Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean): Blue Raspberry | R | 1215 words
Title: Blue Raspberry
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Underage content (Sam's 15, Dean's 19). Pre-series.
Summary: “Dean,” Sam says behind him and Dean turns around just in time to have Sam thrust a blue popsicle in his face. Dean stares at it, confused, until Sam clarifies. “Suck.”
Word Count: 1215
A/N: Got stuck on the popsicle scene in Dreaming in Florescents. This is sort of like a prequel to that one (but stands alone). Next fic in series: Clements, Minnesota.
The kitchen of the shoebox apartment they’re renting this month is better than most. Matter of fact, the kitchen is almost bigger than the rest of the entire place, even if it is painted in a light blue with a sunny border that’s really starting to creep Dean out. Dean’s standing by the sink, looking out the kitchen’s one window at the incredible view of the dirty alley way. From here, he can totally see all the way to the opposite building’s brick wall. Exciting.
“Dean,” Sam says behind him and Dean turns around just in time to have Sam thrust a blue popsicle in his face. Dean stares at it, confused, until Sam clarifies. “Suck.”
Sam shakes the popsicle at Dean, nudging his lips with it and Dean’s torn between wanting to laugh in Sam’s face and just giving in again. Ever since last week, Sam’s had a new obsession with making Dean suck on random objects just to see his lips wrapped around something and Dean doesn’t know whether to be amused, annoyed, or turned the fuck on. It’s kind of funny that this is all Sam can seem to focus on lately but on the flipside, Sam’s been following him around this past week more than a dog. Not that that’s anything new because Sam’s been doing it his entire life, it’s just that this time as soon as Dean turns around, Sam’s usually holding something he wants Dean to suck on and Dean actually does have other stuff to do once in awhile. As much as Dean would like to deny it, though, it turns him the fuck on knowing how hot Sam’s getting watching Dean suck on something as ordinary as a pen. A pen for crying out loud.
It’s all because Dean gave Sam his first blowjob last week and it apparently blew Sam’s mind. It’d been so hot having the kid squirm and plead and gasp underneath Dean, eventually shooting into Dean’s mouth with a shocked cry, that Dean’d jerked himself off at the same time. A short recovery time later-very short-and all Sam’d wanted to do was recreate the experience, begging ‘please, Dean, do it again?’ and pushing soft fingers into Dean’s mouth. Dean’d groaned because how the fuck was he supposed to deny that? He’d been set to do it, too, when they’d heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala. They’d jumped apart, scurrying out of the bedroom and into the living room to greet Dad who was apparently swinging in to set up camp for the next few days and they’ve haven’t had a moment to themselves ever since. So Sam’s been pissy for days, sulking around the house, snapping at Dad and, amusingly, staring at Dean’s mouth. It’s got to be like some kind of hardcore fetish that the kid’s developing and it’s got staying power. Hence the melting popsicle pressing against Dean’s lips and with all this sucking and swallowing and just general teasing, Dean’s never felt so well fed. Even if it is mostly bananas and lollipops and, memorably, once a small stick of salami that after Dean’s comment after the fact, he doesn’t think Sam’s going to try again.
But here’s Sam now standing in front of Dean with a determined look on his face and the popsicle is melting, smearing sticky juice and quickly turning Dean’s lips blue so yet again Dean’s got a choice-either push Sam away or get busy. Dad’s just around the corner in the living room and Dean knows that the man wouldn’t misconstrue the scene nor would he exactly be understanding. But he’s in there and they’re out here. He’s scouring newspapers, lost in the search for at least a few more hours and Dean’s standing here with temptation staring him in the face. Like he’s ever chosen the first option.
His heart speeds up and his cock starts to fill as he stares Sammy down and sees the kid swallow hard. Keeping the eye contact, Dean leans forward and oh so slowly lolls out his tongue to lick the tip of the popsicle. It’s cold and tastes like blue raspberry but that’s only periphery to Dean as he watches Sam bite his lip, trying so hard not to make any noise. Fucking hot is what that is. He keeps watching Sam, the kid’s reactions getting him wound up faster than anything, and teasingly licks down the underside of the popsicle. He reaches the end of the frozen treat and lets his tongue go a few inches past, just enough to graze Sam’s fingers.
Sam grunts softly, starting to sway and Dean feels both amused and turned on at the same time. He licks his way back up to the tip, flicking his tongue at it like it’s exactly what Sam’s pretending it is and he’s trying to coax more slick from the tip. Then he pops the whole thing into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he slowly bobs his head downward. Sam’s starting to pant as he stares at how the popsicle’s disappearing between Dean’s lips, inch by inch. Dean reaches about midway before Sam breaks, a tiny gasping moan escaping as he shoves a hand down into his baggy jeans.
Feeling smug, Dean tilts his head and sucks harder, putting a bit more pressure on for Sam’s benefit. He’s showing off because damn it, he’s good, and at least someone appreciates his skills around here.
Sam suddenly shoves the popsicle a little deeper into Dean’s mouth and Dean almost chokes. Before he does, though, he reaches out and grabs Sam’s hand, the one that’s holding the popsicle and grips it, making sure it stays still as he starts to work himself into a rhythm. He slides teasingly slow down the shaft and comes back up with that familiar sharp twist, working his little make-believe cock as good as any porn star.
Sammy’s shamelessly grabbing himself now, Dean can see it just on the edge of his vision, Sam’s hand clenching and unclenching in his pants. The poor kid’s so close to the damn edge already so Dean takes pity on him. He hauls out his trump card and moans, low and small, a noise for just between the two of them.
“Fuck!” Sam whispers and Dean’s left holding the popsicle as Sam shoves past him, running straight for the bathroom. Score. Dean grins to himself and pulls the popsicle out of his mouth to lick his lips clean of the sticky, sweet juice. Poor Sammy is probably going to rub his dick raw dreaming of another blowjob before they get another chance to try it. Dean chuckles and then pops his half-gone popsicle back into his mouth as he heads on into the living room. Dad’s got five different newspapers scattered across the couch and each one is highlighted with what appears to be the same report. The new hunt’s only a few hours drive away and Dean knows that Dad was talking about heading on up tomorrow by himself to check it out because Sam’s got school and Dean has to work. Dean’s grin widens as his heart thumps in his chest. Looks like Sammy doesn’t have to wait much longer.
That reminds Dean, too. They’re almost out of popsicles.
On to Clements, Minnesota.
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Underage content (Sam's 15, Dean's 19). Pre-series.
Summary: “Dean,” Sam says behind him and Dean turns around just in time to have Sam thrust a blue popsicle in his face. Dean stares at it, confused, until Sam clarifies. “Suck.”
Word Count: 1215
A/N: Got stuck on the popsicle scene in Dreaming in Florescents. This is sort of like a prequel to that one (but stands alone). Next fic in series: Clements, Minnesota.
The kitchen of the shoebox apartment they’re renting this month is better than most. Matter of fact, the kitchen is almost bigger than the rest of the entire place, even if it is painted in a light blue with a sunny border that’s really starting to creep Dean out. Dean’s standing by the sink, looking out the kitchen’s one window at the incredible view of the dirty alley way. From here, he can totally see all the way to the opposite building’s brick wall. Exciting.
“Dean,” Sam says behind him and Dean turns around just in time to have Sam thrust a blue popsicle in his face. Dean stares at it, confused, until Sam clarifies. “Suck.”
Sam shakes the popsicle at Dean, nudging his lips with it and Dean’s torn between wanting to laugh in Sam’s face and just giving in again. Ever since last week, Sam’s had a new obsession with making Dean suck on random objects just to see his lips wrapped around something and Dean doesn’t know whether to be amused, annoyed, or turned the fuck on. It’s kind of funny that this is all Sam can seem to focus on lately but on the flipside, Sam’s been following him around this past week more than a dog. Not that that’s anything new because Sam’s been doing it his entire life, it’s just that this time as soon as Dean turns around, Sam’s usually holding something he wants Dean to suck on and Dean actually does have other stuff to do once in awhile. As much as Dean would like to deny it, though, it turns him the fuck on knowing how hot Sam’s getting watching Dean suck on something as ordinary as a pen. A pen for crying out loud.
It’s all because Dean gave Sam his first blowjob last week and it apparently blew Sam’s mind. It’d been so hot having the kid squirm and plead and gasp underneath Dean, eventually shooting into Dean’s mouth with a shocked cry, that Dean’d jerked himself off at the same time. A short recovery time later-very short-and all Sam’d wanted to do was recreate the experience, begging ‘please, Dean, do it again?’ and pushing soft fingers into Dean’s mouth. Dean’d groaned because how the fuck was he supposed to deny that? He’d been set to do it, too, when they’d heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala. They’d jumped apart, scurrying out of the bedroom and into the living room to greet Dad who was apparently swinging in to set up camp for the next few days and they’ve haven’t had a moment to themselves ever since. So Sam’s been pissy for days, sulking around the house, snapping at Dad and, amusingly, staring at Dean’s mouth. It’s got to be like some kind of hardcore fetish that the kid’s developing and it’s got staying power. Hence the melting popsicle pressing against Dean’s lips and with all this sucking and swallowing and just general teasing, Dean’s never felt so well fed. Even if it is mostly bananas and lollipops and, memorably, once a small stick of salami that after Dean’s comment after the fact, he doesn’t think Sam’s going to try again.
But here’s Sam now standing in front of Dean with a determined look on his face and the popsicle is melting, smearing sticky juice and quickly turning Dean’s lips blue so yet again Dean’s got a choice-either push Sam away or get busy. Dad’s just around the corner in the living room and Dean knows that the man wouldn’t misconstrue the scene nor would he exactly be understanding. But he’s in there and they’re out here. He’s scouring newspapers, lost in the search for at least a few more hours and Dean’s standing here with temptation staring him in the face. Like he’s ever chosen the first option.
His heart speeds up and his cock starts to fill as he stares Sammy down and sees the kid swallow hard. Keeping the eye contact, Dean leans forward and oh so slowly lolls out his tongue to lick the tip of the popsicle. It’s cold and tastes like blue raspberry but that’s only periphery to Dean as he watches Sam bite his lip, trying so hard not to make any noise. Fucking hot is what that is. He keeps watching Sam, the kid’s reactions getting him wound up faster than anything, and teasingly licks down the underside of the popsicle. He reaches the end of the frozen treat and lets his tongue go a few inches past, just enough to graze Sam’s fingers.
Sam grunts softly, starting to sway and Dean feels both amused and turned on at the same time. He licks his way back up to the tip, flicking his tongue at it like it’s exactly what Sam’s pretending it is and he’s trying to coax more slick from the tip. Then he pops the whole thing into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he slowly bobs his head downward. Sam’s starting to pant as he stares at how the popsicle’s disappearing between Dean’s lips, inch by inch. Dean reaches about midway before Sam breaks, a tiny gasping moan escaping as he shoves a hand down into his baggy jeans.
Feeling smug, Dean tilts his head and sucks harder, putting a bit more pressure on for Sam’s benefit. He’s showing off because damn it, he’s good, and at least someone appreciates his skills around here.
Sam suddenly shoves the popsicle a little deeper into Dean’s mouth and Dean almost chokes. Before he does, though, he reaches out and grabs Sam’s hand, the one that’s holding the popsicle and grips it, making sure it stays still as he starts to work himself into a rhythm. He slides teasingly slow down the shaft and comes back up with that familiar sharp twist, working his little make-believe cock as good as any porn star.
Sammy’s shamelessly grabbing himself now, Dean can see it just on the edge of his vision, Sam’s hand clenching and unclenching in his pants. The poor kid’s so close to the damn edge already so Dean takes pity on him. He hauls out his trump card and moans, low and small, a noise for just between the two of them.
“Fuck!” Sam whispers and Dean’s left holding the popsicle as Sam shoves past him, running straight for the bathroom. Score. Dean grins to himself and pulls the popsicle out of his mouth to lick his lips clean of the sticky, sweet juice. Poor Sammy is probably going to rub his dick raw dreaming of another blowjob before they get another chance to try it. Dean chuckles and then pops his half-gone popsicle back into his mouth as he heads on into the living room. Dad’s got five different newspapers scattered across the couch and each one is highlighted with what appears to be the same report. The new hunt’s only a few hours drive away and Dean knows that Dad was talking about heading on up tomorrow by himself to check it out because Sam’s got school and Dean has to work. Dean’s grin widens as his heart thumps in his chest. Looks like Sammy doesn’t have to wait much longer.
That reminds Dean, too. They’re almost out of popsicles.
On to Clements, Minnesota.