tebtosca

Title: Sun In My Mouth
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2007 words
Warnings: underage (Sam 13), face-fucking, implied deep-throating, first-time, oral fixation, trust!kink, Sam POV

Summary: The summer sun's bright in his eyes, but all Sam sees is Dean.

Author's Notes: Written for this awesome prompt for

spn_masquerade. Hope you enjoy, OP! ♥

The water is cool on Sam’s skin, and he feels it drip down the sides of his cheeks, eyes tightly shut.

He pops up, takes a big breath, the air hot and thick. Eyes blink open, lashes heavy with moisture, obscuring his vision.

Two more blinks, a third, one more.

Dean comes into focus. He’s pulling himself out of the pool, the faded material of the plaid boxer shorts he’s using as swim trunks tight about the curve of his ass.

Dean has freckles on his shoulders, down the slope of spine, trailing down, swirling back around again.

Sam can’t see them from this distance, with his wet lashes and the glare of the mid-afternoon sun, but he knows they are there.

Dean’s spinning now, lifting himself up on strong arms and plopping himself on the edge of the pool so his legs dangle in the water. Shakes his head like a dog, spraying the otherwise empty deck area.

Dean smirks when he sees Sam looking at him, corners of his mouth lifting up in that stupid way of his. He leans back then, bracing himself on his elbows against the hot concrete. He tips his head back, the line of throat exposed. Like this, his hips are thrust forward, bottom pushed to the edge.

The wet material of Dean’s shorts are snug around the bulge of his dick. Like a loosely-wrapped present that would take just one yank of the ribbon to come undone.

Sam’s pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chews on it. Pops it back out. Pulls it back in, sucks on it. It tastes like chlorine and want.

Dean tilts his head back up, looks Sam in the eye.

For the first time, Sam decides to keep looking right back.

==

It’s the summer after Sam’s thirteenth birthday.

Dad has them holed up at an out-of-the-way motel in Louisiana. Sam pretends not to be worried about alligators and weird shit like that, but Dean says that if one crawls up into the room, that he’ll wrestle the sonofabitch and make stew out of it so him and Sammy can eat good for a week.

Sam laughs because it’s stupid, but he feels better anyway.

==

Sam’s bones ache all the time. The skin around them feels tight, like the Star Wars t-shirt he found for fifty cents in that thrift store outside Des Moines. It doesn’t really fit, but Dean calls him a ‘nerd’ and runs his hand through Sam’s hair when Sam puts it on, and the memory of that touch sticks with him too much for him to ever think of getting rid of it.

Sam’s growing and he doesn’t know how he feels about it yet. Dad says he’s going to be bigger than Dean pretty soon, and while Sam pretends to preen over it, he secretly agrees with Dean’s mumbling disdain about it.

Sam doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he’s too big to fit under Dean’s arm in the backseat of the Impala when he pretends to be asleep on the longer car rides. Dean’s hand on his skin and scent in his nose isn’t worth a couple of inches in height.

But right now it’s August in swampland, and Sam’s clothes don’t fit.

Dad’s gone, because of course he is. Sam waits for Dean to leave, too, but he’s still there, sitting on the grubby motel couch next to Sam. The bunny-eared TV is half-static but the background noise is strangely comforting.

Their shoulders touch as they spoon Lucky Charms into their mouths. It’s too sticky in the room for skin-on-skin contact, but Sam doesn’t dare give it up.

Sam slurps up the rest of the sugary milk in his bowl and licks the remainder off his lip. He sucks on the spoon absently.

The couch shifts and the loss of contact makes Sam turn his head to see where Dean’s going.

Dean’s still there, still as a statue. His gaze is locked on where Sam’s lips are wrapped around the bent piece of sugar-coated metal.

Sam thinks, finally.

==

Sam doesn’t remember falling in love with his brother.

Sam hopes one day he’ll get to have a chance to remember the moment when his brother fell in love with him.

==

It’s not really seduction if you just keep doing the same things you normally do, but with a bit more awareness.

Sam has always had a bit of an oral fixation. His nails are bitten to the quick, he chews his pen caps down to gnawed-out stumps, and there might have been that one time he absentmindedly started sucking on the leg of a Ken doll.

It’s habit, nothing more than that really. But now that Sam knows Dean is looking, habit becomes opportunity.

Dean gets them McDonald's one night for dinner, Chicken McNuggets and soggy fries. Sam dips one in barbeque sauce, takes a bite and then another. His fingertips are a mess, wet with sauce. Sam finishes chewing and then brings his fingers to his mouth, sliding them past the seam of his lips until he has two of them inside, knuckle-deep.

Dean chokes on his Coke. Sam smiles, pulls his fingers from his mouth with a pop.

It’s hot, so Sam sits on the curb outside the room, and stares out at the empty parking lot. There’s no breeze, but he’s got a cherry popsicle to love on and the sound of his brother’s huffing when he sees it.

Sam’s mouth curls up around the bulk of the ice treat. Red liquid drips down his chin, and he lets it falls to the pavement.

It reminds him a little of blood.

==

Sam presses his ear to the bathroom door. If he closes his eyes and concentrates he can hear the slip-sliding of movement and the muffled curses.

Sam tries to shut out Dad’s whisky snores so all he can hear is Dean, behind wood, stroking wood. The burst of the shower erupts and Sam pictures Dean’s jizz swirling around the drain, washed away like popsicle juice in the hot summer rain.

Sam presses his lips against the door, opens them just so, feels the air puff against the peeling paint. He presses one hand down against the bulge in his boxers. He moans low in his throat as the hand comes back wet.

The shower stops.

Dad rolls over.

Sam crawls back to bed, but he doesn’t change his shorts.

==

It’s that day at the pool. Dean jumps up, starts walking back to the room. His feet are bare and his bowlegs stretch as he dances across burning pavement.

Sam climbs out of the pool and starts after him. He’s not thinking at this point, not really. All he knows is that Dad won’t be back for at least two more days and the air is thick and their skin is wet and the freckles on Dean’s shoulders are the most beautiful thing Sam has ever seen.

Dean goes into the room, but he leaves the door cracked, and Sam thinks it’s a good sign. Dean can’t shut him out, never could, isn’t built like that. Dean is all open arms and open heart and Sam is young and selfish and so in love that he will always climb right in like he’s the only one who belongs there.

“Sammy,” Dean says, once he hears the door close behind him. His back is to Sam and his head is bowed and Sam suddenly doesn’t feel like the young one anymore.

Sam doesn’t speak, wouldn’t know the words to begin with to say how much he needs right now, how much he knows Dean is willing to give him.

Sam just walks over to him, folds his awkward colt limbs and sinks to his knees, pressing his temple against the damp material covering the bulge of his brother’s fast-hardening cock.

“Sammy,” Dean says again, like a ritual. Sam holds his breath, letting it out only when he feels the palm of Dean’s hand rest gently on the crown of his head.

Sam looks up then, leaning into Dean’s hand as he does. Dean’s face is devastated, hopeful, wide open.

“Please,” Sam finally whispers and he sees the exact moment Dean breaks.

Sam’s never done this before, but he’s imagined getting Dean in his mouth enough to imagine the mechanics. He tugs Dean’s shorts down before Dean can reconsider, the still-damp material dragging against the skin of Dean’s thighs.

Dean’s dick pops out, nearly smacking Sam in the face. Sam makes a surprised noise, but grabs Dean by the ass to keep him from pulling away because of it.

They freeze like that for a moment, Dean now with both hands bracketing the messy wet hair on Sam’s head as Sam stares at the one long vein running up Dean’s perfect pink dick like a road map.

Sam knows that Dean’s not going to be the one to make the first move here, and Sam’s equal parts frustrated and grateful for it.

Sam’s fingers shift on Dean’s ass, which flexes underneath the pressure. Sam leans forward and decides to just go for it, sticking out his tongue and making one long sweep from the base to the tip.

Dean grunts, startling like he just got zapped by a live wire. His hands don’t leave Sam’s head though, and Sam takes that as encouragement to keep going.

He thinks of cherry popsicles melting around his tongue as he leans up enough to get the crown of Dean’s dick sucked into the round O of his mouth. Dean grunts again, but he finally moves enough that another inch sinks into the cavern of Sam’s mouth.

Flavor bursts on Sam’s tongue, salt and sin and blood of his blood, and he closes his eyes and moans as Dean sinks in even deeper.

After that it’s like a dam has burst, the last of the reservations between them washed away with the saliva threatening to escape the corner of Sam’s stretched-out lips.

There’s a tiny part of Sam’s brain that knows Dean’s a teenager too and that the pistoning of Dean’s hips are getting frantic enough to push the tip of his dick further and further into the edges of Sam’s throat.

Dean’s making these noises, feral noises, and Sam concentrates on them as Dean’s dick fills his mouth and his mind and his senses up until not even air is allowed to break through.

Sam’s hands drop to his sides, hanging limp. Dean’s fingers are too tight in Sam’s hair, pulling until the roots struggle to hold on. Dean fucks Sam’s mouth and his throat and his heart until he is so far inside of Sam that Sam doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to get out again.

Sam lets him, eyes rolled back in the ecstasy of knowing that his big brother would never hurt him. That he’ll take everything Sam can give him and then give Sam back a hundred fold in return.

“Sammy, Sammy,” Dean cries out like a benediction as he loses himself in Sam’s mouth, pumping his hips so hard that Sam can feel the scratch of ginger-tinged pubes on his face.

Sam doesn’t think, just acts, swallowing until he’s choking, and then swallowing again, until Dean pulls out with a loud, wet whooshing sound and Sam’s lungs are filled with great bursts of air.

Sam’s almost too dazed to realize he’s come in his shorts completely untouched just from sucking his brother’s dick, until Dean is dropping down to his own knees and kissing him for the first time. He’s licking his own come off Sam’s face and pushing it back past Sam’s lips with his tongue and whispering filthy words of love into Sam’s mouth as he reaches into Sam’s shorts and cups the small, soft, wet mound of Sam’s dick in the palm of his hand.

Sam opens his eyes. His face is wet. Dean’s is, too.

Yes, this, Sam thinks.

Now Sam will have something to remember.