SPN Fic: whatever is done by only me is your doing
Here's a story written especially for the phenomenal rivers_bend's birthday. (One day late? That hardly counts, right?) I was inspired by a comment about how much you like hackers the other day and planned to write you a schmoopy geek!Sam story. But it didn't quite turn out as I thought it would.
Title: whatever is done by only me is your doing
Author: deirdre_c
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,300
Summary: Dean loves the sound of Sam's fingers on the keyboard.
Author's Note: Set sometime after 5.18, with spoilers through the end of Season 5. Huge thanks to girlguidejones for the speedy beta. Title by e.e. cummings.
Dean woke up in the middle of the night to the bluish glow of the computer and the sound of Sam’s fingers softly tapping on the keyboard.
It was a sound he’d always loved: familiar, comforting, the confirmation of Sam’s presence threading just underneath his consciousness. More nights than Dean could count, he’d been lulled to sleep by that swift, gentle clicking; it ranked right up there with rain on the windows or the thrum of the Impala’s engine.
But for weeks- almost as often as towards the end of That Year- Dean had woken up to an empty bed and found Sam typing away, or found him asleep at his laptop, his head pillowed on one arm or flush against the ugly, pressed-plywood desk of their latest god-forsaken motel.
When that happened, Dean would gently coax Sam up and lead him back to bed, shadowed by the bittersweet ache that came whenever he was reminded of Sam as a little boy, how Dean used to lift him in his arms and shush into his ear as he tucked Sam in.
And it’s not as if either of them had rested easy for years, for their whole lives perhaps. But more than ever Sam appeared to be a man with a mission, night after night, glued to the computer screen and only catching naps in the car. He seemed physically incapable of going to sleep, unless Dean wore him out. Unless Dean ambushed him, tackled him down, and left Sam so blissfully fucked that he passed out in a heap of slick skin and loose muscles.
So that night, after Dean shuffled to the bathroom to piss and gulp down a few handfuls of water, he bypassed the bed and slipped up behind Sam, on a mission of his own.
"What’s going on?" he asked, tempted to run his fingers through Sam’s unruly hair but settling for looking over his shoulder.
The screen was a mosaic of information, more than a dozen open windows that Dean could see. The top one contained a sequence of mysterious code Sam was typing away at, two others looked like library websites. The fourth was a browser page Sam quickly minimized before Dean could spot what it held. At the bottom of the screen there was an open messenger with an exchange about good places in Ohio to buy illegal firearms couched in language Dean barely recognized, half ‘net slang and half militia paranoia.
"So, when do you finish the small talk about guns and get on with the cybersex?"
Sam finally looked at him out of the corner of his eye, fingers still moving across the keyboard, still tapping out that soft, staccato sound. He did that little head toss to get his hair out of his face and gifted Dean with a slight smirk. "His name is Otis."
"Strange name for a chick." Dean liked how they could joke about this. “You know, Sammy, with pay-porn you get the visuals too.”
"I've got all the visuals I need right here." Sam reached back and patted Dean’s leg, his fingertips catching in the hem of Dean’s boxers and inadvertently tugging them down half an inch. There was a pause as his other hand stopped its typing, and then he turned all the way around in the chair.
Dean slid his hand to the back of Sam’s neck, gently pulled him closer, tipped his head up, crowded into him until Sam’s chin was resting against Dean’s belly. He looked down into Sam’s night-dark eyes. "So, you like what you see?"
Sam ducked and rubbed his face against Dean’s hip, warm breath seeping through the cotton. "Nope," he said, his voice gruff. He brushed a hand up Dean’s inner thigh, then across the front of his underwear. Sam thumbed over Dean's soft cock, sending a shiver up his spine. "Not at all." Then he sighed ruefully, goddamn it, bit his lip and tilted his head to indicate the computer. "It’s just… I have some stuff I've gotta get done."
“Unless you’re hacking into the state lottery and making us millionaires, I think you need some sleep.”
At the word ‘sleep,’ Sam stifled a yawn, but shook his head. “The lottery’s safe tonight.”
"You could always work over there," Dean cajoled, nodding toward the bed.
The laptop emitted a low bleep, the messenger alert, and Sam shrugged. "I don't wanna keep you up. I won't be long."
"I don't believe either of those statements," Dean said, cupping his groin and waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer.
Sam snorted at that, then unexpectedly he leaned forward, yanking down the boxers, and closed his lips around Dean’s dick, easing it into his warm, wet mouth.
Dean couldn’t hold back a gasp as Sam hollowed his cheeks and pulled hard and deep. His fingers played across Dean’s skin like they did across the keyboard, large and nimble at the same time, running up and down Dean’s flank, along his thighs, one hand reaching around to knead the muscles of his ass. Dean held on to Sam’s shoulders and closed his eyes. He felt Sam suck, felt his tongue swirl firm and slick around the head, and it didn’t take long before Dean was full and thick and hard, rocking gently into Sam’s heat, nudging at the back of his throat.
Sam urged him on, pulling at Dean’s hips in time with his thrusts, harder, too hard, until he choked and had to rear back. He coughed and looked up at Dean again, flushed and slightly abashed. He reached up to jack Dean slowly with one hand, with the other, he pulled Dean’s boxers down past his knees.
Dean stepped out of them and kicked them over to the floor by the bed. "Let's go."
He pulled Sam to standing and undressed him, lingering, so slow, each part thoroughly caressed and stroked as it emerged from his clothes. Tortuous inching up of shirt, unhurried slide of buttons and zipper, until finally Sam was naked and groaning under his breath, dick jutting up from between his legs. Dean took it in his hand, the lightest of pressure to make Sam squirm a bit more, then pulled him down onto the bed.
As he licked his way across Sam’s chest, Dean heard another couple of soft beeps from the computer, maybe something done processing, email coming in. But soon Sam crawled into his lap, straddling his hips and slowly working his way down onto Dean’s cock, and everything faded away except the feel of Sam surrounding him. After a couple of fantastic orgasms- if Dean did say so himself- he was falling back asleep and he felt the bed shift. He cracked an eye, saw Sam padding over toward the desk. He was about to order- ask- Sam to come back, but it turned out he didn’t have to.
Sam slipped back into bed with the laptop, rearranging his pillow against the headboard. His hand settled between Dean’s shoulder blades and stroked his back for a minute before the gentle click-clack rhythm started up again.
***
After it’s over- all over- Dean can’t quite make it the whole way to Lisa’s that first night. He pulls off of the highway and when he sits on the motel bed and opens his duffel, there on top is a large envelope. Inside are the fruits of Sam’s labor, and Dean sorts through them one by one: a new driver’s license… a clean Social Security card… an official birth certificate… letters of recommendation from previous supervisors on a variety of jobs… a college transcript from Kansas State… an honorable discharge from the National Guard.
A few hours later, he goes out to the car, pulls Sam’s laptop out of its case and carries it inside, powers it up and leaves it humming softly on the bedside table.
Title: whatever is done by only me is your doing
Author: deirdre_c
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,300
Summary: Dean loves the sound of Sam's fingers on the keyboard.
Author's Note: Set sometime after 5.18, with spoilers through the end of Season 5. Huge thanks to girlguidejones for the speedy beta. Title by e.e. cummings.
Dean woke up in the middle of the night to the bluish glow of the computer and the sound of Sam’s fingers softly tapping on the keyboard.
It was a sound he’d always loved: familiar, comforting, the confirmation of Sam’s presence threading just underneath his consciousness. More nights than Dean could count, he’d been lulled to sleep by that swift, gentle clicking; it ranked right up there with rain on the windows or the thrum of the Impala’s engine.
But for weeks- almost as often as towards the end of That Year- Dean had woken up to an empty bed and found Sam typing away, or found him asleep at his laptop, his head pillowed on one arm or flush against the ugly, pressed-plywood desk of their latest god-forsaken motel.
When that happened, Dean would gently coax Sam up and lead him back to bed, shadowed by the bittersweet ache that came whenever he was reminded of Sam as a little boy, how Dean used to lift him in his arms and shush into his ear as he tucked Sam in.
And it’s not as if either of them had rested easy for years, for their whole lives perhaps. But more than ever Sam appeared to be a man with a mission, night after night, glued to the computer screen and only catching naps in the car. He seemed physically incapable of going to sleep, unless Dean wore him out. Unless Dean ambushed him, tackled him down, and left Sam so blissfully fucked that he passed out in a heap of slick skin and loose muscles.
So that night, after Dean shuffled to the bathroom to piss and gulp down a few handfuls of water, he bypassed the bed and slipped up behind Sam, on a mission of his own.
"What’s going on?" he asked, tempted to run his fingers through Sam’s unruly hair but settling for looking over his shoulder.
The screen was a mosaic of information, more than a dozen open windows that Dean could see. The top one contained a sequence of mysterious code Sam was typing away at, two others looked like library websites. The fourth was a browser page Sam quickly minimized before Dean could spot what it held. At the bottom of the screen there was an open messenger with an exchange about good places in Ohio to buy illegal firearms couched in language Dean barely recognized, half ‘net slang and half militia paranoia.
"So, when do you finish the small talk about guns and get on with the cybersex?"
Sam finally looked at him out of the corner of his eye, fingers still moving across the keyboard, still tapping out that soft, staccato sound. He did that little head toss to get his hair out of his face and gifted Dean with a slight smirk. "His name is Otis."
"Strange name for a chick." Dean liked how they could joke about this. “You know, Sammy, with pay-porn you get the visuals too.”
"I've got all the visuals I need right here." Sam reached back and patted Dean’s leg, his fingertips catching in the hem of Dean’s boxers and inadvertently tugging them down half an inch. There was a pause as his other hand stopped its typing, and then he turned all the way around in the chair.
Dean slid his hand to the back of Sam’s neck, gently pulled him closer, tipped his head up, crowded into him until Sam’s chin was resting against Dean’s belly. He looked down into Sam’s night-dark eyes. "So, you like what you see?"
Sam ducked and rubbed his face against Dean’s hip, warm breath seeping through the cotton. "Nope," he said, his voice gruff. He brushed a hand up Dean’s inner thigh, then across the front of his underwear. Sam thumbed over Dean's soft cock, sending a shiver up his spine. "Not at all." Then he sighed ruefully, goddamn it, bit his lip and tilted his head to indicate the computer. "It’s just… I have some stuff I've gotta get done."
“Unless you’re hacking into the state lottery and making us millionaires, I think you need some sleep.”
At the word ‘sleep,’ Sam stifled a yawn, but shook his head. “The lottery’s safe tonight.”
"You could always work over there," Dean cajoled, nodding toward the bed.
The laptop emitted a low bleep, the messenger alert, and Sam shrugged. "I don't wanna keep you up. I won't be long."
"I don't believe either of those statements," Dean said, cupping his groin and waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer.
Sam snorted at that, then unexpectedly he leaned forward, yanking down the boxers, and closed his lips around Dean’s dick, easing it into his warm, wet mouth.
Dean couldn’t hold back a gasp as Sam hollowed his cheeks and pulled hard and deep. His fingers played across Dean’s skin like they did across the keyboard, large and nimble at the same time, running up and down Dean’s flank, along his thighs, one hand reaching around to knead the muscles of his ass. Dean held on to Sam’s shoulders and closed his eyes. He felt Sam suck, felt his tongue swirl firm and slick around the head, and it didn’t take long before Dean was full and thick and hard, rocking gently into Sam’s heat, nudging at the back of his throat.
Sam urged him on, pulling at Dean’s hips in time with his thrusts, harder, too hard, until he choked and had to rear back. He coughed and looked up at Dean again, flushed and slightly abashed. He reached up to jack Dean slowly with one hand, with the other, he pulled Dean’s boxers down past his knees.
Dean stepped out of them and kicked them over to the floor by the bed. "Let's go."
He pulled Sam to standing and undressed him, lingering, so slow, each part thoroughly caressed and stroked as it emerged from his clothes. Tortuous inching up of shirt, unhurried slide of buttons and zipper, until finally Sam was naked and groaning under his breath, dick jutting up from between his legs. Dean took it in his hand, the lightest of pressure to make Sam squirm a bit more, then pulled him down onto the bed.
As he licked his way across Sam’s chest, Dean heard another couple of soft beeps from the computer, maybe something done processing, email coming in. But soon Sam crawled into his lap, straddling his hips and slowly working his way down onto Dean’s cock, and everything faded away except the feel of Sam surrounding him. After a couple of fantastic orgasms- if Dean did say so himself- he was falling back asleep and he felt the bed shift. He cracked an eye, saw Sam padding over toward the desk. He was about to order- ask- Sam to come back, but it turned out he didn’t have to.
Sam slipped back into bed with the laptop, rearranging his pillow against the headboard. His hand settled between Dean’s shoulder blades and stroked his back for a minute before the gentle click-clack rhythm started up again.
***
After it’s over- all over- Dean can’t quite make it the whole way to Lisa’s that first night. He pulls off of the highway and when he sits on the motel bed and opens his duffel, there on top is a large envelope. Inside are the fruits of Sam’s labor, and Dean sorts through them one by one: a new driver’s license… a clean Social Security card… an official birth certificate… letters of recommendation from previous supervisors on a variety of jobs… a college transcript from Kansas State… an honorable discharge from the National Guard.
A few hours later, he goes out to the car, pulls Sam’s laptop out of its case and carries it inside, powers it up and leaves it humming softly on the bedside table.