also anonymous asked: It is not really badfilthywrong but what about Dean taking Sam's virginity. Sam is all whiney and whimpery but wanting Dean so desperately.
He’s laying on his back, Dean settled in between his legs and his entire body is covered in a flush that makes him feel like he’s on fire. It’s not like Dean has never seen Sam naked. With how close they live, out of each other’s pockets, they’ve seen each other naked plenty of times before but this is different. This is Dean and he’s striped bare for Dean to see everything, touch everything, feel everything and even though he wants to cover himself back up, he can’t.
He wants Dean more, needs Dean more.
“You gotta relax for me, baby.” Dean muttered against Sam’s lips as Sam tightened his legs around Dean’s waist. Sam nodded and let his legs fall back down to the bed but his arms that were wrapped around Dean’s neck tightened. “You’re doing so good, Sammy. Just take deep breaths. Breathe for me.”
“Okay.” Sam whimpered and he screwed his eyes shut as Dean pushed past that first ring of muscle oh so slow. Sam suddenly made a sound, deep in the back of his throat that unmistakingly sounded hurt and Dean immediately stilled. “Not... not so deep.” Sam pleaded, his voice soft and sweet and Dean wanted to swallow it up. “Not yet.”
“Okay, Sammy.” Dean smiled as he pressed another kiss to his brother’s lips, running a hand through his hair as he pulled his hips back, letting Sam get used to the feeling.
Sam’s tight, even despite the fact that they spent the better part of an hour working him open, making sure that he was ready for this. He whined and whimpered and begged for Dean’s cock while he was split open on his fingers and tongue.
Dean pushed in again, this time a little shallower, not as deep but just as slow and bit by bit Sam opens up for him. Dean peppered kisses all over Sam’s face and he stopped when he tasted salty tears on his lips. He pulled away and there were undeniable tracks of tears falling down his pretty, little face, causing something to twist in Dean’s stomach.
Dean pulled out again but Sam wrapped his legs back around Dean’s waist, keeping him from being able to pull too far away. “Please no, don’t... don’t stop now. It feels good... it’s just...” He trailed off.
“Just what?” Dean asked kissing away the little tears as he pushed back in, this time a little deeper and Sam moaned, broken and cut off but he clung to Dean.
“It’s just... it’s you... and... and me and I've never... it feels...” Sam threw his head back to the pillow when Dean finally bottomed out, his mouth hanging open, pretty pink lips swollen from Dean’s own mouth. “God, Dean. I feel... I feel so full.”
he should have known better than to believe that anyone would actually want to go to the school dance with him. that they would be happy to go with a boy whose clothes were just slightly too big and smelled like a thrift store. still he had been so excited when someone had actually asked him to go to the fall formal.
sam thought about saying no and looking back on it now, sam wished that he did say no but regardless he agreed and the girl that had asked him, gave him a tight smile before turning around and walking away.
they were on the coast somewhere in florida and the thick, humid air was sticking to his skin. he pulled at the tie that was around his neck and wished that he could just go ahead and take it off. hell, he just wanted to go back to the motel room but dean was his ride and he and his date were having fun dancing together in the middle of the dance floor while the date that sam brought was dancing with someone else, abandoned him nearly the moment they arrived.
so he was almost glued to the wall, watching as everyone else danced together and he felt completely out of place.
he considered to find dean, tell him that he was going to walk back to the motel when dean was suddenly there in front of him, his own tie loosen, hair looking as if fingers had been run through it repeatedly and that realization made sam sick to his stomach.
“whatcha doin’ all the way over here in here in the corner, sammy? where’s your date?” dean asked, slinging an arm around sam’s shoulders.
sam could feel himself blush and he looked down at the scuffed toes of his converses as he shrugged. “there was some other guy who asked her if she wanted to dance and... umm... she did.”
dean placed a finger underneath sam’s chin, forcing him to pull his attention away from the ground and sam almost couldn’t meet his brother’s gaze. “so you meant to tell me that she just left you?”
sam chewed on his bottom lip and nodded.
there was a disgruntled sigh that escaped from dean’s lips before he grabbed sam’s hand and started pulling him towards the door. sam resisted for a moment but dean turned to look at sam, a smile on his face and sam unglued his feet from the floor and followed dean.
dean ran from the gym where the fall formal was being held, sam’s hand tight in his own and he didn’t stop until their toes were sinking in the sand and dean pulled them onto a secluded part of the beach.
“she was stupid to abandon you, sammy.” dean whispered as he pushed sam to the ground and sam went down willingly, his heart beating through his chest at the way that dean was looking at him.
“wha... what are you doing, dean?” sam whispered, scared to say anything any louder and dean only smiled.
“do you trust me, sammy?” dean asked, crawling up sam’s body, slowly enough that sam could pull away if he wanted but sam never did. he laid there, watching dean until dean was hovering over sam, his mouth right there. “do you, sammy? do you trust me?”
sam had barely nodded before dean closed the nonexistent distance between the two of them and nothing really mattered other than dean.
It was still jarring to see his brother like this. Calm and at peace, spread out on his stomach, curled underneath the sheets sound asleep.
Sam had gotten up a little over half and hour ago, untangling his body from Dean’s who was lightly snoring next to him and took his morning run. They needed this, this vacation where they turned off their phones and didn’t read the newspaper and allowed themselves to relax, unwind.
They found some resort along the beaches in Mexico, drove all day and all night to get there. That had been a week ago and Dean had taken to the lazy days and the domestic bliss almost as soon as his toes touched the sand.
Dean was still asleep by the time that Sam got back to the room and instead of heading straight to the shower, he stood in the doorway to the bedroom and watched his brother sleep.
Then Sam peeled his shirt from his body, wiping the sweat from his face before he quietly padded over to the bed, climbing upon it next to his brother.
Slowly he kissed up Dean’s back, along the freckled flesh and smirked when Dean stirred underneath him. Dean raised his head from the pillows and glanced over at Sam before burying his head back in the pillows.
“Sam, you’re sweaty.” Dean groaned, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Yeah? I just back from a run.” Sam answered, rolling closer to his brother, draping his body across his.
Dean scoffed. “We're on vacation, Sam. You shouldn’t be running.” Another groan and Dean lifted his head to look at Sam again. He shifted under the weight of his brother. “Get of me. You stink.”
Sam chuckled, sucking a spot on the knob of his spine. “Maybe I’m trying to get you out of bed and into the shower with me.”
“I wanna sleep.” Dean retorted.
“You’ve been sleeping all morning, Dean.” Sam muttered as he dragged his lips back down Dean’s spine, pulling the blankets down with him to expose more and more naked, beautiful flesh. “C’mon, Dean.”
Dean lifted his head once more, turning to look at Sam and the playful glint in his eyes and the smirk on his lips and sighed before he kicked Sam off his body, pretending to look annoyed but Sam knew that the look of annoyance would quickly be replaced as soon as Sam got him underneath the spray of the shower and got down on his knees.
Sam was a bit of a slut and it didn’t help that Dean gave him all the attention that Sam desired.
Not that Dean meant to give Sam any attention at all because all that boy wanted was attention from his older brother. He always tried to stay strong, not look at Sam when he started to sprawl out in the front seat of the Impala or when he came back to the motel and peeled his t-shirt off his body after his early morning run. Except, Sam knew his brother and he knew exactly what to do to break Dean’s not so solid resolve.
It had been a couple of months since John gave Dean the Impala, saying that Dean better take care of the car. He was twenty-one now, legal to drink without his fake ID and it was about time that he had a car of his own and besides, John won a truck in a poker game.
Sam was seventeen and he was growing into his body. His limbs were still long and lanky but the muscle that rested underneath his skin started to take shape, sit on his body like it was carved and Sam always made sure to let Dean see just how much he had grown into his body.
They took off towards the midwest while John went up North to help an old hunting buddy of his. There was something freeing about being in the Impala, with the windows rolled down and the music playing low through the speakers, nowhere to be and nowhere to go.
When they got hungry, they pulled into the parking lot of some small diner and ate. When they got tired, they pulled off the side of the road, laid out on the seats of the Impala and let the midwest breeze lull them to sleep.
The morning sun bleed in through the windshield and Dean slowly blinked awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up.
Sam was already awake, standing outside, stretching his long body as the sun turned his skin golden, creating dark shadows in the crevices of the muscle that became more defined everyday.
The smirk was already on Sam’s lips by the time that Dean climbed out of the Impala and walked up behind his brother, fingers splayed across his stomach that was on display. Sam sighed his satisfaction when Dean kissed along the side of his neck, lightly licking at that spot right below his ear that made Sam go crazy.
“You know, you can’t just go around flaunting your body like this, Sammy.” Dean muttered against his neck. “Someone might try to take advantage of you.”
Dean could feel the chuckle as opposed to hearing it. “There’s no one around to take advantage of me, Dean.” Sam reasoned, gesturing to the open fields around them. “Unless... you’re going to take advantage of me.”
There was a teasing lilt to Sam’s words, almost like he was challenging Dean and Dean was never one to back down from a challenge.
square filled: free space
ship: sam/dean
rating: general
ao3 link
tags: soulmates
summary: “There's a theory out there that states everyone has a number printed somewhere on their body and the number is the number of days that it takes a person to meet their soulmate. Dean has a number printed on the inside of his wrist and Sam, well Sam doesn't have one at all.”
word count: 2.2+
a/n: unbetaed and unedited. thoughts, comments and opinions are always welcomed.
written/created for @spnkinkbingo
There were days when Sam would crawl into Dean’s lap, his little legs straddling Dean’s waist as he held Dean’s wrist in his own hands and traced the numbers that were imprinted on Dean’s wrist with chubby little fingers for hours. He would sit there, just like that, not moving, not saying anything, just continuously tracing the dark marks as if he was trying to memorize the shape of them with his fingerprints.
The black little one thousand, five hundred and fifty-nine.
Dean would run his fingers through Sam’s hair, brushing out the knots that got tangled around his own fingers. He would hold Sam for however long Sam sat there in his lap. And while Sam was looking at his wrist with the numbers, Dean would be looking at Sam’s wrist, bare and pale, wondering why his little brother didn’t have any numbers on his wrist.
Sam would ask. He would stare up at Dean after a while with those big hazel eyes of his and he would ask Dean why his wrist were bare, why he didn’t have a number, why he was so different from Dean and Dean could only shrug his shoulders and say “I don’t know, Sammy. That’s just the way it is.”
Sam never liked that answer, the question that was always left a question because he knew that there had to be a reason why Dean was numbered and why Sam was not. There were kids at school who would also have numbers on their wrists and when Sam would ask them why they had numbers, they would also shrug, say that they were born with it.
When Sam would ask his teachers, they would only smile that sugar sweet fake smile and say that “oh it’s nothing that you need to concern yourself with, dear. At least, not yet” and then proceed to give Sam a juice box like that was the thing that Sam had originally asked about.
One night, when Sam was curled up underneath the covers, sound asleep, Dean sat across from his father and asked him about the numbers because his father would know what they meant. He always had the answer to everything but something passed over his father’s eyes when Dean asked and absentmindedly he rubbed at the inner part of his own wrist before he shook his head and told Dean that he had no idea what the numbers meant. Some people were just born with them and that was that.
Whether or not Dean knew that his father was lying, he didn’t say anything. Instead he slid off the chair he was sitting on, changed into his pajamas and climbed into the bed that he was sharing with his brother. Even in his sleep, Sam reached out for Dean, his small hands curling into fists in the front of Dean’s shirt.
The curiosity of the number that lined Dean’s wrist didn’t wear off for either one of them. The want to know what it meant was still there, lingering in the back of their mind but eventually they had to grow up and stop wondering about trivial things like that.
So Sam stopped tracing the numbers and Dean stopped running his fingers through Sam’s hair looking at his bare wrist. They both stopped asking what it meant and slowly the numbers that used to be so important to the both of them, a mystery that was just for them to figure out, started to fade away until it was barely just there.
It was almost like the fact that Sam had stopped questioning about it, had stopped tracing the numbers, touching Dean, that they were fading away until they no longer existed to be.
Sometimes, at night, that worried Dean because those numbers were a part of him, they had been on his arm for as long as he remembered and even though he had no idea what they meant, he wanted them to be there. Sometimes, when everyone else is asleep and Dean is the only one awake because his mind is too wild to settle down, he thinks that he could still feel the ghost of Sam’s fingers tracing over the lines. And almost everytime that happens, it always feels right, like there is a piece of Dean that has settled back into place.
It was Sam, as it naturally would be, that figured out one day what exactly those numbers on Dean’s wrist meant and the realization of the reason why Sam didn’t have any sent his stomach dropping to his toes because it meant things that it shouldn’t mean.
It meant that the universe had screwed up royally and that everything that had happened was only a result of that mistake.
He was required to do a research project for his Psychology class. It was the kind of project that he had no say in what he had to research and it was worth over half his grade for the semester, not that he was going to be staying that long at the school anyway. Not with the way that Dad was talking. His teacher passed around a hat that had little slips of paper folded up inside and each student was required to research whatever was on that slip of paper. Most of the things were different theories about the human physique. Some were less conventional theories that couldn’t be disproved but they weren’t widely accepted by the public now.
That was how Sam got stuck in the library, nose deep on books that hadn’t been opened in years, pages yellowing from age, reading all about soulmates and the unlikely theory thereof.
Everyone had numbers printed somewhere on their bodies. Most commonly it was the wrist or the inner part of the ankle. Sometimes it was along the hip or on the collarbone or right behind the ear but regardless of where it was, every person had a number.
Except, of course, Samuel Winchester.
The theory goes is that the number that is imprinted on the person’s skin is the number of days that it takes for them to meet their soulmate. Most people dismiss the theory because that’s how far the theory goes. It just says that it’s the number of days that it takes for you to meet your soulmate whether that be sitting next to them on the bus and having a short, friendly conversation or bumping into them in the middle of a lunch rush at the local cafe.
It wasn’t the romanized version of meeting your soulmate that Hollywood tried to make people believe. According to the theory, most people didn’t know that they even ran into their soulmate and eventually, the numbers just faded away, the barest trace of a memory that should have happened but never did.
Dean had the number one thousand, five hundred and fifty-nine on his wrist. It didn’t take much math to figure out that it was a little over four years that it took for Dean to meet his supposed soulmate.
Dean was born on January 24, 1979 and if you added that one thousand, five hundred and fifty nine, it equaled the one date that Sam didn’t want it to equal. His own birthday, May 2, 1983.
Which meant that he and Dean… they were…
He slammed the book that he was reading shut, shoved all his notes in his backpack and tried to ignore the way that his heart was pounding through his chest. Sam wished that he could say that he was surprised or shocked or anything else but it made sense. It all made sense in Sam’s young mind. The reason why Dean had a number on his wrist, why Sam didn’t, why they both seemed closer than normal brothers.
Dean was sprawled out on the bed, watching some football game on TV when Sam walked through the door, throwing his bag down on the ground and marched straight to the bathroom without saying anything to Dean. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say anyway. I mean, how were you supposed to casually say that “we’re soulmates, Dean. The universe and the stars and that number on your wrist made it so.” He couldn’t.
So instead he took a shower, one hot enough to burn the skin on his body, strip away all the knowledge that he just learned. Maybe the steam from the shower could clear his mind, make him forget everything. Go back to that ignorant bliss that he lived in before the project.
Dean wanted to ask Sam what was on his mind but it only took one look at his younger brother to know that Sam wasn’t going to want to talk about whatever it was. With a sigh and a small frown, Dean shut off the lights, striped out of his clothes, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and climbed underneath the blankets. Sam was only sleeping inches away but for the first time in years, that distance felt like miles.
It would be so easy to reach out and run his fingers through Sam’s hair like he did when Sam was so much younger, brush the knots out and feel the way that Sam would relax underneath his fingers. Except he couldn’t. The knobs of Sam’s spine poked through the thin t-shirt that he was wearing as he curled in on himself, trying to make himself seem as small as possible.
So, against what everything Dean was thinking, the fact that he could almost feel the pain in his chest that Sam was feeling, he kept his hands to himself. That night he fell asleep with his thumb slowly running back and forth along the faded numbers on his wrist.
In the morning, things didn’t seem to get better. There were dark circles under Sam’s eyes like he hadn’t slept that night at all and when Dean reached out to touch him, Sam flinched away like the touch burned him.
It went on days like this, Sam avoiding Dean like Dean was contagious with something that he didn’t want to catch. He stayed at school longer than what he needed to. He clung to the side of the bed when he slept, if he slept at all. The dark circles under his eyes only grew darker the longer they avoided each other.
The book that Sam had checked out from the library burned a hole through his backpack, the truth behind the numbers on Dean’s wrist and the lack thereof on his own wrist. The project that was due at the end of the semester sat unfinished and Sam wasn’t sure if he was ever going to finish it. He couldn’t finish it. He couldn’t sit in the same room as his brother knowing that they were always meant to be something more.
It had been seventeen days since that night that Sam came back to the motel with that book shoved deep in his backpack. Seventeen days since Sam stopped talking to Dean, stopped sleeping at night, learned the truth behind everything.
He lived with the secret for seventeen days and it was all just boiling over to the point where he couldn’t keep it inside any longer.
Dean had grown used to Sam staying out late, him coming into the motel room well after dark only to shrug off his backpack, hop in the shower for a long while and then slipped off into bed without saying more than five words to Dean.
Except, it was different that night. Sam stumbled through the motel door and almost immediately Dean could smell the alcohol clinging to Sam’s body like a second skin. His eyes were unfocused and he couldn’t stay upright. Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye, weighing the words on his tongue that he wanted to say but he wasn’t sure how Sam was going to react. He never was sure anymore. Sam was nothing more than a bomb waiting to go off and Dean was the fuse.
He expected Sam to stumble to the shower, ignore Dean as per usual, sleep off the alcohol that was racing through his body and wake up with a massive hangover. In the morning, Dean would ask him why he spent the whole night drinking, whether it was with friends or if he was making use of that fake ID that Dean had made him and get that same snappy response that he got nowadays.
But Sam didn’t walk towards the shower. Instead, he shed out of his jacket, toed out of his shoes and slinked over to where Dean was sprawled out on the bed.
Sam crawled onto Dean’s lap like he hadn’t done in years.
Straddled Dean’s waist like he hadn’t done in years.
Grabbed Dean’s wrist and traced the numbers like he hadn’t done in years.
And Dean just sat there, staring at his little brother as Sam touched Dean like he hadn’t done in forever and he was almost too scared to breathe for fear that Sam would suddenly pull away and distance himself even more.
They didn’t speak for a long while, Sam just tracing over the numbers, watching as they seemed to darken under the touch.
Then Sam finally met his brother’s eyes and he leaned even closer to the point that Dean could nearly taste the whiskey on Sam’s breath. Sam was drunk, Dean could tell but Sam seemed more aware than he had in weeks.
Finally, Sam spoke and the numbers on Dean’s wrist seemed to burn.
“Do you believe in soulmates, Dean?” Sam whispered, his lips moving against Dean’s.
digging holes wasn’t something that sam liked to do. he never liked it. he would rather run six miles with a werewolf breathing down his back or swimming across a lake while some lake monster lurked underneath him. when it came to digging grave though, sam liked to call a pass.
dean had already dug down about four feet and he still hadn’t hit the grave. they had been out there for a couple of hours now, the sweat making dean’s shirt cling to him. he had lost his jacket and plaid over shirt a while ago. sam was sitting right outside the grave, sitting criss-crossed watching dean dig. it was boring and there were only so many patterns that he could draw on his jeans. sam sighed heavily, clearly stating his dissatisfaction.
“feel free to help out, sammy.” dean said emptying another shovel full of dirt over his shoulder. he straightened up and looked over at his brother. “dad sent us both out to dig up this grave.”
sam look in at the grave, furrowing his eyebrows like he was actually considering helping dean out. “nah, i’m fine.” sam finally replied.
“yeah, i can tell.” dean muttered, returning to digging the grave.
“and, you know, it’s not like i’m not enjoying the view.” sam tilted his head, watching the way that the jeans seemed to fit snug over dean’s thighs and over the curve of his ass.
dean glanced back up at sam, looking at him through his eyelashes and smirked. “maybe we should switch places so i can ‘enjoy the view’.”
He’s six now and in his eyes, there’s nothing wrong with the world. He always has a smile on his face, hazel eyes bright with joy that can only come with that kind of innocence. He doesn’t know about the monsters that stalk the night or why Dad will disappear for days at a time or why they live in their car now as opposed to a house.
They’re in an extended stay hotel. The kind with the kitchenette and a little living area. It’s slightly nicer than what they’re used to but it only means that Dad plans on staying here for a while. Dean watches Sam from where he is sitting on the couch. A couple days ago, Dean managed to steal Sam a box of crayons and ever since then, the kid has been filling a notebook with scribbles.
Dean tried to hold a conversation with Sam but the moment that he opened his mouth, Sam told him to hush, that he was focusing on what he was doing and he couldn’t have any distractions. And when when Dean walked behind Sam to see what he was drawing, Sam splayed his hands across the sheet, turning to look at Dean with his faux angry look and demanded that he sit on the couch. He couldn’t see it yet.
Begrudgingly Dean obliged and planted himself on the couch as Sam bit his lip in concentration, working away on whatever he was working on. Every now and then he would look up at Dean, his brow furrowed before he went back to work.
Finally, after nearly an hour, Sam leaned back dramatically with a sigh as he picked up what he was working on, hiding it behind his back as he walked over to where Dean was.
“Close your eyes, Dean.” Sam demanded, innocent authority in his voice. “And hold out your hands.”
“Okay, Sammy.” Dean said, doing as Sam instructed. A second later, he felt the paper light weight of what Sam was working on in his hands.
Beside him he could feel the couch dip from Sam’s weight as Sam climbed up on the couch beside him. Sam pressed as close to Dean as he could, his chin nearly resting on Dean’s shoulder.
“Okay. You can open your eyes now.” And for the first time that day, Sam actually sounded nervous.
Slowly Dean opened his eyes, looking down at the paper in his hand. It was a drawing of two people standing hand in hand, one with hair that was slightly too long and the other with green eyes and freckles.
“That’s me,” Sam said pointing to the shorter person with a chubby little finger. “And then that’s you. See. The freckles.” Sam explained, reaching out to touch the freckles that lined Dean’s cheeks before shifting on the couch so that he could look at Dean’s face. “Do you like it, De?”
Dean placed the picture down beside him and pulled Sam into his lap, wrapping his arms around his little brother as he hugged him tight. “I love it, Sammy. It’s awesome.”
“Really?” Sam giggled, his face breaking out into a wide smile.
“Of course.”
thirty words in thirty days
audaciousdean vs. @call-888-8sparky
word #1: jolly; (adjective) happy and cheerful
