Chapter Text
Dean loved to fight.
Ever since he could remember, fighting had been his solution to most situations. Hell, it was downright therapeutic as far as Dean was concerned. Like every punch he threw or took chipped away at the weight he carried on his shoulders. Or every victory he attained helped him feel joy, rather than the overwhelming numbness he felt in his waking hours.
It wasn’t just his victories that fueled him, either. There was also the pain. The sick feeling of pleasure Dean got when his opponent’s knuckles connected with his nose, or when he took a knee to the ribs. He couldn’t explain why, but Dean lived for that feeling, practically got off on it.
Not to mention fighting was an excellent way to blow off some steam, because no matter how much he denied it to his family or his shrink, Dean was angry. He was angry that his mom up and left when he was ten; he was angry that his dad was a drunk, mean old bastard. But most of all, he was angry that he couldn’t protect his little brother from the heartache his parents’ divorce had caused. Sam’s world had been shattered the day Mary walked out on them, and the fact that Dean could do nothing but sit back and watch his brother’s heart break filled him with inescapable rage.
So, Dean fought.
And at first, John didn’t really seem to care one way or the other that his oldest son was getting into brawls. Or that more often than not, Dean would come home from school covered in large nasty looking bruises, wearing them like trophies. He’d just ask his son what happened, occasionally give him an “atta boy” when the other guy started the fight and Dean finished it, but he never told him to stop. No, John only became concerned about Dean’s self-destructive hobby when Sam started showing interested in fighting.
It all began when Sam was twelve. He’d constantly pester Dean about teaching him how to fight, wanted to know every move his big brother could teach him. He’d even draw fake bruises on his skin; putting them in the exact same place Dean had his. Which, although he’d never say it out loud, made Dean disturbingly happy. He loved that his little brother looked up to him, and that he wanted to be just like him; despite the fact that his actions could be interpreted as certifiable.
That type of behavior, however, was not acceptable as far as their father was concerned. And in no time, John was on Dean’s ass, preaching at him not to corrupt his little brother. Sam was the golden child after all. Good grades, polite, destined for success. Unlike Dean who’d been a fuck up far too long to seek redemption.
Of course, Dean listened to his father and refused to discuss fighting with Sam. He also did his best to hide his bruises, and kept his mouth shut about his physical altercations, even the fights he won. Because even though fighting and bragging about his victories was, in some fucked up way, comforting for Dean, he couldn’t allow his issues to affect Sam. He had to protect his little brother, at all costs, even if it was from himself.
Dean could handle it though. He’d been in similar situations his entire life. He may have had to keep his mouth shut, but he’d be damned if he was ever going to stop swinging.
****
Tiptoeing into the bathroom, Dean quietly closed the door behind him; thankful he’d made it to his destination undetected.
He’d just arrived home from school, bloody and bruised as a result of a brutal fight he’d participated in after seventh period. A fight he’d dominated, and was proud of, but he knew if he let Sam, who’d stayed home sick that day, see him all beaten up and sore, John would be sure to ground him for a month.
And the worst part of the whole situation was that Dean hadn’t even meant to get into a fight. Earlier that morning, he’d promised himself that he’d go one day without throwing a punch. Just to prove it was possible. But when some jackass from the football team had gotten in his face, all bets were off.
Letting out a shaky groan, Dean slipped his backpack off his shoulder, sitting the bag on the ground before gingerly pulling his shirt over his head. Examining himself in the mirror, he noticed that his abdomen was scattered with several large, ugly purple contusions; dried blood smeared around the corner of his mouth and down the left side of his face from an open cut along his eyebrow.
“Shit.”
Truthfully, Dean had become pretty damn good at hiding his injuries but there was no getting around these. He was screwed, and his dad was going to tan his ass. Talk about adding insult to injury. Shaking his head, Dean placed his palms flat on the counter, leaning forward a little to spit in the sink; his saliva a light pink color due to some undetectable cut in his mouth he’d acquired during the fight.
“Dean? You okay?”
Dean jumped when he heard Sam knocking, quickly leaning all his weight against the door so that the younger boy couldn’t open it.
“Yeah, I’m fine, kiddo. Go back to sleep.”
“You’re lying, dude. I saw you practically crawl in there. C’mon open up!”
Sighing dramatically, Dean decided that he was too tired to argue, moving away from the door so Sam could enter. However, when he saw the pained expression on his little brother’s face at the sight of his injuries, he immediately wished he would have resisted a little more.
“Shit, Dean.”
Sam was standing in front of him now, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. Acting on instinct, the younger boy reached out with his right hand, brushing his fingertips over the large bluish, purple bruise near his brother’s belly button; the action spending a chill over Dean’s body. Of course, Sam hadn’t meant anything by it, but just a graze of his brother’s fingertips over the bruise made Dean’s skin hum with pleasure.
Disgusting. How could he react that way, especially when his younger brother was involved? If he kept this up, Dean would need to ask his dad to increase his therapy sessions from twice a week to three.
“Hey, I’m alright, baby bro. I’ve had worse,” Dean chuckled, despite the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from flinching under Sam’s touch.
Shaking his head, Sam sighed before grabbing his brother by the hand in order to lead him down the hall to Dean’s room. The journey was quick, and the two of them remained silent even when Sam maneuvered them onto his brother’s bed, laying Dean on his back carefully.
“Do you need some ice?”
Dean could hear the aggravation in Sam’s tone, closing his eyes in an attempt to avoid his brother’s glare. He could feel Sam’s skin against his side, the younger boy sitting on his knees beside Dean on the mattress; practically radiating concern.
“Nah, I’m good, dude. You should go lay down. You still look sickly.”
In response, Dean’s comment was met with deafening silence, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Sam was touching him, he would have thought his brother had split.
“Sammy?”
Dean let out a low, involuntary gasped when he felt Sam’s palm on his stomach, muscles flexing under the weight of his touch. He didn’t open his eyes, but he knew Sam was looking at him in that way. The way he looked at Dean when he wanted to say something to him but didn’t know how to say it. That look killed Dean, it made him want to take Sam in his arms and reassure him that there was nothing he couldn’t tell his big brother.
“De, why do you like fighting so much?”
Well that was simple enough.
“It makes me feel better.”
“You…like getting hit?”
Huffing, Dean opened his mouth to respond but quickly thought better of it. Did he like to get hit? Shit, he’d never thought about it like that before. Of course, Dean’s initial reaction was to say hell no. What kind of idiot enjoyed getting hit? However, the more he contemplated Sam’s question, the more he realized that he did. He liked getting hit. Dean couldn’t explain it, but something about taking a punch soothed him. Jesus. It was a good thing John sent him to a shrink because he was obliviously ten kinds of fucked up.
“Yeah…yeah, I guess I do, Sammy.”
Opening his eyes, Dean turned to look at his little brother, expecting his expression to be one of disgust or at least mild confusion. It wasn’t though. Instead Sam looked thoughtful, almost like Dean had confirmed a suspicion he’d had for a while. And Dean didn’t really know if that was good or bad.
“What about bruises? Do you like them?” Sam asked, his voice low and unsure.
Shit. Where the hell was Sam going with this? And why did such an odd question speed up Dean’s heartrate? Perhaps it was due to the fact that there was no denying Dean loved giving and receiving bruises. Always had. Truthfully, under the right circumstance, seeing a bruise, on his skin or another’s, could get him hard. Fuck! He shouldn’t be thinking about this! Not with his little brother sitting right next to him.
And it was only then that Dean realized that Sam was still touching him, gently caressing the deep purple marks on his skin. Shivering, Dean tried to ignore the warm, tingling sensation building up in the pit of his stomach as he looked at Sam questioningly, breath ragged.
“Uh, yeah. I like bruises, Sammy. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I was thinking…if…if you need to get bruises, or even make them, that you could use me. That way you don’t have to fight and dad won’t be mad at you all the time.”
Upon hearing his little brother’s offer, a wave of nausea hit Dean like a freight train. Sam was so young and innocent, and Dean hated himself for even considering such a proposal; let alone the fact that it made his dick hard to think about leaving bruises all over his baby brother’s smooth, delicate skin.
“Absolutely not, Sam. Fuck, don’t say shit like that.”
Turning his head way, Dean’s heart sank when he felt Sam shift on the bed. And for a few terrifying seconds, he thought Sam was going to leave. However, much to his surprise, the younger boy stayed put, only moving to reposition himself so that he was lower on the bed; pressing his lips to Dean’s stomach, causing him to gasp loudly.
“Please, De?” Sam mewled, placing soft, wet kisses around Dean’s belly button. “I don’t mind, big brother. I want you to use me. C’mon, daddy, want you to hurt me, I can take it.”
Dean’s mind was on the verge of exploding. Never in his life had he thought he’d have a daddy kink, but holy fuck, did Sam prove him wrong. Honestly, Dean didn’t know what was worse, the fact that such filth had just come out of his fourteen year old brother’s mouth, or that he was sporting some serious wood because of it. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?
“Sam, stop, we can’t do this,” Dean gritted out, body tensing when Sam popped open the button on his jeans.
“You…don’t want me?”
Looking down, it felt as though Dean had just been punched in the gut by Mike Tyson when he made eye contact with his little brother, those big, glossy hazel orbs staring at him with a hurt expression.
“Fuck, of course I want you, Sammy. That’s the problem.”
Without thinking, Dean reached forward, gently running his fingers through Sam’s hair. He knew it was wrong to even admit that he was interested in the younger boy, but he’d be fucked if he could ever keep a secret from Sam.
“It’s not a problem, De, I swear, I want you too.”
Biting his bottom lip, Dean resisted the urge to struggle as he watched Sam unzip his pants, instinctively lifting his hips when the younger boy started to pull them off. He lay there silently, sweat dripping down his neck as Sam worked to remove his clothes, gripping the sheet beneath him tightly. And once he was completely naked, Sam wasted little time straddling his hips, teasingly grinding his clothed erection against Dean’s bare one.
“C’mon, Dean. Put your hands on me,” Sam begged, grabbing both of Dean’s hands to place them on his thighs. “Please daddy?” he added, the whiny, desperate tone of his voice causing the older boy to tighten his grip, squeezing Sam’s skin until the faint outline of his handprints were visible.
“Fuck, that’s it, daddy.”
Dean could barely breathe as Sam began to roll his hips, moaning and begging for his brother to respond. He could feel Sam’s cock, hot and hard against his groin, the material of his basketball shorts soaked through with pre-cum.
“Oh fuck, Sam.”
Losing all self-control, Dean grabbed Sam’s hips, digging his fingers into the younger boy’s flesh which earned him a satisfied groan from his little brother. Continuing to rut against Dean, Sam leaned down, ghosting his lips over his brother pulse, toying with him.
“Gonna have such pretty bruises when you’re done with me, daddy. Can’t wait for you to mark me up, use me anyway you please.”
Moaning loudly, Dean bucked his hips off the mattress, a sharp mixture of pleasure and pain shooting through his body as Sam sank his teeth into his neck. Instantly, he could feel the slow, bittersweet ache of a bruise forming, the sensation making his cock throb as Sam began to suck at the fresh mark.
“Jesus, Sammy…I..fuck, don’t know how long I can last.”
Dean’s grip on Sam’s hips tightened when the younger boy slipped his right hand between their bodies, wrapping it around his brother’s painfully hard cock. Smirking, Sam began to stroke him slowly, making obscene noises as Dean dug his fingernails into his skin.
“Come for me, big brother, I know you need to,” Sam coaxed, teasing the head of Dean’s leaking cock with his thumb.
“Oh, Sam, holy shit!”
Dean’s whole body tensed as he orgasmed, warm, long white ropes cum spilling over Sam’s fist.
In all honestly, if he hadn’t felt so fucking incredible, Dean might have been embarrassed. Considering he’d never come so fast in his entire life; not even when he was twelve and had to jerk off as quick as possible because Sam was ALWAYS by his side and he never knew when he’d get his next moment of privacy.
“Feel better, De?”
Snapping out of his daze, Dean looked up at Sam, unable to stop himself from moaning at the sight of his little brother. The younger boy looked thoroughly wrecked, desperate to come, his cheeks and neck flushed, eyes dilated, sweat rolling down his chest.
“Yeah. Much better, baby,” Dean panted, his body of the verge of short-circuiting, so overwhelmed with pleasure he could barely function.
Smiling, Sam carefully rolled to the side so that he was lying on his back next to Dean; his erection clearly visible through his shorts. He turned on his side, right hand roaming over Dean’s heaving chest, lightly pressing on his bruises; the action making Dean’s cock twitch in spite of itself.
“Good, I’m glad I could help.”
Fuck, Dean was so astronomically screwed, it wasn’t even funny. His little brother had just given him one of the best orgasms of his life and he was barely freaking out. Jesus Christ. And to think, there was a time that Dean was convinced he didn’t need therapy.
“Please don’t spazz out on me, De…I don’t think I could handle it if you didn’t want me.”
Sam’s confession hit Dean like a led pipe to the skull. How the hell could Sam think he didn’t want him? Especially after what had just happened between them.
“Where’s this insecurity coming from, Sammy? You know it’s me and you against the world.”
“You promise, De?”
Rolling onto his side to face Sam, Dean nodded, giving his little brother a bright smile; his heart doing double time in his chest when Sam leaned forward in response, kissing him as if his life depended on it. The kiss was desperate, wild, and seriously one of the best kisses Dean had ever participated in.
However, a part of him couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy burning deep in his chest. Where had his little brother learned to kiss like that? Fuck, where had Sam learned any of the moves he'd just made on Dean? Just the thought of Sam making out with someone else made Dean’s blood boil; and the mere possibility that his brother had been sexually active with someone other than him made Dean feel downright murderous. He couldn't fathom the thought of some random guy touching his innocent, adorable baby brother, not without seeing red. Sam was his, in every possible way. He was Dean's to love, nurture, and teach; and if Sam was going to explore his sexual appetite, it needed to be with Dean. It needed to be with the one person who'd take care of him; the person who’d be sure to satisfy all of Sam's wants and desires. And Dean was so enraged by the possibility that another man may have touched Sam that he seriously had half a mind to ask him; to find out who’d been teaching his baby brother such filthy, sexual tactics and to destroy the motherfucker.
Of course, Dean knew he was being disgustingly hypocritical. He had no right to be upset with Sam for exploring his sexuality, especially since he'd been having sex since he was fourteen as well. Dean had never even thought about waiting for Sam, and probably would have been too selfish to do so. Hell, up until Sam had come on to him, Dean wasn't even aware of his feelings for his brother. And to hold Sam to such a high standard was completely wrong.
Too bad thinking rationally was one of the top issues Dean's shrink said he needed to work on.
“De, I need to hear you promise me,” Sam gasped suddenly, the sweet, calming sound of his voice tearing Dean away from his anger.
And just like that, Dean’s jealous rage was subdued. There was no way Sam would be here with him now, like this, if there was someone else. No way he would be so desperate for Dean’s word that he wanted this, wanted Sam, if his heart belonged to another. Besides, even if there was another guy or even a girl, Dean would die before he let anyone else have his little brother. He was going to prove to Sam that he was all the younger boy needed. That they could be each other's rock.
“I promise, Sammy. It’s just us. I won’t fight anymore; I’ll come to you instead.”
Nodding his acknowledgement, Sam threaded his fingers through his brother short brown hair: watching Dean lustfully as the older boy slipped his hand into Sam’s shorts.
“I’ll be so good for you, daddy…you won’t ever need anyone else.”
Leaning forward, Dean nuzzled his face into the crook of Sam’s neck; the younger boy let out what could only be described as a pornographic sound when Dean wrapped his fingers around his swollen cock, stroking him slow, teasing him.
“Fuck, baby, you love it don’t you? You want daddy to hurt you?”
“Yes, please, need you,” Sam begged, wiggling beneath Dean as his brother jerked him off; his palm soaking wet with pre-cum.
Smirking against Sam’s throat, Dean nipped at the sensitive flesh, a rush of excitement jolting across his body when his little brother bucked his hips, fingernails clawing at Dean’s back.
“C’mon, Sammy, let go.”
Tangling his left hand in Sam’s long, tousled hair, Dean bit down hard on his brother’s collar bone, causing him to scream. Writhing against the older boy, Sam rolled his hips frantically, fucking into Dean’s fist until he came, hot and messy all over the both of their stomachs.
“Fuck, Dean, love you so much.”
Sam’s body want lax against Dean’s, the younger boy shifting forward to suck at the bite mark he’d made on his big brother’s neck earlier. He was panting, body trembling from head to toe, but Dean could tell he was content; he could tell that his little brother had gotten exactly what he wanted. Mainly because Sam always got what he wanted when it came to Dean, and he could recognize the smugness in his brother’s body language without even having to properly look at him.
“I love you too, baby boy,” Dean whispered, holding his brother tight.
And even though Dean didn’t know how in the hell this was going to work, for the first time in his life he was satisfied. He didn’t want to punch someone or something, or to even take a punch. He just wanted Sam’s marks on his skin, and vice versa.