Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.
Summary: It is Sam’s birthday and Dean wants to revive an old tradition. Set during S1, first half-ish. Established wincest. Schmoopy spanking. One shot.
Warnings: wincest, m/m slash, spanking
Author Notes: Written for my sweetheart, Vincent (sammynce). Hope you like it hon! *bites nails* Mixed POV. Assumed that Sam was gone for 4 years before the Pilot. Written under an hour, unbetaed.
Word Count: 2895
Okay. Maybe a little.
The door clicks open then, and Dean walks in with two brown bags in one hand and a giant box of Timberland in another.
Dean places the bags down on the coffee table before flinging the box at Sam, who catches it automatically.
“Breakfast from IHOP. And your present.”
Dean grins, wide and charming and slightly off-handed as always. “Happy Birthday, baby brother.”
Sam grins back and looks at the box, starting to get a little teary-eyed. Yep, total girl alright.
“For me? Wow, I don’t know what to say.”
“Your old boots have more holes than a slab of Swiss cheese, Sammy. Thought you could use some new ones.”
He reaches out for his big brother because, yeah, they do that now. Now that they’re together again, and out of the larger-than-life shadow of their Dad, the brothers have become more physically affectionate than ever before. Well, maybe Sam more than Dean (hell, a lot more). Although some days, like today, Dean is more than happy to oblige. Pulls Sam into a fierce embrace and hugs him tight. And once the brotherly instincts are fulfilled and out of the way, the horniness takes over.
Sam licks his lips and closes them around Dean’s luscious mouth, prodding enthusiastically with his tongue until Dean lets him in. They kiss long and hard for a few minutes, pouring all their passion and lust laden want for each other, into each other. Until Dean starts to feel his brother’s hardened shaft poke him through the flimsy motel towel. He pulls back and smirks, his eyes twinkling with the promise of something horribly mischievous.
Sam chuckles nervously. “What?”
“Do you remember how we ‘celebrated’ your eighteenth birthday? Before you went away?”
Sam usually doesn’t like to be reminded of the difficult time four years ago when he’d left for college. But this is not going to be an angst-ridden morning, hell he’s going to make sure of that. And then when the rest of Dean’s words sink in, he swallows, blushing hard. Of course he remembers. How can he ever possibly forget?
“Oh God… do you want to…”
Sam just gulps, feeling his face turn into a blazing inferno from the inside out. Dean smirks, he has his answer in the bright crimson of his little brother’s cheeks right there.
“Uh, but De…”
“Shh… no buts Sammy. Well, except yours. Obviously.”
Dean grins and Sam wants to roll his eyes, except he’s too busy freaking out. Is this really going to happen? Was he really going to allow Dean to take him over his knee again and… and…?
Oh God no… yes… no…
Slowly but surely Dean walks backwards towards one of the beds, pulling Sam along by his right wrist. Once the back of his legs hit his destination, he sits down and not so gently jerks Sam towards himself.
Sam gasps and watches helplessly as he goes flying through the air. Falling until he’s falling no more, and finds himself face down across Dean’s knees. His upper torso is somewhat supported by the length of the bed, his ass perfectly positioned in his brother’s lap and one of his legs rests on the bed while the other anchors itself to the floor.
“So beautiful. I’ve missed this so much, baby bro.”
Sam gulps and lets Dean pull his frame further upwards until the crest of his ass is blatantly presented to him for a thorough… uh, servicing.
“Right, this needs to go away.”
Unwraps the towel off his waist and drops it to the ground and Sam starts to whimper already. His toes curl up as his blush deepens when Dean’s bare palm lands on his naked bottom. The hand is warm and calloused and thick-skinned but steady and reassuring as it lovingly cups and fondles his cheeks. Sam closes his eyes and surrenders to a full-body shudder.
“Settle down, Sammy. You’ve been asking for this for months now, haven’t you?”
Sam snorts. “No I haven’t. That’s such a cliché thing to say.”
Dean is the one whining this time. “Dude, I’m in character. C’mon!”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever you do, you better not sound like Dad.”
“Awww, what’s the matter, Sammy? Don’t want a spanking from Daddy?”
Sam grimaces, struggles to get up but of course Dean doesn’t let him. “Dude!!”
Why does he have to use that word? Makes it sound like he’s twelve again and waiting to be punished for yet another stupid insubordination. God, just the (sense) memory of how hard John Winchester swings makes his poor butt tingle and throb emphatically.
Dean laughs his heart out. “Alright, kiddo. Just me, no Daddy. But you have to talk to me, tell me how much you want this.”
And just like that, the childhood melts away. Sam practically vibrates at the deep, alluring new lilt in his brother’s voice. Only one thing left to say, in a hoarse whisper, about the only sound he can manage right now…
“I want this.”
Sam sighs and it seems like all the blood in his veins is rushing up to his face like waves to a shore, making his head spin. Closes his eyes, reveling in the brief dizziness of the moment.
“Okay… I got ya, baby bro. I got ya.”
Dean squeezes the flesh once, rubbing and massaging every single inch ardently. Sam continues to breathe heavily, loving the feel of his brother’s hand on his ass more than he’d ever dare admit.
“So how old are you today?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”
A loud smacking noise reverberates around the little motel room before the sting actually registers with his boggled brain. And when it finally does, Sam’s face scrunches up and an embarrassingly loud squeak escapes his lips.
“I asked you a question.”
Sam rolls his eyes, in no mood to play these stupid games Dean thinks are so fucking cute but really they’re just a pain in the…
“AHH! Alright! Twenty three.”
“Right answer! So that’s what we’ll start with then.”
The first two smacks were hard, intended to jolt him loose of his scattered thoughts and focus on nothing but the feel of Dean’s hand on his naked butt. And focus he does, because damn, it hurts. And they haven’t even started yet!
Dean presses an index finger flat into the crevice of his ass, sliding down until it rests right on his anus. Sam moans. Spreads his legs without actually intending it.
“Ah, fuck! Dean…”
“We’ll get to that, Sammy. First… I want you to start counting. With one.”
“Wh-What about the first two?”
“That was warm-up. Any more questions or rules you’d like to contest before we start, geekboy?”
Sam just groans, pushing his ass upwards into Dean’s finger circling his opening now. Suddenly the touch disappears and before he can even open his mouth to lodge a protest, the first (technically the third) smack lands on his left buttock.
Dean smirks, spreading his own legs wider as he feels the denim getting tighter around his crotch. And spanks some more.
“Ah! Two… ow! Three… De… ow! Four…”
He’s not hitting too hard, at least not at first. But with every new smack, the intensity grows. Both of his spanking, and of the occasional rubs he manages to sneak in, in between smacks. Sam’s mouth stays open throughout, gasping and moaning and sometimes attempting to say Dean’s name. Only he never makes it to the “ean” part. Like, ever.
“De… ah! Ow!!… Seven.”
Dean can feel his brother’s cock filling up and rubbing hard against his thigh. He smirks, watches Sam’s ass arch up into his hand and fall back, undulating softly to find the much-needed friction for his aching dick. Spreads his legs a little more and with his other hand reaches down under Sam to pull at his cock and let it hang between his thighs. Sam fists his hands into the bed’s coverlet and whimpers loudly.
“Ohh no… please De… ow!! N-Nine!”
Dean continues to slap away with the flat of his quickly heating up palm. The surface of his brother’s ass is baby smooth and tempting with little pink splotches now cropping up on the otherwise pale white skin. Such a tiny butt on such a long, elegant body. Dean takes a huge intake of breath at the scrumptious sight laid out in his lap, and fingers the dimples of his brother’s bottom possessively. Sam pushes forward in an attempt to rub himself against Dean’s thighs but Dean keeps holding him back.
Dean chuckles. “All in good time, my little bitch. All in good time.”
He smacks again, left cheek, then right cheek, then across them both. Concentrates on the rising curves of the beautiful ass, then slides downwards steadily until he reaches the sit-spot. Sam moans his loudest here and it’s less in pleasure and more in pain.
“I think it’s four.”
Sam groans, half sobbing half laughing because damn it Dean can be cruel when he teases. Still straining for friction as his shaft trembles and spasms, feeling desperately ignored and unloved.
“Please… just touch me De… please…”
Dean obeys, brings his thighs closer together, trapping the member between them and Sam’s eyes roll into the back of his head.
Dean laughs, clasping his other arm around the slender waist and pulling Sam closer to himself. Continues to spank the spot where the buttocks meet the thighs until Sam is writhing and begging for mercy with his string of endless moans.
“Owww!!! Hurts… De, ow! Ei-Eighteen!”
He tries to put a hand back behind him and it’s just a mindless reflexive action because when has that ever worked for him anyway? Dean grabs it coolly and pushes it down towards his leg, encouraging Sam to grab the fabric of the jeans at Dean’s ankle. And grab he does, and yanks on it with all his might.
Dean dips into the crack once again to tickle the winking orifice, a brazen promise of more birthday gifts to follow. Sam wheezes, biting down fervently on his knuckles as he braces himself. Dean isn’t holding back any more. A couple more spanks fall, hard and fast.
“Ow!! Twenty, pl-please… ahh! Twenty one… ow! Twenty two…”
Dean pauses again, lets Sam catch his breath as he massages his reddening rump, attempting to spread the sting evenly across the whole rotund surface.
“Please De… no more…”
“Is that an in-character thing or out?”
Dean bites his lip and waits, knowing that in situations like this, his brother just likes to abuse the word “no” without really meaning it. Could he possibly be any more of a girl, really?
Sam huffs and turns to glare at his brother, knowing he’d find that smug look on his face and be completely helpless to defy it because fuck, Dean’s right. It hurts like a bitch, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to sit in the Impala later this noon when they leave. But he’s so insanely hard and the sting in his butt is so freakishly delicious, and he doesn’t want to stop feeling this intense, weird mix of mind-numbing pleasure and scorching hot pain, like ever…
He yelps when Dean lays a particularly hard smack just as he squeezes his legs together around Sam’s dick.
He knows the count, maybe, at least he thinks he does. Only, he can’t find the fucking words. All that comes out is gibberish, like he was a little baby again, heartily chattering away complete nonsense while this blond-haired child listened on intently. Yeah, Dean always listened, and somehow he always knew what Sammy was saying… always.
That is, except right now.
“How many is that, Sammy? Or do you want me to start all over again?”
Oh God no… his poor butt couldn’t possibly take anymore. Well, okay sure it could. But his (manly man’s) ego couldn't, flustered and mortified beyond belief as it is by how much he enjoys being subjected to this painful humiliation at the freakishly heavy hand of his big brother.
Dean chuckles then, rubbing his ass again. Something tells Sam it is still not quite…
“And this one’s to grow on…”
Smack! It’s the hardest one yet.
Dean laughs and shushes him all at once. “All done, kiddo. It’s over.”
Sam gasps, a couple of tears leaking out the sides of his lovely doe eyes. At least it’s over, he thinks. Damn, twenty-three didn’t seem such a big number ten minutes ago.
His mind shuts down completely when Dean casually slips his left hand under him to grab his weeping erection. Grunts and grimaces, torn between thrusting into the fist below and lifting up into the palm splayed across his blazing ass, softly caressing the soreness away.
“Good boy, Sammy… that’s it…”
Dean knows exactly what it takes to get his little brother off. And usually Sam doesn’t ask for much. A series of rough, short and fast jerks is often enough to make him come, release all his tensions and fears and residual adrenaline of a strenuous day. But see, that’s just it. It’s because Sam doesn’t ask for much, that Dean wants to give him everything he can. The very best that he can.
“Ohh… Dean, please…”
His hand forms a loose comfortable fist, slicked by the precum from Sam’s own dick. Applies long, languorous strokes, pulling and squeezing and rubbing his thumb against the hypersensitive head until Sam’s mewling and thrashing, then buckling under the insurmountable pressure that blends with the pulsating ache in his butt, and pushes him over the edge. His stomach muscles pull painfully taut and his breath hitches in his throat as he stiffens, then lets go at last. Into Dean’s waiting hand. Dean continues to use Sam’s own jizz to keep stroking and pumping his dick until Sam’s got nothing left to give.
He collapses against the bed and against Dean, buries his face into the covers nearly smothering himself. Dean chuckles, pulls both his legs back onto the bed and levies one last loving pat to the bright red ass. Wipes his hand dry on the bedcover itself, then turns Sam around by gripping him from under both his armpits.
“Come here, baby bro.”
Sam groans, the bright morning light prickling against his closed eyelids but other than that he doesn’t resist. Dean pulls him up until his face falls forward against Dean’s chest and his butt hangs somewhere between Dean’s open legs, so thankfully the sorer parts don’t brush against the bed. He curls up further, as if trying to climb into Dean and never come out ever again.
“Look at me…”
He pouts, doesn’t want to open his eyes. But Dean puts a finger under his chin and pushes his face up towards him. Taps it a couple of times and waits until Sam sighs in that condescending ‘only for you and you better be grateful’ manner of his. Then opens his eyes.
Dean looks a little bemused, a little hot and bothered, and a little worried. He always worries. Sam snorts then, licks his lips blatantly demanding another kiss.
“You’re such a dork.” Dean mumbles before sliding his tongue into his waiting mouth and lets Sam suckle on it for a while. Keeps a hand behind his head, fingers buried in his still damp mop of chestnut hair indulgingly.
Sam whines, and he doesn’t care if that makes him sound like a girl. He just loves the way Dean looks when he hears him doing it. “My butt smarts.”
Dean snorts, holding him close. “Yeah that was kinda the idea.”
“Can we not go to Oregon today? Please?”
Makes his puppy dog face and everything, he knows it works every time. Also knows from years of experience that the Impala’s leather is not very conducive for seating freshly spanked bottoms.
Dean pretends to think about it, but the truth is he was just about to suggest it himself. It’s Sammy’s birthday after all. And he intends to see to it that he gets all the time in the world to enjoy the many presents he has in mind for his little brother. Smiles down at Sam’s bright expectant face and kisses the tip of his nose.
“Okay. I suppose that’s a good idea. Gives us time to catch up on all the birthdays I missed.”
Sam starts, his butt already starting to twinge in nervous anticipation and self-sympathy (Yes, that is so a word).
Dean counts off on his fingers with a dead serious smirk on his face.
“The last four years, of course. Nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two. Didn’t think I’d just forget about them, did ya, baby bro?”
Oh God no… yes… no…
And he thought eighteen he couldn’t forget. Sam bites a shy little grin back quickly before Dean can spot it.
It’s going to be a very, very memorable birthday indeed.
**** FIN ****
A/N: Pls let me know what you think? :)