winfreak

[winfreak]

request for dog!dean dubcon wincest (“magic made them do it” flavoured). 3k, bottom!sam set in early s2 because i can’t for the life of me write s9 i tried sorry! that season just ain’t for me, so i kind of imagined this leading up to playthings! AO3

Sam’s already reaching for his gun first thing, before his eyes are even open, but there's already someone here, above him, pinning his hand under the pillow, where his fingers fail to close on the gun.

The hot breath on his neck makes him shiver. “Getting slow there, Sammy.”

“Shit—Dean? What the hell? Get off me.” He throws his weight back, but Dean pins him down again. 

“Nuh uh.”

Sam freezes. Something’s different. Shapeshifter? Demon? Some other freaking monster category only their Dad could probably face.

Except. 

The smell of booze gives it away.

“You’re drunk?” 

“You know, ever since you were a brat you smelled different,” Dean says, in his drunk-voice. It should be too familiar for Sam, but there’s just—something different. “Ever since you learned your way to the nearest convenience store back wherever we were staying, lost your shyness talking to the cashier. You went there, discovered a sickenly sweet scented soap, you remember that?”

“I remember you giving me shit for it.” Sam swallows, too conscious of the dryness of his mouth.

“Like you were trying to distance yourself from me and Dad even back then. You were running away from us even before your balls dropped.”

“Dude.” Sam pushes himself back again and this time, Dean's grip eases. Just enough for Sam to be partially on his back, his shoulder still brushing against his brother's chest, but now he can get a look at Dean. Looking at him closely. Too close. Curious and intense kind of gaze. Head just a little tilted.

Fuck.

“You're still under the spell.” 

It was a little bit Sam’s fault. 

Well. Sam did find them the case, yeah. But Dean was the one who walked right up in that skin-walker trap. It would be too much to ask of him to just ignore the exotic stripper walking out of the bar with a long furry tail following behind. Dean smirked. Wonder where that's attached.  

He sure found out. 

Three days was how long Dean was riding shotgun as a dog. Not a big scary dog, no. Not a shepherd, a bully, or some rottweiler, but this medium sized shaggy and grey dog with bright green eyes. The kind you could easily find in a shelter. “How cute!” was typically the response they got from a few people. Dean was so frustrated, Sam had to tone down his neutering jokes.

“I’ve been under a spell alright,” Dean whispers. His eyes travel down the side of Sam’s body, scanning him slowly.

Sam finds himself whispering too, “Dean, what the hell is going on?”

“I can tell you everything that went down in this room in the past week,” Dean says. Sam makes a face. “Yeah, it's gross. Someone threw up in my bed, they changed the sheets, they didn't even bother flipping the mattress. There's bird shit dried up under that carpet. Someone spilled some cheap ass wine on the table. The sink has seen some shit.” He brushes his nose, just barely, against Sam’s bicep squeezed against him. 

Since turning back human, the smells were pretty much the biggest complaint out of Dean’s mouth, like every other minute. He was walking around rubbing his nose, whining about it, driving Sam up the wall but he thought—well, that’s Dean being Dean. Annoying just like he can be. 

“It's ok. Hey, it's ok. We can move, you know. Find ourselves a clean room for once. We can afford it. At least until we figure out how to—”

“It's not gonna do any good.” Dean seems focused on whatever he spot in Sam’s shoulder. “It's not gonna do any good, Sammy.”

Sam swallows. He’s stiff all over, but can’t get himself to move, not even a little, not under the attention of Dean’s eyes. 

“You’re the nerdy one. Maybe you would have words for this. But me? I can’t really make you understand what your scent is like for me.” He leans down, sniffing Sam’s shoulder, just above his armpit. “What it does to me.”

Sam’s mouth is sand dry. His voice comes out low and husky. “What are you talking about? Why are you this talkative?" 

Dean’s eyes trace back to Sam’s face, a sort of smile on his lips, but not quite. “Guess I’m a loud dog.”

Of course. 

Last night, right before they figured out how to get Dean back in his human body, they stopped at this out of town bar, so Dean could take a piss at the side of the road, and Sam could get them something to eat. 

“Hey, buddy, no dogs inside,” the woman behind the bar said.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, it’s—” Sam looked back at Dean, who was staring straight at him, unamused at best, not at all moving back to the door. “It’s an emotional support dog? He’s quiet.” 

Dean’s snort was pretty much the same in human and dog form. 

After making his order for takeout and sneaking Dean a beer, Sam got lost in Dad’s journal. There had to be something he let pass. Skin-walkers were not as rare as you would like, Dad had to find some in his time. The thing is, even the hunters he talked to who did hunt skin-walkers were never turned into animals themselves. 

Would killing the creature be enough to turn Dean back? Even if that meant disrupting his peace. Yeah, without Dean’s constant chatter, Sam was finding the quiet quite addictive, but he sure wouldn't dare say it out loud. Not until he was pretty pissed off. But even without talking, Dean could find ways of getting on Sam’s nerves, of course he could. 

But growling was new. 

When Sam turned around there was a man, probably in his 30s, approaching them from the side. He stopped mid step, a beer in hand, and eyes on Dean who was watching him, growling louder with every little movement of the man getting closer. 

“Aren’t service animals supposed to be trained?”

Sam gave an embarrassed laugh, nudging Dean with his foot, but he did not budge.

“He is, guess he just doesn’t trust you just yet.”

“I come in peace, buddy, I swear,” the man said, raising his hands in the air. That just made Dean stand up taller on his paws, just as he lowered his head and showed teeth. 

“Dude,” Sam whispered.

The man took a step back. “Guess that’s a raincheck for buying you a beer.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Maybe I could get your number? Call you up when it’s nap time?”

It was the first time Dean fully barked. Up until then he had his little fun. He liked sneaking up behind Sam, barking up in his ear, but right there showed how much he was holding back. 

“Hey, that’s not a quiet dog! Loud dogs not allowed, not even emotional supportive or whatever,” the woman behind the bar yelled.

“Yeah, sorry! Dean, let’s go.”

Not even glancing back, Dean kept his stance between Sam and the guy. 

“You should have that dog properly trained,” the man said, pissed, eyes focused on Dean. “With a possessive aggression that bad he can eventually come to bite even you. You might have to muzzle him. Or worse.”

Well, that was the wrong thing to say. 

Dean jumped at the guy, who stumbled back, but couldn't get out of the way fast enough. He yelled when Dean closed his teeth on the dude’s arm, the beer falling off his hand. 

Sam followed behind his brother, grabbing Dean however he could. “Dean! What the—”

After, Dean back in his human body, Sam questioned him, because what the fuck? Was that dude dangerous? Was he some creature Sam could not sense? Dean growled just like he did at that man. “I could smell what he wanted. That disgusting perv.” 

Dean inhales next to Sam’s cheek, slowly taking it all in. All Sam has to offer, even if he doesn’t know what that is. 

“Dean,” Sam whispers, breathing slowly, avoiding any sudden movements. Like squaring up with an unknown dog. Careful. 

“You’re scared,” Dean states, but doesn’t move at all, except his lack of movement is not from a place of reluctance. 

Sam exhales, a faint laugh. “Yeah, man, you’re creeping me out.” 

If, deep down, there was some desired effect Sam was hoping with that choice of words, he gets the opposite. 

Dean rolls both of them so Sam is now fully on his back, and he’s hovering above. Sam’s hand, now far from his gun, gets between them, his palm pushing against Dean’s chest, but Dean slides it away, holding Sam's wrist down on the mattress. Before any words come out of his mouth, Sam’s knees are being nudged to the side, while Dean settles between them. 

“Wait until you hear how to break the curse,” his brother’s voice is hoarse, even if nonchalant, and the tip of his nose travels up Sam’s temple.

“Yeah, here I thought we already did that.”

“No, it wouldn't be that easy. That bitch made sure.”

“You talked to the witch?”

Dean only hums next to Sam’s ear.

“So how—”

“There's something wrong with you, Sam.”

Sam barely notices how much he's fighting his brother’s grip until this moment. But now, he goes still, eyes wide. “What?”

“Yeah.” Dean releases him, supporting his elbows on either side of Sam’s head. He's so close, even in the dark it's impossible to miss his wide pupils. He’s also hard. “I can sense it now. It’s deep, it’s well buried, under all this sweet smell.”

Sam inhales, closing his eyes tight. “Don’t worry, Sammy. Imma take care of it. I always do, don’t I?” Opening his eyes slowly, Sam looks up at the ceiling, Dean’s nose still inhaling every little piece of him, his hips moving slowly between his legs. 

“How do we break it?” He whispers.

Like he needs verbal confirmation. 

Sam gets in a drunken haze himself for a while there. Dean strips him, runs his hands, then his nose, all over the skin that gets exposed to the warm air of the room, but Sam himself can only focus on the neon sign created by his mind, right in the center of his vision.

It says: There's something wrong with you, Sam.

There it is. 

Was he expecting something different? Hoping for something else? He really is just a fucking idiot. It’s just… hearing it from Dean’s own voice is… it tugs his insides in the worst way. 

“It’s getting sour,” Dean says above him, lips gently brushing against Sam’s. 

“What is?” His voice is so hoarse, his throat so dry, the words almost don't fully form. But Dean hears it.

“Your scent, Sammy. Hey.” Dean backs away a few inches, almost sounding like sober serious-business Dean. “Focus on me.”

So he tries. He looks up at his big brother. The intense eyes. The voice. 

Something wrong with you.

Sam cries out, arching on the bed, when Dean’s teeth sink deep into his skin, right where his shoulder meets his neck. Dean pulls his wrist down, and Sam feels his—fuck— his dick, hard and wet, barely out of his pants, and he grabs Dean’s arm. To get him to stop biting or stop moving Sam’s hand on his hard on, Sam doesn’t know. It doesn’t work, either way.

“Dean,” Sam gasps.

“Focus.” Dean lets his neck go, licking the mess he made out of the skin.

What's worse? Dissociating to this dark corner of his mind, a corner that’s been getting bigger every time he checks, or coming to the realization he’s fully naked under his big brother, hand wet with pre-cum, just like Dean’s own fingers, tracing back under Sam’s balls. He has no idea. 

Maybe there’s something in Dean’s saliva, some twisted gift from the skin-walker, or maybe it's just him, but something softens inside Sam slowly, he gets sensitive all over even though his neck is burning up from the bite. Even if he doesn't fully focus on what’s going on, at least there's no neon sign when he closes his eyes. Not for now, anyways.

Sam hisses when Dean’s fingers, as rough as any other part of him, press inside, just as Dean’s tongue traces the bite all up to his mouth. Sam opens up the best he can. For Dean’s tongue and fingers. 

“You taste like toothpaste, but just like Sammy at the same time,” Dean says, almost amused, backing away, giving Sam enough space to exhale properly. Not enough, actually. He can’t take a full breath, not yet. Not when he’s being filled now with two of Dean’s impatient fingers. He’s slow with them, but even so, the stretch makes Sam tense up, and he plants his feet on the mattress, toes curled, the taste of Dean and beer still in his mouth.

When he finds the courage to search for Dean’s eyes, he finds him watching what he’s doing to Sam down there, that same intense gaze. Then, Dean bends down, his face half disappearing, and there’s just the sound of him taking a deep breath in. 

Sam lets his head fall on the pillow again. 

How the hell did this happen?

He lets out a startled moan when Dean’s hand closes on his dick, exposed and limp between his legs. 

“You don’t have to—”

Sam can barely get the words out before he’s face down on the bed. His neck fires up some more, the pillow rubbing against the sensitive skin where he’s sure there’s a big mark of Dean’s teeth. HIs legs, once again, are nudged to the side, wider this time, and Sam hides his face in the pillow. 

Dean licks his way from Sam’s thigh up to his hole, still aching from the intrusion seconds ago. Dean’s hands are not on Sam anymore, he can’t feel anything, except his tongue. Long and hot and fast. He feels it, then. The cold wetness from the nose, the fur around it. 

Sam buries his face further in the pillow… can’t really mute the sounds, though. It’s the same obnoxious noise Dean made the last couple of days while drinking water from a bowl, loud and wet, just to get in Sam’s nerves. Right now, he’s succeeding, in more ways than one. Sam has goosebumps, his dick is half hard, his thighs and hole are wet, and he’s twitching inside around Dean’s tongue. 

“Dean—” Sam claws his fingers on the pillow, lifting his ass so there’s less friction on his dick. It’s the perfect move for Dean’s tongue to get deeper. “Dean, please. Turn back.”

It doesn't happen right away, and Sam starts to crawl forward to get away from it. Dean's nose, human now, brushes up to Sam's nape. 

“I got you,” he grunts.

“You—” Sam moans as Dean's fingers find their way back inside, three of them now. “You could control the turn and decided to walk around as a dog? Fucking—jerk,” he finishes off in another moan, quite pathetically.

Dean’s chest vibrates against Sam’s back as he laughs softly. He’s still mostly dressed, and Sam feels all sorts of ways about it. Pissed, relieved. It doesn’t really matter. How could it? He’s still spread out underneath his own brother. He’s still gripping the mattress, trembling and helpless as Dean’s dick brush past his hip to the opening not properly stretched out yet. It makes the burn on his neck just a distant dull ache.

“Holy shit,” Dean whispers, his face right next to Sam’s, his chin on his shoulder. He repeats it, again and again, like his own brand of praying.

Sam doesn’t really have words to spare. He sets his jaw tight, closes his eyes, and groans through clenched teeth. His hand flies to the back, finds Dean’s hip, pushing against it the best he can. “Slow d—” Dean’s hand shuts him up, his palm directly on Sam’s mouth, his fingers pulling at his jaw, turning him to the side, where Dean’s nose is, inhaling once again. 

In the dark, Sam could almost pretend it’s not his big brother, if it were not for Dean’s chanting, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…” Like he needs Sam to know exactly who it is that’s carving the way inside. His own moans are muffled by Dean’s hand.

It’s not easy or comfortable, but Sam takes it just like he’s been taking Dean’s appetite, anger, and whatever else. He not only takes it, but holds on to it. Sam holds on to his brother’s forearm, has to hold on to something, as his body jerks forward and back, to the rhythm Dean sets up for them.  

The friction against the bed leaves him rock hard, it’s been so long he had a proper laid. Not since Jess, of course not. 

When Dean releases his face, Sam collapses back to the pillow, muffling his noises himself. They’re as hard to hear as Dean’s. As familiar as their voices mixing up is, be in a fight against monsters, be in fights against each other, he never heard it quite like this. 

Dean’s hips slow down, his fingers travel up Sam’s nape, getting his sweaty hair out of the way for his tongue, and Sam takes a little bit to notice it. 

“Hey,” he says, husky and breathless. “Something… something’s wrong, Dean.”

“It’s ok,” Dean says, just as breathless. “This has to happen.” 

Sam’s insides, just getting used to it, just loose enough finally, begin to stretch some more, just a little at first, but soon... Shit. Fuck.

He goes still, just now noticing how much he moved his hips to Dean’s thrusts, how much he squirmed down here, but it’s impossible now. Sam’s about to rip inside, it’s getting so big and Dean keeps moving, small uncoordinated thrusts, like he can’t help it. 

Then the heat comes, and there’s not enough room. Dean fills him up so much, Sam can almost taste it. It’s not stopping, not stopping—

“Dean, I can’t…” Sam whines.

“I know you can take it. Why else were you born this big?” Dean caresses his nape, still brushing his face everywhere he can reach. “Just for me, Sammy, just for me. Fuck, you smell even better filled up.”

Sam comes. Hard. He sobs his orgasm into the wet pillow, wet from sweat or tears, he can’t tell. But he does come, even if the stretch is too much to handle. While tied to the only person in the world he still has to protect.

There’s something wrong with you, Sam.  

Dean’s hot on his back, whining apologies in his ear, as he gets bigger.

It's the kind of whine dogs do when they’re being put down. Sam knows this because he saw a hunter do it, a decade ago.

Paul was his name. At the time, Sam still thought his dad’s hunter buddies were the kind that tracked down deer in the forest. This man had a couple of hounds with him, but that day, unfortunate for Sam, was the day one of them bit him. 

After seeing the dog take a bullet to the chest, he asked “Why did you do that?” 

Paul didn’t miss a beat, “You can’t have a dog turn out on you, ever. A dog’s job is loyalty. If he fails that, he’s no good.”

Sam hugged his big jacket closer to his body, looking at the dog lying dead next to Paul. “That makes sense,” he whispered, polite as he always was, not daring to voice the question that immediately followed in his mind.

But what if the person deserved it?

[winfreak]

"Bugs" was always one of the best Wincest episodes. Just why was Sam waiting for Dean like this???? Especially at night under some sketchy biker bar.

And then that look at Dean when he came back??

They had the best sex that night because Sam did absolutely everything to make it happen.

[winfreak]

the first time young Dean tried to make Sam pancakes he messed up and ended up with burnt blobs that Sam immediately named “poop patties.” Dean quickly perfected the art of pancakes but for years, anytime Dean told Sam they were having pancakes he would always say “I hope they’re not poop patties this time” and it was the bane of little chef Dean’s existence

[winfreak]

hmmm, kind of want to write a sam-centered fic loosely in the dnd world... like sam who has prophetic visions, devotes his life to the church, only to find out his powers are not tied to his god but something more sinister and destructive... idk just thinking

[winfreak]

Sam’s rock-solid grip on Dean’s wrist when they’re at the store passing the kitchenware aisle and Dean’s gaze starts drifting longingly to the cast iron

[winfreak]

ur favorite sammy??

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yeah this is actually crazy... he wants that cookie SO DAMN BADDDDDD

your honor they’re about to fuck

[winfreak]

i can’t get behind unrequited wincest where sam has those feelings but dean doesn’t because i do not believe that if sam tried to kiss dean or said he wanted to have sex with dean that there wouldn’t be a cartoony whirlwind and zip sound effect where dean is now suddenly on the bed fully naked

[winfreak]

[winfreak]

When Dean turned twelve years old, John started teaching him how to escape restraints by tying him up and leaving him in the adjacent room of whatever motel room or house they squatted in. It could be a bathroom, a closet, or a shed --- in the end, it was all the same. At first, John would tell him at least a day in advance that they'd be training with the ropes and Dean had time to mentally prepare himself. But then, the warnings suddenly stopped.

Sometimes, he'd wake up in a dark room with his hands bound and no way to tell where the hell he was or what time it is. Sometimes, he'd wake up hungry or desperately needing the bathroom, but no matter how long he called for John, he'd never show up. Rationally, Dean knew that it was all a part of the training, but when you're stuck in the dark with no way out, your mind starts to play tricks on you.

Did a vampire get me? Where's Dad? Is Sammy okay? Oh god! Sammy! He's gonna die and I can't do anything! Dad is dead! SAMMY. SAMMY. SAMMY.

It was during these moments that bitterness towards his father wriggled its way into Dean's heart. He would kick and thrash, cursing his father out in his head until his wrists were bleeding and the knot came loose. But when he finally escaped his restraints and tumbled out of the closet (bathroom, shed, basement, cupboard, casket-) and Dad was waiting with a rare smile and Sammy beaming by his side? The worry, hatred, and fear melted away, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and pride when Sam looked at him like he was the coolest guy on earth.

Now, Sam's twelve years old and it's his turn to learn and Dean is more worried than Sam is. The first time, Dean is there to reassure Sam the whole time (John allowed Dean to sit in the room with Sam as long as he didn't tell Sam how to undo the knot) (John has always been a little soft on Sammy that way). He sits by Sam's side as he pouts and wiggles like a worm on a hook.

"You can do it, I know you can." "Sammy, you gotta calm down and take a deep breath." "Don't get caught up in your head. if you think you can't do it, you never will. Mentality is half the battle."

It takes twenty minutes for Sam to undo the knot and he's a little sweaty and his wrists are chaffed, but he's ecstatic and Dean is so proud of him (It only took Dean fifteen minutes his first time, but he expected Sam to need at least thirty minutes to undo his.)

The next time it happens, Dean isn't allowed to stay with Sam. He can hear his little brother struggling behind the bathroom's closed door and Dean desperately wants to be in there to soothe his own worries. He knows that Sam can do it --- he knows, he knows, he knows --- but forty minutes pass and Dean's starting to sweat. He keeps looking back at John who's waiting at the table, reading some non-fiction book he picked up at a Goodwill two towns before this one. Dean wondered how he wasn't sick out of his mind with worry.

It's because he's been through this before with you. He has faith in Sammy. He doesn't care.

Sam stumbled out of the bathroom at the fifty minute mark. He's bit teary eyed and his wrists are rubbed raw, but he's triumphant. Dean almost collapsed with relief. "Ha! I knew you could do it!" He remembered yelling as he scooped Sam under his armpits to swing him around like a limp cat.

Of course, Sam whined until his older brother put him down. But, he was smiling hard and Dad treated them to dinner at a diner to celebrate.

Things started to take a turn around the fifth impromptu session. Dean woke up without Sam by his side and his heart dropped like rock in his stomach. He damn near sprinted into the kitchen of the house they were 'borrowing,' just to see John sitting at the kitchen table sipping on a coffee like all was right with the world. Dean immediately knew what was happening.

"How long has he been in there?" Dean asked.

"About..." John trailed off, glancing at his watch. "Five hours."

"Five-?!" Dean exclaimed. It was eight in the morning. The longest Sam had taken was a little over an hour. Surprisingly, his little brother hadn't struggled too much with the last few knots, so maybe John decided to up the ante. Dean paced, worrying his lip between his teeth until he decided, "I'm gettin' him out."

John set his mug down with a force. "No, Dean. You've been too damn soft on him. He's never gonna learn to survive if he can't do this."

"But-!" Dean exclaimed. Sam's only twelve. He wanted to say, but...hadn't he also been twelve? He growled at the feelings bubbling up.

"Where is he? The shed?"

"Dean," John warned.

"I know! I'm not gonna fuckin' take him out."

"You watch your language, boy. And don't talk to him either. I don't want him knowin' you're there."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean huffed as he stomped outside.

Dean waited outside for two hours. The sun was baking his nose, the top of his head, and his shoulders, but he didn't care. His heart splintered every time he heard Sam whimper in there, the sounds of struggling cresting like a wave. He wanted to go in there so bad, but he couldn't. Sam did have to learn how to do this eventually. It didn't mean that he had to like it.

Had John been this worried when he was little? Did he drive himself mad as the hours dragged on? Did he ever truly care as long as it got him results?

Dean pressed his forehead to the door, whispering encouragements that Sam would never hear. For a long moment, the struggling stopped and Dean held his breath. Maybe Sam passed out? Maybe he just gave up?

Finally, the wooden door creaked open and Dean shot up with a gasp.

"Dee?" Sam asked. He looked like he couldn't believe this was real.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed as he hauled him out of the shed by his arms.

Sam fell into him, all the fight draining out of him like a wrung out towel. He was sniffling, his wrists bloodied and raw, sweat soaked through the front and back of his shirt. "I-I thought," Sam cried.

"I know, I know," Dean crooned, petting his brother's hair.

Dean heard a shuffle and glanced behind him to see John standing in the doorway, his expression neutral. This was the first time he felt something like hate for his father.

They didn't celebrate that night.

The worst year of Dean's life crawled by, occupied by sneaking bites of meals and sips of water into too-small closets and damp sheds. One night, Sam mumbled into his scraped knees, "I hate this." The tight skin of their permanently scarred wrists almost glowed white under the moonlight and Dean finally felt his heart finally break.

[winfreak]

overbearing alpha who wants to sniff his omega in every universe.

[winfreak]

sam’s voice was quiet, inquisitive as his question floated through the air of the quiet motel room, interrupting the hum of the air conditioning and action movie.

dean didnt give any indication that he’d heard sam, his eyes still focused on the shitty faux explosions and fight sequences, so after a few minutes sam opened his mouth to ask again. dean interrupted him, his tone snappy but with a tinge of confusion as he told sam he’d heard him ‘the first fucking time.’

sam rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he shuffled against the back of the couch. dean got like this sometimes when sam asked a question he wasnt equipped to deal with, like when sam started asking about monsters or sex.

“you… you want to see it?” came dean’s stilted reply, his voice tired and cracking despite the rare full night of sleep he’d gotten last night.

“well-“ sam tried, his hands awkwardly going to his sides as he sat up on his knees, trying to move closer to his older brother without being too obvious.

“thats fucking weird, sam.” dean interrupted, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up, drowning out anything sam could of said with the poor acting of the main romantic interest.

sam didnt bring it up again, but a week later dean came out of the shower, looking ruffled as one of his hands gripped his towel, holding it in place. “you can’t tell dad, or bobby, or-“

“or anybody?” sam finished, smiling as he set his book beside him on his bed, sitting up against the wall where a headboard should be.

“or anybody.” dean nodded, looking a lot less enthusiastic than sam as he looked down at his younger brother. sam muttered something in agreement, already shuffling out of bed and onto his knees on the floor and dean furrowed his eyebrows.

“it’s bigger than mine…” sam commented, looking up to dean’s face with a small frown before his eyes flit back down to the sizeable erection nearly poking him in the nose.

dean didn’t offer a reply, focused on watching his little brother as sam bit his bottom lip, leaning forward to nose at the base of dean’s cock. dean kept his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to pet and encourage sam as he nuzzled and kissed dean’s shaft.

sam’s thumb wiped away the bead of pre-cum dean had gathered at the tip, sam apologizing when dean hissed ‘careful’ at the accidental way sam had scraped the sharp edge of his nail against the sensitive gland. he brought his thumb up to his lips, licking away the salty liquid.

sam’s nose wrinkled up, the boy giggling as he said “you taste gross.”

“your diet is off brand kraft mac and dr pib, yours aint any better.” dean rolled his eyes, his hand coming up to grab sam’s hair just before the boy’s lips seal around the head of his cock.

sam whined, fighting against dean’s grip for a spilt second before sam went slack against his grip, blushing as he slumped in embarrassment. dean ignored it, patting sam’s head and pretending he hadn’t heard the desperate, high-pitched noise. and ignoring how his cock throbbed at the needy way sam had tried to fight against his grip. “cmon, we agreed you’d just look. i think thats enough, baby.” dean was soft as he spoke, reminding sam of when he’d fall asleep in the backseat of the impala and dean would whisper to him sweetly until he woke up enough to walk himself to the motel room.

sam nodded, his hair tugging against dean’s hold on the strands with the movement till dean let go. dean helped him up, before walking off to his duffel on the floor, grabbing a pair of boxers to sleep in before raising an eyebrow at sam. sam nodded, forcing a smile as dean nodded back, retreating back to the bathroom.

dean came out seven minutes later, no longer hard, and turned the lights off before climbing into the bed next to sam’s own.

[winfreak]

Sam and Dean don't think of themselves as a couple. They don't use pet names like "baby" or "honey." Dean doesn't think of Sam as his "partner" let alone husband or boyfriend. They are brothers. First and foremost. Any part of their relationship that is romantic or sexual is derivative of this fact. Why would Sam and Dean ever think of themselves as anything besides a brother, when that is the most important thing they could possibly be to each other? Sam and Dean don't want to forget the fact that they're brothers to justify their relationship. That's the only reason it exists.

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insert flustered emoji

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two battered wives worrying about their angry husband.

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Sam and Dean lacking personal space in every episode - 43/327

[winfreak]

Sam being so wound up and needy that he starts regressing when he’s with Dean. Calling him De and Big Brother. Pawing at him and trying to drag him closer and closer. Whining and pouting if Dean pulls away even a teeny tiny bit because he wants his big brother on him, over him, and in him right now. Suddenly becomes teary eyed and scared Dean is gonna leave him. Better believe Dean eats that up like a starving man