Tag: wincest

holdmesamthatwasbeautiful:

Little Sammy is only fifteen when he tilts his head
back and opens his mouth to let Dean pour droplets of bourbon on his tongue. Dean’s
been pouring liquid want down his
little brother’s throat for years, and Sammy always begs for the same thing-

“Tell me again, big brother.”

Dean always compels. He licks liquor from the corner
of Sam’s mouth, and then: “This is where it started,” he whispers, eyes dark
and fixed on the pale line of Sammy’s throat. “It trickled down your throat
right here, baby boy. Dad told me, you swallowed it, it’s in you.”

Sammy’s small hand is warm and urgent against Dean’s denim
covered rockhardfuckingleaking cock,
and he whines: “That’s why I’m like this, right? Why I’m, why I’m fucked up.”

“Yeah Sammy,” Dean nods against his little brother’s damp
temple as he pushes two fingers against Sam’s still blood-red lips. “Get‘em wet.
Gonna shove my fingers so deep down your throat. Gonna get demon blood on my fingertips, you hear me?”

Sam’s fingers are tight around Dean’s wrist, his eyes
a calm, calculating storm in the yellow glow of the flickering fireplace. “I
want to taste it again,” he says.

Dean’s eyes go a little wide and his heart pounds
against his ribs because there’s unfamiliar
power thrumming around them; power he’s
unable to name or define, and it makes him weak and it makes him strong, and Dean thinks he might come
from the cold gleam in Sammy’s eyes.

“I’ll find you more,” Dean promises –

and Sam could’ve sworn Dean’s eyes flickered, for only
a moment, into black.

pathossam:

A tense hour across the library over the many stupid, cyclical fights they have, and Sam’s had just about enough. He slams his laptop closed and leans across the table, right into Dean’s face.

It says a lot about their boundary issues that Dean doesn’t back away, just kind of crosses his eyes and scowls. “The fuck?”

“Gimme a kiss,” Sam demands, ignoring the flush blooming across his face, the sweat against his palms making his grip against the lip of the table slippery. Never mind in all these years they’ve never once kissed, but Sam knows Dean won’t deny him anything, and he thinks this, this thing they’ve never talked about, this line they’ve never crossed, could be the solution to every fight they have here on out.

“What?” Dean demands. “You been reading some, what is it, slash stuff over there?” But it’s not a no, not that Sam ever expected one.

“Gimme a kiss,” he says again, stonily, tone booking no argument, no give. 

All thirty-something years of want flitter across Dean’s face, then, in the best book Sam’s ever read, best movie he’s ever watched. “Sam,” he breathes, no trace of anger left. “Sammy,” he says again, so quietly, like he’s tasting the words instead of saying them.

“Gimme a kiss,” Sam whispers, one more time, three times the charm, wanting it now more than he did the first time he thought about it, twenty years ago.

Dean leans forward, kissing him soundly, seeming to liquify his mouth against Sam’s, so soft, like a whimper, like a question he’s already got the answer to.

Sam pulls back, eyes closed, the smile on his swollen mouth everything he doesn’t know how to say.

“Fuckin’ demanding,” Dean mumbles, pink, looking back down at his research, but his puffy lips are smiling, too.

moderndean:

Teenage dean coming to school with the darkest hickeys and the most brutal scratch marks and bruises all over while the kids at school Woolf whistle as he walks down the hall, awe in amazement and empathy.

Little do they know that those bruises were created and left there for the short scrawny and clumsy little brother dean likes to call baby as he introduced him to his friends as the realization sets across their faces.

Who knew that such a small, shy and innocent kid could be so dirty and rough behind closed doors.