Anonymous asked: never not thinking about ageswap!salmondean; lately I'm fixated on this headcanon of "dean insisting just weeks after his 14th birthday that sam should definitely f*ck him wasn't the ONLY factor that led sam to accept his stanford financial aid packaging but it was definitely a contributing factor" -> smash cut to college junior sam who's supposed to be attending a conference in cleveland for his teaching assistantship but can't afford to fly driving (one of) brady's borrowed car(s) & stopping in the fifth random service station of the trek to gas up and use the head... of the three stalls in the men's room, one's got a piece of paper with a sad face taped to the door (multilingual signage at its cheapest) and one's got somebody knelt on the linoleum giving a hummer to a long-haul trucker who sounds like a bad soviet-dubbed p*rno... (of course, to nobody's surprise but sam's, who should we find ringing up mr. bathroom blowj*b's cigarettes afterwards and swapping alarmingly familiar banter with said horny russian, but dean? all six-feet hundred-and-thirty pounds and seventeen years of sam's baby brother, who snaps his gum at sam over the counter and tells him, "co*ke products are two for four right now.") I need sam going to his own motel room and having a little breakdown just to kill the time before he can go back and pick dean up when his shift ends at 11, which he has to do because they have to talk. sam watching dean lock up and pocket his name badge, check the padlock on the propane locker and oh, that hurts; the knowledge that he only knows to do that because of the summer he and sam spent boosting propane tanks from the bait shop up the road to run the piece of sh*t genny dad had them using. dean twirling his key ring around his finger and catching it in his palm over and over until sam says, "night manager, huh?" and dean uses his combined new height and the ever-present element of surprise to slam sam against the exterior wall and kiss his dizzy-stupid. (sam, who has spent the past six years jacking himself friction-raw to the thought of this, this exact thing, more times than he'd care to count, one hand stripping his dick, the other pressed hard over his mouth, like that'll keep the sick feeling from seeping out. he's had dreams about dean's mouth for years, but not like this – fake strawberry flavor cloying on his tongue and rubber-glove latex underneath. dean's mouth tastes like a 75¢ condom from the dispenser in the men's room and sam could cry at the wrongness of it all.) belated wincest wednesday, all ❤️ -- cilla/mdbp 😈🎉 CILLA???? WHAT THE f*ck?????THIS IS G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOUR TALENT!!!!!!!!!! age!swap wincesters makes me bark like a f*cking dog!!!!!! just speaking to me, personally, i would love ageswap!chesters (is that a thing?) to be in the same boat as salmondean in canon, where we start the show with this non-lanced abscess of longing and devotion and tension.
BUT! ooh your idea's got some wheels! i love the way your brain works! dean's casualness? the detail about the key and the frowny face? god, this was SUCH a good read! i had to write a little thing about it! i hope that's okay!
it's a kiss sam's been gagging for for years. he finds himself chasing the taste of dean's mouth, sick to his stomach with how much he wants it. it's all slanted wrong, all of it. sam would rail against this if he was a stronger man, but he's not. he wants it, but not like this, and getting it is a punishment all of its own.
he can't help but to wrap his hands around dean's jaw, holding him in place, insides light and shaking with how small dean still is, how even though he's almost unrecognizable from the fourteen-year old that sam left behind, holding his jaw feels like holding the body of some wild, breakable animal.
dean gives as good as he gets, and winds iron fingers into sam's hair, his shirt, thigh slotting between sam's legs. dean's leaning up to kiss him, and his thigh fits perfectly against sam's throbbing co*ck.
it's so f*cked what they'll do to each other, what sam has clearly f*cked by leaving his baby brother all alone.
dean bites at sam's bottom lip like he hates him, and sam deserves it, so he swallows the smears of blood with hunger. there's not enough time to breathe, nevertheless talk, and sam's grateful. he can't speak. he can't even think.
they eventually have to pull pack, a second's reprieve filled with gasps for air, and hands slowly clenching and unclenching against fistfuls of clothes.
"guess how much he paid," dean pants into sam's open mouth, and sam flinches away, hard.
"stop," he says--the kiss or his words or both. because he can't breathe. dean is everything, and sam can taste something sour at the back of dean's molars, like the candy he'd press into dean's palms when he'd get math problems right.
"guess how much your little brother's mouth is worth, sammy," he says again, fingers sliding from their grip on his belt to lower, tops of his thighs.
sam tries to shake his head, but dean leans so close that sam can't do it without hurting him, and sam has hurt dean enough--done enough to f*ck him up beyond repair.
dean's hands wander, and sam doesn't realize that he's looking for something (searching sam's pockets, the bastard) until sam looks down and dean is holding sam's wallet.
pleased with his new toy, dean leans back enough that sam can get air in his lungs, even though it still smells like sweat and skin and smoke. sam tries to keep his breathing on an even keel, to reassert control over something in this goddamn situation.
dean looks down at the faded leather with amusem*nt, like he expected it to be different than the one he gave sam when he turned seventeen. when he flips it open, his smile drops immediately. sam's eyes flick down. it's the picture of he and dean, taken in some mall photobooth, dean shoving down on sam's shoulder to make their heights more even. sam's face is twisted in outrage and dean is laughing, green eyes almost closed mid-joy. the edges are faded and chipping, and sam had made sure to take that clipping with him before he left for the bus station. looking at it made his heart seize, some days pleasant and others as painful as ripping his fingernails out.
when sam looks back up, trying to see dean's face again, dean is already slipping bills out of sam's wallet. two twenties and a ten. he drops sam's wallet on the ground, and neither of them move to pick it up.
"this much," dean says, growing smile on his face. his eyes gleam. "but i mostly do it because it's fun. because i like it."
dean slips two of the bills into his pocket, and holds up the other bill--a twenty--between two fingers. he leans in close again, and sam inhales sharply, almost taking dean's exhale directly into his own lungs.
fingers on his shirt pocket.
"friends and family discount," dean says, and sam can taste his smile, chemical lube and old latex and sour candy and smoke. dean slides the twenty into sam's shirt pocket.
and then dean drops to his knees.
maybe sam lets him do it, begs him to do it--explode their world forever, hold dean's head between his greedy, grasping hands and take what he's been wanting from his little brother since he knew how to want.
maybe he doesn't.
(maybe he doesn't protest because he didn't notice that dean's been shaking since sam walked through the front door, confident fingers almost missing sam's shirt pocket because dean's trembling, his big brother even bigger, his face older, his co*ck filling dean's hand like his palm was made to hold it.)
(he doesn't tell sam that he's lying about nik giving him money, paying him, but the bluster and the showmanship make it easier to look up into the face of the man who left him behind, and the idea that someone would pay dean for what sam could've had makes dean's palms sweat.)
but either way, sam picks dean up by the elbows and gets in his face, begging dean to "come home with me." and dean kind of freezes. home, he repeats blankly. is that what you f*cking left for? i had a home, sam.
sam asks if he's here for a case, and dean shrugs. sam asks if he's got somewhere to stay, and dean shrugs (doesn't say he's in a sh*tty motel a quarter mile down the road). sam asks why he's clearly been in town so long, and dean shrugs. i'm not a child, sammy, is all he says, no matter how much sam presses.
maybe sam convinces dean to come stay with him at a slightly nicer motel for the night. one bed, this time. a frantic tangle of bodies, sam feeding dean is tongue and saliva and come like he'd been aching do to for years. maybe dean slips out before the sun rises.
or maybe not. maybe dean shoves sam's searching hands away, and starts walking. sam watches him until his back is indiscernible from the darkness.
latex and cherry still coat his tongue, and sam frantically jerks off to it later that night, other hand pressed to his mouth to stop his cry from escaping.
because you can never truly go home, but goddamn does it chase you.
anyway. this idea pursued me with a broom until i wrote 950 words about it lol.
ageswap!chesters save me...agewap!chesters...save me ageswap!chesters...
thank you for this lovely ask!!! mwah!!! <3
happy wincest wednesday!
-lizzy
