Work Text:
"Oh, fuck no."
Dean watches his reflection's chest as he gingerly squeezes his nipple again. The beads of liquid white that swell up solidify his horror. He glares over at the stolen laundry basket set on the toilet lid, at the plastic, towel-cushioned baby doll inside that has been the bane of his existence for the past four days. Goddamn health class and the budget that let them assign dolls that cried at all hours and--apparently--realistically enough to trigger Dean's omega hormones. They'd already been all over the map since Sam presented a few months ago and now this. This is just the fucking icing on the goddamn cake, isn't it? This wouldn't even be happening if he hadn't let Sam talk him out of dropping out.
"I swear to god I'mma sue this school. Emotional damages, money for the extra laundry, something. And I better not hear so much as a peep out of you for the rest of the day," he threatens the doll staring blankly at the ceiling.
He scowls as he touches the thin trail leaking from the nipple he'd touched. The wash of milk is barely noticeable, but it's undeniably there. It hadn't taken much milk at all for him to notice the spots on his shirt. He doesn't have enough shirts to constantly be changing and he sure as shit doesn't have money for any kind of pump, which leaves trying to drain them himself like pushing venom out. Or maybe taping a paper towel or gauze to himself or something. Given how sensitive they are he's not exactly enthusiastic about any of those options. Fucking health class.
He dabs and presses against the swollen nubs with folded up toilet paper to catch what he can before snatching one of the towels from under the doll and tucking it around his chest like a chick fresh out of the shower. Not at all ideal, especially since his shirt won't fit over it, but it'll have to do for the moment.
The friction is torture as he relocates the makeshift crib to the living area couch. Five minutes later he finally finds his health textbook and cracks it open for the first time in order to look under "L" in the index.
Of course that's when Sam busts in from soccer practice. Crushed grass, cheap cleats, and gatorade do nothing to mask the smell of Sam's sweat, the alpha pheromones that have been driving Dean up the wall for months. He grits his teeth as his nipples tighten harder, an aching punishment for how messed up he is.
"I'm home!"
"I hadn't noticed."
Door closed, cleats off.
"How's Sam Jr.?"
"I'm considering a full hysterectomy."
Sam scoffs as he flings his backpack on the other side of the laundry basket and leans over the back of the couch to check on the doll. Dean's stomach clenches at the exercise-warmth coming off Sam.
"Dramatic much? You love being omega. Isn't the whole point of this assignment to teach you to use a rubber? It's not that hard."
"Pretty sure that life lesson isn't what's on paper but it sure as shit is what I'm taking away from this. And I'd still be omega if I was scooped out. Not seeing a drawback so far."
Sam turns to him, blue-green eyes bright and brow scrunched under the floppy bangs.
"Wha--" Sam's head ticking to the side is all the warning Dean gets before Sam's face is way too close, his cheek almost touching Dean's jaw. A shiver rolls through Dean when Sam inhales deep and he's pretty sure he leaks a little. "You smell different."
Before he can even debate between bullshitting or divulging, Sam picks at the tuck of the towel and the decision is made for him when Sam makes a surprised noise at the reveal.
"Holy shit, dude. Seriously?"
"Fuck off."
"From a doll??"
"Seriously, Sam, I will punch you."
"What's it feel like?"
"Not great."
Dean gives a full body flinch when Sam reaches out and freaking touches.
"Ow, asshole!"
The planned retaliation of smacking him away is lost due to Dean's brain short-circuiting when Sam sniffs then licks it off his fingers.
"Not bad," Sam says like he's taste testing a local diner's house dressing and not Dean's freaking milk. "What are you going to do?"
"D-dunno."
"It hurts, though?"
"A little."
"Cuz the milk needs out?"
"Think so, yeah."
Sam meets Dean's slightly gobsmacked stare with a thoughtful look and then a grin.
"Well, I don't think Sam Jr is up to the task but I'd be happy to help if you like."
Surely his little brother didn't just offer to suck his nipples. No way.
"Did you just offer to nurse from me??"
Sam shrugs like it's no big deal, like he hadn't just come up to the kind of familial boundary that Dean has tried so hard to stay on the right side of and casually strolled over it.
"I'm your brother."
"No shit," Sam says dryly. "If you don't want help it's no skin off my nose, slick tits."
Dean gapes as Sam flounces off to the bathroom. The fucking gall. He's lucky Dean doesn't hunt him down with a damn belt. Dean looks over at the doll. Like father like son, being a pain in his ass left and right.
Dean reads through everything the health book has about lactation while Sam's showering off teenage athlete stink. Nursing keeps the milk flowing, so a pump is out of the question even if he had the money. Dean's stuck with the doll until the next Monday anyway, though, so he's stuck with the milk for at least that long. He is absolutely not looking forward to a half-week of unrelenting soreness and leaking. The experiment he does with trying to squeeze it out results in it shooting across the table and the coarseness of the ultra cheap motel towel as he wipes himself down would have his skin chapping in no time. His even shorter-lived attempt at self-nursing just pops his neck and makes him feel like an idiot.
And then the fucking doll starts crying again and Dean can feel the milk swelling to a distinct ache. The preservation of Dean's already-shaky sanity may be worth it to just chuck the thing into the field out back and fail the class. But the second he gives it serious consideration his omega instincts all but pistol-whip him. Figures his protective instincts would latch onto the plastic monstrosity. He blames Sam. The second he'd named the damn thing after himself Dean's subconscious had probably latched onto it. Fucking brats, the both of them.
Dean has the doll quiet and settled again by the time Sam emerges from the bathroom with damp hair and flushed skin. He moves his backpack to flop down onto the couch and then takes out a textbook and a notebook. Dean flips through the health textbook and fidgets.
When the ache becomes too distracting to even focus on the section about multiple orgasms, he finally breaks the silence.
"You can't make fun of me."
Sam snorts, eyes still glued to math problems. "Since when?"
"This shit's embarrassing enough as it is, I don't need you giving me crap on top of it."
"Looks like Sam Jr. isn't the only fussy one."
"Would you shut up and help me?"
Sam finally looks over at him, eyebrows high, pencil against open lips, and stupidly pretty eyes bright with amusement.
"You forget how to say please?"
"Seriously?!"
The pencil clatters on the coffee table and Sam sits back and pats his pajama-clad thighs, inviting. Dean balks.
"No fucking way."
"Well, your tits aren't remotely big enough for it to work with my head in your lap, so you got a better idea?"
Dean already regrets this. Sam's doubtlessly never going to let him live this down and his twisted up libido doesn't need any encouragement in the brother department. But his chest aches like a motherfucker. He stands up, knocks Sam's feet further apart, and steps between his brother's spread knees.
"You can reach like this, right?"
Sam can--just barely considering how saggy the couch is--with a steadying hand on Dean's hip that has Dean's heart pounding hard as Sam leans up and forward. He manages to tamp down the startled gasp when Sam licks across his left nipple, cleaning up what had leaked out on its own. The full body spasm when Sam latches on, however, is far beyond Dean's control. As is the beginnings of slick when Sam starts sucking. Dean tries to look anywhere but down, but he can't escape the knowledge that the boy he's been tied up in knots over is basically engaging in foreplay with him. Except not really, and he needs to keep it in his pants.
Sam leans back with an irritated sigh and Dean frantically wonders if his scent has given him away as Sam settles deeper into the couch, away from Dean. But then Sam grabs his wrist and starts pulling.
"I feel like a hamster with one of those weird water bottles. Get over yourself and get down here."
And before Dean can come up with a good excuse, he's nose-to-nose with Sam, straddling his thighs. Sam flashes him a smug smile and then dives right back in. Dean's hands latch into his brother's dumb, floppy hair and he works like hell to tamp down any stray moans. It's all so much worse with Sam's body heat against him, his legs under him, his crotch just inches away from Dean's. And by worse he means disastrously good.
He bites his lip when the tit Sam's nursing runs dry. Sam straightens back up, licking his lips, the little shit. He looks Dean in the eye again, way too close.
"You still good?"
Dean nods dumbly. Way too good. About to get himself disowned levels of good.
"Good," Sam agrees.
And then he makes his way to Dean's other nipple, holding eye contact the entire time. Dean finally looks away after Sam latches, face on fire. This had been such a bad idea.
A couple minutes pass of Dean trying not to shake out of his skin or embarrass himself by cumming in his pants just from the suction and relief. This time when the milk runs dry, Sam bites down like he wants to make sure and Dean's hips buck without his permission, right into Sam-- ohshit, right into Sam's erection-- and Sam groans and Dean jolts out of his lap and makes a panicked break for the bathroom.
"You're welcome," is sarcastically shouted out just before he slams the bathroom door shut.
For a couple minutes all Dean can do is lean against the bathroom door and breathe. He can feel the last bit of saliva drying, the blessed lack of internal pressure in his pecs, the slick and heat between his legs, the phantom press of Sam's hard dick against him.
Mister Why Can't We Be A Normal Family hadn't even been fazed. What the fuck is up with that? And offering to nurse from Dean in the first place??
He finally peels himself off the door and looks at his reflection. His nipples are puffy and pink and Dean is trying very hard not to freak out. He'd needed help. Sam had helped. Sam is a somewhat newly-presented teenager. Getting hard while suckling from a warm omega in your lap may just be an automatic thing for hormonal alphas. Dean doubts it, considering he doesn't get wet for just anyone and omegas tend to be more at the mercy of their hormones than other designations.
And if it wasn't just Sam being a hormonal teenager, if the reaction was specific to Dean, then what?
High-pitched crying bursts Dean's contemplative bubble and he hits his head against the door in frustration. "Are you fucking kidding me."
Sam is back at his homework and doesn't look up when Dean emerges from the bathroom and retrieves the doll. He takes it to his bed across the room and goes through the checklist to figure out what's wrong with it. And of course it's hungry. He fits the magnetic bottle tip into the doll's mouth and watches the back of Sam's head as he scratches out math problems.
He wonders.
Dean manages to hold out for an entire day, which is a fucking feat considering his renewed milk aches so bad it wakes him up bright and early. By late afternoon he's desperate.
They're sharing the couch again, although this time the laundry basket is on the floor by Dean. Sam's spent the entire day reading an assigned book while Dean watched telenovelas. Dean turns the TV off but Sam doesn't look up even when he speaks.
"About yesterday."
"Yeah?" he prompts when Dean doesn't continue.
"Was that just teenage hormones or--" Dean braces himself. "Or was it because it was me?"
Sam actually puts a bookmark in, closes the book, and turns to Dean, face almost blank with seriousness. Shit.
"Why do you think I named the baby after myself?"
Dean's brain skips a track. He-- The way his omega had latched onto the doll after Sam had claimed it like his own. The way his body reacted to that attachment--
"You did this on purpose?!"
Sam's face breaks into a smug little smile and he shrugs in teasing nonchalance. The fucking brat.
"You're such an asshole."
The smile grows. "Well it didn't seem like you were ever going to make the first move, so...."
"I should kick your ass just on principle."
"You're welcome to try, slick tits, but I'm pretty sure it's your ass that's of interest here."
Dean is blushing like a goddamn virgin and there's about a dozen things wrong with that. Sam shifts to reach into his back pocket and Dean stares at the condom he casually tosses onto the cushion between them.
"Wow, dude. You got a lot of unearned confidence going for you, huh?"
"Not unearned."
Slick starts up again at the heated look in Sam's eyes and of course his nipples tighten up because that's just Dean's life at the moment. If Sam helps him, they're at minimum almost definitely going to end up dry humping. May as well go for gold.
"Whatever," Dean decides before he stands and strips off his shirt.
Sam looks a little surprised, like he hadn't actually expected it to work. Maybe he'd expected more reluctance, but Dean's going to get Sam's mouth on him one way or another and having Sam inside him during would make this whole disaster worth it, maybe.
Sam finally gets with the program when Dean starts unbuckling his own belt and soon enough they're both naked and sizing each other up. Sam is all lean muscle after his growth spurt, with a modest treasure trail leading to his dick already half hard and dark red. If he's a grower, Dean's in trouble.
Sam reaches for him and Dean settles in his lap, arousal sparking up at every brush of Sam's warm skin against his, every stroke of Sam's hands against his sides and hips. He reaches for the condom and is very careful opening the foil wrapping. It may not have been the goal of sending him home with a fake baby, but he sure as shit was going to have the safest sex possible for the foreseeable future.
Dean relocates Sam's hand to his own dick to hold it in place as Dean carefully positions the tip of the condom and rolls the rest down. His pulse is going a mile a minute, still surprised at the turn of events. Months pining and chastising himself and now Sam is seconds from fucking him of his own accord. A big, warm hand slides up his side and brushes against his nipple. A question: which first? Dean shakes his head--he doesn't care.
Dean leans forward and reaches down to guide Sam to his hole, already well wet with slick. He meets Sam's hungry gaze and doesn't look away for a moment as he sinks, slow and sure onto his little brother's dick. Both their breathing is shaky by the time he takes it all in, and Sam's eyes are unbearably intense, like he's just waiting to flip Dean onto his back and ream him. Dean feels almost too full, nearly overwhelmed but, God, he would let him.
He raises up a little and shimmies on the way back down, relishing the stretch, the heady bliss of feeling Sam so snug and perfect in him.
"Fuck, Dean." Sam appreciated the move if the groan and strain in his voice is anything to go by.
"That's the idea," Dean whispers back, not trusting his voice not to tremble.
Sam doesn't even roll his eyes, but as soon as Dean rises up again, he latches on to Dean's tit and starts suckling. Dean's insides flex around Sam, getting a groan from them both. Dean grasps the back of the couch and gets to work giving Sam the ride of his life while being careful not to dislodge him. He's rewarded with moans vibrating against his chest, hands grabbing at him, sparks all along his nervous system, the relief of his milk draining, and a warm center of bliss building in his core. Sam helps him hit all the right angles, takes such good care of him.
The second Dean's milk is dry, Sam puts his mouth to work another way.
"Feel so fucking good, knew you would. No idea how much I've wanted you. Every time I saw you go off with someone else, I wanted to show you I could take care of you just as well. Better."
Oh, fuck. Dean lays a hand against Sam's cheek, earnest. "God, Sam. I would've stayed. If you asked. Anything."
Sam groans and pulls Dean down into a kiss. He can taste the remnants of his own milk, weirdly erotic, but it pales in comparison to Sam taking control and exploring the kiss like he aims to conquer. Dean's burning thighs can only handle so much quivering sensation and he almost yelps when Sam all but lifts him and tilts them so he's looming over Dean.
Dean almost pulls away for a token protest but Sam lives up to the promise in his eyes and Dean's very suddenly being fucked way too hard and fast to even think about talking besides stuttered exclamations.
"Let me fuck you, Dean," Sam whines against Dean's throat, as if he isn't in the process of doing exactly that.
Dean roots a hand in Sam's damp, floppy hair. "Y-yeah."
"Let me take care of you. I'll be so good to you, so good, I swear, I swear."
True to his word, Sam finds the perfect angle the same moment he wraps a hand around Dean's dick.
"Shit! Sam!"
"Please, God, please, pl--"
Dean pulls him into another kiss because otherwise Dean's going to come embarrassingly quickly, is already on the brink from Sam's earnestness and unrelenting pace.
But Sam's stubborn as always and pulls away, just far enough to softly plead against his lips, "Let me be your Alpha, Dean."
And, fuck, just the thought of Sam shoving his knot in, filling him up so good he wouldn't be able to breathe, claiming him--
"I'm cu--fuck!"
The tension gathered in him breaks into a kaleidoscope and he's clenching and shuddering around Sam and spurting into his hand with shuddery little noises.
"Yeah, God--Dean!"
Sam shoves into him so hard and deep that another shot of cum lands on his chest as he feels Sam's dick twitching inside him.
"Fuck, Sam."
Bright hazel eyes stare down at him before Sam swoops in for a desperate kiss that Dean's all too eager to receive.
The edge of desperation has barely eased off when they're interrupted by loud, recorded crying.
Sam moves away to look at the fake baby and Dean sighs. Points for realism.
"Modern alphas co-parent, y'know. I vote you get a head start on it."
Dean isn't expecting the thousand-watt smile he gets in return, but he isn't exactly going to complain. In fact, he finds himself smiling back, albeit with more restraint.
"Yeah?" Sam asks, a perfect blend of the sweet beggar and the cocksure brat. All Sam.
"Yeah."