Citizenship & Raspberry Jam

Title:  To the Brim
Rating: NC-17
Written for: blindfold_spn   REQUEST: Sam/Dean, watersports. Sam plies Dean with liquids all the time to make him have an accident. Or the other way around, I'm really not that fuzzy. Underage welcome!
Warnings:  incest, watersports, implied underage
Author's note:  beta to whip it into public posting shape provided by helloapollo
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, even if you squint.  Apparently Sam belongs to Sera and Dean...well, Dean is Kripke's gift to the world. 

"I just want to..." Sam broke off, he didn't want to actually say it because that would make him feel just that much more of a baby.  He tugged at the edge of Dean's covers, trying to communicate what he wanted without words.

Dean pressed his arm into the bed, clamping the covers beneath it.  "Nuh-uh, you're too big for that."

Sam perched on the edge of the rickety bed, shivering when the thunder cracked again, hoping that Dean couldn't see the tears that were threatening when the lightening flashed and illuminated the room.  Dean was being an asshole, so Sam balled up his fist and punched his brother in the shoulder--hard.

Dean sat straight up in bed, and gripped Sam by the shoulders.  Uh-oh.  He may have just pushed his brother too far this time, something dangerous glittered behind Dean's narrowed eyes.

Without releasing his grip on Sam's thin shoulders, Dean spoke low and firm, “Go get a cup from the kitchen and fill it with water. Bring it back here.”

“Are you thirsty, Dean? ‘Cause you can get your own damn glass of water.” Sam harrumphed at him.

Dean didn’t move, just closed his eye and said, “Do you want to sleep here, or not?”

Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before the whip of thunder and brilliant lightening decided for him. He scrambled out of bed and out into the hallway, pads of his feet light upon the dingy, worn carpet as he quickly crossed the edge of the living room and entered the galley kitchen. He grabbed one of the old plastic fast-food cups that they used to complete their paper-plate and plastic-ware dish set, turned the right knob of the sink as far as it would go and let it run for 3 rolls of thunder and 2 bursts of lightning before filling the cup.

As quick as he had come, he returned to the tiny bedroom he and Dean shared, folded a leg under him and balanced on the edge of the bed next to Dean.

“Here,” Sam held the cup out to his brother.

“No,” Dean said slowly still not opening his eyes, “You drink it.”

Sam blinked. “But I’m not thirsty.”

“You want to sleep here or not, Chickenshit?” 

Sam crossed his eyes at Dean and stuck out his tongue for good measure, even though Dean hadn’t opened his eyes to witness this crushing set down. Another crash sent a chill down Sam’s spine and he gave in. He always gave into Dean. The bastard.

“Fine. I don’t get it, ‘cause I’m not thirsty, but fine.” Sam tilted the cup to his lips and took a few swift sips.

“There. I drank. Now move over.” He made to set the cup down at the head of the bed by the wall, beyond the reach of clumsy feet, but Dean placed a hand on his arm and stopped him.

“The whole thing, Sammy.”

Sam looked over at Dean, confusion written clear across his face. “But, I…”

Dean’s eyes glittered in the moment of dark between lightening bolts, and he cut him off, “All of it Sammy, or you go back to your own bed.”

Sam’s gut twisted as he tried to figure out what was going on. All he wanted was to feel Dean’s sturdy warmth next to his back, giving him solace and strength, but Dean was toying with him, making him play a game that he didn’t understand.

Slowly, Sam raised the cup back to his lips and drank first one gulp and then another until he’d drained the entire cup. Out of a small spark of spite, Sam turned the cup over Dean’s head just to prove that he’d consumed all the water.

Dean just snorted and raised the covers with one arm, signaling Sam to get in.

***

Three hours later, Dad banged on their door yelling for them to get up and get ready; a road-trip was in the making.

Sam untangled himself from the sheets and let his feet dangle over the edge of the bed as he stretched and yawned. Setting his feet on the floor jarred his bladder and he winced, then rolled his eyes as he remembered Dean’s stupid game last night. Standing straight he bowed back with another yawn and was startled when he heard Dean’s voice whispering warm and moist in his ear, “No bathroom.”

Spinning to look at his brother he said, “What?”

Dean looked at him implacably, “You can’t use the bathroom.”

Incredulous, Sam blinked at Dean stupidly. And suddenly he was very, very aware of the heavy, full feeling in his groin. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

Stepping forward, Dean wrapped a calloused hand around the nape of Sam’s neck before dipping down to let his words ghost hot over Sam’s ear, “You. Will. Not. Use. The. Bathroom. Until. I. Give. You. Permission.”

Sam shuddered and felt something dark and hungry coil in his belly, leading him to focus and think about the pressure in his bladder even more than he had before.

He and Dean had played games before. But none of them had been like this. Dark moments in the night--hot wet kisses pressed against his skin; long rugged fingers pulling and pushing in and out of his body; silence stretched taut between them as each struggled not to make a sound, even as they each worked hard to elicit some noise from the other; sweaty bodies grinding into one another, almost punishing in their need to feel—but this? This was different. This was daylight. 

Dean leaned in and mouthed the curve of Sam’s jaw before asking, “Do you understand me, Sam?”

Nodding shakily, not knowing where this was leading, or if he even wanted to go there, Sam acquiesced. Dean stepped immediately away and opened the bedroom door while Sam moved in a daze to his duffel to retrieve some clean clothes.

***

At breakfast, the power of Dean’s hot stare somehow forced him to eat a bowl of cereal with milk, a glass of orange juice and a ½ cup of coffee. Dad had let them drink coffee from as soon as they could ask for a taste. Sam had never really cared for it until Dean showed him how to sweeten it up with sugar and some cream; as perfectly flavored as it was today, Sam could barely choke it down.

After one last sweep of the ramshackle house they’d squatted in for the past 2 weeks, the Winchesters piled into the Impala and set off for Kentucky. Sam had only half-listened to the conversation between Dean and his father at the breakfast table about where they were going and why--it was taking all he had to keep from running from the room, fist gripping his crotch all the way to the bathroom.

Now he and Dean were in the backseat and Sam was being lulled by the smooth rumble of the engine and the soft shimmy and sway of the suspension over highway. He watched the trees whip by, giving way to pasture and corn and cows. Eventually, he fell asleep.

He woke as they pulled into a gas station that would have been at home in any 50’s movie, big, round gas pumps, aging neon sign declaring that this was “Sal’s Gas.” Levering himself away from the side of the door, Sam groaned as a sharp pain sliced from his belly down into the end of his cock. Goddamn, but he needed to pee.

As their Dad opened the door to get out and gas up, he asked, “You boys need anything?”

Sam was just about to voice his need, but was stopped by Dean’s sharp elbow to the ribs. “Me and Sammy’ll split a sandwich and a big soda, Dad.”

John’s brows rose as he looked at Sam, “That what you want, son?”

Dean’s hand had made its way behind him and was poised to pinch the ever-lovin’-fuck out of him if he said anything other than yes, so Sam said, “Yes.” He added a wan smile to try to sell it.

“Alright then. I’ll be back in 10. You boys hang tight.” The car door banged shut.

Sam turned on Dean even that movement making him cringe, “Jesus Christ, Dean! I’ve got to pee so bad, I can’t see straight, what’re you playing at?”

There was a glint in Dean’s eye, that made Sam’s pulse pound. Usually that glint meant hands and mouths in good places, but Sam couldn’t imagine why in the hell Dean was thinking about that now. Here. With Dad visible in the back window.

Dean just smirked at him and said, “You’re going to eat half the sandwich and drink the entire soda that Dad brings back.”

“I’m not!” Sam cried. “Dean, I can’t! I’m full to bursting as is! I swear to God, I can put out a house fire right now and still have plenty left over to fill a bucket.” He was angry and frustrated, still not understanding why Dean was doing this to him.

Dean moved over to the other side of the Impala and leaned his back against the opposite door. Reaching down, he cupped himself through his worn jeans, and Sam could see a bulge there. He ground the palm of his hand down against it and pinned Sam with his gaze, “You will Sam. You will drink it all.” Sam’s mouth went dry and his pounding pulse had moved down into his prick, his full aching bladder pulsing with it, making him almost dizzy.

Grinning, Dean reached down into the wheel well and pulled out a comic and started to read.

***

Sam was going to die. He was going to die from drowning in his own piss. Drowning in his own piss that had never even left his body. It would be the first case in human history and people would want to study him to find out exactly how it had happened. Of course they’d never know the truth: that his bastard of a big brother had done it to him. Had murdered his own little brother by forcing him to drink himself to death.

Sam had always thought that the expressions, “full up to my eyeballs” or “my teeth are floating” were just that, expressions. Big old, what do you call ‘em? hyperboles meant to convey the feeling of needing to pee really badly. But they weren’t. They were mother-fucking accurate. Sam was pretty sure that he was going to either explode all over the back of the Impala (dear God, if they hit another pot hole that’s exactly what was going to happen), or he was just going to wash away, riding on the sheer force of the liquid built up inside him. It was already leaking out through his eyes, hot tears of shame that threatened to break the whole dam.

They’d stopped twice since lunch, Dean getting out to go to the bathroom at both stops, just to rub his nose in it. It’d been two hours since the last stop and, to make matters worse, it was fucking raining. Watching the water sluice down the windows and hearing it rap against the steel of the car was the last straw. Sam didn’t care what Dean said, he couldn’t take this anymore.

Staring at Dean defiantly, Sam said, “Dad, I gotta go to the bathroom. I gotta go bad.”

He watched his father’s eyes flick up to catch him in the rear-view. “Can’t say as I’m surprised, I was beginning to think you had a hollow leg.” John grinned at him, and Sam did his best to smile back at his father’s teasing. “It’s another 10 miles to a rest stop. I’d stop here and you could go take care of it in the bushes, but the rain’s too hard for that. Can you make it son?”

Gritting his teeth, Sam reached down and clamped the end of his cock in his palm. He was not going to whiz in his pants like a baby, and he wasn’t going to go in the rain, just to come back to the car with the same end result—wet pants. “Yeah, I can make it, but make it a fast 10 miles.”

Dean snorted from his side of the seat and Sam beat down the desire to attack and mutilate him. Later--after he peed--Dean would get his.

Sam closed his eyes and gripped his crotch for dear life the entire way, trying not to listen to the rhythmic pounding of the rain, trying to think about sun and warmth and dry, dry deserts.

Finally, the Impala slowed as their Dad turned into a truck stop. Sam opened his eyes and began scanning the building for any sign of a restroom, first the east and then the west side. There, on the left of the building was a sign that said “Restrooms” and an arrow that looked as if it was pointing to the back.
 
“I might as well go too, Dad.” Dean said lazily as he uncurled his feet from under him and slid them into his boots.

“Alright, I’m gonna go in and get something for dinner. We should be in Kentucky in another 3 hours, but that’s awful late to find something open.”

Sam was rocking back and forth in the seat with the need to urinate pounding low and steady and sharp in his gut. The second the car’s engine stopped he was out the door and pounding down the sidewalk to the bathroom, even though every stride jogged his bladder unbearably.

He whipped around the corner of the station and spotted the door to the men’s room about five feet off. His fingers wrapped around the knob and he turned. Nothing. It was locked! A shuddering gasp rose from his chest as he clamped down the need to scream, to cry, to pee.

Then Dean’s hand was on his shoulder, his chest warm against his back, guiding him with soothing noises to the restroom marked “Ladies.” He tried to twist his shoulder away saying, “Dean, no!” Even as Dean’s other hand reached out and turned the knob freeing the door from the jam.

***

Sam almost tripped as he tried to scramble away from Dean to the toilet standing stark and white against the moss green tile of the bathroom, but Dean held him steady even as he heard his brother shut and lock the door behind them.

He was crying now, tears streaking fast down his face. He couldn’t help it. It hurt so bad. He was so full. The pressure was too much. 

Dean was making soothing noises into his neck as he propelled them towards the toilet, fingers nimbly unfastening Sam’s pants, hands sliding down the juts of his hips pulling his stiff, aching penis free from his underwear. Sam was having trouble standing, but Dean was holding him upright, pressing him against his larger frame, steadying him with a strong, warm hand on his abdomen. 

Sam’s hands seemed like stunned birds who couldn’t find their way, he was scrabbling through the air, trying to find his dick, trying to hold it steady to aim, but before he could, he felt Dean’s large grip close around his penis, lifting it up off his balls, stroking it between thumb and forefinger, hard enough to make it hurt and send frissons of sensation sparking through his body. 

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was soothing and calm in his ear, “You gotta relax a little.  You’re holding on too tight. You can let it go, let it all go.”

Dean’s hand gave him a few more sure strokes and then Sam was keening as the urine finally found release. It felt like a burning river was shooting out the end of his dick, but the slow twist and tug of Dean’s hand was sending pleasure shooting to every other place in his body.

After a few seconds, Sam’s brain found its way back into his head, guided by Dean’s voice, “Look, Sammy.” Hot breath on the shell of his ear. Dean suckled his ear lobe and said again, “Look at you, Sammy. Look at us.”

Sam looked down. Dean was holding his penis so gingerly, like it was made of spun glass, carefully aiming the steady stream of golden piss into the bowl. Then he saw Dean’s dick slotting just underneath his own, cradled by the fold of Sam’s scrotum. Dean started moving his hips back and forth, rasping his hard cock under Sam’s balls as the crisp hair of his pubes tickled and sensitized Sam’s ass from behind.

“So pretty, Sammy. All strung out with need. Desperate and frustrated. All because I told you to. All because of me. God, you make me so hot.”

Sam’s head lolled back onto Dean’s shoulder as his brother kept whispering filthy wrong things in his ear while he jacked himself off with Sam’s piss and prick. Finally, Sam finished, but Dean wasn’t done, and Sam got hard again—though for a different reason this time.  Dean’s hand opened and his fingers dipped down to grasp his own cock, holding both of their dicks together and fucked into the niche of Sam's groin from behind. They were moaning together, lost in sensation and Sam was gripping Dean’s ass with one hand as he brought his other up to catch the nape of Dean’s neck pulling his head down for an open, wet kiss.

The doorknob rattled suddenly and Sam could just make out a little girl’s voice saying, “Momma! I have to go!”

Dean’s hips suddenly started moving faster, Sam’s piss and their combined pre-come slicking the way. “If they only knew what was happening in here. If they could only see you baby brother. See how much you like to be touched. Be owned. Be mine.”

“Oh fuck, Dean.” And Sam was spasming into Dean’s hand, shooting messily onto the toilet rim, Dean following close behind, cursing roughly into Sam’s neck, coating them both with warm, sticky jizz.

They stood for a few moments breaths ragged and wheezy before they pulled up their pants and went for the sink. Sam gave the toilet a cursory wipe and flushed before he unlocked the door and the two of them stepped outside.

The cigarette of the thin woman outside bobbled as she ranted at them for using the women’s bathroom when they should have been using the men’s before grabbing her squalling daughter by the arm and pulling her inside the bathroom.

Sam slumped against the side of the building, letting his legs reform themselves from limp noodles into something steady and reliable for walking. Dean leaned into the wall next to him shoulder first and just smirked.

“Shut up,” said Sam.

That only made Dean smirk harder.