Sam always had a natural tendency for seclusion, and moving to their fourth school in three months brought it out even more. He spends most of his time shut up in the bedroom he shares with Dean; he converses with his books more than either his father or Dean, but Dean lets him be. They haven’t touched or talked in two weeks. Dean’s skin itches, feels tight, and his stomach aches with the want of Sam, the smell of his skin, the feel of it, the taste.

When Sam doesn’t come out for dinner Dean goes in to him. He’s on his bed, shirt ridden up a little and mouth slack with sleep. Dean picks Sam’s books up off the floor, sets them on the bedside table, and sits down on the edge of the bed. He touches Sam’s face, fingers gentling over cheekbones, nose, and lips. Sam inhales deeply and opens his eyes.

“Dean?” Sam rubs at his eyes and Dean traces his thumb over Sam’s lips. “Dean…” Sam almost whispers this time.

Dean kisses him then, soft at first, harder when Sam grabs his shoulders and pulls him in closer. It’s easy to press himself against Sam, feel him solid and warm underneath his own body. Sam’s hands go to Dean’s belt, and Dean feels the electricity sparking all along his nerves. He wants this, wants Sam right now, consequences be damned. He won’t let himself be sorry for this.

Sam’s hand on his dick brings a groan from his mouth and makes his body shiver. “Please,” Sam whispers against his mouth, fist closing around Dean’s cock. Sam’s other hand is pushing at his own sweat pants, trying to get them off, impatient as always.

“Slow down,” Dean says, slipping his hand over Sam’s skinny hips, wrapping it around Sam’s cock – a little shorter, a little thinner than his own, but by no means small. Sam exhales a high whine, thrusting up into Dean’s fist.

“Need you to do something,” Sam says.

“What baby?” Dean asks, mouthing at Sam’s neck, pumping his dick in slow, steady strokes.

“Fuck me,” Sam pants, arching.

Dean stops and looks down at Sam, sees just how young he looks, and feels the guilt crash into him. Sam can’t know what any of this means, can’t know how wrong it is, or what he’s asking for or he wouldn’t be asking at all.

“Dean?”

He pushes himself up, off of Sam and sits on the edge of the bed, his jeans still open and cock still hard and weeping. “Sam,” Dean says softly, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his own short hair. “Sammy, you don’t… I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I want it.” He sits up, press up against Dean’s back and kisses Dean’s neck. “Want you in me, Dean.”

“God,” Dean breathes. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. You’re just a – “

“A kid?” Sam asks angrily. “That’s total bullshit, Dean, and you know it. Sixteen is just a number; it has nothing to do with how mature I am.”

“Sam, I… It’s not something we can take back,” Dean says.

“So what? I don’t want to take it back.” Sam strokes his hand down Dean’s chest, over his stomach, and takes hold of Dean’s dick. “You want this, too; I know you do.” Dean’s cock had only been half-hard during this discussion, but as soon as Sam’s hands are on him, he can feel it filling with blood.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dean finally says.

“You won’t,” Sam lies, and Dean knows he’s lying, because Sam is still a virgin – in all aspects. Dean knows how this works, has given and taken, and knows being on the receiving end for the first time really sucks for a while.

He turns his head and Sam kisses his mouth, lips and teeth and tongue. When he pulls back he just looks at Dean. Dean nods once, almost imperceptibly, and says “Okay.”

Dean starts slow, taking off Sam’s clothes, and letting dinner get cold. He touches Sam everywhere to make him feel good, relaxed even. Dean kisses his neck, his chest, kisses the dip between his hipbones that lets Dean know that Sam’s not eating enough. He kisses the inside of Sam’s thigh and Sam whines. And then Dean takes him in his mouth, as far as Sam’s dick will go until it hits the back of Dean’s throat, leaving him fighting off his own gag reflex. Sam’s hand scratches at his scalp, and Dean knows that Sam is resisting the urge to thrust up or slam Dean’s head down because Dean has been where Sam is right now.

Dean pauses to reach under his bed for the lubricant they both know is there, but hasn’t been used. Sam gasps when Dean puts his mouth back on Sam’s cock. He gets some lube on his fingers and slips them down, past Sam’s balls, slipping two into Sam without warning. Sam gasps and arches, clearly not that ready. Dean works his fingers in slow, twisting slightly and watching Sam’s face to gauge his reaction. His eyes were closed, mouth open slightly and cheeks flushed. Dean pulls his mouth from Sam’s dick.

“Doing ok?” He asks and Sam nods, so Dean sucks him back down, pushing a third finger in alongside the first two. Sam arches, shoving his dick down Dean’s throat.

“God, Dean,” he whimpers. “Feels good.”

Dean takes that as his cue to add a fourth finger. He pulls his mouth off of Sam again, watches Sam stretch around his fingers, silk heat inside, and Dean wants so badly to watch his cock disappearing there.

“Good?” Dean asks, almost breathless, and crooking his fingers just right, making Sam whines high in his throat and thrust up. “Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes. “Please,” he begs, “do it.”

“You’re not ready yet,” Dean says softly.

“God, I don’t care, just do it,” Sam pleads and Dean feels the pre-come dripping off his dick.

“Let me get a condom,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Sam says, impatient, “I’m not going to get pregnant.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “I know that, but it’s less messy if I use one.”

“Don’t,” Sam says, his eyes fixed on Dean. “I want you to come in me.”

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean says, squeezing the base of his dick. It’s hard not to come just thinking about fucking Sam. “Okay.” Dean pulls his fingers from Sam and starts slicking up his cock generously. “Turn over,” he tells Sam, but Sam shakes his head.

“Want to see you.”

“It’s less…uncomfortable if you’re on your stomach the first time,” Dean says.

“I don’t care,” Sam says. “I want to see you.”

Sam watches Dean slick up his cock, taking his own in hand and jacking slow, sure. When Dean is done he positions Sam’s thighs over his hips. “God, Sam, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding, eyelids half closed.

Dean lines up, blunt head of his cock at Sam’s entrance, and starts to ease in. Sam tenses at the intrusion. “Relax,” Dean tells him softly. Sam nods, eyes on Dean, and Dean feels him loosen up marginally. He pushes further in, a little bit more than he meant to and Sam sucks in a quick breath -- a hiss of air through his teeth – and his body tensing slightly. “Want me to stop?”
Sam shakes his head: No.

Dean slides in, inch by inch, until he’s in Sam as far as he can go, balls to Sam’s ass. He’s trying to control his breathing. “Okay?” Dean asks, rubbing his thumbs in soothing arcs over the points of Sam’s hipbones.

Sam’s eyes are closed, cock only half-hard now, and his whole body is tense. He nods, breathing through his nose. “Hurts a little,” he says, but Dean’s not stupid; he knows by experience that Sam is grossly understating.

“It’ll get better,” Dean says. “I’ll make it better, I promise.” He draws back a little and rocks back in.

Dean sets up a slow rhythm, sliding deep and deliberate into Sam. Sam opens his eyes, gasps, and his whole body jerks. “Oh god,” he exhales.

Dean smiles, knowing what he’s done, and says “told you I’d make it better.” He slides in deep, a sharp thrust, and Sam arches his back, his dick filling with renewed interest. He moans high and breathless, reaching down and stroking his cock. Dean watches Sam’s dick slide through the circle of his fist, blurts of pre-come sliding over the head.

“C’mon,” Sam gasps, and Dean listens. He thrusts hard and fast, hips snapping against Sam’s thighs. “God, Dean,” he whispers, cock hard and curving toward his belly. Dean puts his hand over Sam’s, stroking Sam’s cock with him, fast and rough enough to be almost painful. Sam’s arching, his long neck exposed and Dean wants to bite down on the smooth flesh.

“Yeah,” Dean groans. “That’s it, Sammy.”

“Oh god,” Sam whines. “Fuck! Fuck, Dean… I’m gonna come.”

“Come on, baby,” Dean says softly, dick sliding rough against Sam’s prostate, hand sliding slick-hard-rough over Sam’s cock. Sam’s mouth drops open, back arching, and he pants in harsh breaths. He comes like that, over his and Dean’s hands and all over his own stomach.

“Jesus fuck, Sam,” Dean groans, letting go of Sam’s cock and grabbing hold of his thighs.

He fucks Sam hard, maybe too hard, but Jesus he needs to come so badly it aches. He can feel his balls drawing up tight, the feeling starting in his stomach and rocketing down his spine as his orgasm hits. He doesn’t pull out, feels his own dick pulsing, emptying in Sam.

He’s breathing hard, chest heaving and arms a little shaking from supporting his weight over Sam. Sam’s eyelids droop and then he looks up at Dean, giving him a soft, tired smile. They’re a little sweaty and sticky but Sam looks content.

“You ok?” Dean asks, running a thumb over Sam’s lips. Sam kisses the pad of Dean’s thumb.

“I’m ok,” he answers, so Dean presses his hands against Sam’s hips and pulls out of him carefully, and Sam winces a little. Dean leans over, grabs a tee shirt, and hastily cleans them up. He pulls himself up and off of Sam and the bed, pulling on his boxers. He hands Sam his own boxers and Sam sits up and pulls them on.

“Dinner is probably cold, but I can warm it up.”

Sam yawns. “I’m not that hungry,” he says, lying back down. “I’m tired though, and little sore.” He shifts onto his side and closes his eyes.

“Alright,” Dean says. “But I’m coming to wake your ass up in an hour so you can eat; you’re too goddamn skinny.”

Sam smiles, more into the pillow than in Dean’s direction and gives him the finger.

Dean closes the bedroom door and decides against showering; he wants to smell like Sam a little while longer.