Work Text:
:::
Sam had seen the way that Dean eyed the up the rope every time they stood in front of the Impala’s open trunk. Off to the side, in the back left corner is a spool of light woven rope. Intricate in its pattern, too beautiful to use on a monster. A forgotten leftover from the reigning days of John Winchester. The rope only alive in Dean’s daydreams.
“You think dad ever used that?” Dean questions, pointing to the coil. Something must be in the water, why bring attention to it now?
“No way, there’s no blood. There’d be blood. Dad wasn’t that good a cleaner.” Sam figures.
“Meant on his ladies.”
“Oh.” Pink. Sam can feel his cheeks colouring. After all these years back on the road with his brother, Dean always manages to find a new way to embarrass him.
“Think he used it on mom?”
“Dean.”
“What, Sammy? I’ve fucked you how many times in the spot I was conceived and now you wanna be a prude?”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“I don’t picture mom and dad going at it while you’re fucking me… wait, do you?”
“Thought about it.”
“Dean! What the hell?!”
“Quit bein’ a prude, people’ll start to think you’ve got a stick up your ass.”
“That’d mean you’d have to crawl out.”
“There’s my Sammy.” Sam can’t help laughing at the too-proud smirk Dean’s got lighting up his face. A little boy again, his big brother.
“Wanna use it on me?” Gotcha! Sam can tell Dean wasn’t expecting that. Raised eyebrows, caught off guard. “Is that a ‘yes’?” Sam raises his own.
“You mean it? You’ll let me?”
In answer, Sam stuffs the rope into Dean’s overnight duffle in the backseat. He’ll have to remember to borrow Dean a book on tying knots from the library. Email him some inspiration pictures, not like this hasn’t crossed Sam’s own mind.
:::
The rope is taut against Sam’s skin. Dean tied it tight, “Wanna frame your tits.” Dean cups them, “My favourite thing about you. Fuckin’ perky things.” Squeezing them, Dean kisses into Sam’s hair. “Lemme get a good look.” Sam can feel the mattress dip and bounce as Dean gets to his feet. Walking ‘round to stand front and centre. Right between Sam’s bare legs, cock hidden behind a little-to-the-imagination thong.
“Wrapped like a fuckin’ present.” On his knees quick, Dean presses his face full on into Sam’s chest. No movement, the only sound a deep inhale. “Smell good, mommy.” Dean looks dazed, high on Sam. Eyes and cheeks a little red, ears flushed. Completely overwhelmed. Happy.
“Are you gonna just sit there or are you gonna play with mommy’s tits?” A smile warms Sam’s own face. Joy apparent on Dean’s own at having Sam return the title. “Don’t keep mommy waiting,” Dean whines, a whimper falling from those licked-wet plump lips.
The admonishment works.
Dean reaches up to cup both tits, gives them another squeeze. “Full of milk for me.”
“Suck them and see.” From pink to a blazing red, Dean’s colour intensifies. Hot to the touch. Sam cards his fingers through his brother’s shorter hair, pulling him in close. Encouraging Dean to latch on. “All for you.”
Those lips find their home nursing from Sam’s swollen tits, framed for Dean’s feeding. He suckles away, lost to time, minutes counted by the moans from Sam’s mouth. Time broken up only by Dean switching from one abused nipple to the other. “Taste so good, mommy.”
Nothing leaks out, hard as Dean tries. But he seems obsessed with the flavour of Sam’s skin. Handcrafted for Dean, perfectly made.
“Up.” Sam instructs when Dean begins to pant, jaw tired from suckling from his mother’s teat. “Mommy needs a rest.” As does the big boy.
:::
They resettle in harmony, sprawled on the bed. Dean against the headboard, Sam on his chest. Both of Dean’s hands returning to Sam’s tits. “Such a good boy for me, Dean.” Sam relaxes back into Dean, enjoying the massage of his aching chest. Dean tweaking a nipple every so often to keep Sam awake.
The reprieve is short-lived.
One hand moves down from its grasp on Sam’s nipple, fluttering fingers tickling along the expanse of his abdomen. “Ever think of me knocking you up, Sammy?” A nip to Sam’s ear. Dean flattens a hand on the thatch of hair just above the hem of Sam’s black thong. Right where his womb would be. “How your abs would give way to a fattening belly? A belly swollen with our child, a child I’ve fucked into you.” The pressure from Dean’s hand increases gradually until Sam quivers, his bladder on edge.
“Do you,” Sam’s voice fails on a false start, momentarily winded by a twist of his left nipple—Dean reminding him of his presence there. “Do you think about it, Dean?”
“I think about how I’d never let you leave this bed. Take this rope,” Dean pulls on the rope harness, “and tie you down. I’d sit and watch you grow. Oil this skin up, massage the pain from your hips. You’d be mine, kept and treasured.”
The hand over Sam’s phantom womb is quick to raise, hooking a thumb into his bellybutton. “And this, here, where you were connected to our mother. Fuck, Sammy,” Dean tweaks a nipple before lowering his other hand to join in rubbing Sam’s belly, holding Sam closer to his own bare chest. “We shared a womb.”
“Well, that's not—"
“Not the time, Sam.” He can’t see it, but Dean probably rolls his eyes. “Would you take care of me, if we were connected like that? Hmm, mommy?”
A moan escapes Sam’s mouth as Dean latches onto his neck, a fervent lap of the tongue before Sam can feel the familiar suck of a hickey. “Want you inside me, Dee….” Sam cranes his neck to look at Dean, see him. “Fuck a womb into me.” Sam grabs hold of Dean’s right hand and guides it south, under the bulging fabric of his thong. His big brother—his baby Dee, knows what to do. Dean ignores Sam’s throbbing cock, slips past to finger at the plug in Sam’s hole. “Mommy’s cunt is ready for you, always.”