sam’s body to get himself off and that’s it, Sam goes off like a cheap firework, shaking and jerking and pulsing into his boxers while his toes go numb and his mind goes white with pleasure. 

Dimly, he’s aware of Dean still rubbing against him, grinding and rocking until he goes still, fingers digging into the meat of Sam’s ass so hard Sam thinks it might bruise. It takes Sam a second to realize Dean’s coming in his pants, just like Sam did - but the noises his big brother is making clue him in - stuttered breaths and cut off gasps and one sharp grunt that feels like a kick to the chest, leaves Sam breathless all over again. 

When Dean finally lets him go, Sam rolls off his lap, grimacing at the sticky mess in his pants. There’s panic building somewhere underneath the bone-deep lazy satisfaction, but when he looks up he finds Dean gazing down at him without a hint of the disgust he was expecting. Dean just looks… surprised, and maybe even relieved. Huh.