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pfhwrittes · 5 months ago

Note

Here’s a prompt for ya: Soap takes their partner to the gym at the ass crake of dawn so no one is there. His partner is doing arm curls when Soap tells them to hold that position. When they do Soap slips his shorts down really quick and starts thrusting sloppily into their arms, either the bend of their elbow or the tight space in their pit

awooo wooo woooo! anon, you've got me barking and growling at this one!

cw/tw: readers genitals are referred to as “cunt”, armpit fucking, mentions of somnophilia, muscle fetish, gym wear fetish, sex in a public space (kind of), nicknames (“hen” and “bonnie”), bodily fluids (sweat and cum), dubcon/noncon.

pairing: john “soap” mactavish x AFAB!reader

word count: 912

a/n: a little drabble from johnny’s POV this time. tagged as noncon and dubcon because this is definitely borderline but unfortunately johnny is a mutt and doesn’t particularly care. also, anon i’m so sorry for accidentally forgetting about your prompt. i didn’t mean to, i’m just easily distracted and also got weirdly in my head about this not being good enough??? not entirely sure who put me in charge of my own brain but here we are.

johnny would admit, if you were aware enough to ask, to having an ulterior motive (besides helping you get stronger like you asked) by dragging you down to the gym at 5am.

(although he was sorely tempted to roll you over and slide into your warm, wet cunt when you groaned at him sleepily. he spent a few minutes thinking about how he could get you to make more of those pretty noises before deciding that he could wait for another opportunity as he woke you up by peppering light kisses all over your face.)

for johnny it’s all worth it when he catches a glimpse at you in the mirrors opposite the benches the other gym goers usually use for chest presses. you’re stripped down to your sports bra (he’d been quick to persuade you out of the loose t-shirt you were wearing, claiming that the fabric would impede your range of motion), biting your lip in concentration as you flex your bicep to lift the dumbbell in your grip.

steamin’ jesus. the sight of you already has him hard enough to hammer nails.

johnny glances around the empty gym, eyeing the clock above the doors. if he’s quick he should be finished before even the earliest of risers interrupt his plans. with a final casual glance around, johnny steps away from the racks where he’s been perving loitering waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt you.

aaaand there it is, just as you’re about to put the dumbbell down to switch to your other arm.

johnny sidles up to you, clicking his tongue in faux-disapproval.

“c’mon hen, you cannae be done already!”

you huff and blink as a bead of sweat makes its way down from your temple over the curve of your cheek (and johnny beats back the urge to lean down and lick it up). you slowly start to lower the dumbbell, probably to ignore him and well, that won’t do.

johnny clicks his tongue again and pouts just a little, reaching out to lift your arm into the correct position for his plans with a solid grasp (he tries not to think about the way the muscles in your forearm flex automatically to balance the weight in your hand under his palm).

“theeere we go, bonnie. just hold it right there fer me.” johnny praises distractedly, checking the doorway and the clock a final time. he purposefully keeps his grip on your forearm and pulls his tented shorts down to his mid thigh with his spare hand. his leaking cock slaps against his stomach and he grunts as the sensitive head rubs against cotton, smearing pre-cum messily as it does.

“wh- johnny! jesus christ, not here!” you hiss out, your head whipping around to check if anyone else is in the gym (there isn’t, johnny had done weeks of recon so that he could time this perfectly thank you very much).

“i’ll be quick, hen. don’t worry.” johnny tells you, already guiding his cock into the tight and warm space of your armpit. he groans loudly, the sound echoing around the empty space, as he revels in the sensation of thrusting in between the side of your sports bra and inner arm.

you go to pull your now trembling arm out of johnny’s grip and he squeezes your wrist in warning, thrusting a little bit harder when you yelp. christ, you make the sweetest noises for him, you really do.

“don’t spoil it fer me now, bonnie.” god, his voice is already hoarse - like he’s been fucking you for hours instead of less than a minute. hell’s bells if you ever figured out the power you hold over him he’d be a goner for certain.

johnny loses himself in the slide against your body, his pre-cum and a hint of your sweat easing the way, as he holds your wrist tightly. he can’t have you pull away even for a second.

“fuckin’ hell, you just feel so fuckin’ good.” he pants out, “been thinkin’ about this for weeks, ever since you asked me tae help ye find a gym.”

the dumbbell slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud but johnny doesn’t care, can’t care, as his hips piston back and forth. distantly he hears you whimper over the slick, wet sounds of his cock rutting into your armpit causing him to spit pre-cum messily onto your soft skin and the damp fabric of your sports bra.

“do that again.” he demands, grinding his hips desperately, “c’mon bonnie, i’m so close.”

“johnny -”

whatever you’re trying to say gets drowned out by his loud moan as he comes messily. thick, wet ropes cling to your inner arm, the soft skin of your armpit, and drip lazily onto your chest. johnny grinds his softening cock into the mess on your skin, relishing in the last feeble twitch before stepping back and dropping your arm carelessly.

with trembling fingers johnny pulls his shorts back up over his hips, hissing as the fabric rubs uncomfortably against his sticky and sensitive skin. he flicks his eyes up to the clock above the doors and grins, perfectly timed as always mactavish.

“better clean up hen, it’ll be gettin’ busy now.”

johnny saunters away from you, whistling lazily, completely uncaring of the disgusted look you shoot at his back.

(it’s worth it, even when you cancel your gym membership and refuse to wear anything other than long sleeved tops for weeks afterwards.)

#pfh answers #here be kink #john soap mactavish x reader #tw dubcon #tw noncon #tw somno mention #tw armpits #tw sweat #tw public sex #tw bodily fluids #...... good afternoon have some armpit fucking as a little treat #(also johnny absolutely has a gym wear fetish)

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ro-sham-no · 28 days ago

Text

The Armpit Fic

It was glaring at him, almost, from the crease of Dean’s arm-and-torso as he faced away from Sam. Curly, barely-brown hair, teasing its way out just a little… undoubtedly cleared of any soap or deodorant scents as they had both more than sweated it all off in the hunt they’d just come back from… Sam sat down harshly on the closest bed - Dean’s - as his vision suddenly swam with humiliating levels of arousal. He wasn’t fourteen anymore, barraged with crazy levels of uncontrollable hormones that didn’t even constitute as arousal, really, but as it turned out, seventeen wasn’t much better.

Or,

The Hidden Side Effects of Wanting to Fuck Your Older Brother From a Very Young Age, an exposé.

cw: sibling incest, wincest, underage sex (barely, Sam is 17), armpit kink

Sam eyed Dean from across the room and flushed with embarrassment as a familiar warmth spread in his gut, oh-so-quickly. Humiliation, not because he was lusting over his own brother - no, they’d cleared past that a while ago. It was slow-going, exploring this thing between them in between the hunting-dad-school interruptions that never ceased, but they were getting to it. But, back to that embarrassment, that shameful flush currently on Sam’s cheeks: not caused by that social taboo, but instead by the ones hiding inside his psyche.

See, sometimes Sam’s arousal triggers were… unusual. They always had been, as long as Sam could remember. Probably started sometime after he discovered that his older brother was breathtakingly beautiful (that is to say, way too young), and before he discovered just what it was, exactly, that took Dean so long in the shower. That space of time, that weird limbo of wanting but not knowing how to want, before conventional things to admire about someone meant anything to Sam- well, it was likely to blame for his… thing.

Sam’s thing. The thing, that was his. The thing that was his and was unusual. Weird. Freakish. All words Sam already applied to himself, but this was different. Harmless, really, but Sam squirmed at the thought of Dean finding out all the obscure parts of his body that made Sam’s dick twitch in his pants. Like the way Dean’s nose crinkled when he focused on homework. The way that math, specifically, added that delicious fold between his eyebrows that crooked to one side. Same with watching Dean flex and roll his ankle, seeing his Achilles tendon scrunch up and then stretch out with the movement, so graceful and connected to the delicate arches of his brother’s feet. The way Dean would jump a little to jostle his dick into place in a pair of jeans that were a bit too tight. The list never ended, really; Sam had a lot of time to observe and catalog the bits and pieces of his brother that no one else got to see.

Another thing on that never-ending list was currently plaguing Sam, worsening as he watched Dean, shirtless, move about the motel room. It was glaring at him, almost, from the crease of Dean’s arm-and-torso as he faced away from Sam. Curly, barely-brown hair, teasing its way out just a little… undoubtedly cleared of any soap or deodorant scents as they had both more than sweated it all off in the hunt they’d just come back from… Sam sat down harshly on the closest bed - Dean’s - as his vision suddenly swam with humiliating levels of arousal. He wasn’t fourteen anymore, barraged with crazy levels of uncontrollable hormones that didn’t even constitute as arousal, really, but as it turned out, seventeen wasn’t much better.

“Sam?”

The Sam in question gave Dean a guilty non-look and a supremely chill-and-cool shrug as his embarrassment built, don’t come over here don’t come over here don’t come over here-

No such luck.

Dean walked his way towards Sam with no overt sign of concern, but instead with a graceful sort of casual ownership as he checked Sam over. You shouldn’t put your horse away wet, after all. Sam resented the thought even as it formed in his own brain.

Predictably, the hair was so much more visible from the front, peaking out as Dean’s arms swung mildly with his gait. Better- Worse, even before his brother made it all the way over, Sam could smell him- his natural, just-on-this-side-of-bad sweat smell. Loud, if a scent could have volume. Thick and sharp and intoxicating. Even more predictably, Dean’s eyes caught the extremely obvious twitch of Sam’s increasingly interested dick from where it was chubbing up behind his zipper. Mystery solved, Dean, Sam wanted to huff out bitingly, but meek silence won, struck dumb by the overwhelm.

Sam tugged his eyes away from Dean’s armpits (oh god) just in time to see a smirk develop on Dean’s face, sliding into a leer as he moved closer, “Damn, Sammy. Didn’t know specters got you hot like that.”

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled even as he spread his legs, easy as ever for his older brother. He leaned back on his hands to make room for them to talk, but ducked his head semi-shyly, trying to avoid the full force of Dean’s stare, which would pull every last secret from Sam’s lips in an instant.

Dean moved even closer still, bumping his sternum into Sam’s bowed forehead, ruffling his hands through Sam’s hair in a way that was meant to tease but really just came off as fond. Not that Sam would ever tell him that, of course.

Sam let his head loll to the side as Dean continued carding his hands through the mop of Sam’s hair, rolling his forehead on Dean’s skin till he was face-to-face with his secret quarry. Close enough, now, to spot where the minor discoloration of Dean’s underarm began, some specks of fluff from some shitty t-shirt Dean had worn caught by sweat and hair surrounding his armpit. Close enough, also, to let his eyes roam over the rest of Dean’s arm and shoulder, various aged tan lines and scars criss-crossing in a mesmerizing pattern, spattered with freckles to top it all off. Sam’s mouth watered.

Dean’s hand caught in a snag that made Sam inhale sharply, his senses flooded with the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt. And, listen, Sam was man enough to admit that the sound he let out at that was most certainly a whine, alright? He’s not fragile.

Dean’s responding chuckle vibrated through him, though too breathy to be considered mean, and Sam huffed with it, unamused by Dean’s amusement, ready and aching to get on with it, fully hard in his jeans and probably leaking. Dean was still just standing there, messing with Sam’s hair absently, and goddammit he always did this. Waited and waited and waited, infuriatingly, until Sam finally gave in and did something about it. Sometimes, Sam held out and acted oblivious until even Dean was shaking with it, clearly on the verge of just taking like Sam wanted him to, but never quite breaking. A math problem Sam was working on solving.

So, sometimes; Sam held out sometimes. Not this time, though, by a far margin. This time, today, Sam was two seconds away from mauling his own brother’s armpits and he did not want that to happen, the ammo it would give Dean would be totally insufferable. So, instead, Sam nuzzled into Dean’s torso, mouthing at it, picking his head up to lick and kiss and scrape his teeth over Dean’s most sensitive corners and divots. Dean’s breath was the one to hitch, this time, and his hands tightened in Sam’s hair, who groaned in response.

It was a herculean feat, but Sam managed to move further up Dean’s torso, away from the source of his temptation and towards safer territory, dragging his mouth up Dean’s neck, before finally tugging Dean the last few inches to bring their lips together.

It was slow and sedate, no eager passion taking over just yet. Dean was tired, Sam could tell, not getting the luxury of taking a nap while they got the hell out of dodge. They both were tired, if Sam was being honest. He should stop this, let them both rest. Should, he should, but he just couldn’t seem to make himself pull away. Still, Dean was tired - though equally uninclined to stop, it seemed - so Sam pulled him fully onto the bed before maneuvering him to lay back so Sam could crawl over him and press him down into the mattress, both of them sighing with the pressure.

They kept necking like that for a while, and it just- god , the smell of pure, unadulterated Dean was seriously getting to Sam, along with the way his hands bumped into Dean’s pits un-accidentally as he groped over his brother’s frame. Dean was getting into it, too, rolling his hips up harsher to match Sam’s overeager squirming.

Finally, Dean pulled back, head smushed back into the pillows as he gently pushed Sam’s face away when he didn’t get the hint, “Geez, Sammy, what’s got you so worked up? I mean, I’m not complaining, but shit, little brother.”

Sam whined with the nickname, all of seventeen years old and feeling like a pathetic little kid sat in big brother’s lap, fidgeting as his eyes flickered helplessly to Dean’s pits, drool gathering in his mouth in response and brain fogging over.

He tried to collect himself, “Dean- mmf, I just,” he couldn’t stop rolling their hips together long enough to talk properly, “I need-” His eyes dropped to Dean’s underarms again, sticking there this time, much to his dismay as he struggled to articulate.

But by that point, well, Dean wasn’t stupid, okay? His own eyes flicked down to whatever it was that Sam couldn’t seem to ignore, down at himself, confused about where Sam’s eyes were set, before-

“Dude, seriously?”

Sam cringed at Dean’s non-question, but then dropped his mouth open with want as Dean- Dean, he- Dean moved, suddenly a novel concept in Sam’s lust-addled brain.

Dean smirked as his hunch proved correct, watching Sam’s brain break in real-time as Dean spread his arms out, placing his hands behind his head, showing off the area that his freak of a little brother couldn’t stop salivating over.

But then Sam’s reaction surpassed what Dean was expecting, which was maybe some groping or huffing at most. Instead, the kid let out a noise like a wounded animal, eyes glazing over and tongue flicking out to wet his lips and staying there before he, seemingly involuntarily, dove face-first into Dean’s fucking armpit, of all things. What the fuck?

Sam was beyond any and all reason from the second Dean had spread out, brain actively blue-screening and dick fit to explode. He couldn’t help shoving himself face-nose-mouth first into it- god, fuck, the smell- the taste, the texture of the hair on Sam’s, well, everything - lips, face, nose, chin, tongue - and it was so coarse and so warm, and-

“What the fuck, Sam?” Sam blinked stupidly as Dean shoved him back by his forehead. Genuine concern was painted on Dean's face, alongside bewilderment and just a tinge of freaked-the-hell-out.

Alarmingly, Sam began to tear up, pawing at- Christ, Dean’s armpits, the younger boy’s tongue still out with honest-to-god drool slipping off of it. Jesus, the kid was gone. Sam’s eyes had filled up and spilled over while Dean held him back, still not coming back to his senses, and the noises he was making shot straight through to Dean’s dick, armpit-induced or not. Sam wasn’t even looking at Dean’s face at all, still just fixated on his quarry, like a dog with a goddamn chew toy. Poor puppy. Dean had the acute sense of being nothing more than a slab of sweat-stained meat, but he brushed it off.

Seeing his little brother so disheveled and wanton - worse, even, than the first time they’d done something like this - had Dean finally mumbling fuck it, before gently releasing Sam from where he had him grasped by the head and hair.

Sam wasted no time diving back in with a whine, still sniffling and with tears on his cheeks but consoled as he got back to the warm hollow of Dean’s body. His hips started rutting against Dean’s again on instinct, drawing gasps out of both of them. Dean, for his part, was… acclimating. It was weird, it was so, so weird. Having your seventeen-year-old brother reduced to tears over not being buried in your very sweaty, car-ride-ripe armpits. Which, what a sentence. So, yeah, acclimating.

Sam was now making absurd happy-snuffling noises, tickling Dean, making him twitch and squirm with the vibrations and, god, licks and sucking kisses and scraping teeth- who was Dean kidding, he was totally into this. Freaky, weird bullshit - as per Sam’s usual - but achingly hot at the same time.

Dean reached up (with the hand attached to the non-mauled armpit) to pet the back of Sam’s head, dragging his fingers through it and then down the back of Sam’s neck, petting down towards his spine. Now with his head in the game, Dean patted Sam’s shoulder twice in quick succession to get him to pull back, an instant reaction ingrained in them both by ages 5 and 9.

Sam followed through with a sad, huffed-out little no that would’ve broken Dean’s resolve if he was actually trying to get Sam to stop. That wasn’t the goal, though, so Dean kept a hand petting absently on Sam’s torso to placate the kid while rearranging himself and the pillows behind him so he could sit up slightly while still giving Sam room to… work.

Before he let the kid back in though, he ordered him softly, “Sammy, hey- yeah, I know, just a second- goddammit- just take your pants off, kiddo, Jesus I’m trying to help you.”

So, now Sam was naked on Dean's lap, and Dean's fly was tugged open and down enough so that just his boxers were between them, careful as Dean was to get the teeth of the open zipper away from Sam's bare skin. Dean pulled Sam in by the nape of his neck, hand tangled in Sam's hair as per usual, tugging him in for a kiss.

The sharp tang of his own body odor spread over Sam's face should have turned Dean off, he thought, but it did no such thing. It burned through his gut, taking him by surprise and sparking some animalistic part of his brain into acting.

Grasping Sam's head firmly with both hands, Dean manhandled Sam's head this way and that, tongue flicking out in long, raunchy swathes to lick the scent off of the boy; lips, nose, mouth, cheeks, chin- clean slate.

Sam was groaning into it, letting Dean mess him up any way he wanted to and grinding, always grinding, hands flitting up to the ones Dean had on him and then back to other places across Dean's body- hair, face, torso, shoulders. Naturally, Sam's fingertips slipped into the place they really wanted to go every so often, but Dean jerked his shoulders away every time, half in reprimand, half from being ticklish.

As the kiss went on, Sam got whinier and sloppier, tugging on Dean's hold, trying to return to his toy that he'd gotten so cruelly pulled away from yet again. Dean breathed out a laugh into Sam's mouth, recognizing his brother's antics and desperation and taking pity on him. He pulled away from the kiss but kept Sam's face in his hands, forcing him to meet Dean’s eyes, and there were those tears again.

“Hm, yeah, you need it bad, don’t you?”

With a stuttered breath and puppy eyes out to the max, Sam nodded slowly, lower lip caught between his teeth with apprehension as he was too Dean-stupid to tell if this was a trick or not.

Dean smiled up at him, smoothing down his hair reassuringly, “Yeah, I gotcha, Sammy, I gotcha.”

With that, Dean leaned up to press one last sucking kiss to Sam's mouth before sitting back, tugging Sam in by the nape of his neck until the kid got the hint and sank back down and in with an uncontrollable moan, letting Dean lead him to the other armpit, untouched and deliriously tempting.

Sam greeted it with an open mouth, an obscene noise on his tongue as his eyes fluttered shut, senses overwhelmed again with the warm sweat scent-taste-feel of older brother. Dean groaned with it, too, this time knowing what to expect and reveling in it. And if Sam was a freak for this, then Dean was right there with him, fuck.

Sam was whimpering, unsettled by the start-stop-embarrassment of the night, fidgeting and restless as he desperately tried to get back to that place from before, heady and clouded and safely enshrouded by Dean. Struggling, huffing, whining- all of it ratcheting Dean up higher, his brain lighting up with Sam’s pathetic desperation to burrow inside him and never come out. A sadistic streak best left for another time, probably. Shoving the meanness aside, Dean murmured soothing nothings down at Sam, carding through his hair and down his warm, smooth back with tender fingers, now able to reach down much further with their repositioning.

With his other hand, Dean reached up around Sam’s head and slid his fingers into the locks there, shushing Sam like he was a baby suckling at an overdue feeding, “Shh, Sammy, I know. I’ve got you, dude, take what you need.” A whine, a nod.

Hmm… better, but not best, Dean decided. He looked down at Sam, “Yeah, you like it in there, huh?”

Sam wasn't even listening to him. Sometimes you just had to reconcile the overlay of a needy little kid brother with the seventeen-year-old brat who needed to get smacked around to get him back into line.

Dean could do that.

He finished petting Sam some more before suddenly changing directions, gripping Sam's head harshly and slamming his face into Dean’s armpit with a rough shake, digging Sam’s nose into the soft-hard flesh and smothering him. A soothing gesture, a command, “Just fucking get in there, you dirty little freak.”

A wild groan of relief hit the air as Sam finally felt himself sink fully down into that fuzzy-heady space that he needed, all his vocabulary reducing to a needy plea of Dean, muffled against skin and hair as Dean shoved him in further, “That's right, fucker, take it, c’mon.”

A high pitched keen and renewed vigor, mouthing and sucking and licking- warm and wet and making Dean gasp with the strangest surge of arousal he’d ever had. Dean was quick to admit his nipples were particularly sensitive, an “erogenous zone,” if you listened to the Kama Sutra. But… his armpits? Unexpected, to say the least. But here he was, all the same, meeting Sam’s instinctual thrusts with his own hips as he was driven out of his mind by his little brother making out with his goddamn armpit.

“Fuck , there you go, Sammy, now you got it.”

Dean blinked harshly then, still writhing underneath his brother, but he had to focus. Little brother sufficiently soothed and erotically distracting with it, Dean moved on to the next step of the age-old program. He slowly took his hand off Sam’s back and reached over to the nightstand and brought back a bottle of cheap lotion, silently popping the cap and squeezing out a portion onto his fingers.

Keeping the, er- occupied arm curled around Sam’s head, still applying that firm pressure to it, Dean hunched further over his brother’s prone body and slid his greased-up fingers down between Sam’s asscheeks, startling the younger boy into a yell, thrusting forward before arching his back properly, giving Dean the access he needed. He dutifully slipped in a finger up to the last knuckle with ease- Sam’s body was always ready and willing for anything Dean would give it, Dean was figuring out,

“Such a perfect fucking whore for me, Sammy, barely even need lube, swear to god.”

Sam squirmed and cried as big brother quickly slid a finger into his hole like it belonged there (it did); baby-brother-helpless, naked on Dean's clothed lap and tiny with it, but still needing it, needing more, needing Dean- A steady stream of please please Dean please making its way out of his mouth unconsciously as Dean crooked his finger and pressed at his rim with another.

The angle was awkward but neither of them would change it for the world. Three fingers in now and Dean was impatient, his armpits raw with spit and brother-teething and his dick aching in his boxers, which were rumpled and askew from the force of Sam rutting against him. Dean's fingers got rougher, concentration shot as he tried to figure out how to finally get his dick wet, and Sam gasped out in response, nerves sparking and sputtering enough to get him with the program. He shuffled his arms down between them - never taking a break with his mouth, though, of course - and managed to tug Dean's clothes down past his knees, shifting to let Dean kick them the rest of the way off.

Dean quickly reached down to spread the lotion over his dick while he had the room to do so, groaning at an embarrassingly high pitch from just the perfunctory touch. But then Sam was getting distracted again, so Dean reached up to grip Sam's hip harshly, fingernail stubs sinking in to make up for the slippery lotion, Sam's side lighting up as he arched into it, following Dean's guidance and finally using his own hands to guide Dean's dick where it always belonged, where it should never leave; deep inside Sam, protected and protecting and fully connecting them together in a way that threatened of divinity.

The slide home had them both gasping, just boys in a motel room once again, nothing complicated looming on the horizon, just each of them and each of each other. Sam’s breath huffed against Dean's wet, sensitized skin and the older boy shivered with it, pulling Sam's head further in and with the other hand urging him downward on Dean's cock, throbs passing like tidal waves between them, reciprocal and unceasing. Sam was good at this part, by now, and it came naturally to him - something Dean usually teased him about, if he had the brain power, but not today. Today, it was all they could both do to keep it steady and make it good the way they had learned to together, Sam's hips rolling up and coming back down to meet Dean's, which were twitching up as far as he could without dislodging his little brother’s, uh, efforts.

Sam drew back slightly to bite and lick and teethe at other parts of Dean's flesh- the edge of his armpit, moving up to chase the salt of his shoulder, down to follow the freckles dancing down his arm, then pausing at the stop line of his farmer's tan, gnawing and kissing at it all around like it was tangible, reaching up and manipulating Dean's arm this way and that to get to all of it and more and god Dean just fucking let him- fuck.

As Sam shifted around and moved on (fucking finally- it was hot, but Jesus, kid), Dean got more room to work and soon they were slamming together harshly, jolting and quick, erratic but still somehow perfectly in sync, muscles subtly trembling with exhaustion and desperation quickly building.

The teeth marks Sam was leaving on Dean’s arms would definitely still be there come morning, probably for the next few days, and Dean couldn’t wait to revel in them; fingers prodding them back into soreness, teasing Sam with cut-offs that showed off his handiwork– erotic reminders all over his body, for days. All over Sam’s body, too, probably, Dean’s fingers clenching harshly on Sam’s bony hips, head tucked up - which, when had that happened? - to press sucking, juvenile kisses into Sam’s neck, in a way that was driving the kid wild.

After the excitement of the night, and what excitement it was, there wasn’t much buildup left to be had - though it really felt like they had just started, never enough time spent under each other’s skin, always more to be had. Regardless, the buildup had been so sharp, so blindingly bright, but in the end, the peak was soft.

Dean pulled Sam up away from his latest quarry (the inside of Dean’s elbow) as the tide started to turn. For once, the kid came up willingly, having been winding into that soft space, too, ready to feel the completion of his brother inside him; a job well done. So, Sam let himself be pulled up, let Dean lick and lave all over his face, again, let himself groan into it and reciprocate, cleverly catching Dean’s tongue with his lips, sucking on it firmly, drinking in any spit Dean was able to produce. Dean clutched him even closer at that and fed it to him in kind, deep enough to trigger the kid’s gag reflex and make him squirm, desperate but still sedate. Sam, meet Dean’s tongue, baby, meet bottle. Inevitable, and vital as the moon.

Dean broke away to murmur against Sam’s jaw, “Y’close, Sammy?” His newly-free hand had found Sam’s dick and was lazily stroking it, completely out of time with their movements and perfectly toe-curling for it.

A hummed nod and the increased jerkiness of Sam’s hips were all Dean got in response, Sam nosing behind his ear now, seeking body-baked warmth that Dean somehow always stored in the oddest of places.

Dean leaned into it, the simple friction of skin on his lips and face feeling like the most luxurious textures money could buy. Softly murmured syllables, barely audible, “Hm, yeah, me too.” He emphasized it with a hard thrust - not fast, just deep and firm pressure, enough for Sam to gasp out Dean’s name like a curse and clench up deliciously, and- there it was, at last. Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s dick in response, instinctive-involuntary and chain-reactive, and they spiraled from there.

When they made it over the edge - one after the other, though neither could tell you who was first - it was an all-consuming wave, starting in their toes and sprouting upwards, into the crevices; the clench and slide of Sam’s hole, the tremble of his thighs and lower back as he worked them both through it, into the arches behind Dean’s knees, the tightness of his balls as they drew up, the places they touched, noses, mouths, teeth, and tongues, the tingling marks already starting to form- Overwhelmingly perfect.

Sam was uttering a steady stream of Dean-Dean-Dean, and said Dean was encouraging him in a hoarse voice, his jaw tense with pleasure, “Yeah that’s it, Sammy, come for me- you feel me inside you, huh? You feel me comin’ up in your guts?”

And Sam’s nod was frantic, scrabbling at Dean’s shoulders, “Ah! De-an, Dean, it’s- unh, it’s so much-”

“I know, Sammy, I know- you got it.” Dean kept working his hand on Sam’s dick, bringing the other one down to Sam’s balls, unbearably guy-ish and nasty, massaging, squeezing, wringing- “That’s it, baby, keep coming, keep going.” Dean shoved his hips up even as his own orgasm tapered off, drawing out Sam’s as much as possible, obsessed with milking every last drop of his pleasure out for Dean to see.

Eventually, the kid gave one last, feeble cry as the last crest of his orgasm hit, before finally beginning the come-down, slumping down onto Dean’s chest and gasping for air, Dean not much better off below him, shuddering with full body exhaustion, bringing his arms up and around Sam’s frame, hugging him tight enough that he could’ve sworn they had melded together.

Dean exhaled a deep breath, rubbing up and down Sam’s back, “Well shit, Sammy.”

Sam huffed out a laugh into Dean’s skin in response, “Yeah, Dean, ‘well shit,’” sarcastic but humorous.

Dean flicked him in the side, full of indignation that sounded suspiciously whiney, “Shut the fuck up, you little shit, you started this- the fuck d’you want me to say?”

Sam nipped at Dean’s chest, not unlike a sharp kitten bite, voice bright with laughter as it giggled out of him, “Fuckin' anything, Dean! Like, ‘Wow, Sam, that was really hot, we should do that again,’ or ‘I love you so much Sam, let’s live happily ever after together,’ or ‘Sam, you’re the hottest little brother ever- wmf.”

A pillow mysteriously lobbed itself into Sam’s face, cutting him off as he laughed hysterically into the offending object, voice such a heartrending mix between the boy Dean knew (and raised) and the rich tones of the man he was quickly becoming. Dean supposed a little heartbreak was a small price for the sins he inflicted on his brother. Quietly, Dean joined in on the laughter, slugging Sam on the shoulder half-heartedly, more like a love tap, which made Sam laugh some more.

Grumbling, Dean dug around underneath himself, expertly tugging the covers out and then wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist to slam him into the mattress, swung over by pure momentum and spite, as all of Dean’s energy reserves were depleted.

Sam’s gleeful mirth continued into a helpfully laid out pillow, but he helped Dean’s plan along and pulled the covers back over them, slipping it behind Dean’s back with his long-armed reach before he squirmed around so that he could tuck himself into the crook of Dean’s body, somehow transforming into a being made of solely sharp elbows and shoulders and knees as he did so. Dean huffed a final, wry laugh, shaking his head at Sam’s antics before reciprocating, too exhausted to put up a fuss as he wrapped himself around his brother’s body and breathed in deep; dirt, sweat, and come and brother filling his senses and lulling him to sleep.

#(#spn #wincest #wincest wednesday #armpit kink #scent kink #sweat kink #etc #tw: sam being a gay little freak :/#as per usual #ro writing tag #)

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