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“Sammy,” Dean says, still light but no longer playing. Nothing. So Dean leans over and raises his hand in the air, bringing it down to smack Sam’s butt. “C’mon, Sammy, you may be fifteen now but I ain’t above givin’ you a spanking.”
Sam peaks his eyes out from above his arm, and something playful and curious shimmers in them. He makes no move to get up.
And Dean, however intrigued he is by his little brother, is still the one in charge right now, and is still the one responsible for keeping Sammy in check.
So, he cocks his head to the side, and stares down expectantly. And yet Sam only stares back, despite the threat.
It raises heat in Dean’s gut, fiery as it spreads through his lungs. “Sam,” Dean warns, and to his utter surprise, Sam hides behind his arms again, but Dean still catches a glimpse of his rosy cheeks. He swallows hard. “Sam, I’m not playing around anymore. Get up-” Dean sucks in a breath “-before I put you over my knee.”
Sam whines, shakes his head, shuffles his hips, and doesn't get up.
“You’ve got three seconds, Sam,” Dean’s voice is heavy, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Three seconds to get your ass up outta this bed ‘til I spank it red, Sammy.”
And God help him when Sam only brings his knees up to his chest, and in the adjustment, the teeth biting into his bottom lip flash beneath his arm.
“One,” Dean starts, hands on his hips. “Two,” and Sam whines again. “Three!” Dean reaches for his brother’s arms, pretending like he doesn’t notice the way Sammy’s cheeks are flushed red, eyes wide and eager. Dean all but pulls Sam upright before he seats himself on the edge of the mattress, and without any hesitation—or resistance—manhandles Sam over his lap.
Sam goes easily—willingly—butt raised high, skinny fingers gripping into the fabric of Dean’s sweatpants. He’s got one leg laid on the mattress, and one hanging off it, toes just barely reaching the carpet.
“Sam,” Dean calls, tone bordering condescending. “If I really need to start spanking you to get you out of bed in the morning, my hands gonna be hurtin’ for weeks.” It’s supposed to be a teasing remark, but Sam’s silent as ever.
Deam frowns, and he rests a palm on Sam’s bare thigh just below where the hem of his boxer shorts are riding up. Rubs his thumb side to side.
“Hey,” Dean nudges, worry lingering in the way his other hand reaches up to card through Sam’s sleep-tousled curls. “Sammy, answer me.”
Sam’s got his forehead pressed into the edge of the mattress at an odd angle, and his hands fist Dean’s pants a little tighter. “Yeah?” He whispers, and it shakes just barely. “Yeah, Dean?”
“What’s goin’ on with you, kiddo?”
Sam shakes his head and a shudder runs down his spine. Dean can feel it beneath his palms. “Nothin’, Da- Sorry- I- Sorry, Dean, nothing. Nothing.”
Dean freezes, completely and wholly freezes. “What did you just call me?”
“Nothing!” Sam spits, and suddenly the anger is back in his voice like Dean’s just snagged the remote from him. He starts to push up off of Dean’s lap, bony hands grappling carelessly at any leverage he can gain. “Let me go, Dean, I’ll go get ready.”
“Nuh-Unh,” Dean scoffs, and lays a palm flat against the small of his back, pushing him back down hard enough that Sam’s grip slips and he falls back into the mattress. “No way.”
And Sam groans, kicks his one foot against the ground. “Dean, let me up, I’m not seven anymore. This is stupid!”
“Should’a thought about that the first five times I asked you to get up, huh Sammy?” Sam smacks a fist back into Dean’s leg, and in response Dean smacks his palm down over the center of Sam’s butt. Sam falls silent, goes still. “You had your chance, Sam. You’re gettin’ a spanking, and that’s that.” He pats Sam’s butt gently, and Sam whines.
“Please, don’t, Dean, this is…” he trails off, and Dean knows he’s biting at his bottom lip without having to see it for himself.
“Why all the sudden so resistant?” Dean asks, and while he knows the question is humiliating in implication, it’s also genuinely curious on Dean’s end. “You were very willing to let me spank you a couple minutes ago, no? Didn’t even pull away when I put you over my knee. Why the sudden change, Sammy?” He knows it sounds teasing, but he hopes Sam hears the concern in it, too.
“Shut up,” Sam bites, but he goes just a little more limp in Dean’s hold and he knows Sam’s done fighting back. Dean hooks his right arm around Sam’s waist, grips onto his hip and pulls him in towards his chest a little. Sam jolts at the motion, and he whines again. “Please, don’t,” Sam begs again, futile as it tumbles from his lips. “I don’t want it anymore…” And it’s so quiet that Dean questions if Sam actually even said it. Anymore…
He’s silent for a moment. “What did you call me a minute ago?”
And Sam tenses right back up, pushing against Dean’s arm braced across his back, wiggling beneath the palm circling over the apples of his butt. “Shut up!”
Dean taps his hand, encouraging. “I’m not starting your spanking until you answer me, and I’m not letting you up without giving it, either.” Dean can feel Sam’s stomach pulse against his leg. “So we can just stay here like this-” and Dean punctuates it with another tap to Sam’s butt “-for the whole day, until you’re honest with me-”
“Dean-”
“Or, you can just be honest now, take your spanking, and we can be done with it.”
Sam shakes his head, brings an arm up to hide his face from his brother’s intruding stare. “No.”
“Sammy-”
“Don’t make me say it, Dean, please. Just spank me double if it makes you feel better. Just don’t ask me to say it.”
And that makes Dean’s gut churn, uneasy and like something’s just not right. He releases his hold and grabs Sam’s shoulders, sitting him up without letting go even after Sam’s fully upright.
“Hey,” Dean says, and Sam keeps his eyes down. “Hey, Sammy, look at me.” He gets his fingers under Sam’s chin, urges his gaze up, and Sam’s crying. Lip trembling, eyes red, cheeks tear-stained. The silent heave of his chest makes Dean’s heart squeeze. “Oh, kiddo, what’s wrong?”
Sam throws himself forward into Dean’s arms, pulling his weight into Dean’s lap as best he can. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” he mumbles, voice wobbly and young. Sometimes Dean forgets how much younger Sammy is than him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”
“Hey, Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean soothes, despite the fireworks igniting non-stop in his gut, because Daddy? Sam called him Daddy. And off-handedly, Dean thinks that might just be more accurate than brother. And he doesn’t have it in him to blame him. “It’s okay,” he says again. “Daddy’s got you, Sammy, you’re okay.”
It takes a moment to calm Sammy down, but once his shoulders are no longer shaking, Dean pulls away.
Sam’s wiping at his cheeks, eyes cast down, and Dean smiles at how juvenile it is.
“Sorry,” Sam says, and Dean might just spank him for apologizing unnecessarily if he does it one more damn time.
“Don’t be,” Dean smiles. “I get it. Dad’s not really much like a dad to you, huh?”
Sam shakes his head, and after a second, he gets up to grab a tissue from the bathroom. He stands in front of Dean, wiping poorly at his eyes. “You’re not just my brother, Dean,” Sam says. He balls the tissue in his fist. “Dad’s a stranger to me.” And God does that shatter Dean, yet build him up stronger than ever before.
“I’m sorry, Sammy. No kid should feel that way.”
Sam shakes his head, dismissive. “You did your best, though. You stepped in when he didn’t.”
“So…Daddy?” Dean questions, pointing to himself. And a blush rises to Sam’s cheeks. He nods, embarrassed. “Hey,” Dean reaches for Sam’s wrists, pulling him closer where Dean’s still sitting. “I don’t mind, okay? Not at all.”
“Okay,” Sam acknowledges, blush spreading to the tips of his ears.
Dean smiles, presses his thumb gently into Sam’s pulse point. “Is that why you wanted me to spank you?”
“Dean,” Sam whines, eyebrows scrunching as he struggles to pull away from Dean’s grip.
“You missed being disciplined? You missed when Dad used to bend you over his knee ‘cause it made you feel like his kid—like he cared enough to spank you?”
Sammy stops struggling, eyes pricking with tears again.
“You remember when Dad made me watch? So he could teach me how to do it properly—so I’d know how to get you to settle?”
A nod, and Sam lets himself be pulled in closer. His cheeks grow redder at the humiliating memory. He didn’t look Dean in the eye for days after that.
“Watch now, Dean. Best way to position him’s like this,” and Dean watched as Dad yanked an eleven-year-old Sammy closer, getting him straddled over one knee, pushing him down onto the couch where his upper half was hidden behind the arm that wrapped around Sam’s waist.
Like holding a bag under his arm, tucked against his side.
Sammy was face down, tiny fists gripping into the couch cushion.
“Then…” Dad’s leg holding Sammy up, stretched out nearly straight, was then drawn in, bending at the knee, and he raised his leg up on tip-toes. Sammy’s feet hung down the sides of Dad’s leg, unable to reach the ground, butt lifted high, easily accessible. “Now he can’t push off the ground for leverage, and he’s easier to hit like this.” Dad punctuated with an example, smacking Sam’s butt hard and quick a few times. He bounced his foot, jostling Sammy who just whined in protest.
“Dad,” Dean started, uncomfortable and upset on Sammy’s behalf. “I get it, alright? Let him up.”
Dad narrowed his eyes, stare hard on Dean now. “He’s still gettin’ punished for that stunt he pulled earlier, Dean. Just thought I may as well double it as a teachable moment so I don’t gotta be the one to discipline him every damn time.”
“Well, I’ve got laundry to do-”
“Sit,” Dad said, voice stern and frustrated. “Watch. Next time it’s you doing it.” Dean’s gut churned, suddenly nauseous. “Watch and learn.”
And then Dad started with it, tightening his hold on Sam’s waist, spanking him with rhythm and punishing force. Sam yelped, feet flexing futile where they hung in the air.
There hadn’t been a next time. Dad had died pretty soon after, leaving Dean to raise Sammy, and Dean never resorted to spanking Sam. Until today.
“I can spank you, Sammy, if you want me too.” Their eyes lock now, and Sam sucks in a shaky breath. “If you need me too,” Dean corrects, because he knows that this runs deep.
“Yes,” Sam breathes. “Yes, please, Daddy.”
Dean smiles, gentle, and his hands leave Sam’s wrists to grip his hips instead. He guides Sam forward, straddling one of Dean’s thighs, and Sam lowers himself down onto the bed.
Dean raises to his tip-toes, the way Dad taught him, and hooks his arm tight around Sam’s waist.
Sam groans, just barely audible, and Dean suspects it's from the sudden pressure against his crotch. To that point, he bounces his foot, which bounces Sammy on his thigh, and once again Sam groans, a whimper cutting off the throaty noise.
“Don’t,” Sam begs, and Dean realizes that alongside slipping into these roles, Sam needs Dean to play it out, too.
“Don’t what, Sammy?” Dean brings his palm to rest on the curve of Sam’s butt. “Don’t spank you?” He taps his hand gently, and Dean pretends he doesn’t see the way Sam arches his back. “I’m sorry, kiddo, but I need to punish you for behaving the way you did.”
“Yeah?” Sam asks, voice small and oh, so eager.
“Yeah. You need a spanking. You need to learn to listen, Sammy.” Sam whines, and Dean gives into it all. “You need to listen to Daddy.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad.”
Dean rubs over Sammy’s butt, tapping here and there, watching Sam push into it as best he can with his feet off the ground. “You were very bad,” Dean says, rough. “And bad boys get spankings, right?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Dean hums in approval, and without warning, raises his hand and brings it down on the center of Sam’s butt. Sam lurches forward, surprised by the sudden sting, yet Dean doesn’t relent. He keeps the strength of it low, just enough to sting for a split second, probably feeling like love taps compared to the way Dad would smack him raw. But Dean wants to draw this out, to make it last, to show Sammy he’s willing to give him what he needs.
Dean’s hand finds rhythm and pace, palm slapping over boxer shorts, alternating between left, right, center for a good amount, then left, right again. Sammy’s a whining mess behind Dean’s back, he can tell by the way Sam’s arching, the way his thighs are squeezing at Dean’s leg.
The noises are ridiculous, and after a few dozen spanks, Dean pauses to rub a soothing palm over the heated skin.
Sam’s breathing is heavy and labored. Dean keeps rubbing over his butt, slow and teasing. Sam’s legs are decently spread, and Dean can feel Sam pulsing against the top of his thigh.
“You like it, Sammy? Hmm?” Sam doesn’t respond with anything other than a whine. “You getting hard from your spanking? I can feel it, kiddo,” and Dean bounces Sam again, pulling a true moan from him.
“God,” Sam whispers. Dean slides his hand down the back of Sam’s thigh, letting his fingers slip under Sam’s shorts on the way back up. He smooths his palm against Sam’s bare skin, feeling the heat against his stinging palm.
He uses both hands now and grips the bottom hem of his shorts to pull them up, fabric wedged between his cheeks, straining against Sammy’s cock, skin revealed. Dean gives the fabric pulsating tugs, and Sam rolls his hips for the first time, stuttering into the pressure.
“Being such a bad boy, Sammy. Looks like you need a bare-bottom spanking, huh?” Dean tugs again, wiggles the shorts further up between his cheeks.
“No, Daddy, please no, I’ll be good,” Sammy whimpers, sobs escaping him as he rolls down into Dean’s thigh, the shorts upward pull aiding in the writhing sensation. “I’ll be a good boy, Daddy, please don’t spank me.”
“Sorry, Sammy. You need to learn.” And Dean spanks him, firm but not too hard. The slapping sound echoes obscenely in their shared room, and Dean’s dick twitches where it’s trapped against Sam’s own leg. “I don’t like spanking my little boy, but we will do this every day until you learn, Sammy.”
Sam moans again, sobs wetly on the next exhale, grinds his hips down into his brother again. Dean keeps spanking him, palm slapping down on his bare bottom repeatedly, unrelenting, but light enough to keep the pleasure stronger than the pain. Sam’s fully humping his leg now, the force of Dean’s hand on his butt sending him further into Dean’s thigh with each hit.
“Oh, Daddy, Daddy, please let me cum, I’ll be so good for you, I promise I’ll be good,” Sam begs, and Dean can hear how hard he's sobbing into the mattress.
“Hold on, kiddo, almost there,” Dean says. He finishes the last of the spanks, landing a good final hit to the center, and draws a soothing hand over the skin. He lets go of Sam’s shorts, and Sammy whines in response.
“No, don’t stop,” he cries, arching into Dean’s gentle hand.
“Behave.”
He soothes a minute longer, letting Sammy squirm against his thigh and calm down a bit.
After a moment, Dean’s touch is gone, and Sam nearly yells for him when it returns. “Here we go, Sammy. Take it like a good boy, okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Dean hooks his thumbs into Sam’s waistband and slowly pulls them down over his butt. Sam lifts his hips as much as he can to help Dean free them from where they’re trapped, and eventually they slide down to mid thigh, elastic snapping in place when Dean lets it go sharply.
Sam’s dick is fully pressed against Dean’s sweatpants, hard and leaking and pulsing hot there. His balls are just visible if Dean leans forward, with the way Sam’s arching, and he smirks at how tight they look, trapped between Sam’s legs, a stark contrast of purply-red to milky white. His eyes trail back up to the pink-flushed skin of Sam’s butt, and he rests his grip there.
Sam flinches, throat squeezing around a whine.
Dean raises his hand, brings it down. Raises it again, lets it come down. “Hopefully, I won’t have to spank you again after this, kiddo,” Dean says, but they can both hear the blatant lie in it. “You’d think once would be enough.” Another spank right to the center, Sam’s hips rolling forward. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if I had to put you over my knee again.”
“Daddy,” Sam cries, grinding his bare cock down into Dean’s thigh.
“Bad enough that I need to do this in private. But I’m not above spanking you like a child in front of whoever it may be.” Another roll of hips, stuttering and desperate. “So you better not misbehave, again. You don’t want Bobby to see your bare-bottom turned up and red by my hand, do you? Want him to see you gettin’ spanked by your Daddy?”
“No, Daddy, I’ll be good! I’m a good boy!”
“I know, baby, I know.” Dean’s palm stops for a second, rubbing over the skin. It slides down to his inner thigh, grabbing and kneading, knuckles brushing Sam’s balls.
“Fuck, Daddy, please, please, please!”
And Dean finally cups them, heavy in his palm, rolling and rubbing and soothing. His other hand releases Sam’s waist and continues to spank his butt, uncoordinated and messy, but by this point it doesn't matter. Sam’s grinding his cock down into Dean’s thigh, chasing that building pressure.
“Cum for me, Sammy. Cum for Daddy.”
And with one final squeeze of his balls and a particularly harsh spank to the right cheek, Sam’s cumming.
Dean can feel it, hot and sticky on top of his leg, and Sam’s hips just stutter and roll lazily, throaty moans dripping like candy from his lips.
“Good boy,” Dean says, rolling his balls again, milking him dry. “Good job, kiddo, took it so well for me.”
Sam sobs, chest heaving, and Dean helps him sit up, still straddling Dean’s thigh. His cock is soft now, the head covered in milky cum, dripping down the underside.
His cheeks are bright red, eyes leaking tears, lip bitten swollen, hair a mess. Dean smiles.
“Thank you,” Sam says, earnest. Dean pulls him into a hug, fronts flush together. He presses a lingering kiss to his hair.
“Anything for my baby.”