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Sammy has had an oral fixation since the day he was born. Pacifiers were a fucking godsend during his first few years of life, but by the time he had turned three John deemed little Sam too old to be sucking on a piece of rubber so he pulled it right from baby Sammy's sweet mouth and tossed it in the garbage.
When their father had left the wee Winchester kids at the seedy motel to check out a lead on a case, 7 year old Dean had fished the pacifier out of the trash, giving it a thorough wash before giving it back to his baby brother.
"You have to hide it though, Sammy. So daddy doesn't take it away." Dean had warned, an enthusiastic Sam nodding, big dimpled smile brighter than the sun.
"Yay! 'Kay, Dee. I pwomise!"
Eventually, after an impressive year of hiding the forbidden item, John had caught Sam when he came home early one night. Sam had been sleeping curled up next to Dean, soaking up his warmth in the chilly, poor insulated motel room, the pacifier hanging from Sam's parted lips.
John shut that shit down real fast, so for the second and last time, John had pulled it from Sam's mouth, waking him almost immediately.
To say Sam was an absolute nightmare after that was an understatement. Nights were hell, Sam kicking his legs and demanding his 'sucky', snot and tears running down his little cheeks as he begged and plead, his tantrums baring no fruit however.
Eventually, John had gone out to the bar one night a few weeks after, mumbling about how he was going to blow his own brains out if he had to listen to Sam's whining for one more night, leaving poor Dean to deal with a relentless Sam.
"Sammy, c'mon, bud," Dean sighed as they lay in bed, a trembling Sam spooned in front of him. "I don't sleep with a sucky, don't you wanna be a big boy like me?"
"No!" Sam exclaimed defiantly. "I want sucky!"
An idea popped into Dean's head as he soothed his hand up and down his brother's side, feeling each rib beneath the worn, way too big Metallica shirt Sam wore to bed. He wasn't sure it would even make a difference, but desperate times and all that.
Removing his hand from Sam's side, he moved it to the front of his brother's face, sticking his middle and ring fingers out.
"Suck," he instructed a confused Sam. "Might make you feel better."
Sam sniffled, apprehensive. But eventually he took Dean's wrist, skinny little fingers wrapping around it as he guided Dean's fingers into his mouth.
He could taste the salt on Dean's fingertips with notes of nacho cheese from the Doritos his brother had eaten earlier, but as the pads of his fingers slid across Sam's tongue and his lips wrapped around them, the tears suddenly stopped.
Closing his eyes he began to suckle, and sure enough, a few minutes later he was out like a light.
That's how the nightly ritual of Sam sucking Dean's fingers to sleep started, and even as he grew older, baby teeth falling out and big boy teeth replacing them, it was a habit he didn't break.
Of course Sam aging meant Dean was aging too, puberty hitting him like a fucking freight train. After one night, while Sammy was sucking hard on Dean's fingers during a particularly restless night of sleep, Dean had been mortified when he felt his 15 year old cock harden, Sam's small, plump little ass pressed up against his crotch doing absolutely nothing to help matters.
He ripped his fingers out of Sam's mouth so fast that his baby brother nearly bit them off in surprise before gracelessly shuffling out of the bed to beeline it to the bathroom.
A cold shower later and a bucket full of shame, Dean had to break the news to Sam that he couldn't have Dean's fingers anymore, telling him he was too old for it now and that dad would rip Dean's hand off and Sam's tongue out if he knew what they were doing.
Despite the fight Sam had put up, Dean remained headstrong and stood his ground on the matter, resulting in Sam's prepubescent voice declaring that he hated Dean as he climbed out of the bed, dramatically striding over to the bathroom where he locked himself in for the rest of the night.
Days passed, and Sam, the stubborn little shit still did everything in his power to ice Dean out, refusing eye contact with him, ignoring him when he spoke, even going as far as to deny the last slice of pizza Dean had offered him as an olive branch. It stung, but Dean was sure he was doing the right thing.
To Dean's dismay, while the suckling had stopped his growing arousal surrounding his brother did not, and even as the guilt festered deep and ugly inside his gut, all he could think about was Sammy's tongue, the way his soft, pink lips looked wrapped around his fingers, how his dimples would peek out when he would suckle with a particular urgency when having a vivid dream. He missed the wet, squelch of it.
Dean was going straight to hell, but as he and Sam lay in the darkness on opposite beds one night when John had left them to their own devices once again, he caved.
"Sammy," he whispered, glancing over to the opposite bed, eyeing the dark silhouette of Sam's form. "You up?"
Sam, still intent on ignoring Dean remained silent, feigning slumber.
Clearing his throat before inhaling sharply, all Deans resolve dissipated. Fuck it.
"Do you want sucky?"
The question hung heavy in the air, and seconds ticked away before the sound of Sam shuffling out of bed filled the quiet of the room. Without saying a word, Sam climbed into Dean's bed, pulling the scratchy motel comforter over his body as he molded himself to Dean's front, fitting there like a puzzle piece.
Remaining silent, he reached behind him and searched for Dean's hand, gripping his wrist once he located it before bringing it up and over, lips parting as he slid those now thicker fingers into his hot little mouth.
Dean felt his cock begin to stir almost immediately, and while Sam began to doze off, Dean remained wide awake.
After a good 20 minutes, he felt Sammy's mouth go slack, and that would normally be when Dean separated his fingers from it, but this time he simply changed the angle of his hand, letting his baby brother drool into his palm until it was dripping with Sammy saliva.
And if he stumbled to the bathroom after to yank his boxers down and furiously jerk his now rock hard member using his precious little Sammy's spit, well then nobody had to know.
Yeah, he was definitely going to hell.