#just a lil wincest at stanford blurb

[devotedthing]

thinking about right before stanford, when things were tense and heated. john and sam butting heads like never before, all of that teen angst boiling over and coming out in fits of anger and frustration. dean had watched them go at it, over and over, only stepped in when he was sure sam was toeing the line of throwing a punch.

he carded him back down the hall to their room, a heavy hand on his shoulder, a string of muttered i know, i know between them, and sam’s body rigid and tight under his palm. and dean would push him to sit on the bed, listening to his little brother ramble on and on about how much of an ass their dad is, how unfair he is. and dean, with hands on his hips, brow furrowed and teeth biting into his cheek, would hold his tongue when the urge to tell sammy to shut your mouth surfaced. because something deep in his gut was stirring, morbid and weighted, a feeling like grief—like this would be a moment he wished he would’ve just let sammy go on complaining, like maybe there wouldn’t be another time like this for a long while.

and after sam’s been gone for a couple years, dean decides he needs to bother him, to call him up, to drive down there, something. because it’s been too long and dean misses his little brother.

and maybe after dean makes his way into sam’s dorm, sweet talking his way into the halls, right through the front doors, sam would come home to dean sat on his messy twin bed. it would feel like a slap in the face, like a tackle to the floor, like a tug into his brother’s arms, head buried in the crook of his neck, melting into dean’s chest like he would always belong there.

sometime later sam’s clothes are in a jumbled mess on the floor, only his socks still on and boxers hanging from his ankle, too caught up in the moment to give a shit about kicking them off all the way. dean’s still got his shirt on, flannel and all, jeans straining and tight, button popped open and zipper unzipped. sam’s sat in his lap, dean’s cock deep inside him, and he’s grinding, rolling, bouncing, up and down, back and forth, head still buried in the crook of dean’s neck. all sweaty and hot, labored breaths and gasping moans. dean’s whispering sweet and soft into his ear, good, sammy, that’s my boy, keep goin’ kiddo—good, sammy, that’s good

and for all he’s worth, for all the stubbornness and the fights he’d pitched, sam can’t help but whine and whimper, can’t help the tears that burn and fall, can’t help but sob into dean’s shoulder, rolling his hips and begging for more more more, dean, please, feels so good, please

this moment right now feels like forgiveness, sam cradled in his big brother’s embrace, dean’s fingers digging deep and hard into his hips, guiding him up and down, back and forth, telling him he’s good

sam’s still crying and dean’s still holding him tight, and sam cant help what comes out of his mouth, scared he might ruin this for them both but, god, he can’t control it anymore, and he’s whimpering out a daddy all soft and wet, lips trembling and eyes screwed shut. he feels dean’s hips stutter, still for a moment, then rut up into him hard and deep, and all the sudden dean’s babbling like a fool, god, baby you feel so so good, daddy’s got you, sammy, daddy’s takin’ care of you, that’s it, that’s my boy—that’s daddy’s good boy

barely a minute goes by before they’re both cumming hard and long, dean’s head thrown back and sam’s fists gripping tight into dean’s flannel. they’re tired and spent and heaving, but they don’t move. sam’s still crying and dean just wraps him up in his arms fully, holding his sammy and rocking them side to side, running gentle fingers through sweaty hair, whispering into sammy’s ear, i’m here, kiddo, daddy’s here, i’ve got you, sammy

and in the morning dean’s gone, but sam’s still naked in the sheets, tired and sore. they might pretend this never happened but sam’s body wont ever forget—will never move past the feeling of having dean inside him, being held and cared for, will never forget the way it felt to call dean daddy, the way it passed over his tongue, slipped past his lips, the way dean’s hips had urged for more.

they won’t be the same again, but maybe it was worth it.