Snowed In by bloodwrites

Dean's there when Sam loses his virginity. In the future, he'll joke about Sam's virginity all the time, but he won't be able to deny that Sam lost it when he was far younger than Dean did, because Dean's there.

It's a first time for Dean, as well. Not the first time, but definitely a first.

They're in a cabin up a mountain, somewhere in Utah. It's the winter before Sam's 16th birthday, and they're snowed in, and there's nothing much to do but heat tinned food over the wood burning stove and do half finished crosswords and hope like hell that Dad isn't frozen solid beneath an avalanche.

Boredom is dangerous, of course, and the devil finds work for their idle hands.

Or rather, work for Sam's idle hands. Dean's hands are too busy getting splinters from the death grip he has on the rough-hewn wood of the kitchen table to do much of anything else.

Dean doesn't know if there is lube in the cabin. Neither of them had the time to search for it. It was kind of a rush, they were in kind of a rush, and they were in the kitchen, and the little cooking oil there had been when they moved in is long gone, but there was half a stick of butter left out from dinner and Sam pushed that up inside Dean and it quickly started melting, and now it's dripping down the inside of Dean's thighs.

A fresh, hot dribble runs out over his balls as Sam shoves his dick—too fucking big to belong to a fifteen year old, Dean has decided—deep into Dean's body. Sam grunts with every erratic, uncontrolled thrust. He's been pretty much out of control since he started, which, virgin, Dean's pretty sure he was exactly the same the first time he got his dick into something warm, but also, Dean really likes it.

He liked it a lot when Sam shoved him up against the ancient fridge. They were both stir crazy, whacked out on cabin fever, and Dean was nitpicking at the way Sam was washing the dishes, kept passing dishes back when they had even the slightest hint of grease on them, just to be an asshole.

Sam had thrown the last one into the sink, splashing them both with lukewarm, greasy water, grabbed Dean by the collar, and when his back hit the fridge, it gave a shudder.

"Careful," Dean had said. "Don't wanna wreck the appliances, Sammy."

"I wanna wreck you," Sam had replied, and it was all over.

They'd never so much as kissed before. Oh, Dean had been sneaking sideways glances at his baby brother since his last growth spurt, and maybe Sam noticed, or maybe it was just the incredibly fucked up situation and not having the opportunity to get away from each other at all.

Whatever it was, someone kissed the other, then Sam was biting at Dean's lips and tugging at his belt, and saying things like 'gonna fuck you' and 'fucking hate you' and for some reason all of that switched off Dean's higher brain functions.

The parts of his brain that went toward protecting his baby brother were just gone, leaving behind only the parts that wanted to please him, to make him happy.

Also, Sam's aggression and possessiveness went straight to Dean's dick.

"Go on then," Dean said. "Fuck me." The next thing he knew Sam had slammed him face first down on the table and was shoving down his pants.

Neither of them knew what the fuck they were doing. It's not like Dean had ever done this before. An adventurous girl several states back had pushed her finger up there while she was blowing him once and Dean had come so hard he'd gone blind for a few moments, but a dick?


There was some grunting, at first, from both of them. Sam's dick was practically spewing precome, but it wasn't enough, and finally Dean grabbed the butter from the table beside him that miraculously hadn't followed the rest of the leftovers and dishes to the floor. He passed it back, said 'use this' and Sam had used his fingers and then Sam had gotten his dick in and Dean thought he was going to die at first.

It took a few inexpert thrusts before Dean stopped feeling like he was being split in two and it started feeling good. Somehow they got lucky with the angle and Sam keeps hitting that place up Dean's ass that the adventurous girl hit before Dean yelled and gushed down her throat without warning all those months ago.

Now, Dean's mostly just begging.

"Please" and "more" and "fuck me, Sammy" and "give it to me, come in me".

Sam's fingers dig painfully into Dean's hips and his thrusts are messy, and his cock keeps stabbing at that place inside Dean and there's no way he's not gonna come soon.

Dean wants that. He wants the mixture of butter and his baby brothers come dripping down the inside of his thighs later.

"Fucking wreck me," he says, and then, inexplicably, "come in me, baby brother."

He'll never know if it was just good timing, or his words that did it, because Sam's fingers tighten on his hips and he stills, deep inside Dean's ass, and Dean can feel Sam's cock pulsing as Sam groans, long and low and loud as he fills Dean.

"Fuck," Dean says. "Oh fuck I can't— I need to come, so bad Sammy, please."

Sam pulls out too fast. Dean's body is left clenching on air and it's almost painful. Pushes himself up and turns, and Sam has fallen back against the counter that's just as rough as the table and he's clinging, looking shocked, and his jeans are sagging around the tops of his thighs but his shirt has fallen down to cover his dick.

Dean presses himself against his brothers body, cock in hand, and it won't take much. A couple of strokes and he's coming, in great violent spurts against Sam's jeans leg.

As each spurt shoots from his dick, his ass clenches. Come and butter oozes out, slicking his cheeks, running down the back of his thigh.

Then it's just their heavy breaths, both of them gasping for air.

Sam moves first. Wriggles out from beneath Dean and hurries away, pulling his jeans up as he disappears into the bathroom.

There's only one room in the cabin. A curtain is the only pretence of privacy in the bathroom. There's snow stacked outside the only door to the outside and neither of them can leave.

There's no shower, just a crusty old enamel tub with pipes that creak and groan when the water's running.

Hot water from the wetback stove runs into the tub and steam pours out past the curtain.

"I'll be pissed if you use all the hot water," Dean says, but he can't summon enough firmness to his voice. "I wanna get clean too you know."

The curtain flicks back and Sam slinks out, head hanging, face down turned like he can't meet Dean's eyes. "You take it," he says. His shirt is off, and his chest is flushed and he heads for the kitchen.

Dean watches as Sam splashes cold water on himself, and then he retreats to the bathroom.

The only bed in the cabin is an ancient sofa bed. They've been sharing, and when it's time to sleep, Dean wonders why this didn't happen before, at night, when they were side by side and warm and sharing their body heat.

He also wonders how the sleeping arrangements are going to go tonight, because there's a sofa, but it's the sofa bed.

He could sleep on the floor, let Sammy have the bed if he's so determined to stay as far away from Dean as possible. But he'll freeze on the floor, and that's no exaggeration.

Fuck it, he decides, and he pulls out the bed after he changes into the old sweats he's been wearing in lieu of pyjamas, and he climbs in under the sheets.

"Come to bed," he says, as he turns to face away, stuck far on the edge of the bed, opposite to where he's left room for Sam. He's left most of the bed for Sam. "You can't sit at the kitchen table all night."

There's silence from Sam, who perhaps expected that that's what he would be doing.

But the fire is banked to keep smouldering till morning, and there's a chill in the air that's growing more biting as the minutes pass.

Soon enough, the sofa dips as Sam crawls in alongside him.

It's awkward. The atmosphere is tense enough that Dean thinks perhaps the air has frozen solid. For long moments it's as if neither of them dares to breathe.

Then, so quietly that Dean might almost believe that it was the wind blowing snow outside, or a brief flare of flame in the stove, Sam whispers:

"I'm sorry."

Still unsure that he's heard Sam speak or if he just imagined it, Dean turns to face the ceiling. "Sorry?" He meant it as 'I didn't catch that' but Sam obviously understood it another way.

"For...the kitchen. I don't know what...why I did that." There's a catch to his words, and a roughness, and something Dean hasn't heard in Sam's voice since Sam was seven or eight.


"There's something wrong with me, Dean. Always has been."

"What?" Dean sits bolt upright, looks down at his brother in the darkness. "There's nothing wrong—"

"I just fucked my brother," Sam hisses. "Dean, I practically raped you. I don't know, maybe I did. Dad's going to shoot me, isn't he? He's gonna know, I gotta leave."

Sam throws off the blankets, and his feet hit the floor. Dean grabs Sam by the back of his shirt before he even knows what he's doing, yanks him back.

"You're not going anywhere, Sam. Even if you could leave, that's the quickest way to get dead. You think I'm gonna tell Dad what we did? I'm just as much to blame—hell, I'm more to blame. You're my baby brother. I'm supposed to protect you, not-—"

"Dean, no." Sam's body is limp now, hunched over, defeated. "I'm the one who-—"

"And I'm the one who begged you for it. Wanted it, Sammy. Maybe I never envisioned it quite like that but once you said—" He almost says it. Almost repeats Sam's words, but they stick in his throat and cause something to coil in his belly. His cock swells as he thinks about it. "It was all over, you know?"

"I wanted to hurt you. And I did."

"Did you see me complaining?"

Sam's silent for a moment. Then he sighs. "When was the last time you said 'no' to me, Dean? I take advantage of that, all the time. I took advantage of it again, but this time I ruined everything. I can't stay here. I can't stay with you...and Dad."

"I'm not telling him, and how about you shut the fuck up. I tell you 'no' when it matters."

"And this time it didn't?"

It's not even a question. It is, but it isn't. Sam is belligerent, confrontational. Dean can understand. What happened between them today... It's not normal. Dean should have said no.

"If anything, I'm the one in trouble. Doesn't matter who was doing the fucking." Somehow, in the pitch darkness, with only the red glow from the stove to tell them where in the room they are, it's not as hard as Dean thought to say the words. "You're fifteen. You're a kid. Whether it's fucked up that we're brothers or whether it's fucked up that you wanted to wreck me—" His voice deepens as he swallows a moan, remembering the heat in Sam's voice when he said it. "I'm the one who better start running when—if—Dad finds out, and you know it."

The bed creaks, and Dean thinks Sam has relaxed some. Dean's cock is hard, and he came only a few hours ago, but there's an urgency behind his arousal that pushes him to press his luck.

"I'd do it again, Sammy," he says.

There's a sound that Dean swears is Sam's sharp intake of breath.

"I'd let you fuck me again. If that's what you wanted."

Sam jerks, then, the bed creaking as it rocks with the movement of his body. "Stop giving me what I want all the time," he spits. "Stop it."

"And what if it's what I want?"

Sam's breath is quick and heavy in the darkness. "You liked it."

"I guess I did." Dean leans forward, wraps himself around Sam's body from behind. Sam's heat soaks into him, Sam's shudders set Dean quivering. "Never did that before. You're the first."

"Fuck," Sam says, and he grabs hold of Dean's wrists, pulls them tight around himself. "Never? No one else?"

"Not that," Dean whispers. "No other guys."

Quick as a flash, Sam twists in Dean's arms, and then Dean's flat on his back on the swaying sofa, Sam on top of him.

Sam's hard, the thick length of his cock stiff against Dean's thigh. Sam's chest shudders as he breathes hard, hot air huffing out over Dean's cheek, his throat. "I'm sorry," Sam says, over and over. "Sorrysorrysorry-- Should'a been better, I should'a gone slow—"

"S'okay." Dean rocks his hips, grinds his cock against Sam's thigh. "It was so fucking hot, Sammy. Your cock in me, your come in me—"

Sam whines and freezes, his forehead clunking against Dean's shoulder. "Fuck, I—"

"S'okay, baby," Dean says. "Come—"

Sam shakes his head furiously, lets out a long, slow breath. His body goes limp. "Laundry."

He's right. They can't get anything dry here, and they've already messed up enough of the clothes they brought with them.

Sam lifts his head, presses his face against Dean's in the dark, searching for his lips.

When he finds them, Dean moans. Sam's kiss is slow, but so good, and who taught his baby brother to kiss like that?

"Your mouth is so hot," Sam murmurs against Dean's lips. "So fucking pretty, so fucking—" He groans, and his hips start to move again. "Please," he moans. "Please, Dean, please."

"Tell me what you want," Dean says. "Give you anything."

"Suck me," Sam says, and his fingers find Dean's mouth. "Please suck me, I want my dick in your mouth, your fucking pretty mouth Dean, please."

"Fucking hell," Dean says, as his hips jerk, and he very nearly comes himself. "Fuck." He rolls Sam off him, scrambles back off the edge of the bed and onto his knees. "Do it," he says, reaching for his dick, shoving his hand down his sweats in order to grasp it at the base and stop himself from coming. "Come in my mouth, give it to me."

He's almost surprised. He never thought sucking cock would be something he'd be into, but when it comes to his baby brother, apparently he's into whatever Sam wants.

Dean finds Sam's hips in the dark. As Sam knees forward on the bed, Dean pulls him in. He gets a cock in the eye, first, as they fumble in the dark, and there's precome dripping and it stings, but Dean wipes it away and then guides Sam's dick between his lips.

Sam lets out a strangled groan and thrusts forward involuntarily. Dean chokes as Sam hits the back of his throat, then Dean gets a good grip on Sam's hips, wraps a hand around the base of Sam's dick so it doesn't happen again.

Sam smells like soap and musk, he smells like sex, and he tastes like salt and bitterness on the back of Dean's tongue. Dean's got no idea what he's doing but it hardly matters, because Sam's writhing and jerking like it's his first blowjob, and it probably is.

Hot spurts spread thick over the back of Dean's tongue, and his brother's dick has been in his mouth for only seconds, but Sam was close before, and Dean knows it's not going to be long. Sam grabs hold of Dean's head and he probably can't help thrusting now, he's just going to fuck Dean's mouth until he comes and Dean's okay with that.

Then he does, and Dean's throat fills quickly with hot, heavy spurts. He swallows, and he chokes, and he coughs up half of it, then there's more of it filling his mouth.

When it's over, and Sam's dick slithers from between Dean's lips, Sam falls sideways onto the bed, and it shudders and creaks.

Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Holy shit," he says. "That's disgusting."

Sam makes a sound like a strangled sob, and Dean climbs back onto the bed, hands fumbling in the dark, finding Sam, shushing him with soft sounds like he used to when Sam was little. "It's okay," he says. "It's okay. We're good, Sammy. We're good, aren't we?"

"This is so fucked up," Sam whispers. He's panting, still breathless.

"Yeah," Dean says. "I know. But when are our lives not fucked up, Sammy? We can have this. If it's what you want?"

Sam sits up. Dean can feel Sam's breath on his face. "Do you want it? Really, Dean. Do you want it?"

Dean grabs Sam's hand. Shoves it down his sweats to where his cock is still hard and hot and damp. "What do you think?"

Sam's fingers curl around Dean's dick. "Oh my god."

Dean groans, and he can't help thrusting against Sam's hand. "That's you," he murmurs, leaning against Sam, leaning into him, searching out his lips. He kisses Sam hard as Sam strokes him, realises halfway that Sam's tasting himself right now and doesn't seem to care. "I want it," Dean says, pulling back when he's close. "I want it, I want you."

The last word comes out on a moan as Dean starts to come. He seems to come forever, and it's not violent like before, not sudden. It's fucking beautiful.

"So much for the laundry," Sam mutters, as he wipes his hand on his shirt.

"We'll go naked till the snow melts," Dean says, lying on his back in the afterglow.

"We'll freeze."

"Its called body heat," Dean says. "Can think of a few ways to keep warm. Can't you?"

The storm breaks and sun shines through the clouds. The boys venture outside, clear the path, and they prepare for their father to return.

"I wish we could stay here forever," Sam says, as he hangs laundry in the sun to dry.

"It's not the way the world works," Dean says. "You know we got a job to do."

"I know," Sam says. "Doesn't stop me from wishing for a little peace."

"We'll have peace when we're dead," Dean says. "This job? It'll probably be sooner rather than later, and you know it."

It's true. Their lives are fucked up, have been fucked from the very beginning. There's no wonder they ended up like they are.

Fuck the entire world, they deserve it.


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I'm bloodwrites, and I've been knocking around the fandom internets since the early 2000s. I write fic, almost exclusively slash. I like Dean Winchester, vampires, pirates, and CSS. Some people know me as vamp.

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Updated: 30 Jan 2023

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