Coming Out on Top
Annaleise Marie
cross-posted from livejournal
username: girlgotagun

Full List of Kinks: top!Sam, bottom!Dean, violence/aggression, submission, rimming, oral
WARNING: N/A

Part One

AN: This story was originally written as a fill for a prompt on the spnkink-meme livejournal community. FFn doesn't allow links in documents, but if you want to see the original prompt you can check out my LJ, which is linked on my profile.

X

If you asked him, Sam couldn't really tell you exactly when it started, this thing with Dean, with his big brother. It seemed like as long as he was aware of other people in that way, as long as he had been aware of sex, he had been aware of Dean.

But Dean… Dean could tell you the exact day, hour, minute that it began for him. It was October 25, 1998 at 3:08am. He was 20, his little brother 16. It wasn't unusual for any of the Winchesters to hear the others jerking off; living in each other's back pockets, in and out of cramped motel rooms made even the most uncomfortable situations strangely normal. Dean blinked at the glowing LED display on the clock, silently cursed Sammy for waking him, and tried to go back to sleep. Business as usual.

Except this time, when his little brother came, it was Dean's name that slipped past his lips on a sigh of ecstasy.

Dean never did manage to get back to sleep that night. His mind turned the situation over and over in his head, wondering at how his relationship with his innocent baby brother had gotten there, to the point that Sam was getting himself off, thinking of Dean.

What was worse was that Dean wasn't especially bothered by it. His mind hyper-focused on what he could've done to cause this, to make Sammy this way, to cause this short-circuit in the kid's brain that made sex and orgasm go hand-in-hand with Dean. Cause it had to be something he did, something he instilled in his little brother over the years, when he was bringing him up, helping him bathe, dropping him off at his first day of kindergarten and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of the kid's head, patching up his wounds after particularly nasty hunts, letting him lean against him, curl in as they slept in the Impala, their father in the driver's seat…

But like everything else in their strange, chaotic lives, it eventually began to normalize, and Dean noticed the touches between them begin to linger longer, burn hotter. Noticed Sam's eyes spark with a strange predatory flame when he caught Dean staring too long.

It was a slow burn, a slow heat-to-a-boil situation, and it was nearly six years before anything really happened. Of course, maybe it would have happened sooner if Sam hadn't spent four of those years at Stanford, pretending that Dean and John and the whole hunting life didn't exist; if he hadn't spent four years pretending that wasn't him, that he was destined to live some apple pie life with Jess, with his fancy law degree, a mortgaged house in the 'burbs, and two-point-five kids.

And then Jess was killed, and Sam was a wreck. Dean remembered holding him tight, stopping him from running back into the apartment building, muttering in his ear that it was too late, that she was gone, that he was sorry, that it would be okay…it'll be okay, baby boy.

They got back to the motel room that night and Dean watched as Sam sat, curled in on himself, at the table in the corner. He watched as his little brother broke down, sobbing like his soul was trying to punch its way out of his chest. And yeah, they were supposed to be tough—had been raised to show no weakness—and yeah, Dean hated chick-flick moments, but these lapses in their hard exteriors were another thing that had been normalized over the years. Dean had watched it happen with Sam before, and even with John, and there were even a few times that the other two had watched Dean shatter.

So Dean crossed the room slowly to stand in front of his brother, pausing only a moment before he reached out and wrapped his arms around the younger man, drawing him tight against his chest, and just held him, feeling Sam's tears slowly saturating his henley.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." He muttered the words over and over again, his fingers raking through his brother's hair the way they had when Sam had been little and sick and Dean would soothe him through the fever. "So sorry, baby boy."

And Sam had finally looked up, his heartbreak etched in every line of his face, the fingers of one hand tangled in the soft-worn fabric of Dean's shirt as the other moved up to close around the back of the older man's neck, and when he pulled Dean towards him, Dean didn't resist, meeting his brother's lips softly, cutting off a shaking, quiet sob and swallowing it down into his own chest to fester. Any pain he could save Sammy from feeling, he'd take that on.

The kisses they shared that night were long and slow, sweet and unhurried. There was no end game in mind, only comfort shared between blood. And if that wasn't how the normal world would do it, that was fine. They were Winchesters, and even before all of this shit with Sam and Dean they were a long way from normal. Why should this be any different? It worked, and it was their damned business.

Dean held Sam through the night, making calming sounds to soothe his little brother any time he woke up to Sam tossing and crying out in the throes of a nightmare, softly promising him again, it'll be okay, baby boy. The next morning when they woke up it was business as usual. They caught wind of a wendigo and there was a sort of unspoken agreement between them that they were in this for good now as they set out.

But from then on, Sam would crawl into bed with Dean, the way he did when he was little, and Dean would fight off the nightmares, the way he used to. The only difference now was the soft touches of hands on bare skin and lips pressed to each other, trading heat that became slowly but steadily more intense and consuming as the days passed.

It was a few months before Sam pulled away from him, meeting Dean's eyes as his hand traveled down the older man's chest, over his abs, to follow the light dusting of golden hair below the waistband of Dean's boxers to palm his swollen cock gently.

"I wanna fuck you, Dean." The words were muttered against his lips, a gentle request providing a subtle undercurrent to the desperate proclamation. "Let me fuck you."

Dean nearly laughed. Not because the idea was ridiculous; hell, he spent half of his time these days thinking about what it would be like to finally get it on with Sam, to work his brother to the edge, watch his face as he came and choked out Dean's name the way he had all those years ago. No, he nearly laughed because—

"I don't bottom for anyone, Sammy." He smirked as his brother's eyes darkened.

"You'll bottom for me." The statement was a dark promise that ialmost/i tempted the older man. Almost.

"I'll be damned if I'm gonna let my baby brother make me his bitch," Dean snarled, taking advantage of the fact that his sudden aggression had clearly caught Sam off-guard to roll them over so that Sam was beneath him, landing with his legs splayed, Dean nestled between them, their hard lengths pushed together. Dean let out a hissing exhale at the pleasure the contact sent coursing through him. "I'll make it good for you, though. Make you come so hard on my cock that you can't remember your own name."

Before he knew what was happening, his little brother was arching his back hard, planting his feet on the bed and then moving hard to toss Dean off of him. The older hunter went tumbling off of the bed, upper body first, the impact with the floor on his back and shoulders knocking the air out of him. He blinked at Sam, dazed as he tried to make sense of what just happened.

"So that's how we're gonna settle this, huh, baby boy?" A grin spread slowly across his face as he picked himself up, taking a stance that gave him a lower center of gravity as his brother stood up, stalking towards him. "Same old rules? Remember, I always kicked your ass."

"Times have changed, Dean." His little brother smirked as Dean's eyes traveled over his broad shoulders and along the rest of his body, all long, lean muscle. "This time, I'm gonna kick your ass. And then," he stepped closer, mirroring Dean's stance as they squared off, that predatory glint back in his eyes. "Then, I'm gonna fuck it."

Dean rolled his shoulders, excitement coursing through him. This was gonna be too easy. No way his baby brother was going to come out on top…or get to top. Dean had taught the kid everything he knew. He'd never been one-upped by Sam, and it sure as hell wasn't going to start today. He'd be deep inside Sam, fucking him into oblivion, in under fifteen minutes.