Summary: Wee!cest. The night before Sam leaves for Stanford. Angsty first time fic.
AN: Title is taken from Let Me Out by Future Leaders of The World which the first half of the story was written to. The last half was to Wicked Game which is the reason for slight change in vibe.
Disclaimer: I wish.
Beta’d by that miracle worker lady_shain. Dude, she made it so much better I should say she co-wrote the thing.
Sam is jerking open drawers and pulling out everything that’s his and some things that aren’t. He’s too busy grousing to himself about what an asshole his father is, shoving clothes and paperback books into a duffle bag, to notice when the door to the room he and Dean share opens and closes. He feels it though, when a pair of strong hands force him around and shove him against a wall. Shocked he stares into Dean’s face. Sam opens his mouth to say something, but Dean slams his lips into his, forcing his tongue into Sam’s mouth.
“Shut up. For once, just shut the fuck up!” Dean growls as he pulls back to look at Sam, a mix of anger and desire naked in his eyes. Sam swallows hard, a mix of fear and excitement burning through his body.
“You wanna leave fine, but tonight…” Dean trails off, grinding his hips into Sam’s so hard that it hurts. He fists his hands in Sam’s shirt and slams him against the wall for emphasis.
Sam is filled with a dizzy, heady excitement. He hadn’t thought that Dean remembered the sloppy, drunken kisses that they’d shared after Dean dragged Sam to a bar for his seventeenth birthday a couple of months ago. Dean had never spoken of it and Sam hadn’t dared.
“Dad-“ Sam begins, but one look from Dean cuts him off.
“Gonna leave bruises, make sure everyone sees you were mine first.” Dean mutters against his lips. He mauls Sam’s mouth, causing him to shiver and make a throaty sound that he would never admit is a whimper.
Dean’s tongue swipes across the abused flesh, dragging another whimper from Sam. He rolls the taste of Sam’s blood around his mouth, rotating his hips in slow rough circles against Sam’s hardening cock. He loves the flavour; the bitterness of the iron, and he thinks that he can taste Sam’s desire there in the red.
“Sam.” He moans, breaking away from his brother’s lips to trail kisses and hard nips down his jaw to his throat. Sam’s hands are clenched tight at his sides like he isn’t sure what to do with them.
“Touch me, Sam” Dean orders against his throat. He can feel his brother’s Adams apple move against his lips as he swallows, hard. Sam’s hands slide hesitantly up Dean’s arms, over his shoulders to settle there, the gentleness of his touch a sharp contrast to Dean’s rough handling.
Dean lets go of Sam’s t-shirt so that he can push it up over his stomach and trail kisses along Sam’s chest. Sam arches towards Dean’s mouth as his tongue flicks over a nipple, teasing and tasting the hardened flesh. His hands are in Dean’s hair now, trying to hold him against his chest and push him away at the same time. He can’t take it, Sam thinks: he needs more; he needs this to stop.
“Wanted you so long.” Dean pants against Sam’s damp, heated skin. He pulls Sam’s t-shirt the rest of the way over his head. He leans back enough to look at Sam and still keep his hips pressed against Sam’s.
“So pretty.” Dean chuckles darkly. Sam’s lip is bleeding; his pupils are blown , full of uncertainty and need; his skin is flushed and glistening with saliva from the attention of Dean’s lips and tongue.
“Fuck you.” Sam manages to choke out after Dean’s words draw him out of his haze. Dean smiles and undoes Sam’s pants, sliding them down easily over the hard jut of his hips. Sam is diamond hard, his cock red, begging for Dean to wrap his lips around it. Dean has to bite his lip and remind himself to take this slow. He wants this to last. He wants Sam to feel him for days.
‘Fucking Stanford,’ Dean thinks, filling with anger again. He fists Sam’s cock, wrapping his other hand around his brother’s hip to keep him still. He drags his dry hand along Sam's length, alternating slow scrapes with fast pulls, until Sam is keening high in his throat, trying to buck forward, but Dean's hold is strong. Sammy isn't going anywhere. Come morning, his fingerprints will be embedded like ink in the flesh on Sam’s hip. The thought pleases Dean to no end.
“Dean…” Sam closes his eyes, banging his head against the wall. He can’t think; this is too much; too fast. Dean’s lips press against his again and he responds instinctively, tangling his tongue with Dean’s, turning his head so that he can devour more of Dean’s mouth, catching that full lower lip between his teeth and repaying Dean for his still bleeding lip.
When Dean tries to pull away, Sam’s hands grip the back of his head, forcing him to stay. Dean’s hand stops stroking Sam raw, traveling further between his legs and cupping his balls, making Sam gasp and loosen his grip.
Dean brushes his lips against Sam’s once more and drops to his knees, looking up through thick lashes as he licks up the underside of his brother’s cock. A sheen of sweat has broken out on Sam’s brow, and his too long hair sticks out in every direction, like he just fell out of bed. His eyes are closed tightly and one hand grips the edge of the dresser, trying to keep himself upright. The other rests on Dean’s head, not pushing, just cradling his jaw, and Dean thinks that Sam is the most tempting, sinful thing he’s ever set eyes on. Sam’s biting down on the inside of his mouth to keep from moaning loudly. Dean grins evilly as he sucks one of Sam’s balls into his mouth tonguing it slowly until Sam gives in, abandoning his efforts to keep silent.
“D-Dean…I need you…shouldn’t be doing this…” Sam was whimpering; uttering nonsense; alternating between begging for more and maintaining that what they were doing was wrong.
Dean pulls back with a wet pop and stares up into Sam’s eyes. Sam seems to be begging him for something, but he doesn’t know what. Dean growls and takes Sam into his mouth again, deep throating him, gagging as Sam’s cock touches the back of his throat.
Leavingrunningawayleavingmenooneelse’s. MineMineMine. The litany runs through Dean’s mind as he speeds up, digging his nails into Sam’s hip, until he breaks the delicate skin. When he feels Sam is about to come Dean pulls away and stands shakily, refusing to acknowledge the trembling in his knees. Sam looks a little afraid when he sees the intent expression on his brother’s face, but he doesn’t fight when Dean grabs his shoulders , drags him across the room and pushes him down on the bed.
Dean jerks his shirt over his head and unbuckles his belt, slapping away Sam’s hand when he reaches out to help him. Dean is careful to ignore the, slightly hurt expression on Sam’s face. He can’t afford to slow down; to stop; to consider Sam’s feelings. After all, Sam hadn’t considered his when he decided to leave.
Dean kicks his pants away, turning back to the bed and now Sam can take in the full view of his brother, hard and breathing so deep he’s almost panting. Dean looks angry; downright pissed; furious the way he is when something tries to hurt him or John. This is different. This anger is on Dean’s own behalf and Sam knows, just knows that the one hurting Dean is Sam.
Dean doesn’t give Sam much time to think about it. His lips are on Sam again and he’s pressing Sam into the mattress, rubbing his cock tantalizingly against Sam’s. The kiss isn’t really a kiss at all; it’s Dean trying to force submissive sounds from Sam’s throat. He gets them and revels in each and every one; memorizing each moan and whimper for later, when the bruises have faded from Sam’s flesh and Dean is alone with his hand or some nameless stranger.
"Dean I don’t know how-“
“I know.” Dean’s voice is gruff, and he gets even harder at the reminder that he would be Sam’s first.
Reaching over Sam, Dean jerks open the top drawer of the night table where he’d stashed some lube underneath a stack of car magazines. He grins wildly when Sam’s eyes widen, like what they’re about to do has finally, really, hit home.
It’s too late for doubts; they’re too far gone. Dean slicks himself with the lube , stroking up and down, biting his lip to keep from making the very noises he wanted to hear from Sammy. Sam reaches out hesitantly, closing his fist above Dean’s so that they’re working him together. Dean swallows and a quiet moan escapes him at the sight of that huge paw stroking him in time with his own hand. Sam kisses his neck, licking and sucking at the pulse point like a fucking pro and something about that thought pisses Dean off. Everything seems to be pissing him off right now.
He pulls away from Sam, pushing him back against the bed. Sam only resists for a second then watches in fascination as Dean coats two fingers with the lube, He tosses the bottle away and wedges himself between Sam’s legs, forcing him to spread them wide enough to accommodate his kneeling form. Dean shoves Sam’s knees up and without warning pushes one finger up to the knuckle into Sam.
Sam yelps and tries to get away from the sudden burning pain but then Dean twists his finger…and…oh fuck…what the hell was that?
“Wha…do-do that again. Please.” He gasps, slamming his head against the headboard.
Dean doesn’t speak, just brushes his finger over the bundle of nerves again. Sam’s back arches at the sensation and Dean adds a second finger, scissoring his fingers to stretch the tight flesh. Sam stiffens at the new intrusion, then moves his hips in time with the thurst of Dean’s fingers , fucking himself open on the digits. Dean feels the muscles clench around his knuckles and knows Sam isn’t going to last much longer. Despite Sam’s groaning protest, he pulls his fingers out, spreading Sam’s ass cheeks wide and positioning his cock against his hole.
“This is going to hurt.” Dean says by way of warning before pushing the head of his dick into Sam. He forces himself to keep his eyes open so that he can catalogue the emotions that chase each other across Sam’s face.
Pain. Fear. And oh no, he’s not touching that last one. It’s a lie. If Sam felt that way, he wouldn’t be leaving.
Dean presses past the ring of tight muscle, trying to reconcile the need to bruise Sammy; to brand him with his flesh, with the need to protect him, to make this good for him. He shudders with the effort to stay still once he’s buried to his base, letting Sam adjust to the size of him. Sweat is dripping down Dean’s face and landing on Sam’s chest. He watches in hazy fascination as their sweat mingles and he’s somehow surprised that can’t tell Sam’s from his own.
Sam palms Dean’s cheek, bringing him back to himself; to the moment and the overwhelming sensation of being gripped so tightly by Sam’s body. He searches Sam’s face, needing to move but needing to see that he’s okay for him to. His control is tenuous at best; and it snaps, almost audibly, when he is assailed by the realization that the look in Sammy's heavy lidded eyes and the slight tremble of his lips is due to desire, not fear. He slowly pulls out halfway, then thrusts back in, leaning forward to kiss Sam’s lips - lips that shake beneath his own. His hands guide Sam’s hips, rotating his brother’s body against his, guiding his movements until Sam gets a feel for the rhythm. He can’t believe how hot and tight Sam is. He can feel the blood pulsing through his body, the agonizing clench of Sam’s muscles wrapped around him.
“Don’t say anything, Sammy.” Dean says in a whiskey rough voice and for once in his fucking life, Sam listens and does what he’s told.
‘Don’t go Sammy.’ Dean thinks as he scrapes Sam’s Adams apple with his teeth, sucking the blood to the surface and rocking his hips in a hard rhythm. He thinks of all the things he can’t say, trying to use his body to convey the words. He kisses Sam gently as he pounds even harder into his body; love, hate. He tightens his grip, nails scratching and leaving angry red welts on Sam’s thigh as he runs a hand through sweat soaked hair; howcouldyou? Pleasestay.
Sam’s moans of pleasure mingle with cries of pain. Sam can’t differentiate the two anymore. When Sam can focus on something other than the feeling of Dean deep in his body, he sees Dean staring at him intently, a thousand emotions crossing his face. Dean looks like he’s trying hard to send Sam a message, but Sam’s not sure that he’d be able to decipher it, even if he wasn’t being distracted by his brother’s dick in his ass.
Then Sam can’t think anymore, because his orgasm is tearing through him and Dean is speeding up, playing catch up until he explodes inside of Sam.
Dean exhales as he pulls out of Sam as gently as he can and he finds his land legs long enough to make it the fifteen feet across to his own bed. He collapses there, waiting until he can breathe normally again before looking at Sam. He swallows hard at the sight. Sam is staring up at the ceiling, gasping, covered in blood, bruises, sweat and come, looking debauched and beautiful. There’s now way that Sam will be able to walk straight any time soon. That’ll make it hard for Sam to be gone by morning – John’s last order, had barked out before slamming the door and storming off
Dean doesn’t remember much of what happened between tapping his brother’s shoulder, telling him to meet him in the car after taking a quick shower and driving Sam to the bus station. He has snippets of memory: Sam fidgeting in his seat, trying to get comfortable with moving around so soon after; Sam looking at him from the corner of his eye but not saying anything; Sam’s fingers ghosting over the cut in his lip.
Sam, however, recalls in minute detail every second of the car ride. Dean was waiting when Sam left the house carrying his bag, his hair still wet from the quick, careful shower he’d taken. He’d tried hard not to show the discomfort walking caused; how tired and bewildered he’d felt. The car ride was eerily quiet; Dean hadn’t even popped in one of his tapes. Sam hadn’t felt like listening to anything, anyway . The silence had disturbed him but he hadn’t trusted his voice not to break if he spoke. Instead he’d contented himself with sneaking looks at Dean, whose eyes remained resolutely fixed on the darkened road; with touching his swollen lip and brushing his fingers over his thigh, knowing that underneath the denim he bore his brother’s marks - inside and out. Dean had run his hand through his hair three times (Sam counted); it was the only outward sign that he’d been affected at all by what they’ve done.
They’d arrived at the bus station, Dean looking straight ahead at the glass fronted waiting room. He was still refusing to look at Sam.
“Dean.” Sam says his brother’s name quietly; barely above a whisper. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. He just knows he doesn’t want to leave Dean like this.
“Yeah Sam, I know.” Dean murmurs. Sam nods his head and bites his lip, trying to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes. Dean knows. Dean always knows.
“I’ll call you when I get there?” Sam tries not to make it sound like the question that it is.
“Alright.” Dean replies, still not looking at Sam.
“Dean. Please, man.” Sam’s voice breaks a little. Dean finally turns his head to look at him. Sam sees the accusation and betrayal there and he hates it. He wants to scream that he just wants to feel safe for once in his life and is that so much to ask for? Dean won’t understand that though, so he just grabs his things and opens the door. He refuses to look back while he walks inside, buying the bus ticket and taking a seat mechanically.
Dean watches his brother leave, cursing himself for not saying something more. Sam is sitting in the empty waiting room, arms curled around his body. He looks small to Dean, too small.
Dean stays in the car until Sam’s bus arrives, two hours later. Before he climbs aboard, Sam looks back. His eyes lock with Dean’s and he hesitates for a second with one foot on the bottom step. Dean starts the Impala and Sam steps onto the bus.
By morning, Sam is miles away and Dean has removed proof of the night before. John stumbles in drunk just as Dean has put Sam’s sheets in the washer. He looks at Dean and for a second Dean has the impulse to tell him about him and Sam; to see if that will shake his father from the drunken stupor he’d put himself in. He wants to be vindictive and cruel to John, for driving Sam away. In then end he helps John to his bed, peeling his jacket and boots off so that he can sleep comfortably. After John’s done muttering to him about needing to take care of Sammy he wanders down the hall to the room he and his brother used to share. Dean bypasses his own bed and sits on the bare mattress of Sam’s. Dean puts his head in his hands and lets himself fall apart, tasting his own tears as they run silently down his face.