Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner

Take the First Bite

[tags: pre-serial-killer; violence; dark Dean; first kiss; wincest; alcoholic John; possessive Dean; submissive Sam; orgasm permission; angst; pov Dean] (Title from 'Serial Killer Girl' by Snow White's Poison Bite)

The house was quiet when he snuck well after midnight. He crept through the living room - his father was passed out on the couch, bottle of whiskey on the floor. He stared at the man for a moment, fists clenched at his side: he shoved down the urge to pick up the whiskey bottle and bash his unconscious father's head in with it.

He made his way down the hall, avoiding the floorboard that creaked when stepped on, and opened the bedroom door. He tried to be quiet – he didn't want to wake his thirteen-year-old brother - but Sam was sitting up on his bed when he slipped into the room. The older teen paused upon seeing him, before shutting the door with a soft click.

"You're still up?" His voice was slightly hoarse, and he attempted to clear his throat.
"Waited up for you," Sam shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the blanket pulled around his thin frame.

Dean pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto an old, wooden chair that sat in front of an equally old, wood desk. He moved to stand beside Sam's twin-size bed and ruffled his hair. "It's late," he noted, "You should be asleep."
"Dean, what happened?"
His little brother was staring at his bruised face and cut lip, eyes wide.
"Got in a fight," he answered, sitting on the bed's edge, next to Sam.

"You okay?"

His gaze fell on his shaking hands, held out in front of him. Knuckles bruised, cut, streaked with blood, and not all of it his. Same as the blood that he knew was spotting the black Metallica t-shirt he was wearing. He hadn't even started this one: some jock at some stupid after-game party had gotten pissed because his girlfriend was talking to Dean and had started shit. When Dean had blown off his insults, he had started spouting shit about Sam. Dean had started to get angry, the jock noticed, and he continued running his mouth. It was when the jock claimed he had seen Sam at school, said he had a pretty mouth and it might be nice to fuck it, that Dean had lost it.

"Dean?"

The older teen blinked, realized he had been lost in thought. "I wanted to kill him," his voice was low in the dimly-lit room, "I'm not kidding. I wanted to kill him. Didn't want to stop hitting him. Almost didn't.."

His hands were shaking visibly now, and he felt that need worming its way through him again, that hunger to hurt someone.

"Wanted to put my hands around his throat and press down until he stopped breathing," he raised his eyes to his brother, found Sam watching him.

He needed to shut up. He was going to scare the kid. Sam was the only person who mattered any more, and he couldn't bear it if the other looked at him with disgust or fear or disappointment in those hazel eyes.

He met his brother's gaze again as Sam placed a hand on top of his, squeezing lightly. The younger teen raised Dean's knuckles to his mouth and brushed his lips across them. Dean stopped breathing for a second, breath caught in his chest, as the boy's tongue followed the path his lips had just taken.

"Sammy?" his voice was a hoarse whisper as his brother brushed his lips against the inside of Dean's wrist: he bit his lip, biting back a moan, as Sam began to suck lightly at the skin there.

The younger teen met his gaze, stared at him for a moment, then shifted so that he was on his knees on the mattress. Dean watched, intrigued, as Sam leaned in closer to him. A soft sound – need or surprise, even he wasn't certain – escaped him as his little brother brushed their lips together almost shyly. It was a soft kiss, barely a caress, but it sent white-hot heat through Dean's entire body.

"Take whatever you need from me, Dean," Sam whispered against his mouth, "I'll let you."

"Sam.." He reached for the younger boy, pulled him against him and caught his mouth in a real kiss; the younger boy whimpered and pressed closer as Dean's tongue traced his mouth, slipping in to taste him.

A sound that was very much a growl tore from Dean's throat as Sam crawled up on his lap, straddling his hips. The younger teen began rocking against him and Dean caught his hair, tangled his fingers in it and tilted his head to expose his throat. His leaned in to lick a wet, hot trail up the other's neck – Sam rocked hard against him with a soft gasp – before biting down. Sam's soft moan drew another growl from him, and he wanted to bite down harder, taste blood. He could feel the hunger to do just that crawling through him: he licked up along Sam's neck instead, gently nipping the flesh just below his ear and pulling another soft moan from him.

He wanted to hurt others at times, wanted to hurt them in unspeakable ways. Not Sam, though. Never Sam. He slipped his arms around his little brother, pulling him closer as he slid his hands down to the other's ass. He could never hurt Sam like he wanted to hurt other people: the kid was his heart, the only reason he didn't lose it at times and tear apart anyone or anything that crossed his path.

He hummed in pleasure as Sam ground his ass against Dean's throbbing cock, and reciprocated by rocking against his little brother. "Shouldn't do this," his words were a whisper against the younger teen's ear, and Sam shivered.

"Want it," the other tangled fingers in his hair, pressed closer, "Want you, Dean."

"Soon," the older teen murmured, nuzzling the younger's jawline, "Soon, Sammy. Got all the time in the world. Years of it, just you and me."

Sam nodded, head falling against Dean's shoulder as he continued rocking his hips against the older teen. Dean nearly lost control, fingers tightening on his brother's bony hips, as Sam whispered in his ear, "Can I cum, Dean?"

"Fuck," the word was little more than a growl of lust as he jerked Sam tight against him, pressed up hard against the other's ass, "Cum for me, Sammy." The other obeyed, arching hard against him, arms around his neck and head buried against his shoulder. He bit down hard on Dean's shoulder as he began to cum, stifling his cry of pleasure; that sent Dean over the edge. He arched up against the younger teen, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to bruise, and stifled his own pleasured cry by biting down hard on his lip and burying his face against Sam's neck.

Dean held his little brother tight as he caught his breath, breathing in the scent of him. "Mine," he murmured against the other's neck. Sam nodded yes and whispered, "Yours, Dean."

Dean raised his head, green gaze locking with Sam's hazel one, and love and possessiveness – both familiar where Sam was concerned - welled up in him. Sam was his, and he would make certain it stayed that way.