Anonymous asked: Hi Helen! I saw requests were open and was wondering if you could please write this prompt: ageswap wincest, Sam takes Dean with him when he goes to Stanford and then fucks him for the first time since they're finally out from under John's thumb. Can be any level of consent. Thank you and happy Yom Kippur!
He trembles. Jaw clenched, Sam can see Dean’s muscles betray him. His eyes flick, try to catch the room. The bed is too small, that shared apartment a nest for rats and broken cobwebs. It doesn’t matter. He sweeps his hand back through Dean’s hair, lets it smooth over his ear. A finger traces the dip in his throat, over his collarbone.
They’re in darkness. Orange light crosses over through thin curtains, that harsh streetlamp enough to mark lines of sweat. Dean’s mouth is pinched, his teeth a worry against the inside of his lip. Sam’s hand moves, palms over bare chest. His thumb rolls over a nipple. Sunny California, no A/C and it’s too hot for blankets.
“Let me, Deano. It’s okay.”
Dean’s breath is sharp, caught under a swirl of touch that stops over the curve of his hip. He doesn’t speak, can’t, but Sam smiles. He’s prepared. It takes gentle nudges to spread Dean’s legs, soft words as he warms the lube over his fingers.
“It’s okay.”
The first press against Dean’s hole leaves him tense. Sam kisses his jaw, nips that hint of scruff.
“Relax. It’s okay. Relax.”
Dean opens to Sam’s fingers. It’s slow, careful. Sam takes his time. Each kiss is swallowed with more praise, another brush of nose to cheek. He swallows those noises, too, the broken sounds that Dean tries to hide. Heat around his fingers, he adds more slick, eases him wide.
“Dean.”
Sam climbs between Dean’s legs, his ass propped up on pillows. He needs to watch him, has to see. Knees hitched up, Sam pushes them back to make more room for himself. A guide, a re-position and he presses against that hole. His hair hangs, a touch to Dean’s face, lips, that he can’t reach.
“Got you, little brother. It’s okay. I got you.”
The hiss is worth it. Sam fights back, refuses to push too hard. He moves inch by inch, less. That careful move inside is too much.
“Sam—”
He can shudder. Inside Dean, years too late, more to come, Sam shakes through his breath. His smile arches out, crosses his cheeks.
“And then Jensen looks at that the shirt and then looks at me and then immediately starts drawing on the shirt making Ackles out of Padalecki.” [x] / [x]
![justjensenanddean:
“ Jensen Ackles | DallasCon 2014 [credits] ”](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1501e1c546481b3e7c71c2de322d20b3/tumblr_nch2qseab91ravgwio1_500.png)
