[weecest] & [#1: it happens again] & dubcon
Sam wakes slowly, the way he always does.
He feels it before he sees it. The bed is lower on one side. Someone’s weight is there. Close. Sam’s heart kicks once, hard. He keeps his breathing even, eyes still closed for another few seconds. Then he opens them. The clock is showing 1:47 pm. Dean is sitting on the edge of Sam’s bed, facing away from him, elbows on his knees, staring at the dark television screen. He hasn’t taken his boots off; the laces are still tied.
Minutes pass. Dean finally speaks without turning around. “You walked five miles for yogurt and half a loaf of bread.” Sam’s throat clicks. “Needed to stretch my legs.” Dean huffs. “Right. You’ve been stretching your legs a lot lately. Library till closing. Gone the second Dad leaves. You’re always gone when I’m around.”
Sam shifts, slow and careful, propping himself up on one elbow. The sheets rustle. He pulls his knees up under the blanket. “I’m just trying to stay busy.” Dean turns his head. “Busy avoiding me.” Sam doesn’t answer.
“You think putting space between us will make this go away, turn me back into just your brother,” Dean says softly, “but you can’t really escape, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Sam looks at his hands. He doesn’t know what to say.
“I sat here for twenty minutes before you woke up,” Dean says. Almost softly. “Just watching you breathe. Watching your chest go up and down. Thinking about how easy it would be to slide in behind you. Wrap an arm around your little waist. Press my mouth to the back of your neck. See if you’d tense up or lean back.”
Sam’s breath hitches. Barely audible. Dean keeps going, voice steady.
“I didn’t. Obviously. But I thought about it. A lot.” I think about you a lot.”
Sam stays curled on his side, knees drawn up under the thin motel blanket, eyes fixed on Dean’s profile. His heart is heavy, like it’s trying to sink through the mattress. He should say something. Anything. Push back. Tell Dean to get out. But the room feels too small for that and night too quiet. Instead, he says something quietly, almost a whisper.
“You shouldn’t… think like that.”
Dean’s head tilts slightly, like he’s considering it. Then he shifts, reaches down to the foot of the bed. His hand settles over Sam’s foot through the blanket. Just resting there, warm and heavy. His thumb finds the curve of Sam’s ankle, strokes it lightly, back and forth, a small, absent circle.Sam tenses under the touch. Doesn’t pull away. Can’t, really. The blanket dulls it, makes it feel distant and intimate.
Dean’s voice stays low, casual.
“You know, Sammy… I could just rape you right now.”
Sam’s whole body goes still. Dean’s thumb keeps moving—slow, rhythmic, pressing just enough to feel the bone underneath.
“Door’s locked,” Dean continues, “I don’t know where dad is. No one around to hear if you made noise. I could flip you over, pin those long legs down, strip the blanket off. Take my time. Make it last till morning if I wanted. You’d fight.. maybe.. but we both know I’m stronger.”
Sam’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His ankle burns under Dean’s thumb, the stroke turning firmer now, possessive. “But I’m not gonna. Not yet.” He gives one last stroke, gentle, then lifts his hand. Stands up slow, the mattress creaking as it rebounds.
Dean crosses to his own bed, drops onto it without another word. Turns his back. Sam lies there, ankle still tingling, staring at the ceiling until the clock flips to 2:00.
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jacobvanloon
pixelskylines
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
prguitarman
