Backroad Dirt Finished and tarted up version
Title:Backroad Dirt
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating:NC-17
Category: PWP
Disclaimer: Not mine. don't own, don't sue
Summary: Sam gets frustrated once in a while and he needs to blow some steam
Notes: Thanks to pignapoke for the overhaul.
This is how it goes; Sam's eyes go dark and his hands are restlessly twitchy. Dean can tell when it begins, from the way Sam gets quiet and brooding, barely answers, barely speaks at all. He sits in the car, staring blankly through the window, seeing but not registering whatever scenery that passes by, while his hands move, fingers dancing like spiders on his thighs. Dean knows the signs by now. He knows when the sun won't come up for Sam, when the back roads get too dirty and the grit between his teeth can't be rinsed away. He also knows what it takes to snap Sam out of it.
That is why he's kneeling in the back seat, leather jacket still on but with his ass bare, Sam behind him. His jeans are pushed down just enough for Sam to reach what he wants and Dean's legs are trapped. He can't spread them to make it easier, only pant and hold on when Sam puts his almost dry fingers inside. His own fingers cramp a little because he's gripping the upholstery too tightly, trying to ground himself. He knows he'll need it before it's over. This doesn't happen often, and that Dean is grateful for, because he's always sore for days after. Not that he minds though, he goes all tingly when Sam takes control. It has been an even longer time coming now, because Sam has held it in. He knows what he does to Dean. It's not just the physical strain but the mindfuck to deal with afterwards. That doesn't mean that he's gentle, he also knows that Dean can take it, whatever he chooses to dish out. Can and will, without discussion or arguments, howling at the top of his lungs, giving it up just to make the light return to Sam's eyes and the twitching stop.
The upholstery creaks in protest, there will be marks after Dean's white knuckled death grip. He's keening, trying to get enough air down his lungs and Sam, bastard Sam, just keeps his fingers still inside Dean's ass and refuses to move. Refuses to let Dean move, holding him immobile with a huge paw clasped around his hip. Whenever Dean tries to push back, Sam shoves in return, making Dean's head bump into the window. His fingers skid across the seat, but Sam still doesn't move his own goddamn fingers.
He's up to something and Sam's ideas are not always the best, gets Dean off like a rocket but still not the best at times. Sam goes a little weird when this happens, he gets rougher, his laugh turns cruel and man, can he be cruel. Keeping Dean wired up and mindless for however long it takes. Once in awhile he dishes out pain, not much but enough to add an extra tinge of blood in Dean's mouth when he's bitten his lip through. Dean has the distinct feeling that this is one of those times.
Sam had been quiet for the last three days and Dean thought he would never cross the line enough to let go. The waitress, poor girl, at the last diner they stopped at got caught in the crossfire when Dean had had enough of waiting for Sam and began flirting with her. Nothing riles Sam up as seeing Dean work his magic on someone else. Dean does it just for the hell of it sometimes, he likes to see the change in Sam face, hear the almost growl rumbling in his chest when Dean smiles too brightly at whatever girl he's chatting up. Dean would never actually do anything about it, not take it any further than that, because Sam is possessive about him and he really doesn’t want to. But his smiling got Sam where he wanted him, façade cracking open from one second to the next and scaring the living daylights out of the waitress. She was about to hand Dean a note with her phone number but Sam snatched it from her, crumpling it. He didn't say anything, his glare was enough to have Dean up and going for the car just as fast. The girl stood staring after them, face pale and lips trembling. Sam could be a scary mother, really. And when he was angry, he looked even bigger than normal. To the girl he must have looked like a fucking giant ready to strike her down. Dean had a hard time containing his grin when they headed back out on the road again.
They drove in silence for an hour or so. Sam's fingers beating staccato rhythms on his thighs, drumming on the handle of the big black bull whip he kept in his lap. Dean didn't know when or where he had gotten it, one day it had been there, in Sam's lap. He kept fiddling with it while they drove and Dean had tried to ask what the hell that was supposed to be but got no answer. It was a little disconcerting to see how Sam fondled the handle and the vicious looking stripe of leather. It seemed soft enough, judging from how Sam twined it between his fingers, but after peeking on Sam one night when he was outside, practicing with the whip, Dean had realised that it could be seriously dangerous.
Dean knew it was time when Sam's hand landed on his thigh. Not squeezing or anything, just resting there, fingers keeping the rhythm they had set on Sam's leg against the inseam of Dean's jeans.
"Pull over, Dean.” Sam's voice almost startled him.
Sam didn't say anything more, just sat there, watching Dean. That was another thing that only showed when Sam got like this, he liked to see Dean squirm. And to make Dean figure out himself what Sam wanted. Dean, not being stupid, had it figured out long before they pulled over. It was a moment's work to climb over to the back seat and arrange himself.
He knows what Sam likes and Sam likes Dean open and laid bare. Not only his body but all the rest too, laid bare so Dean can show that he knows to whom he belongs. Vulnerable.
Sam's hands were oddly gentle when he stroke down Dean's bare behind. He petted Dean like he would a skittish animal. But there the gentleness ended. Without warning he thrust two fingers inside Dean's ass. No lube, just the quick swipe of Sam's tongue over his fingers.
The burn had him whimpering, the slap to his thigh made him curse. The message was clear, be quiet. Dean sunk his teeth into the sleeve of his jacket, trying his damndest to keep the grunts in when Sam slapped him again. He held still, waiting for whatever Sam was going to do. But nothing happened. Sam didn't move his fingers, didn't slap him again. Just sat there, behind Dean, holding his hip with one hand, his fingers inside.
It's one thing when Sam mauls him, fucks him through whatever surface he is leaning on, a completely different thing to handle being scrutinized like this. Sam being patient, thinking things over, means that he has been planning. He was never going to admit it, but sometimes Sam makes him freak a little, especially when he takes over control and leaves nothing for Dean except to do what he is told.
The fingers inside him twist gently and fuck if he can keep the groan in. Sam chuckles behind him, twisting them again and Dean outright whines. Calloused fingertips touch the red handprints on his thigh. He hasn't seen them but he knows they are red, because they sting, will probably be there for a few days so he'll feel them every time he moves and his jeans scratch against his skin.
It might sound clichéd, but Dean likes to apologise, say that he has been bad so Sam can set him straight again. Not like he would ever admit that either. This thing they do, when Sam goes quiet and dark in the eyes, does as much for Dean as it does for Sam. It's a weird kind of benediction. He waits, breathlessly and silent for Sam's next move.
He yelps when the fingers are removed, waits again for Sam to push inside. His cock hangs between his legs, untouched but hard and leaking anyway. Another no way telling thing; Sam turns him on to no end when he gets like this. There is a freedom in being told what to do, to have no choice but to take it. He does not expect the hand that grabs him, holds him, gently rubs over the head. And fuck again, he can't keep quiet. The grunt that escapes him is echoed by another slap, on his ass this time and Sam tsks.
"Can't be quiet, can you? he says. "Wonder how you gonna sound in a bit then." Sam leans over Dean's back, whispers in his ear, "Are you gonna scream for me? Howl? Beg?”
The weight is calming, reassuring. But it doesn't stop the flutter in Dean's belly. He was right when he thought that this would be painful, he recognises the tone too well. If Sam says scream, Dean will. Loudly.
Sam presses against him with his hand still on Dean's cock, rubbing and teasing. "I wanna try something, hold still for me.” Sam moves off him, leaning over to the front seat. Dean tries to turn his head, to see what Sam is doing and the fluttering in his belly turns into a whole flock of sparrows when he sees the whip, though he knows that Sam can't wield it in here, not in the car. But Sam is nothing but inventive and Dean takes a deep breath, trying to calm the sparrows chasing each other in his stomach.
It's not like he's scared, more like fidgety, and he knows that is part of Sam's plan, to keep him on the edge.
The thought of the whip slips away when he hears the snap of a lid being opened. 'Finally', he thinks, 'get to it'. He's so hard by now, from waiting, anticipating. Cool, slippery fluid is dripping down the crack of his ass and he flinches. He waits for the push of Sam inside him but it doesn't come. Instead something hard and unyielding nudges at him.
"What the hell? Sam?" He can hear the confusion in his own voice, and he doesn't like it one bit. But Sam only tsks him again, stroking his free hand down his back.
"Relax for me. I won't hurt you, not like this. I just want to..." Sam's voice trails off into a soft groan and the pressure against Dean's hole grows. He can feel the thing, 'cause this is sure not Sam, begin to open him. Sam has done a good job with his fingers but this is so hard, not giving in any way.
"I can't think when I'm inside you," Sam says. "Can't think, can't concentrate when you're holding my fingers, my cock." He trails off into another groan and Dean whines, the thing is breaching him and it's not painful as such but it's fucking weird.
"I just want to see. See what you look like, what your pretty ass looks like stretched and stuffed full." Sam groans again, Dean can almost feel the vibrations trough the whip handle being pushed against him, inside him. It's still freakishly weird but for Sam he'll do it. He's panting through clenched teeth because the handle is damn big with a knob at the end.
One hard push and the handle slides in, Sam's moan mingles with Dean's shout.
The leather is velvety smooth, there is noting catching when the handle slides inside but the size of it. Not as big as Sam but the stiffness makes it feel bigger. Dean keens when it rubs right there, making him buck against it, against Sam's hand on his hip, nudging it deeper before he forces himself to be still again.
It's quiet in the car, only their heavy breathing filling the space. Dean doesn't know what to do, what to say and Sam has stopped, stilled. The feeling is weird, Dean has never had anything up there besides Sam's and that doesn't happen too often. Sam's hand is oddly gentle where it holds him, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his hip. Dean has almost relaxed when Sam speaks again. "Look at you", he says. "You're so full, so stretched. I wish I had done this before. So I could have seen you like this before." His hand sneaks down again between Dean's legs, taking hold of his cock. He strokes gently, keeping his hand a loose tunnel around Dean.
To move or not to move, that is the question. Sam's careful, soft stroking is driving him crazy and the handle makes his ass burn from the stretch. Dean rocks back, just a tiny twist of his hips, but that is enough to make sparks ignite behind his eyelids. He wonders briefly if Sam is waiting for him to lose it and start moving, giving him an incentive to slap Dean again. He never does without reason, even if the reason eludes Dean more often than not. He can hear Sam breathing behind him, harsh, rasping breaths, matching Dean's own.
Sam twists the handle without warning and Dean yelps. "Sam, please," is all he gets out before Sam slaps him, hard, on his already stinging thigh. And that is about it, Dean snaps. He shoves himself back, grunting from the sting of pain the thickness inside causes, stretching him too wide, too far inside. Sam takes the hint though.
Dean squeals, not that he will ever confess to have made such a noise, when Sam's tongue laps around his hole. He's talking at the same time, mumbling against Dean's skin, sending vibrations like electric jolts through him, straight to his dick. Dean thinks he can't take much more, that he for sure will pass out when Sam edges his tongue in beside the whip. He's making some ungodly noises, and if it's him or Sam, Dean doesn't know. Nor does he care.
Everything has been so slow, so drawn out. Sam's tongue is still lapping around inside his stretched hole and Dean is going crazier by the second. On the average day, Sam is rough, fast and merciless. He can tease for ages but when they get to the bare ass part there is no stopping. This has been going on for ever and Sam hasn't even got his jeans unzipped. That only adds to the heat, another thing Dean will never admit, kneeling ass up and stuffed full while Sam just looks and feels. The handle bumps that spot inside him again, Sam's wicked tongue laps and licks, spreads spit all around and for the second time in no time, Dean snaps.
"Sam! Jesus, Sam, fuck..." He shoves back again, unable to be still, expects another slap that doesn't come. Sam lets out a noise that sounds like nothing Dean has heard before and pulls his tongue out with a wet pop. The handle follows, Dean can't help but whine when the knob catches briefly on his inside, the long thin leather strap sweeping over his thighs when Sam tosses it away. He hears the sound of a zipper being pulled down and braces himself for impact, for the delicious burn of Sam filling him because it seems like Sam finally has lost it too, by they way he's panting small groans, mumbling under his breath.
The hard push doesn't come either and Dean turns his head in confusion when Sam grabs him by the hips, pulling him backwards. "Can't move in here, can't fuck you. Come on, move, out." The hands on his hips are hard, but he follows, crawling backwards the best he can with his jeans bunched around his knees, trapping him. His achingly hard cock rubs against the denim when he scoots back, following Sam's tugging, the touch almost setting him off, this long slow teasing has him riled in a totally strange way. Almost like a kid on Christmas Day, waiting for Santa, for what he has wanted forever, for the dreams to come true.
"Out, out, on your knees, can't wait, want, Dean, Dean." Sam's voice is frantic, just as his paws are when he manhandles Dean out off the car and gets him braced leaning on the backseat, knees in the roadside dirt, gravel digging into his knees. Knees that will be scraped raw through the denim but Dean can't care less because fucking finally Sam is getting to the fucking. Somehow he has gotten the lube with him, Dean can hear him squirt some out. A quick swipe between his ass checks and he guesses the rest goes on Sam's cock, because it's wet enough when he aims and rams inside, making Dean grunt between clenched teeth. Sam hasn't said scream yet so he bites his tongue to keep it in. Dean's jacket is shoved up around his head, trapping him even more, leaving only his behind bare, making him feel utterly helpless and he tries to get it off but there is no leeway when Sam gets going.
Sam has his hands in an iron grip around Dean's waist, pulling him backward onto his cock, fucking him up and down on the hard length, and it hurts, hurts so good, that Dean can't keep the shout in. He's been good, been quiet, not whined too much and he has had it with being quiet. Sam doesn't seem to mind though. He keeps talking, mumbling around the groans, saying Deansgoodsohottightwantmine. The words reach deep inside Dean, almost deeper than Sam's dick spearing him, telling him again and again that this is alright, he's doing good and that is the most important right now, being good so Sam can tell him that they're good, he's not angry.
Dean's knees hurt, he can feel the gravel dig into his knees through his pants and he can't care less about that either 'cause Sam and his magic cock is truly driving him insane, pegging his sweet spot with every stroke, the zipper in Sam's jeans scratching his stinging thighs, Sam's balls slapping against his ass with every thrust. He can't care less about the marks in the upholstery, he so desperately needs something to hang on to or he would be slammed senseless with the force Sam is putting into it. He will be aching after this, and there is a weird kind of benediction in that too, just as it is in saying "I'm sorry". In a way he deserves the aches and pains, he has been out of line, flirting.
He has to spit it out, say 'I'm sorry'. Has to get Sam to bite his neck and say it's alright. Only after that can they go back to normal again, with Sam's hands calm in his lap and his eyes bright. Dean doesn't know why that is how it has to be, it just is. Sam is relentless behind him, pounding his ass hard, making him keen and whine and grunt. The words aren't there yet but waiting on the tip of his tongue to be released.
Sam stops, pushing in hard and grinding his hips against Dean's ass and Dean shouts, he can't stop now, he's so close, hanging on the edge. But Sam takes a hold of the jacket, twist and yanks, gets it off and Dean shouts again,this time for Sam get moving, to fuck him, fuck that cock into him and Sam does. Slow now, deep and slow, a hand planted on Dean's neck holding him down, the other on his hip.
"What were you thinking," he hisses. "Why did you have to do that? Did you want me to go crazy on you? Wanted me to do this to you?" And that's the cue. The words waiting behind Dean's teeth burst free in a garbled stream. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, Sam, won't do it again, never again, yours, just fuck me, let me Sam Sam jesus Sammy fuck me."
Sam groans again behind him and bends over his back, wrapping his arms around Dean, "Yeah, yeah, now, you'll get it", he murmurs, holding Dean so close and goes to town. Literally. This is what Dean has been waiting for, needing, since Sam got quiet. The hard flesh tearing him apart, making everything better and making everything good again. Sam is getting louder, he's not speaking now, only groaning, the sounds whirling in Dean's head, telling him that Sam's close.
Sam's teeth in his neck do it. The sharp pain from being bitten, marked, sends him over and he comes all over the backseat, clutching desperately at what ever he can get a hold on. He slumps against the car, only Sam's hands on his hips stopping him from falling to the ground. But Sam holds him up, keeps thrusting, fast and hard, teeth digging into the tender flesh of his neck, mumbling again.
"I'm sorry, Sam", Dean manages to wheeze out again and that's it for Sam too. One last shove and he corkscrews his way into Dean's ass and damn it hurts again, Sam is too big really, there isn't enough space in there to fit him. But that doesn't matter when Dean feels Sam pulse inside him, the hot rush filling him and most of all the almost sob of relief when he comes.
They end up sitting in the dust by the road, Sam with Dean in his lap, sprawled out like a ragdoll. It's ok again, they're good. Dean can tell from the way Sam's hands rest on his belly, holding him carefully. They are still, his fingers are not tapping a tune anymore. Sam sits with his eyes closed but Dean knows that when he opens them, there will be no shadows left. They have never talked about this thing they are doing and they won't this time either. All will be alright until the next time. Dean knows this and so does Sam. That is enough.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating:NC-17
Category: PWP
Disclaimer: Not mine. don't own, don't sue
Summary: Sam gets frustrated once in a while and he needs to blow some steam
Notes: Thanks to pignapoke for the overhaul.
This is how it goes; Sam's eyes go dark and his hands are restlessly twitchy. Dean can tell when it begins, from the way Sam gets quiet and brooding, barely answers, barely speaks at all. He sits in the car, staring blankly through the window, seeing but not registering whatever scenery that passes by, while his hands move, fingers dancing like spiders on his thighs. Dean knows the signs by now. He knows when the sun won't come up for Sam, when the back roads get too dirty and the grit between his teeth can't be rinsed away. He also knows what it takes to snap Sam out of it.
That is why he's kneeling in the back seat, leather jacket still on but with his ass bare, Sam behind him. His jeans are pushed down just enough for Sam to reach what he wants and Dean's legs are trapped. He can't spread them to make it easier, only pant and hold on when Sam puts his almost dry fingers inside. His own fingers cramp a little because he's gripping the upholstery too tightly, trying to ground himself. He knows he'll need it before it's over. This doesn't happen often, and that Dean is grateful for, because he's always sore for days after. Not that he minds though, he goes all tingly when Sam takes control. It has been an even longer time coming now, because Sam has held it in. He knows what he does to Dean. It's not just the physical strain but the mindfuck to deal with afterwards. That doesn't mean that he's gentle, he also knows that Dean can take it, whatever he chooses to dish out. Can and will, without discussion or arguments, howling at the top of his lungs, giving it up just to make the light return to Sam's eyes and the twitching stop.
The upholstery creaks in protest, there will be marks after Dean's white knuckled death grip. He's keening, trying to get enough air down his lungs and Sam, bastard Sam, just keeps his fingers still inside Dean's ass and refuses to move. Refuses to let Dean move, holding him immobile with a huge paw clasped around his hip. Whenever Dean tries to push back, Sam shoves in return, making Dean's head bump into the window. His fingers skid across the seat, but Sam still doesn't move his own goddamn fingers.
He's up to something and Sam's ideas are not always the best, gets Dean off like a rocket but still not the best at times. Sam goes a little weird when this happens, he gets rougher, his laugh turns cruel and man, can he be cruel. Keeping Dean wired up and mindless for however long it takes. Once in awhile he dishes out pain, not much but enough to add an extra tinge of blood in Dean's mouth when he's bitten his lip through. Dean has the distinct feeling that this is one of those times.
Sam had been quiet for the last three days and Dean thought he would never cross the line enough to let go. The waitress, poor girl, at the last diner they stopped at got caught in the crossfire when Dean had had enough of waiting for Sam and began flirting with her. Nothing riles Sam up as seeing Dean work his magic on someone else. Dean does it just for the hell of it sometimes, he likes to see the change in Sam face, hear the almost growl rumbling in his chest when Dean smiles too brightly at whatever girl he's chatting up. Dean would never actually do anything about it, not take it any further than that, because Sam is possessive about him and he really doesn’t want to. But his smiling got Sam where he wanted him, façade cracking open from one second to the next and scaring the living daylights out of the waitress. She was about to hand Dean a note with her phone number but Sam snatched it from her, crumpling it. He didn't say anything, his glare was enough to have Dean up and going for the car just as fast. The girl stood staring after them, face pale and lips trembling. Sam could be a scary mother, really. And when he was angry, he looked even bigger than normal. To the girl he must have looked like a fucking giant ready to strike her down. Dean had a hard time containing his grin when they headed back out on the road again.
They drove in silence for an hour or so. Sam's fingers beating staccato rhythms on his thighs, drumming on the handle of the big black bull whip he kept in his lap. Dean didn't know when or where he had gotten it, one day it had been there, in Sam's lap. He kept fiddling with it while they drove and Dean had tried to ask what the hell that was supposed to be but got no answer. It was a little disconcerting to see how Sam fondled the handle and the vicious looking stripe of leather. It seemed soft enough, judging from how Sam twined it between his fingers, but after peeking on Sam one night when he was outside, practicing with the whip, Dean had realised that it could be seriously dangerous.
Dean knew it was time when Sam's hand landed on his thigh. Not squeezing or anything, just resting there, fingers keeping the rhythm they had set on Sam's leg against the inseam of Dean's jeans.
"Pull over, Dean.” Sam's voice almost startled him.
Sam didn't say anything more, just sat there, watching Dean. That was another thing that only showed when Sam got like this, he liked to see Dean squirm. And to make Dean figure out himself what Sam wanted. Dean, not being stupid, had it figured out long before they pulled over. It was a moment's work to climb over to the back seat and arrange himself.
He knows what Sam likes and Sam likes Dean open and laid bare. Not only his body but all the rest too, laid bare so Dean can show that he knows to whom he belongs. Vulnerable.
Sam's hands were oddly gentle when he stroke down Dean's bare behind. He petted Dean like he would a skittish animal. But there the gentleness ended. Without warning he thrust two fingers inside Dean's ass. No lube, just the quick swipe of Sam's tongue over his fingers.
The burn had him whimpering, the slap to his thigh made him curse. The message was clear, be quiet. Dean sunk his teeth into the sleeve of his jacket, trying his damndest to keep the grunts in when Sam slapped him again. He held still, waiting for whatever Sam was going to do. But nothing happened. Sam didn't move his fingers, didn't slap him again. Just sat there, behind Dean, holding his hip with one hand, his fingers inside.
It's one thing when Sam mauls him, fucks him through whatever surface he is leaning on, a completely different thing to handle being scrutinized like this. Sam being patient, thinking things over, means that he has been planning. He was never going to admit it, but sometimes Sam makes him freak a little, especially when he takes over control and leaves nothing for Dean except to do what he is told.
The fingers inside him twist gently and fuck if he can keep the groan in. Sam chuckles behind him, twisting them again and Dean outright whines. Calloused fingertips touch the red handprints on his thigh. He hasn't seen them but he knows they are red, because they sting, will probably be there for a few days so he'll feel them every time he moves and his jeans scratch against his skin.
It might sound clichéd, but Dean likes to apologise, say that he has been bad so Sam can set him straight again. Not like he would ever admit that either. This thing they do, when Sam goes quiet and dark in the eyes, does as much for Dean as it does for Sam. It's a weird kind of benediction. He waits, breathlessly and silent for Sam's next move.
He yelps when the fingers are removed, waits again for Sam to push inside. His cock hangs between his legs, untouched but hard and leaking anyway. Another no way telling thing; Sam turns him on to no end when he gets like this. There is a freedom in being told what to do, to have no choice but to take it. He does not expect the hand that grabs him, holds him, gently rubs over the head. And fuck again, he can't keep quiet. The grunt that escapes him is echoed by another slap, on his ass this time and Sam tsks.
"Can't be quiet, can you? he says. "Wonder how you gonna sound in a bit then." Sam leans over Dean's back, whispers in his ear, "Are you gonna scream for me? Howl? Beg?”
The weight is calming, reassuring. But it doesn't stop the flutter in Dean's belly. He was right when he thought that this would be painful, he recognises the tone too well. If Sam says scream, Dean will. Loudly.
Sam presses against him with his hand still on Dean's cock, rubbing and teasing. "I wanna try something, hold still for me.” Sam moves off him, leaning over to the front seat. Dean tries to turn his head, to see what Sam is doing and the fluttering in his belly turns into a whole flock of sparrows when he sees the whip, though he knows that Sam can't wield it in here, not in the car. But Sam is nothing but inventive and Dean takes a deep breath, trying to calm the sparrows chasing each other in his stomach.
It's not like he's scared, more like fidgety, and he knows that is part of Sam's plan, to keep him on the edge.
The thought of the whip slips away when he hears the snap of a lid being opened. 'Finally', he thinks, 'get to it'. He's so hard by now, from waiting, anticipating. Cool, slippery fluid is dripping down the crack of his ass and he flinches. He waits for the push of Sam inside him but it doesn't come. Instead something hard and unyielding nudges at him.
"What the hell? Sam?" He can hear the confusion in his own voice, and he doesn't like it one bit. But Sam only tsks him again, stroking his free hand down his back.
"Relax for me. I won't hurt you, not like this. I just want to..." Sam's voice trails off into a soft groan and the pressure against Dean's hole grows. He can feel the thing, 'cause this is sure not Sam, begin to open him. Sam has done a good job with his fingers but this is so hard, not giving in any way.
"I can't think when I'm inside you," Sam says. "Can't think, can't concentrate when you're holding my fingers, my cock." He trails off into another groan and Dean whines, the thing is breaching him and it's not painful as such but it's fucking weird.
"I just want to see. See what you look like, what your pretty ass looks like stretched and stuffed full." Sam groans again, Dean can almost feel the vibrations trough the whip handle being pushed against him, inside him. It's still freakishly weird but for Sam he'll do it. He's panting through clenched teeth because the handle is damn big with a knob at the end.
One hard push and the handle slides in, Sam's moan mingles with Dean's shout.
The leather is velvety smooth, there is noting catching when the handle slides inside but the size of it. Not as big as Sam but the stiffness makes it feel bigger. Dean keens when it rubs right there, making him buck against it, against Sam's hand on his hip, nudging it deeper before he forces himself to be still again.
It's quiet in the car, only their heavy breathing filling the space. Dean doesn't know what to do, what to say and Sam has stopped, stilled. The feeling is weird, Dean has never had anything up there besides Sam's and that doesn't happen too often. Sam's hand is oddly gentle where it holds him, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his hip. Dean has almost relaxed when Sam speaks again. "Look at you", he says. "You're so full, so stretched. I wish I had done this before. So I could have seen you like this before." His hand sneaks down again between Dean's legs, taking hold of his cock. He strokes gently, keeping his hand a loose tunnel around Dean.
To move or not to move, that is the question. Sam's careful, soft stroking is driving him crazy and the handle makes his ass burn from the stretch. Dean rocks back, just a tiny twist of his hips, but that is enough to make sparks ignite behind his eyelids. He wonders briefly if Sam is waiting for him to lose it and start moving, giving him an incentive to slap Dean again. He never does without reason, even if the reason eludes Dean more often than not. He can hear Sam breathing behind him, harsh, rasping breaths, matching Dean's own.
Sam twists the handle without warning and Dean yelps. "Sam, please," is all he gets out before Sam slaps him, hard, on his already stinging thigh. And that is about it, Dean snaps. He shoves himself back, grunting from the sting of pain the thickness inside causes, stretching him too wide, too far inside. Sam takes the hint though.
Dean squeals, not that he will ever confess to have made such a noise, when Sam's tongue laps around his hole. He's talking at the same time, mumbling against Dean's skin, sending vibrations like electric jolts through him, straight to his dick. Dean thinks he can't take much more, that he for sure will pass out when Sam edges his tongue in beside the whip. He's making some ungodly noises, and if it's him or Sam, Dean doesn't know. Nor does he care.
Everything has been so slow, so drawn out. Sam's tongue is still lapping around inside his stretched hole and Dean is going crazier by the second. On the average day, Sam is rough, fast and merciless. He can tease for ages but when they get to the bare ass part there is no stopping. This has been going on for ever and Sam hasn't even got his jeans unzipped. That only adds to the heat, another thing Dean will never admit, kneeling ass up and stuffed full while Sam just looks and feels. The handle bumps that spot inside him again, Sam's wicked tongue laps and licks, spreads spit all around and for the second time in no time, Dean snaps.
"Sam! Jesus, Sam, fuck..." He shoves back again, unable to be still, expects another slap that doesn't come. Sam lets out a noise that sounds like nothing Dean has heard before and pulls his tongue out with a wet pop. The handle follows, Dean can't help but whine when the knob catches briefly on his inside, the long thin leather strap sweeping over his thighs when Sam tosses it away. He hears the sound of a zipper being pulled down and braces himself for impact, for the delicious burn of Sam filling him because it seems like Sam finally has lost it too, by they way he's panting small groans, mumbling under his breath.
The hard push doesn't come either and Dean turns his head in confusion when Sam grabs him by the hips, pulling him backwards. "Can't move in here, can't fuck you. Come on, move, out." The hands on his hips are hard, but he follows, crawling backwards the best he can with his jeans bunched around his knees, trapping him. His achingly hard cock rubs against the denim when he scoots back, following Sam's tugging, the touch almost setting him off, this long slow teasing has him riled in a totally strange way. Almost like a kid on Christmas Day, waiting for Santa, for what he has wanted forever, for the dreams to come true.
"Out, out, on your knees, can't wait, want, Dean, Dean." Sam's voice is frantic, just as his paws are when he manhandles Dean out off the car and gets him braced leaning on the backseat, knees in the roadside dirt, gravel digging into his knees. Knees that will be scraped raw through the denim but Dean can't care less because fucking finally Sam is getting to the fucking. Somehow he has gotten the lube with him, Dean can hear him squirt some out. A quick swipe between his ass checks and he guesses the rest goes on Sam's cock, because it's wet enough when he aims and rams inside, making Dean grunt between clenched teeth. Sam hasn't said scream yet so he bites his tongue to keep it in. Dean's jacket is shoved up around his head, trapping him even more, leaving only his behind bare, making him feel utterly helpless and he tries to get it off but there is no leeway when Sam gets going.
Sam has his hands in an iron grip around Dean's waist, pulling him backward onto his cock, fucking him up and down on the hard length, and it hurts, hurts so good, that Dean can't keep the shout in. He's been good, been quiet, not whined too much and he has had it with being quiet. Sam doesn't seem to mind though. He keeps talking, mumbling around the groans, saying Deansgoodsohottightwantmine. The words reach deep inside Dean, almost deeper than Sam's dick spearing him, telling him again and again that this is alright, he's doing good and that is the most important right now, being good so Sam can tell him that they're good, he's not angry.
Dean's knees hurt, he can feel the gravel dig into his knees through his pants and he can't care less about that either 'cause Sam and his magic cock is truly driving him insane, pegging his sweet spot with every stroke, the zipper in Sam's jeans scratching his stinging thighs, Sam's balls slapping against his ass with every thrust. He can't care less about the marks in the upholstery, he so desperately needs something to hang on to or he would be slammed senseless with the force Sam is putting into it. He will be aching after this, and there is a weird kind of benediction in that too, just as it is in saying "I'm sorry". In a way he deserves the aches and pains, he has been out of line, flirting.
He has to spit it out, say 'I'm sorry'. Has to get Sam to bite his neck and say it's alright. Only after that can they go back to normal again, with Sam's hands calm in his lap and his eyes bright. Dean doesn't know why that is how it has to be, it just is. Sam is relentless behind him, pounding his ass hard, making him keen and whine and grunt. The words aren't there yet but waiting on the tip of his tongue to be released.
Sam stops, pushing in hard and grinding his hips against Dean's ass and Dean shouts, he can't stop now, he's so close, hanging on the edge. But Sam takes a hold of the jacket, twist and yanks, gets it off and Dean shouts again,this time for Sam get moving, to fuck him, fuck that cock into him and Sam does. Slow now, deep and slow, a hand planted on Dean's neck holding him down, the other on his hip.
"What were you thinking," he hisses. "Why did you have to do that? Did you want me to go crazy on you? Wanted me to do this to you?" And that's the cue. The words waiting behind Dean's teeth burst free in a garbled stream. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, Sam, won't do it again, never again, yours, just fuck me, let me Sam Sam jesus Sammy fuck me."
Sam groans again behind him and bends over his back, wrapping his arms around Dean, "Yeah, yeah, now, you'll get it", he murmurs, holding Dean so close and goes to town. Literally. This is what Dean has been waiting for, needing, since Sam got quiet. The hard flesh tearing him apart, making everything better and making everything good again. Sam is getting louder, he's not speaking now, only groaning, the sounds whirling in Dean's head, telling him that Sam's close.
Sam's teeth in his neck do it. The sharp pain from being bitten, marked, sends him over and he comes all over the backseat, clutching desperately at what ever he can get a hold on. He slumps against the car, only Sam's hands on his hips stopping him from falling to the ground. But Sam holds him up, keeps thrusting, fast and hard, teeth digging into the tender flesh of his neck, mumbling again.
"I'm sorry, Sam", Dean manages to wheeze out again and that's it for Sam too. One last shove and he corkscrews his way into Dean's ass and damn it hurts again, Sam is too big really, there isn't enough space in there to fit him. But that doesn't matter when Dean feels Sam pulse inside him, the hot rush filling him and most of all the almost sob of relief when he comes.
They end up sitting in the dust by the road, Sam with Dean in his lap, sprawled out like a ragdoll. It's ok again, they're good. Dean can tell from the way Sam's hands rest on his belly, holding him carefully. They are still, his fingers are not tapping a tune anymore. Sam sits with his eyes closed but Dean knows that when he opens them, there will be no shadows left. They have never talked about this thing they are doing and they won't this time either. All will be alright until the next time. Dean knows this and so does Sam. That is enough.