Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean): Age Is Just a Number | NC-17 | 4005 words
Title: Age Is Just a Number
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Slight spoilers for S4/5 (Dean's scars and his age). Food porn.
Summary: Sam brings back take-out one night to find Dean standing in front a mirror. Naked.
Word Count: 4005
A/N: After wrestling with this bitch for over a month, I've finally just said "fuck it" and posted it. Also, this fic also now has a porny kinklet sequel: Red Lace.
When Sam gets back to the motel with the Chinese take-out he and Dean’d decided on, he doesn’t even make inside the room before he drops the bag. It isn’t his fault and Sam will swear to that in a court of law if he has to. It’s just really hard to maintain control of his extremities when he’s trying to decide if he needs to fuck his brother or call a psychiatrist. Maybe both. In the back of his mind, Sam vaguely hopes that the food managed to stay in the boxes but, at the moment, he really has other things to occupy his time. Apparently, Dean hasn’t noticed yet that Sam’s staring slack jawed in the doorway because he’s standing in front of the mirror mounted on the motel’s dresser. Naked.
As Sam watches, Dean turns to the side, presenting Sam with a great, unobstructed view of his ass, and frowns. Sam raises an eyebrow, wondering what exactly Dean’s seeing that he’s not because he’s pretty damn sure he needs to bend Dean over right the fuck now, Dean’s current issues be damned. The swell of Dean’s ass should really come with a warning label for possible addiction. Sam wets his now dry lips as a playback of the previous night cycles through his head. In all the times they’d done that, Sam’d never known just how flexible Dean really was…
Dean glares at himself in the mirror and pokes at his flat stomach, turning back to view himself head-on. Sam’s other eyebrow raises because what the hell? It looks for all the world like Dean is…
…Indulging in a little bit of a mid-life crisis. Which, really, considering how Dean and Sam had been raised, probably should have come sometime around Dean’s early teens. Sam groans to himself: trust Dean to freak out about hitting thirty instead of just being glad that he made it.
It’s then that Sam remembers the pie he’d bought as a surprise because, yes, it is Dean’s birthday tomorrow and no, accusations to the contrary, he hadn’t forgotten. Not just a piece of pie, a whole pie. Which is now probably in pieces in its box and Dean is going to bitch about that, isn’t he? Except that, hey, it’s Dean and Sam doesn’t think Dean’s ever seen a pie he didn’t like-whole, broken or otherwise. Especially if it’s free.
Like a car crash, it hits Sam that he’s also currently standing in the middle of an open doorway, Chinese take out by his feet, and his brother standing naked in plain view. Sam scoops up the bag of food and skitters inside, locking the door behind him. The last thing he needs is someone calling the cops for indecent exposure. Plus, there’s the fact that anybody else seeing Dean this way sends a worrying white-hot flash of jealousy through Sam and he’d rather not think about that at the moment.
Dean jumps as the door closes, his green eyes darting over to Sam as he just barely manages to keep himself off the floor by catching the dresser. “Jesus, Sam!” He fumbles for the pair of jeans lying discarded on the bed.
Sam half-smirks at the dramatics and walks over to the small table to drop off the hopefully not ruined food. “So,” he says, “What are you doing?”
Dean yanks his jeans on, zipping them up. “Just checking for new scars after the last hunt. You know…” He trails off as he drags a threadbare Metallica T-shirt over his head.
Sam raises a questioning eyebrow and stares silently because no, he doesn’t know. Their last hunt had been a routine salt and burn. No physical trauma involved unless you took Dean’s bitching about blisters and his back seriously. Dean starts to flush in rare embarrassment and with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he changes the subject. “You better have gotten me General Tso’s and not that shrimpy stuff you were looking at,” he mutters, stalking over to the table. He riffles through the bags, pointedly ignoring Sam. He digs out a box and opens it up, sniffing it curiously.
Sam snorts, knowing that Dean’s not going to give him any answers he doesn’t want to give and snatches the box out of Dean’s hands. “That one’s mine,” he says. “Shrimpy stuff.” He pops a piece of shrimp into his mouth, watching Dean’s nose wrinkle in disgust. Sam’s sure it’s not disgust for the food itself-again, Dean has yet to meet something edible he didn’t like-but rather because Sam chose it over the General Tso chicken.
“Bitch.” Dean digs the other entrée box out of the bag and flops down in a chair.
“Jerk,” Sam shoots back automatically before he eats some more of the sweet and sour shrimp because it’s definitely as good as he’d thought it’d be. He enjoys the bite, taking his time before swallowing, and wonders just how he’s going to get Dean to open up about this. “I take it you haven’t found a new hunt yet?” he asks, stalling. Dean was, after all, supposed to be trying to dig one up while Sam went out and brought home the bacon. Or, you know, Chinese take-out. Whatever. Sam wonders how much of that time was spent staring in the mirror.
Dean glares at him. “It’s not exactly as simple as looking in the classifieds, Sammy.” He vengefully stabs at his food and shovels a heaping bite into his mouth.
Sam shoves his food away because there’s other things he’d rather focus on and he’s not that hungry anyway. Any normal person would just be overjoyed at having survived the ghosts and the black dogs and the demons, but no. Not Dean. No, his biggest concern was if his body was looking as good as it used to.
Which is ridiculous, Sam thinks, because even on bad days, Dean still looks downright fuckable. If anything, he’s gotten hotter over the years even though Sam hadn’t known that could be possible back when he was a teenager. Dean’d looked like sex on legs back then.
When Sam stands, Dean watches him warily and Sam circles him like he would a spooked horse. Sam lays a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder and rubs gently. If Dean’s feeling insecure, Sam doesn’t care if Dean will call him a girl for doing so, he’s going to reassure him. Dean sighs and pushes his own food away. “I’m fine, Sam.”
“No you’re not.”
Dean turns on him, scowling. “I said I was fine, damn it, and I am-”
Sam grits his teeth and keeps a firm grip on his temper. He knows that Dean would much rather fight about something petty than possibly discuss this and he’s not going to let him. Instead, he catches Dean off guard by wrapping his arms completely around Dean in a full-on hug from behind. It’s hell on Sam’s back and knees to do this standing-up while Dean’s sitting but it’s worth it to shut him up. “If you were fine,” Sam growls and it’s hard to miss Dean’s shiver at his voice, “you wouldn’t have stopped eating.”
Dean stiffens. “Sam,” he warns.
“No,” Sam says and yanks Dean out of the chair. Dean stumbles, nearly falling face-first onto the floor, but Sam catches him and hauls him upright. “You know what? I’m think I’m hungry.” Screw talking. Serious discussions and Dean were like oil and water, anyway. And Sam knows a much better way to drive the point home. One hand holds Dean in place while the other tilts his chin up so Sam can devour his mouth. Dean jerks backward but Sam doesn’t let him go, wrapping both arms around him to crush him to Sam’s chest.
After a token struggle, Dean surrenders with a moan, starting to kiss Sam back. Much better. Sam changes the angle, pushing his tongue in and shivering when Dean sucks on it hungrily. He backs him up to the bed and pushes him down, ordering him with a “Stay” like he knows Dean likes.
Dean shivers, his eyes turning dark and he licks his plump lips, making Sam groan. God, the things Dean could do with those lips. Knowing exactly what kind of reaction he’s getting, Dean repeats the motion. Sam’s only got so much willpower.
He jumps on Dean, bearing him down to the bed as he straddles him. “God…” he breathes. “I want to fuck you so bad…”
Dean grins, running a finger over Sam’s cheek. “Yeah, Sammy?”
Sam jerks his hips against Dean’s thighs, feeling his underwear already starting to get damp and sticky. “Fuck yeah,” he growls. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, Dean.” Now, apparently, he just had to make Dean believe that.
Dean hums, smiling up at Sam with his vivid green eyes that make Sam think of summers and lazy afternoons and anything that’s right with the world. “Sounds like a plan, then,” he says and Sam nods.
“It is.” He kisses Dean again, nipping at his lower lip before pulling back, panting as he lays his forehead against Dean’s. “Just gotta do something first.”
Dean raises an eyebrow, obviously wondering what could be more important than him but Sam ignores him and pushes off. “Sam?” he asks, moving to follow as Sam heads towards the little kitchen area.
Sam whirls on him, eyes narrowing and secretly loving the way Dean instinctively freezes. “Don’t you dare get off that bed,” Sam growls, just to watch the shiver go through Dean’s body. “And you’d better be naked when I get back over there.” Dean’s already stripping off his shirt before Sam can even turn around. Sam hides his smile, not wanting to show Dean how much he likes this game they play and ruin the whole effect.
He grabs the pie box out of the bag, wincing a bit as, just like he thought, he realizes it didn’t quite survive the fall. It’s okay, though, because for what he has planned, a broken pie might even work better than a whole one.
Dean’s fairly squirming on the bed when Sam comes back over, naked against the bedsheets and already hard. Sam smiles and runs a hand through Dean’s hair. “Very good,” he says and Dean’s eyes close in pleasure. He tilts his head back, baring it for Sam and Sam fairly purrs.
“Mmm,” he says and leans down to give Dean a quick kiss. He pulls back and Dean watches him hungrily as he strips off his own clothes. By the time that Sam is naked, Dean’s leaning back on the bed, eyeing him appreciatively and slowly jerking his dick as he enjoys the show. Sam reaches down to gripe the base of his own cock as it gives an excited jump. “That’s a pretty sight, Dean,” he says.
“Right back at ya, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, staring fixedly at Sam’s dick.
Sam straddles Dean on the bed and that’s when Dean finally notices the pie. His eyebrows rise. “What’s that?”
“Your birthday present,” Sam says absently, still taking in Dean’s acres and acres of freckled skin.
“You got me a birthday present?” he asks with a note of disbelief.
“Yeah. You’re 30 tomorrow, Dean.” Dean’s face clouds over at the mention of his age and Sam chuckles, trying to play this lightly. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll still fuck you tomorrow.”
“Funny,” Dean deadpans.
“I know.” Sam sets the pie just off to Dean’s right side. “I figured I couldn’t go wrong with pie, right?”
Dean looks torn between wanting to chew Sam out for reminding him of his age or play nice and get a little kinky sex in. Sam grins at the dilemma playing out on his face and presses an open-mouthed kiss just under Dean’s nipple. He licks the skin, tasting it before sucking it into his mouth. It releases with a wet pop and Dean’s looking a little less unsure. “Chose the pie, Dean,” Sam coaxes, gently.
Stubborn as always, the only thing keeping Dean from crossing his arms at the moment is the fact that Sam’s in the way. “What kind is it?” he asks, like it might actually matter.
“Don’t remember,” Sam lies and plunges his finger into the center of the pie. He scoops out some of the filling and pulls his finger free. His smirk getting bigger, he coats Dean’s lips with it. “You tell me.”
Dean’s eyes glaze over, tongue flicking out to lick at his now sticky lips and Sam’s finger. “Cherry,” Dean whispers and Sam nods before he pushes his finger into Dean’s mouth, feeling a slick tongue licking the sweetness off his skin.
“Taste good?” he asks huskily. Dean moans and raises his hands to grip Sam’s shoulders as he sucks harder. “God yeah, Dean,” Sam says, pulling his finger free. “You and that mouth…” He gets another scoop of filling and smears a little on his chest. “Want it, Dean?” he asks. Dean licks his beautiful cock-sucking lips and groans before lunging for Sam.
Sam purrs and leans backward, his clean hand rising up to cup Dean’s head and hold him close as Dean meticulously licks the cherry filling from his skin. Sam grabs Dean’s hand and sets it on the pie, pushing his fingers just into the crust. “Where do you want it?” he asks and Dean doesn’t hesitate. He plunges his fingers into the pie and pulls out a gob that he smears over Sam’s abs. He attacks the mess, tongue licking out and hands clapping around Sam’s side to make sure he couldn’t go anywhere.
“God, Sam,” Dean breathes in between licks. “Fucking ripped…”
Sam’s breath catches as Dean nips at a ridge of muscle and he yanks Dean’s head up, holding him immobile as Dean whines. “Like my body?” he asks. Dean glances down at the mess still on Sam’s stomach and whines again, desperate to be touching it again. Sam shivers. “I like yours, too, Dean,” he says and shoves Dean down onto the bed.
Dean’s already spreading his legs, thinking he knows what Sam wants. Granted, he’s not too far off the mark, he’s just a little ahead of himself. Sam digs out a little more pie filling and stares down at Dean as he carefully walks on his knees towards the headboard. The closer he gets, the darker Dean’s eyes get until they turn almost black. “Slut,” Sam says, the word cutting through the silence that their heavy breathing had just been trying to fill. Dean jerks at the word, eyes leaving Sam’s dick to shoot up to his face. “I know what you really want,” Sam says, smearing the pie on himself.
“God, Sammy,” Dean groans, already leaning forward to take Sam into his mouth. At the first swirl of tongue, Sam gasps, his hips stuttering as he fights to keep a hold of himself. Every time they do this, he’s always brutally reminded just how good Dean’s gotten at giving blowjobs. God given talent and a whole lot of practice. Dean starts by sucking on the head, tongue trailing up the slit to lick at Sam’s precome and Sam pulses his hips, forcing deeper into Dean’s mouth. He’d love to make this last, love to be able to put up with Sam’s teasing, he just doesn’t think he’s going to make it.
Dean closes a hand around the base on Sam’s shaft, providing Sam delicious pressure even as he makes sure that Sam doesn’t choke him. It’s a damn good thing, too, because that’s when Dean hollows his cheeks and sets himself on making Sam scream. Sam bites his lip and arches his back, hands digging into Dean’s hair and Christ but Dean’s going to make him come before he’s ready.
He yanks Dean backwards, cock twitching at Dean’s disappointed whine and pants while he fumbles for his self-control. He’d like nothing better than to plunge right back into Dean’s willing mouth, fuck the wet heat until he comes but God, he’s got other things he wants to do, too.
Dean’s squirming underneath him and Sam takes a deep breath before he forces himself to back away. He fingers his cock, noticing ruefully that except for a few sticky spots, Dean’d managed to suck him clean. Sam slides to the side and grips Dean’s shoulder to haul him up. “I’ve got an idea,” he says and Deans moans.
“Love your ideas, Sammy,” he says and Sam grins.
“Face the mirror, Dean.” Dean obeys instantly and it sends another thrill straight to Sam’s dick. He palms himself roughly in a soothing promise before leaning back to the left side of the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube they never really bother to hide anymore. All hiding it ever does for them is make them have to wait a few more agonizing minutes while they hunt it up-not worth it.
Dean starts when Sam moves to settle in behind him and Sam sighs, knowing that Dean had been staring at himself again. Sam presses two slick fingers against Dean’s ass and rests his head on Dean’s left shoulder, tilting a little to bite at Dean’s ear. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Dean,” he says. He pushes his fingers in, listening to Dean’s hitching moan. When they’re all the way in, he uses his left hand to fondle Dean’s cock as he whispers, “Open your eyes, Dean.”
Like always, Dean obeys, green eyes fluttering open and he stares at the mirror, hips rolling against Sam’s hands. Sam thrusts his fingers deeper into Dean, watching Dean’s face go tight with the initial push and slacken when Sam pulls out. “I love watching you getting fucked.” Without any warning, Sam lines his cock up against Dean and starts to push inside, watching Dean’s face tighten again. Dean whines and tosses his head to the side, eyes closing as he pants. “Eyes on the mirror, Dean,” Sam reminds him and Dean whimpers but does as he’s told.
His pretty green eyes are glazing over, mouth hanging open and Sam fucking loves it. “Beautiful,” he whispers. Dean’s hot and tight around his dick, squeezing down on Sam as he takes every bit of him. Keeping his left hand on Dean’s hard dick, Sam trails his still lubed right over Dean’s chest until he’s hovering over a freckle just above Dean’s nipple. “I think this one is my favorite.”
Dean snorts, raising an eyebrow at Sam even he pants for control. Sam grins. “Sometimes I think I could lick it for hours. Just because I love watching you plead and beg so nicely for me to move just an inch down.” Sam moves his fingers down that inch, flicking at the small nub and watching Dean’s back arch as he hisses. Dean always gives him such a nice reaction whenever Sam plays with his nipples. “Because your nipples are so sensitive, I sometimes think you could come just from me playing with them. You want to try that sometime, Dean? Want me to tie you down and suck on your nipples until you come?” Dean’s not looking again and Sam’s voice is sharper this time when he reminds him “Look at the mirror, Dean.”
Dean scowls, hips pulsing against Sam’s caressing left hand and back against Sam’s dick. “You’re a sick fuck,” he growls, “and I’m not a chick.”
Sam raises an eyebrow at him and gives Dean’s dick a playfully hard tug. “No, you’re not. But your nipples are sensitive like a girl’s. And you like getting fucked just like a girl…” At that, Sam pulls back and snaps his hips against Dean. Dean grunts and braces his hands against Sam’s thighs. “Maybe I should just dress you up in a pair of lace bra and panties, fuck you that way.”
Dean bites his lip but can’t stop the small “fuck…” from escaping, nor does Sam miss the excited twitch of Dean’s dick.
Sam’s eyebrows raise, watching Dean starting to blush. “You’d like that…” he says, with a tiny note of wonder in his voice. He swallows and right then and there, he knows that he’s getting Dean another birthday present sometime next week.
Embarrassed, Dean looks away. “Stop fucking with me and just fuck me, already.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, slut,” he says and pushes his fingers into Dean’s mouth as he fucks into Dean’s ass hard and fast again. Dean tilts his head back, sucking hard and his eyes flutter closed. Sam doesn’t bother telling him to open them again. Instead, he starts telling what he’s seeing. “Just want you to know how sexy you are, Dean. I love watching your cock-sucking lips swallowing my fingers. Your mouth’s just always begging to be filled and you just love sucking on things, don’t you? I love watching you writhe on my cock, too, Dean. Don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it.” His hips start a hard rhythm, pushing up into Dean and Dean whimpers, spreading his legs even more. “Sometimes when we’re just talking or maybe interviewing a witness, it’s all I can do not to just rip down your jeans and bend you over the nearest piece of furniture-you’re just that fucking sexy.” He moves his hand from Dean’s cock to his inner thigh and he ignores Dean’s pleading whine to move it back. “Your legs don’t help, either, ‘cause Jesus, even when you’re just standing there, you already look like you’re spreading for me. Not my fault, Dean. Not my fault I want to fuck you all the time.”
His hand travels up Dean’s body, sliding over his stomach and chest. Dean jerks from side to side, starting to sob on Sam’s fingers. “You’ve got this damn perfect body, too…” he says, running his fingers over Dean’s skin. He misses the scars and marks-signs of Dean’s life, but in the end, they don’t matter. He only wishes he could erase Castiel's hand print but he'll never tell Dean that.
Dean screams around Sam’s fingers when Sam’s free hand skims back down to fist Dean’s cock again and with a few short jerks, Dean’s coming all over the bedspread. His ass clenches around Sam and Sam grunts, rocking into him before he’s coming too, filling Dean.
Dean moans and pulls Sam’s fingers from his mouth, licking his lips wet again before he collapses against Sam with a sigh. He wiggles against Sam, moving Sam’s dick around inside him and Sam grits his teeth from the painful over-stimulation. “Think I need a shower, Sammy,” he says.
Finally managing to catch his breath again, Sam licks the back of Dean’s shoulder. “Think we both do.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have come in your ass.”
“No,” Sam agrees, “but-” he lifts Dean’s chin to catch his eyes in the mirror, “I could lick it out if you wanted.”
Dean hisses as his dick jerks. “Goddammit, Sam…” He leans forward, pulling himself off Sam’s dick and slides off the bed, standing up. He stretches, pulling this way and that and alternating between smiling and wincing. When he’s done, he lazily looks at Sam before jerking his thumb at the mirror. “Got yourself a new kink, Sammy?”
Sam swallows but meets his eyes easily enough. “Thought you could use a little reassurance,” he says honestly.
Dean glares. “Not a chick, Sammy.”
A flash of Dean in lingerie flashes through Sam’s mind again, but he shoves it away. “Girls aren’t the only ones that need to be told they’re loved.” Sam swears that he's not going to say it. He's not going to say it! But it pops out anyway. "Age is just a number, Dean."
“Oh, Christ,” Dean says, turning away to head for the bathroom. He forgets about the mirror, though, so Sam catches the grin tugging at his mouth. Sam rolls his eyes but smiles as well before he slides off the bed to follow Dean. He hadn’t been kidding about the whole licking it back out thing.
In a few more hours, Dean’ll be thirty. Sam doesn’t care. He never did.
On to Red Lace.
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Slight spoilers for S4/5 (Dean's scars and his age). Food porn.
Summary: Sam brings back take-out one night to find Dean standing in front a mirror. Naked.
Word Count: 4005
A/N: After wrestling with this bitch for over a month, I've finally just said "fuck it" and posted it. Also, this fic also now has a porny kinklet sequel: Red Lace.
When Sam gets back to the motel with the Chinese take-out he and Dean’d decided on, he doesn’t even make inside the room before he drops the bag. It isn’t his fault and Sam will swear to that in a court of law if he has to. It’s just really hard to maintain control of his extremities when he’s trying to decide if he needs to fuck his brother or call a psychiatrist. Maybe both. In the back of his mind, Sam vaguely hopes that the food managed to stay in the boxes but, at the moment, he really has other things to occupy his time. Apparently, Dean hasn’t noticed yet that Sam’s staring slack jawed in the doorway because he’s standing in front of the mirror mounted on the motel’s dresser. Naked.
As Sam watches, Dean turns to the side, presenting Sam with a great, unobstructed view of his ass, and frowns. Sam raises an eyebrow, wondering what exactly Dean’s seeing that he’s not because he’s pretty damn sure he needs to bend Dean over right the fuck now, Dean’s current issues be damned. The swell of Dean’s ass should really come with a warning label for possible addiction. Sam wets his now dry lips as a playback of the previous night cycles through his head. In all the times they’d done that, Sam’d never known just how flexible Dean really was…
Dean glares at himself in the mirror and pokes at his flat stomach, turning back to view himself head-on. Sam’s other eyebrow raises because what the hell? It looks for all the world like Dean is…
…Indulging in a little bit of a mid-life crisis. Which, really, considering how Dean and Sam had been raised, probably should have come sometime around Dean’s early teens. Sam groans to himself: trust Dean to freak out about hitting thirty instead of just being glad that he made it.
It’s then that Sam remembers the pie he’d bought as a surprise because, yes, it is Dean’s birthday tomorrow and no, accusations to the contrary, he hadn’t forgotten. Not just a piece of pie, a whole pie. Which is now probably in pieces in its box and Dean is going to bitch about that, isn’t he? Except that, hey, it’s Dean and Sam doesn’t think Dean’s ever seen a pie he didn’t like-whole, broken or otherwise. Especially if it’s free.
Like a car crash, it hits Sam that he’s also currently standing in the middle of an open doorway, Chinese take out by his feet, and his brother standing naked in plain view. Sam scoops up the bag of food and skitters inside, locking the door behind him. The last thing he needs is someone calling the cops for indecent exposure. Plus, there’s the fact that anybody else seeing Dean this way sends a worrying white-hot flash of jealousy through Sam and he’d rather not think about that at the moment.
Dean jumps as the door closes, his green eyes darting over to Sam as he just barely manages to keep himself off the floor by catching the dresser. “Jesus, Sam!” He fumbles for the pair of jeans lying discarded on the bed.
Sam half-smirks at the dramatics and walks over to the small table to drop off the hopefully not ruined food. “So,” he says, “What are you doing?”
Dean yanks his jeans on, zipping them up. “Just checking for new scars after the last hunt. You know…” He trails off as he drags a threadbare Metallica T-shirt over his head.
Sam raises a questioning eyebrow and stares silently because no, he doesn’t know. Their last hunt had been a routine salt and burn. No physical trauma involved unless you took Dean’s bitching about blisters and his back seriously. Dean starts to flush in rare embarrassment and with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he changes the subject. “You better have gotten me General Tso’s and not that shrimpy stuff you were looking at,” he mutters, stalking over to the table. He riffles through the bags, pointedly ignoring Sam. He digs out a box and opens it up, sniffing it curiously.
Sam snorts, knowing that Dean’s not going to give him any answers he doesn’t want to give and snatches the box out of Dean’s hands. “That one’s mine,” he says. “Shrimpy stuff.” He pops a piece of shrimp into his mouth, watching Dean’s nose wrinkle in disgust. Sam’s sure it’s not disgust for the food itself-again, Dean has yet to meet something edible he didn’t like-but rather because Sam chose it over the General Tso chicken.
“Bitch.” Dean digs the other entrée box out of the bag and flops down in a chair.
“Jerk,” Sam shoots back automatically before he eats some more of the sweet and sour shrimp because it’s definitely as good as he’d thought it’d be. He enjoys the bite, taking his time before swallowing, and wonders just how he’s going to get Dean to open up about this. “I take it you haven’t found a new hunt yet?” he asks, stalling. Dean was, after all, supposed to be trying to dig one up while Sam went out and brought home the bacon. Or, you know, Chinese take-out. Whatever. Sam wonders how much of that time was spent staring in the mirror.
Dean glares at him. “It’s not exactly as simple as looking in the classifieds, Sammy.” He vengefully stabs at his food and shovels a heaping bite into his mouth.
Sam shoves his food away because there’s other things he’d rather focus on and he’s not that hungry anyway. Any normal person would just be overjoyed at having survived the ghosts and the black dogs and the demons, but no. Not Dean. No, his biggest concern was if his body was looking as good as it used to.
Which is ridiculous, Sam thinks, because even on bad days, Dean still looks downright fuckable. If anything, he’s gotten hotter over the years even though Sam hadn’t known that could be possible back when he was a teenager. Dean’d looked like sex on legs back then.
When Sam stands, Dean watches him warily and Sam circles him like he would a spooked horse. Sam lays a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder and rubs gently. If Dean’s feeling insecure, Sam doesn’t care if Dean will call him a girl for doing so, he’s going to reassure him. Dean sighs and pushes his own food away. “I’m fine, Sam.”
“No you’re not.”
Dean turns on him, scowling. “I said I was fine, damn it, and I am-”
Sam grits his teeth and keeps a firm grip on his temper. He knows that Dean would much rather fight about something petty than possibly discuss this and he’s not going to let him. Instead, he catches Dean off guard by wrapping his arms completely around Dean in a full-on hug from behind. It’s hell on Sam’s back and knees to do this standing-up while Dean’s sitting but it’s worth it to shut him up. “If you were fine,” Sam growls and it’s hard to miss Dean’s shiver at his voice, “you wouldn’t have stopped eating.”
Dean stiffens. “Sam,” he warns.
“No,” Sam says and yanks Dean out of the chair. Dean stumbles, nearly falling face-first onto the floor, but Sam catches him and hauls him upright. “You know what? I’m think I’m hungry.” Screw talking. Serious discussions and Dean were like oil and water, anyway. And Sam knows a much better way to drive the point home. One hand holds Dean in place while the other tilts his chin up so Sam can devour his mouth. Dean jerks backward but Sam doesn’t let him go, wrapping both arms around him to crush him to Sam’s chest.
After a token struggle, Dean surrenders with a moan, starting to kiss Sam back. Much better. Sam changes the angle, pushing his tongue in and shivering when Dean sucks on it hungrily. He backs him up to the bed and pushes him down, ordering him with a “Stay” like he knows Dean likes.
Dean shivers, his eyes turning dark and he licks his plump lips, making Sam groan. God, the things Dean could do with those lips. Knowing exactly what kind of reaction he’s getting, Dean repeats the motion. Sam’s only got so much willpower.
He jumps on Dean, bearing him down to the bed as he straddles him. “God…” he breathes. “I want to fuck you so bad…”
Dean grins, running a finger over Sam’s cheek. “Yeah, Sammy?”
Sam jerks his hips against Dean’s thighs, feeling his underwear already starting to get damp and sticky. “Fuck yeah,” he growls. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, Dean.” Now, apparently, he just had to make Dean believe that.
Dean hums, smiling up at Sam with his vivid green eyes that make Sam think of summers and lazy afternoons and anything that’s right with the world. “Sounds like a plan, then,” he says and Sam nods.
“It is.” He kisses Dean again, nipping at his lower lip before pulling back, panting as he lays his forehead against Dean’s. “Just gotta do something first.”
Dean raises an eyebrow, obviously wondering what could be more important than him but Sam ignores him and pushes off. “Sam?” he asks, moving to follow as Sam heads towards the little kitchen area.
Sam whirls on him, eyes narrowing and secretly loving the way Dean instinctively freezes. “Don’t you dare get off that bed,” Sam growls, just to watch the shiver go through Dean’s body. “And you’d better be naked when I get back over there.” Dean’s already stripping off his shirt before Sam can even turn around. Sam hides his smile, not wanting to show Dean how much he likes this game they play and ruin the whole effect.
He grabs the pie box out of the bag, wincing a bit as, just like he thought, he realizes it didn’t quite survive the fall. It’s okay, though, because for what he has planned, a broken pie might even work better than a whole one.
Dean’s fairly squirming on the bed when Sam comes back over, naked against the bedsheets and already hard. Sam smiles and runs a hand through Dean’s hair. “Very good,” he says and Dean’s eyes close in pleasure. He tilts his head back, baring it for Sam and Sam fairly purrs.
“Mmm,” he says and leans down to give Dean a quick kiss. He pulls back and Dean watches him hungrily as he strips off his own clothes. By the time that Sam is naked, Dean’s leaning back on the bed, eyeing him appreciatively and slowly jerking his dick as he enjoys the show. Sam reaches down to gripe the base of his own cock as it gives an excited jump. “That’s a pretty sight, Dean,” he says.
“Right back at ya, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, staring fixedly at Sam’s dick.
Sam straddles Dean on the bed and that’s when Dean finally notices the pie. His eyebrows rise. “What’s that?”
“Your birthday present,” Sam says absently, still taking in Dean’s acres and acres of freckled skin.
“You got me a birthday present?” he asks with a note of disbelief.
“Yeah. You’re 30 tomorrow, Dean.” Dean’s face clouds over at the mention of his age and Sam chuckles, trying to play this lightly. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll still fuck you tomorrow.”
“Funny,” Dean deadpans.
“I know.” Sam sets the pie just off to Dean’s right side. “I figured I couldn’t go wrong with pie, right?”
Dean looks torn between wanting to chew Sam out for reminding him of his age or play nice and get a little kinky sex in. Sam grins at the dilemma playing out on his face and presses an open-mouthed kiss just under Dean’s nipple. He licks the skin, tasting it before sucking it into his mouth. It releases with a wet pop and Dean’s looking a little less unsure. “Chose the pie, Dean,” Sam coaxes, gently.
Stubborn as always, the only thing keeping Dean from crossing his arms at the moment is the fact that Sam’s in the way. “What kind is it?” he asks, like it might actually matter.
“Don’t remember,” Sam lies and plunges his finger into the center of the pie. He scoops out some of the filling and pulls his finger free. His smirk getting bigger, he coats Dean’s lips with it. “You tell me.”
Dean’s eyes glaze over, tongue flicking out to lick at his now sticky lips and Sam’s finger. “Cherry,” Dean whispers and Sam nods before he pushes his finger into Dean’s mouth, feeling a slick tongue licking the sweetness off his skin.
“Taste good?” he asks huskily. Dean moans and raises his hands to grip Sam’s shoulders as he sucks harder. “God yeah, Dean,” Sam says, pulling his finger free. “You and that mouth…” He gets another scoop of filling and smears a little on his chest. “Want it, Dean?” he asks. Dean licks his beautiful cock-sucking lips and groans before lunging for Sam.
Sam purrs and leans backward, his clean hand rising up to cup Dean’s head and hold him close as Dean meticulously licks the cherry filling from his skin. Sam grabs Dean’s hand and sets it on the pie, pushing his fingers just into the crust. “Where do you want it?” he asks and Dean doesn’t hesitate. He plunges his fingers into the pie and pulls out a gob that he smears over Sam’s abs. He attacks the mess, tongue licking out and hands clapping around Sam’s side to make sure he couldn’t go anywhere.
“God, Sam,” Dean breathes in between licks. “Fucking ripped…”
Sam’s breath catches as Dean nips at a ridge of muscle and he yanks Dean’s head up, holding him immobile as Dean whines. “Like my body?” he asks. Dean glances down at the mess still on Sam’s stomach and whines again, desperate to be touching it again. Sam shivers. “I like yours, too, Dean,” he says and shoves Dean down onto the bed.
Dean’s already spreading his legs, thinking he knows what Sam wants. Granted, he’s not too far off the mark, he’s just a little ahead of himself. Sam digs out a little more pie filling and stares down at Dean as he carefully walks on his knees towards the headboard. The closer he gets, the darker Dean’s eyes get until they turn almost black. “Slut,” Sam says, the word cutting through the silence that their heavy breathing had just been trying to fill. Dean jerks at the word, eyes leaving Sam’s dick to shoot up to his face. “I know what you really want,” Sam says, smearing the pie on himself.
“God, Sammy,” Dean groans, already leaning forward to take Sam into his mouth. At the first swirl of tongue, Sam gasps, his hips stuttering as he fights to keep a hold of himself. Every time they do this, he’s always brutally reminded just how good Dean’s gotten at giving blowjobs. God given talent and a whole lot of practice. Dean starts by sucking on the head, tongue trailing up the slit to lick at Sam’s precome and Sam pulses his hips, forcing deeper into Dean’s mouth. He’d love to make this last, love to be able to put up with Sam’s teasing, he just doesn’t think he’s going to make it.
Dean closes a hand around the base on Sam’s shaft, providing Sam delicious pressure even as he makes sure that Sam doesn’t choke him. It’s a damn good thing, too, because that’s when Dean hollows his cheeks and sets himself on making Sam scream. Sam bites his lip and arches his back, hands digging into Dean’s hair and Christ but Dean’s going to make him come before he’s ready.
He yanks Dean backwards, cock twitching at Dean’s disappointed whine and pants while he fumbles for his self-control. He’d like nothing better than to plunge right back into Dean’s willing mouth, fuck the wet heat until he comes but God, he’s got other things he wants to do, too.
Dean’s squirming underneath him and Sam takes a deep breath before he forces himself to back away. He fingers his cock, noticing ruefully that except for a few sticky spots, Dean’d managed to suck him clean. Sam slides to the side and grips Dean’s shoulder to haul him up. “I’ve got an idea,” he says and Deans moans.
“Love your ideas, Sammy,” he says and Sam grins.
“Face the mirror, Dean.” Dean obeys instantly and it sends another thrill straight to Sam’s dick. He palms himself roughly in a soothing promise before leaning back to the left side of the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube they never really bother to hide anymore. All hiding it ever does for them is make them have to wait a few more agonizing minutes while they hunt it up-not worth it.
Dean starts when Sam moves to settle in behind him and Sam sighs, knowing that Dean had been staring at himself again. Sam presses two slick fingers against Dean’s ass and rests his head on Dean’s left shoulder, tilting a little to bite at Dean’s ear. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Dean,” he says. He pushes his fingers in, listening to Dean’s hitching moan. When they’re all the way in, he uses his left hand to fondle Dean’s cock as he whispers, “Open your eyes, Dean.”
Like always, Dean obeys, green eyes fluttering open and he stares at the mirror, hips rolling against Sam’s hands. Sam thrusts his fingers deeper into Dean, watching Dean’s face go tight with the initial push and slacken when Sam pulls out. “I love watching you getting fucked.” Without any warning, Sam lines his cock up against Dean and starts to push inside, watching Dean’s face tighten again. Dean whines and tosses his head to the side, eyes closing as he pants. “Eyes on the mirror, Dean,” Sam reminds him and Dean whimpers but does as he’s told.
His pretty green eyes are glazing over, mouth hanging open and Sam fucking loves it. “Beautiful,” he whispers. Dean’s hot and tight around his dick, squeezing down on Sam as he takes every bit of him. Keeping his left hand on Dean’s hard dick, Sam trails his still lubed right over Dean’s chest until he’s hovering over a freckle just above Dean’s nipple. “I think this one is my favorite.”
Dean snorts, raising an eyebrow at Sam even he pants for control. Sam grins. “Sometimes I think I could lick it for hours. Just because I love watching you plead and beg so nicely for me to move just an inch down.” Sam moves his fingers down that inch, flicking at the small nub and watching Dean’s back arch as he hisses. Dean always gives him such a nice reaction whenever Sam plays with his nipples. “Because your nipples are so sensitive, I sometimes think you could come just from me playing with them. You want to try that sometime, Dean? Want me to tie you down and suck on your nipples until you come?” Dean’s not looking again and Sam’s voice is sharper this time when he reminds him “Look at the mirror, Dean.”
Dean scowls, hips pulsing against Sam’s caressing left hand and back against Sam’s dick. “You’re a sick fuck,” he growls, “and I’m not a chick.”
Sam raises an eyebrow at him and gives Dean’s dick a playfully hard tug. “No, you’re not. But your nipples are sensitive like a girl’s. And you like getting fucked just like a girl…” At that, Sam pulls back and snaps his hips against Dean. Dean grunts and braces his hands against Sam’s thighs. “Maybe I should just dress you up in a pair of lace bra and panties, fuck you that way.”
Dean bites his lip but can’t stop the small “fuck…” from escaping, nor does Sam miss the excited twitch of Dean’s dick.
Sam’s eyebrows raise, watching Dean starting to blush. “You’d like that…” he says, with a tiny note of wonder in his voice. He swallows and right then and there, he knows that he’s getting Dean another birthday present sometime next week.
Embarrassed, Dean looks away. “Stop fucking with me and just fuck me, already.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, slut,” he says and pushes his fingers into Dean’s mouth as he fucks into Dean’s ass hard and fast again. Dean tilts his head back, sucking hard and his eyes flutter closed. Sam doesn’t bother telling him to open them again. Instead, he starts telling what he’s seeing. “Just want you to know how sexy you are, Dean. I love watching your cock-sucking lips swallowing my fingers. Your mouth’s just always begging to be filled and you just love sucking on things, don’t you? I love watching you writhe on my cock, too, Dean. Don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it.” His hips start a hard rhythm, pushing up into Dean and Dean whimpers, spreading his legs even more. “Sometimes when we’re just talking or maybe interviewing a witness, it’s all I can do not to just rip down your jeans and bend you over the nearest piece of furniture-you’re just that fucking sexy.” He moves his hand from Dean’s cock to his inner thigh and he ignores Dean’s pleading whine to move it back. “Your legs don’t help, either, ‘cause Jesus, even when you’re just standing there, you already look like you’re spreading for me. Not my fault, Dean. Not my fault I want to fuck you all the time.”
His hand travels up Dean’s body, sliding over his stomach and chest. Dean jerks from side to side, starting to sob on Sam’s fingers. “You’ve got this damn perfect body, too…” he says, running his fingers over Dean’s skin. He misses the scars and marks-signs of Dean’s life, but in the end, they don’t matter. He only wishes he could erase Castiel's hand print but he'll never tell Dean that.
Dean screams around Sam’s fingers when Sam’s free hand skims back down to fist Dean’s cock again and with a few short jerks, Dean’s coming all over the bedspread. His ass clenches around Sam and Sam grunts, rocking into him before he’s coming too, filling Dean.
Dean moans and pulls Sam’s fingers from his mouth, licking his lips wet again before he collapses against Sam with a sigh. He wiggles against Sam, moving Sam’s dick around inside him and Sam grits his teeth from the painful over-stimulation. “Think I need a shower, Sammy,” he says.
Finally managing to catch his breath again, Sam licks the back of Dean’s shoulder. “Think we both do.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have come in your ass.”
“No,” Sam agrees, “but-” he lifts Dean’s chin to catch his eyes in the mirror, “I could lick it out if you wanted.”
Dean hisses as his dick jerks. “Goddammit, Sam…” He leans forward, pulling himself off Sam’s dick and slides off the bed, standing up. He stretches, pulling this way and that and alternating between smiling and wincing. When he’s done, he lazily looks at Sam before jerking his thumb at the mirror. “Got yourself a new kink, Sammy?”
Sam swallows but meets his eyes easily enough. “Thought you could use a little reassurance,” he says honestly.
Dean glares. “Not a chick, Sammy.”
A flash of Dean in lingerie flashes through Sam’s mind again, but he shoves it away. “Girls aren’t the only ones that need to be told they’re loved.” Sam swears that he's not going to say it. He's not going to say it! But it pops out anyway. "Age is just a number, Dean."
“Oh, Christ,” Dean says, turning away to head for the bathroom. He forgets about the mirror, though, so Sam catches the grin tugging at his mouth. Sam rolls his eyes but smiles as well before he slides off the bed to follow Dean. He hadn’t been kidding about the whole licking it back out thing.
In a few more hours, Dean’ll be thirty. Sam doesn’t care. He never did.
On to Red Lace.