Warnings: Underage (Sam is 13, Dean is 17)
Summary: Written for the prompt of "They’ve been on a hunt and it’s been weeks since Sam and Dean have had the chance to screw around. They can’t wait anymore. John is asleep in the bed beside theirs, and Dean has to keep his hand over Sam’s mouth to keep him quiet, or even better, has to stick his fingers into Sam’s mouth, and forces himself to fuck Sam nice and slow so the bed won't creak and wake up their father."
A/N: Written for the inaugural round of spn_masquerade.
Dean knows this is insanity. Knows it even as he covers Sam’s mouth with his own, muffling the sound of Sam’s heavy breathing in the quiet room as he squirms just the slightest bit against Dean’s fingers, three of them spit-wet and shoved to the last knuckle inside Sam’s tight, warm body and tips wiggling teasingly against the spot that makes Sam light up from the inside out.
It’s been weeks. Weeks of Dad hanging around where before he’d been gone for almost a month, and this thing between them is still new to them. So they think about it every minute, memory piling on anticipation in an endless feedback loop until they can’t hold back any longer and Dean wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of Dad’s snoring and the feel of Sam pressing his hard dick into Dean’s thigh. Dean tried to hold out, be the reasonable and cautious one, but he’s seventeen and it’s hard to be reasonable and cautious when his dick is hard enough to pound nails and his brother needs him. He could hold out against his own needs but not Sam’s. Never Sam’s.
So he let Sam get his fingers wet, soft little tongue sliding between Dean’s fingers, lips closing around them, making them slick with spit and Dean’s stomach tightened at the memory of that tongue and those lips learning to please him, wanting to do it all over again. He pushed those fingers, all three at once, into Sam’s tight hole, knowing that Sam likes the burn, even young as he is, the kinky little fucker.
Now he lets Sam suck on his tongue to keep him quiet, the dirtiest of pacifiers. The fingers of his free hand slip down to pull the band of his underwear - it’s too hot for pajamas, dad- below his balls to free his aching dick. He only intends to rub off against Sam, thinking he’ll get them both off as quickly and quietly as possible to hold them over for a little while longer. But Sam has other ideas, and the minute he feels Dean’s sticky cockhead against his belly Sam rolls fully onto his back, pulling Dean with him until he’s lying on top of Sam, sweat already pooling between their bodies in the hot, sticky air of the hotel room.
Dean knows if Dad wakes the fallout from getting caught will be unimaginable. But that doesn’t stop him from silently pushing inch by inch by painfully slow inch into Sam’s achingly tight body, arms under Sam’s back to keep him from sliding up the bed and making the headboard bang against the wall. He can’t thrust, because the old springs of the cheap motel bed will groan at the movement. He can’t not move though, they’ll both go insane, so he grinds his hips in tight, slow little circles, pushing in as deep as he can possibly go. Sam’s legs come up around his waist, helping him push in even deeper, Sam’s hard prick pressed tightly between their sweat-damp bellies. At first they kiss, tongues dancing from Sam’s mouth to Dean’s and back, but soon the heat and their racing heartbeats force them to pull apart, lips damp and a thin string of saliva connecting them until it breaks and in the dimness of the motel room Dean can just make out Sam’s tongue sweeping up the wetness and he wants to moan but that would end it all. And he never wants this to end.
Now Sam’s breaths are getting louder, and Dean takes the fingers that hadn’t been buried inside Sam’s body minutes before and presses them to Sam’s lips. His mouth opens and he takes Dean’s fingers gratefully, sucking on them so hard Dean can feel the pull of the blood under his skin. Dean buries his mouth in his favorite place, where Sam’s neck meets his shoulder, and sucks, no doubt bringing up a bruise that Sam’s going to have to hide from Dad tomorrow.
The grinding goes on and on for what seems like hours but is probably mere minutes. Suddenly Dad’s light snoring stops as he coughs and Sam freezes, the shock and fear of getting caught throwing him unexpectedly into orgasm and his ass clenches around Dean with a barely-audible gasp, and Dean doesn’t move, just lets the tightening and relaxing of Sam’s tight channel around his dick massage him into his own orgasm as Dad rolls away from them and the snoring starts back up, thank god.
Dean wants to stay buried in Sam forever, but he eventually steels himself enough to pull oh-so-slowly from Sam’s body, the come and the sweat practically gluing them together and Dean knows they can’t let Dad find them like this in the morning. He slips quietly out of the bed and goes into the bathroom, closing the door before he turns on the light. Carefully avoiding looking at his own eyes, he scrutinizes his naked chest, splotchy with heat and wet with Sam’s spunk and both their sweat. Taking a towel he wrings it under the tap, wiping himself down with blessed cool water.
He flicks out the light before opening the door and padding quietly over to the bed he shares with Sam. He uses the wet towel to slowly and silently clean Sam’s body, smiling when he feels Sam’s nipples peak under the scrape of the cheap towelling. Sam lets out a tired sigh of contentment as his body is cleaned and cooled. Dean shoves the towel under the bed and lies down. He wants to hold Sam in his arms as he falls asleep but can’t - either Dad would kill them or the heat would - so he contents himself with touching the tips of his fingers to Sam’s as he drifts off to sleep, sated. For now.