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squeeze me baby (till the juice runs down my leg)

Summary:

Under the harsh glare of the bright bathroom lights, Sam’s horrified to find that there’s a large damp spot on the crotch of her gray sweatpants, and it’s sticky to the touch.

She got so wet from sitting on her big sister’s lap that she fucking soaked herself all the way through her pants.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

It’s a Friday night, and their dad’s not home, so Sam and Dean settle in to watch a movie. The house they’re staying at is small and rundown, not even big enough to have a couch in the living room. Instead, a single old beat-up recliner sits in front of the tiny TV.

They tried squishing on it together, but it definitely wasn’t big enough to fit both of them. After a round of rock, paper, scissors (which Sam wins, obviously), she gets to take the couch, while Dean settles on the floor next to her with a blanket.

It’s cold as hell outside, and the heater rattles loudly as it tries to warm up the tiny house as best as it can. About halfway through the movie, Dean starts complaining.

“Ah come on, Sammy, the floor’s too damn cold. We should get to switch places halfway through or something.”

“No way, you lost fair and square. Now shut up and watch the movie, you’re the one who picked this one out in the first place.”

It’s some old 60’s movie about pool players in New York City, but Sam hasn’t really been paying attention. She already has to hustle pool with Dean and their dad to make money, so why the hell would she want to watch a movie about it?

Sam shifts down into the recliner and tries to tuck her blanket around herself more snugly. It really is freezing in here. She hates New England weather and hopes that as soon as their dad gets back they can get the hell out of Massachusetts.

Dean doesn’t stop complaining, and eventually gets up so she can sit on the arm of the recliner. It’s really annoying, and her blanket keeps getting in Sam’s face.

“Dean, stop. Get off there. That can’t even be comfortable,” Sam whines.

“You’re right, it is pretty uncomfortable,” Dean replies. She gets up, and Sam is relieved, thinking she’ll just go sit back on the floor. Instead, Dean plops herself down right onto Sam’s lap.

“Hey, what the hell? Get off me, you’re fucking heavy,” Sam huffs, trying to push her off.

“I’ll make you a deal, Sammy. Either I sit on you, or you sit on me, okay?”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” Sam scoffs. “You really want me to sit on your lap?”

“Yeah sure, why not? Would be more comfortable than the ground. Besides, it’ll probably keep me warmer too,” Dean shrugs casually.

Sam considers it for a moment. It sounds like a really stupid idea, and might just be a ploy for Dean to steal her spot. But still, it would stop Dean from all her complaining, and part of her inexplicably wants to sit on Dean’s lap. It’s something they used to do when Sam was really little, but they stopped after a while, after too many times being told off by their father.

“Fine, sure. Whatever,” Sam says, as casually as she can manage.

She gathers up her blanket and gets off the recliner so that Dean can sit down in her spot. Dean settles in, handing Sam her own blanket.

“Here—you can have my blanket too. Just drape ‘em over both of us,” Dean says. She spreads out her legs slightly and pats her lap invitingly for Sam to sit down.

Sam’s stomach lurches involuntarily, and she swallows hard. She knows Dean didn’t mean to be suggestive about it, but she can’t help herself from thinking that way. She’s sick. She crawls into Dean’s lap, feeling guilty.

With the blankets over them, their position doesn’t look that intimate, but under the cocoon of the blankets, Sam can feel every point where she and Dean are pressed up against each other under the thin layers of their sweatpants. Jesus, Sam’s not even wearing underwear right now. All of her pairs are dirty, and she figured it wouldn’t be a big deal since all she’s been doing today is lounging around the house.

Now she’s sitting on top of Dean’s thighs, her back pressed up against Dean’s stomach. She’s so warm and soft and—Sam stops herself from thinking, tries to put her attention back onto the movie.

After a few minutes pass, Dean reaches out and strokes Sam’s hair, and it’s all Sam can do to not shiver under her touch.

“Your hair’s getting so long,” Dean comments, running her fingers through the thin strands.

She touches Sam so confidently, so assuredly. Like she has just as much a right to touch Sam’s hair as she would her own. Sam guesses she sort of does. She’s all Dean’s, more than she wants to admit.

“Yeah. I—I like it that way,” Sam says, trying to keep her voice even.

“Suits you,” Dean hums, still touching Sam’s hair absentmindedly.

Sam tries her best to stay still, but between Dean’s hand on her and her warm thighs directly underneath her, she can’t help herself from squirming a little bit. Her stomach is all twisted up, and she can feel herself getting wet. She squeezes her thighs closed as best as she can, mortified at the thought that it could run down her leg, no underwear to catch it. The wetness continues to slowly pool out from her against her will.

She tries to cross her legs, but that causes her to move up closer to Dean, and her ass brushes back against Dean’s crotch ever so slightly. Sam freezes, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice, or at least she doesn’t seem to care. Sam stays there for a while, staring absently at the TV and not absorbing anything that’s happening on the screen.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean questions.

“M’fine,” Sam mumbles. “Actually—lemme get off for a second, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Sure thing, Sammy. Bring me a fresh soda on your way back, will ya?” Dean asks, finally taking her hand out of where it’s tangled up in Sam’s hair.

She gets up quickly, tossing the blankets to Dean and walking over to the bathroom.

Under the harsh glare of the bright bathroom lights, Sam’s horrified to find that there’s a large damp spot on the crotch of her gray sweatpants, and it’s sticky to the touch.

She got so wet from sitting on her big sister’s lap that she fucking soaked herself all the way through her pants.

Sam feels so disgusted with herself, but does what she can to wipe herself clean with toilet paper. Her hands are clammy and shaky and she doesn’t know how she’s gonna make it through the rest of the movie. Maybe she can just tell Dean that she’d rather sit on the floor or something.

She leaves the bathroom, not wanting to make Dean wait for her too long. Her heart stops in her chest when she realizes Dean has turned off the TV for some reason, and she’s turned the light in the living room on. Completely forgetting to grab Dean a drink like she told her to, Sam walks back over to the recliner.

“Hey Dean. Why’d you turn the movie off?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean is staring down at her lap and Sam realizes quickly what she’s looking at. There’s a large wet spot on the top of Dean’s sweatpants, clearly fresh. It’s even slightly shiny under the light. Sam’s stomach drops, mortified.

“I just turned the light on to look for the remote,” Dean says absently. She seems to be in shock.

“Dean—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just—you—I don’t know,” Sam says, choking over her words helplessly.

“It’s fine,” Dean starts, still looking dazed. She shakes her head as if in an attempt to focus herself. “Just wanted to ask, like—is it a health thing? I’m sure we could find a gynecologist around here somewhere if you have like, I don’t know, a yeast infection or something.”

“Jesus, Dean. No I don’t have a yeast infection,” Sam replies, completely bewildered. Her cheeks feel warm and she’s so embarrassed and caught off guard that she just blurts out the truth without thinking. “I got wet because I was sitting on your lap and because I’m a fucking freak.”

She lets out a little laugh, feeling absolutely crazy. She can’t believe this is happening to her right now.

Dean looks up at her, expression intense but unreadable. Her eyes are dark.

“So, lemme get this straight. You got wet… because of me?” she asks carefully.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Sam mumbles quietly, averting her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can get you some new pants, and—and I’ll do all the laundry this week, and—”

Dean interrupts her before she can say anything else.

“Sammy—I said it’s fine,” Dean says. “Look at me.”

Sam looks back over at her hesitantly, her heart pounding in her chest. Dean’s face is red, but she holds Sam’s gaze steadily, looking at her so intensely that Sam feels like her knees are going to give out at any second.

“Do I look disgusted?” Dean asks, voice breathy and deep.

Sam shrugs, not sure exactly what’s going on here. Without taking her eyes off of her, Dean runs her hand up her own thigh slowly, feeling out the wet spot with her fingertips. Mesmerized, Sam watches as Dean rubs two of her fingers into the spot, as if she’s trying to collect as much of it as she can. She lifts the hand up to her lips.

Sam somehow only registers what Dean’s about to do as she opens her mouth, putting her wet fingers onto her tongue and sucking on them. She finally breaks eye contact with Sam to close her eyes, as if the taste of Sam is so overwhelming that she just can’t control herself.

“Oh my god,” Sam chokes out, her voice shaky.

“You taste so good, Sammy,” Dean marvels, pulling her fingers out of her mouth with a wet pop.

Sam doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. She’s never even had sex before, never done anything besides play with herself sometimes, always imagining far-fetched scenarios and fantasies where Dean might actually want her. Now, all her fantasies pale in comparison to the real thing in front of her. Dean, who is looking at her with such clear desire in her eyes, who apparently loves the way she tastes.

She walks over to Dean, drawn towards her like a magnet, and sits back down on her lap, this time facing Dean so that she’s straddling her. Sam can’t stop trembling, but Dean reaches over to touch her, placing steady hands against Sam’s hips and pulling her in closer.

Sam lunges forward and kisses her, getting the faintest taste of herself still left over on Dean’s tongue. She grinds into Dean as they make out, hips jutting forward underneath Dean’s hold on them. Dean’s spit tastes weirdly good and Sam can’t get enough, wanting to just swallow it all, to stay there forever with their lips pressed together.

Dean bucks her own hips up, which just spurs Sam on further, rubbing herself against her sister’s thigh. The friction alone isn’t quite enough for Sam, though.

“Touch me,” Sam gasps, pulling one of Dean’s hands over to the waistband of her sweatpants.

Dean reaches inside carefully, and groans when she realizes that Sam’s not wearing any underwear.

“Fuck, no wonder you leaked all over me,” she pants out in between kisses.

She reaches down into the thick thatch of Sam’s pubic hair, and Sam’s already wet enough again that she’s dripping, the hair damp and slick. Dean rubs searching fingers along the outside of her pussy, teasing her gently. She presses her fingers down ever so slightly, and Sam immediately pushes her hips into the touch. Dean’s fingertips brush against her clit and Sam gasps.

“Dean, please,” she whines, louder than she meant to be.

“Yeah baby, I got you,” Dean says, stroking Sam’s clit. Her movements are strong and purposeful, and her fingers are soaking wet.

“You—you can go faster,” Sam gasps, fisting her hands into Dean’s shirt. “I like it that way. When I touch myself.”

“Of course you like it fast,” Dean murmurs affectionately, “You think about me when you touch yourself?”

Sam chokes on her response as Dean speeds up her motions, fingers working in small, fast circles.

“All the time,” she cries. “Would think about you t-touching me, putting your mouth on me, doing whatever you wanted to me.”

Dean groans, and surges up to catch her in a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

“Shit,” Dean gasps. “You’re so fucking hot, Sammy. Can’t stop touching you.”

Sam’s so turned on she can barely think straight, riding herself on Dean’s fingers and chasing her orgasm. She feels the hot burst building up in her stomach and moans as she comes. She shuts her eyes, completely overwhelmed by the sensations.

Dean rubs her through it, as Sam feels pleasure course over her in waves. She withdraws her tacky, coated fingers from Sam’s sweatpants and Sam opens her eyes just in time to watch as Dean sticks her tongue out to lick at them. She looks obscene, fingers glistening with Sam’s wetness and her own spit.

“You really have no idea how good you taste,” Dean says, breathless and grinning. “Will you let me?”

“Let you what?” Sam asks, playing dumb. She just wants to hear Dean say it.

God. Can I eat your pussy, please?” Dean pleads desperately.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam says, her voice rough. “But you—is there anything I can do to help…” she trails off helplessly, gesturing down to Dean’s crotch. Her face is warm and her heart flutters at the thought.

“Not now. This is all I want from you. I need it, please. Please Sammy, will you let me?” Dean responds, her voice raw with desire.

Sam nods, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear as she looks at Dean.

Dean surges up, lifting Sam with her out of the recliner before flipping them over so that Sam’s the one on the chair. She sinks to her knees in front of Sam and puts her hands back on Sam’s waistband, eyes looking up at her for approval. Sam nods, lifting up her hips so Dean can pull her pants down.

She expects Dean to just let them pool at Sam’s ankles, but she takes them all the way off, leaving Sam completely naked except for her t-shirt. She presses her legs together, self-conscious.

Dean gently coaxes her legs back open, nestling herself in between them, and rubbing her hands up and down Sam’s inner thighs. Sam shudders under Dean’s touch, feeling even more turned on. If that’s even possible for her at this point. She spreads her legs to make more room, and Dean moves in closer. Sam can feel Dean’s hot breath on her—coming out in short, panting gasps.

Dean leans in and fucking smells Sam right in between her legs and it shouldn’t be hot but it is. She keeps her nose buried there for a few seconds before withdrawing. Sam barely has time to register as Dean moves back in, this time licking a hot wet stripe up Sam’s pussy.

Sam’s absolutely soaked at this point, and she can feel Dean lapping up as much of the wetness as she possibly can. She reaches down, desperately trying to grip her hands into Dean’s short hair, scratching at her scalp. Dean seems to like that, and lets out a low groan. Sam moves a hand to the back of Dean’s head and shoves her in deeper.

She’s sure that Dean is probably barely even able to breathe down there, but it doesn’t slow her down at all. She eats Sam out wildly, clearly having some experience at this. For a minute, Sam’s heart pangs in jealousy—that Dean’s done this so many times before, been with so many girls. But then, Dean puts her whole mouth over Sam’s clit and sucks down on it hard, and suddenly Sam’s worries don’t seem as important anymore.

Fuck all those other girls. Dean loves me the most.

She feels it so fiercely and strongly she knows it must be true. That there’s no way she can feel this strongly about Dean without her feeling the same way too.

Sam can feel herself edging closer to orgasm again, Dean’s tongue working over her pussy everywhere, fucking up into her and licking her up and making her feel so good that her vision is starting to blur.

Dean pulls back briefly and looks up at Sam from between her legs, her expression awed. Like she’s in the middle of some kind of religious ecstasy. Her hair is all messed up from where Sam’s been grabbing at it, and her entire chin is drenched.

“Come for me, sweet girl,” Dean murmurs, ragged and hoarse.

She dips her head down, and quickly after she gets her tongue back on her, Sam comes, her legs trembling and jerking helplessly. Her whole body tenses up, overcome with sensation, and it’s just so hot and filthy and Sam’s never felt this good in her entire life.

She’s still panting and gasping for air when Dean surges up to cup Sam’s face in both of her hands and kisses her again, her mouth tasting like salt and sweat and Sam.

Sam whines into her mouth, kissing back with everything she has. Trying desperately to wordlessly convey to Dean how grateful she is. That she’s fucking ruined, because nobody else could ever possibly compare to this.

Dean breaks their kiss and rests her forehead against Sam’s, giving them both a chance to try to catch their breaths.

“Jesus, Sammy,” she says after a few minutes in comfortable silence. “That was—wow. Yeah.”

Sam grins at her. “Yeah?”

“I really need to go change my sweatpants now,” Dean laughs, looking down at the soaked fabric. “Should probably go take a shower too.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam says, her voice loaded with suggestion. She bats her eyelashes innocently. “Unless you’d rather just finish watching the movie instead?”

Dean looks at her with a smirk. She tugs Sam up out of the recliner and pulls her towards the bathroom.

Notes:

I wrote this fic in one day while I'm already in the middle of working on another fic... I was simply possessed by the power of Sam's pussy and I couldn't help myself. My other fic series that I'm writing is a lot slower paced so it was nice to get this out of my system!

Sam is too horny to even learn what the movie that they're watching is called, but if anyone's interested, it's The Hustler (1961) starring Paul Newman, who is one of my favorite actors of all time. Dean actually references this movie on the show in s15 ep11 hehe!

Title is from "The Lemon Song" by Led Zeppelin.

This fic has been edited as of 07/11/2023. I made them lesbians because I said so. :-)