Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean) Staying Focused | NC-17 | 3480 words
Title: Staying Focused
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Underage content (Sam's 15, Dean's 19). Pre-series.
Summary: In a motel in Wisconsin, the boys have the place to themselves and Sam just wants a little attention. Direct sequel to Keep the Dirt Off Your Knees.
Word Count: 3480
A/N: Sequel to Dreaming in Florescents, Blue Raspberry, Clements, Minnesota, and Keep the Dirt Off Your Knees however, you don't need to read them to understand this. Just porn.
Wisconsin turns out to be a standard salt and burn. Thanks in large part to Sammy’s puppy dog eyes-no way was that bitch cracking without them-they manage to complete the hunt in under two days. Dean’s chalking it up as a win and even bought a cake to celebrate even if Sammy’s currently brooding and Dad’s already got the next hunt all picked out.
Matter of fact, Dad’s packing for it right now and Dean feels just a little bit pissed off by that. One night off isn’t going to make that big of a difference but Dean knows that if he were to mention that to Dad, he’d only get chewed out and lectured about the evil of the world not taking vacations or some such bullshit. It’s not that Dean doesn’t want to save people but he doesn’t think asking for a family night is too much. Besides…
“School starts tomorrow,” Sam says sullenly from the bed. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and he’s just daring Dad to say something wrong. Dean rolls his eyes at the bitchy way Sammy’s going about this, but he does have a point. The summer is kind of over and Dad should really start considering keeping them in one place for longer again.
“Does it?” Dad asks non-committally, checking over a gun before he stuffs it into his duffle, too.
Sam glowers and fists his hands in the hideous floral comforter of the motel bed and Dean puts himself in between the two of them before this becomes an all out screaming match again. So much for ‘family night.’ “I could...” Dean starts, but then Dad rises and the words stall in Dean’s throat. He wants to volunteer to stay put with Sammy for the first month here but if Dad needs him, Dad needs him. Still, there’s a garage in this two-bit two that’s got a help wanted sign up in the window and Dean knows he could get the job easily.
Dad carefully puts the full duffel on the floor and regards Dean gently. He reaches out a hand and settles it on Dean’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “I know school starts tomorrow,” he says but even though he’s touching Dean, he’s addressing the words to Sam. Dean gets the feeling that Dad would be touching Sam too, if Sam wasn’t being such a bitch right now. “I’m going solo on this one.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, just tosses his head to stare at the wall, having geared himself up for a fight that’s not going to happen. Dean, though, is trying to catch Dad’s eye. “You sure?” Dean asks, just because he has to. Dad nods and so Dean asks the next logical question. “How long?”
Dad gives him a little shake before letting his hand drop and Dean tries to hide how much he misses it already. “Maybe a week,” he says. “Maybe two.” He reaches down to grab his duffel again, picking it up. “I figured we could stay put for a few months, maybe.” He shoots a look over at Sam who’s trying to pretend he’s not listening. “Couple of possible hunts within a couple hours of here.” He half-shrugs and then lets the conversation drop. He’s said enough. Dad is never one for long, drawn-out goodbyes so when he turns back to Dean and offers a gruff “You look after your brother,” Dean immediately sticks out his hand. Dad blinks at it before taking it and Dean gives his hand a firm shake.
“Good luck, sir,” Dean says, keeping his posture straight while he does so, just like how Dad taught him. Dad smiles slow and small and Dean counts it as a win, his chest swelling with pride.
“You, too, son,” Dad says. He glances again over at Sam who’s still carefully not looking at him. At least when he’s watching. “Bye, Sammy.” Sam doesn’t answer but he does sigh and look over which is good enough for Dad. Dad nods and heads out the door and as soon as it closes, Sam’s up off the bed, striding towards Dean.
“Yes sir,” he mocks. “Just let me bend over and grab my ankles, sir.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Shut up, bitch.” He steps away from Sam, not really retreating, but not letting Sam get up in his face either. Outside, he hears the Impala start and the rumble start to fade as their father pulls away from the hotel. At least they’re just about in the center of town so everything looks to be an easy walk. Sam tries to block him, but Dean just shoves him gently and heads to the bathroom.
“He’s supposed to be our father, not our commanding officer,” Sam growls at Dean’s back.
“A little respect wouldn’t kill ya, Sammy,” Dean shoots back, he walks into the bathroom, grimacing at the pink frillyness of it again because Christ, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to this. The room hadn’t been so bad, if you ignored the horrid bedspreads but the first time Dean had seen the bathroom, he’d just about demanded that Dad get another room. Unfortunately, it appeared that all the bathrooms of this particular motel were in the same horrible shade of pink-something about getting a special deal on the tile or something. It made Dean want to shudder every time. Maybe that reaction would get better in a few days.
Deciding to ignore the Barbie pink of the tile and the unnecessary layers of lace and frills every where, Dean strips off his shirt. He throws it over the sink that is a hideous kind of pink, too, this one more pearly shell and unbuttons his jeans, sliding them off his hips.
Dad’s gone for at least a week. A week. To themselves. Sure, Sammy might have to go to school during that week but afterward… Dean shivers and turns on the water. He really shouldn’t be wasting any time because yeah, they had a week, but that could still be an amazingly short time. It’s just, though, that he knows that if he goes out there right now, he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to control himself. He’s going to take the edge off first, while he makes sure that Dad’s not going to double back or anything. He and Sam have already been caught in enough compromising positions by their father before, thank you very much. Dean smirks at himself and adjusts the temperature just right before stepping in.
So the bathroom might be horribly decorated but at least it’s got good water pressure. Dean groans as the water hits his skin, relaxing his muscles and relieving the tension he hadn’t even know he was carrying. With a small smile, he runs his hand down his chest to wrap his dick in a firm grip. “Fuck yeah…” he whispers into the shower. That’s just what he needs. He moves downward to cup his balls and bites back a groan. Yeah…
A body slams Dean up against the shower wall, a hand shoving Dean away from his dick and Dean feels a moment of panic before he hears Sammy’s voice hissing in his ear. “Can’t believe you were in here doing this without me!”
Dean shivers at the feel of Sam pressing him against the wall, holding him immobilized and hard and solid behind him. Sam jacks him hard and fast and Dean can’t help the sluttish tilt of his hips as he pushes back, squirming against Sam’s hold and trying to get closer. “Sammy…” he groans. Fuck, but the kid is going to be the death of him.
Sam pushes his big dick right up against Dean’s ass, snarling out a “yes.” Then he’s mouthing at the back of Dean’s neck, using every inch of height he’s grown this year, and his hand is pumping between Dean’s legs. Dean shudders with the feel of Sam rubbing behind him, wanting to push even further back but at the same time, he wants to shove up into Sam’s welcoming grip and he tries to do both at the same time, working himself into a sinuous writhe. “So hot, Dean…” Sam gasps and then he’s coming against Dean’s back, a seeping warmth on Dean’s skin.
Dean growls as Sam tightens his hand and he feels himself pushing over the edge too, splattering onto the shower wall. Sam collapses against him, spent, pressing Dean even closer to the wall and Dean just moans, loving the heavy weight of his brother, how it feels like he can’t get away. He’s so fucking screwed up in the head. Sam presses wet, lazy kisses to Dean’s throat and Dean finally works up the ambition to turn himself around. “Happy?” he asks and Sam just hums as Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders, the wall they’re leaning against being the only thing keeping them up in the foggy haze of orgasm.
They stay in the shower long enough to wash away the jizz and regain their equilibriums before Dean reaches out and turns the knob. As the water fades into a trickle and eventually stops, he pushes Sam into stepping out of the tub. Sam staggers, his knees apparently still just a little weak, but he goes willingly enough. Dean follows him but stops at the mirror, catching sight of himself. He tilts his head a little and glares at the slowly developing hickey that’s in plain fricking sight. Sam meets his eyes in the mirror and shrugs with a shit-eating grin. “Dad’s not going to be home for a week,” Sam says before he happily waltzes out of the bathroom.
“Bitch,” Dean mutters, irritably poking at the bruise. He’s going to have to have a talk with Sam about leaving hickeys where people can see them. Except there’s a small part of Dean that is ridiculously pleased at the moment. Dean rolls his eyes at his own pathetic neediness and follows Sam out into the main room of the motel.
Sam’s sprawled happily on the bed with his eyes giving Dean the best come-hither look he can manage and even if it does maybe need a little work, fucked if Dean can resist it. They’re both naked and wet but Dean sprawls out on the bed right alongside Sam. Oh well. That’s why there’s two beds, right? Sam fiddles with the hair at Dean’s neck, staring at Dean’s ear. “Dad’s gone for a week,” Sam says quietly and bites his lip.
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, burying his nose under Sam’s jaw. He still smells faintly of sweat because even though they were both in the shower together, there wasn’t a whole lot of washing going on. Dean trails his hands down Sam’s lean sides, chuckling with Sam jerks with a gasp.
“We could…” Sam trails off, still not quite meeting Dean’s eyes. “If you want.”
Sam, though, doesn’t have to say what’s on his mind because Dean’s pretty sure he’s on the same damn page. Not like the idea is ever far from his mind anyway. “Gonna kill me, Sam,” he groans. He’s been happy with the handjobs and the blowjobs and while, yeah, he wants to take it to the next level, Sam’s still 15. 15, Dean reminds himself.
“You always say that,” Sam complains quietly. “I want to, Dean.” And then he’s moving his hands and Dean doesn’t even have time to react before Sam’s grabbing his dick and stroking him. Dean’s dick is a damn traitor and gets back up again, even though Dean thought for sure he was down for the count at least for an hour or so. “Want to, Dean…”
Dean whimpers and kisses Sam’s neck, legs churning as he pushes up into Sam’s touch and Sam’s body. He wants it too. Wants it so damn bad. But he doesn’t want to hurt Sammy. Can’t hurt Sammy.
But he feels himself weakening with every teasing stroke Sam gives him. The kid’s willing. He’s even more willing than Dean is and frankly, look at how many lines they’ve already crossed…
Metallica suddenly erupts in the room, as loud as it can be when it’s been compressed into a midi file. Dean jerks upward instinctively while Sam groans and bangs his head back against the pillow. Sam tries his best to hold Dean still but Dean fends him off and scrambles off the bed to head for his coat pocket and his cell phone. His hard-on is already starting to wilt.
He grabs his jacket, ripping it off the chair it’d been sitting on and yanks out the phone, flipping it open. “Yeah?” he asks.
“Need you to do something for me,” his father says by way of greeting and Dean’s already nodding his head.
“Yes, sir.” Dean glances up at Sammy who’d narrowed his eyes at Dean’s affirmative answer because now he knows who’s on the other side of the line.
“Grab a pen and some paper because I need you and Sammy to do some research before I reach Michigan, here. See what you can dig up for me so I don’t have to waste any time.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean repeats, striding over to the table and fumbling through Sam’s backpack for a notebook and a pencil. It feels a bit awkward to be talking to his dad while he’s completely naked, but Dean’s trying hard not to think about that at the moment. “Ready,” he says, bending down over the table, pencil poised.
“I need you to look up information on a Mark Dearborn, probably died in the early 1920s,” Dad says and Dean nods to himself, jotting down Mark Dearborn 1920s while his father continues. “Look up how he died, any acquaintances-” Dean jerks the phone away from his ear, even as his father continues listing off what he wants because Sam has suddenly pressed up behind Dean again, his hand once again on Dean’s dick.
“Get off,” Dean hisses, low enough that Dad can’t hear it but Sam just growls.
“No.” He bites Dean’s neck and Dean shudders, choking back a moan. “Maybe you should hang up,” Sam whispers. That is simultaneously the best idea and the craziest thing Sam has ever said all rolled into one.
“Dean?” Dad asks sharply and Dean can hear it even with the phone a full foot away from him.
Dean jerks the phone back to his ear, trying to ignore Sam’s insistent touches. “Yeah, I’m here.” He shoves back at Sam but Sam just takes that as an invitation, jerking his hips against Dean in a way that almost makes Dean whimper into the phone.
“Are you listening?” his father snipes and Dean winces.
His heart is clenching in his chest at possibly disappointing Dad so Dean goes with a half-truth. “Yeah,” he says, just writing. “Could you, uh, repeat that last part?”
Dad sighs like Dean always pulls something like this and Dean kicks back at Sam, knocking him in the shin and feeling a twinge of satisfaction at Sam’s hiss of pain. To their father, you’re only as good as your last performance and like hell Sam was going to fuck this up for him. “I said to pay close attention to an Irene Schmaucher and to find out where she’s buried at.”
“Okay,” Dean says, writing that down, to. “Got it.”
“Good,” Dad says flatly and continues on with his list but all Dean can really focus on is the fact that Sam is suddenly on his knees in front of Dean and the erection that had disappeared when Dean had heard the phone ring is suddenly back with a vengeance. They've never done this before, never pushed this hard, but fuck if it's not the absolutely hottest thing Dean's ever seen. Dad’s in his ear saying something about a Barry Right, or maybe Barry White, Dean’s not sure, maybe his father just wants some good soul music or something, because Sam’s licking his lips with a positively evil grin.
Dean tries to back up, to retreat, but Sam reaches out and grabs Dean’s hips, holding him still as he leans in to lick over the head of Dean’s dick, all smooth confidence. Dean’s breath catches on a gasp and he drops the pen because fuck, where the hell had little Sammy learned to tease like that? It hits Dean hard in the gut, stabbing inside him, when he realizes exactly who Sam learned his skills from. Apparently Sammy’s been doing more than just watching Dean with the popsicles…
“Are you okay?” Dad growls, concern edging out the irritation but just barely.
“Fine,” Dean whispers, wincing at how breathy his voice sounds. He clears his throat. “I’m fine.” Christ, fuck, no, he's not.
There’s a pause like maybe Dad doesn’t quite believe him but Dean can’t be worried about that because he can’t formulate a lie right now to save his life-Sam’s slowly sucking down Dean’s dick. He's being careful and tentative about it but he's warm and eager and Dean's going to fucking pass out. “You punk ass bitch,” Dean grinds out, remembering just in time to tilt the phone away from his mouth. Sam hums happily around his mouthful and Dean can feel the vibrations shooting up his dick. He gasps and catches himself on the table as his knees shake. Fuck!
“Dean,” his father says sternly, “I really need you to focus, son. This is important.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean moans and he’s going to kill Sam.
The little bitch wraps a hand around the base of Dean’s cock as he sucks, just like he knows Dean likes from all the times Dean has done it to him. Dean glares down helplessly, unable to do much more than spread his legs a little wider and Sam smirks up at him. He pulls off of Dean’s dick for a quick second, whispering “I’ll show you ‘yes, sir…’” and it’s totally not Dean’s fault that that’s fucking hot. Then Dean’s right back in that accommodating heat and Sam’s sucking to the best of his new found ability. Dean doesn’t want to insult his little brother or anything, but Sam’s apparently turning into quite the cocksucker.
He doesn’t know how he manages to make it through the rest of the conversation with his father, or even if he gets everything written down correctly, all he knows that that he didn’t come screaming into the phone, which, yeah, is definitely a win. After his father finally says “get to it” as way of goodbye and hangs up, Dean drops the phone on the table and glares down at the still busy Sam.
Sam smirks and pulls off, obviously finished here now that he’s apparently failed his goal of getting Dean to come while he was on the phone but Dean’s really having none of it. He sinks a hand into Sam’s hair, jerking him back where he was and savoring Sam’s startled look. “Finish what you started, bitch,” and it doesn’t come out as much as an out and out demand as Dean wanted but it’s not so pathetic that Sam can ignore it. For the first time since Sam hit his knees in front of Dean, he blushes and leans forward.
Sam's tentative and more than a little shy now that Dean's entire attention is focused on him and it's obvious what they're doing. He takes a little too much, gags and pulls off but Dean doesn't let him get too far. Not that Sam needs any reminding--he's right back at Dean before Dean even barely realizes that he's gone. Sam spreads his lips out over Dean's cock again, his blush high in his cheeks and Dean feels desire stab him straight in the gut. Fuck. Seeing his little brother, seeing Sam do this for him--it makes Dean know that he's not going to last.
Dean keeps Sam in place as he sucks and fuck but it feels good. It's Sam's first time and Dean wants to take it easy but it's also been a while since he's had this too and he can't quite control himself. Dean lets himself thrust a little, pushing in and out of Sam’s surprisingly naturally talented mouth and Sam starts moaning around Dean’s dick like a damn pornstar. Dean hazards a glance down and sees Sam’s lips around his cock, Sam’s lashes heavy on his cheeks and, the final straw, Sam’s hand working furiously between his legs, and he’s coming so hard his knees buckle and he has to catch himself on the table.
Sam whines and swallows it all down as Dean pumps into him and Dean clenches his fist on the edge of the table top, biting his lip to stop from shouting. Sam keeps sucking even after Dean runs dry, sending shivers up and down Dean’s spine as Sam’s mouth keeps stimulating the sensitive skin. Then Sam moans and stiffens and Dean sags against the table because he knows Sam is coming.
Sam buries his nose right against Dean’s groin, taking all of Dean’s softening cock inside his mouth as he spills onto the floor and it’s all Dean can do to hold himself upright.
When Sam finishes, he lets Dean go, Dean’s spent cock slipping from his mouth in a wet slide along Sam’s lips and Sam jerkily pushes himself to his feet. “Good?” Sam asks, a combination of smug and nervous and Dean quirks an eyebrow at him and drags the kid in for a long deep kiss.
He’s itching to return the favor but it’s going to have to wait until at least after a nap. He does know, though, that little Sammy’s going to get a little payback after the stunt he just pulled. Dean swirls his tongue lazily inside Sam’s mouth, making plans as Sam leans into him. Maybe it’s time to introduce Sammy to the pleasures and frustrations of handcuffs…
They’ve got a week, after all.
Author: dragonspell
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Underage content (Sam's 15, Dean's 19). Pre-series.
Summary: In a motel in Wisconsin, the boys have the place to themselves and Sam just wants a little attention. Direct sequel to Keep the Dirt Off Your Knees.
Word Count: 3480
A/N: Sequel to Dreaming in Florescents, Blue Raspberry, Clements, Minnesota, and Keep the Dirt Off Your Knees however, you don't need to read them to understand this. Just porn.
Wisconsin turns out to be a standard salt and burn. Thanks in large part to Sammy’s puppy dog eyes-no way was that bitch cracking without them-they manage to complete the hunt in under two days. Dean’s chalking it up as a win and even bought a cake to celebrate even if Sammy’s currently brooding and Dad’s already got the next hunt all picked out.
Matter of fact, Dad’s packing for it right now and Dean feels just a little bit pissed off by that. One night off isn’t going to make that big of a difference but Dean knows that if he were to mention that to Dad, he’d only get chewed out and lectured about the evil of the world not taking vacations or some such bullshit. It’s not that Dean doesn’t want to save people but he doesn’t think asking for a family night is too much. Besides…
“School starts tomorrow,” Sam says sullenly from the bed. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and he’s just daring Dad to say something wrong. Dean rolls his eyes at the bitchy way Sammy’s going about this, but he does have a point. The summer is kind of over and Dad should really start considering keeping them in one place for longer again.
“Does it?” Dad asks non-committally, checking over a gun before he stuffs it into his duffle, too.
Sam glowers and fists his hands in the hideous floral comforter of the motel bed and Dean puts himself in between the two of them before this becomes an all out screaming match again. So much for ‘family night.’ “I could...” Dean starts, but then Dad rises and the words stall in Dean’s throat. He wants to volunteer to stay put with Sammy for the first month here but if Dad needs him, Dad needs him. Still, there’s a garage in this two-bit two that’s got a help wanted sign up in the window and Dean knows he could get the job easily.
Dad carefully puts the full duffel on the floor and regards Dean gently. He reaches out a hand and settles it on Dean’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “I know school starts tomorrow,” he says but even though he’s touching Dean, he’s addressing the words to Sam. Dean gets the feeling that Dad would be touching Sam too, if Sam wasn’t being such a bitch right now. “I’m going solo on this one.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, just tosses his head to stare at the wall, having geared himself up for a fight that’s not going to happen. Dean, though, is trying to catch Dad’s eye. “You sure?” Dean asks, just because he has to. Dad nods and so Dean asks the next logical question. “How long?”
Dad gives him a little shake before letting his hand drop and Dean tries to hide how much he misses it already. “Maybe a week,” he says. “Maybe two.” He reaches down to grab his duffel again, picking it up. “I figured we could stay put for a few months, maybe.” He shoots a look over at Sam who’s trying to pretend he’s not listening. “Couple of possible hunts within a couple hours of here.” He half-shrugs and then lets the conversation drop. He’s said enough. Dad is never one for long, drawn-out goodbyes so when he turns back to Dean and offers a gruff “You look after your brother,” Dean immediately sticks out his hand. Dad blinks at it before taking it and Dean gives his hand a firm shake.
“Good luck, sir,” Dean says, keeping his posture straight while he does so, just like how Dad taught him. Dad smiles slow and small and Dean counts it as a win, his chest swelling with pride.
“You, too, son,” Dad says. He glances again over at Sam who’s still carefully not looking at him. At least when he’s watching. “Bye, Sammy.” Sam doesn’t answer but he does sigh and look over which is good enough for Dad. Dad nods and heads out the door and as soon as it closes, Sam’s up off the bed, striding towards Dean.
“Yes sir,” he mocks. “Just let me bend over and grab my ankles, sir.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Shut up, bitch.” He steps away from Sam, not really retreating, but not letting Sam get up in his face either. Outside, he hears the Impala start and the rumble start to fade as their father pulls away from the hotel. At least they’re just about in the center of town so everything looks to be an easy walk. Sam tries to block him, but Dean just shoves him gently and heads to the bathroom.
“He’s supposed to be our father, not our commanding officer,” Sam growls at Dean’s back.
“A little respect wouldn’t kill ya, Sammy,” Dean shoots back, he walks into the bathroom, grimacing at the pink frillyness of it again because Christ, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to this. The room hadn’t been so bad, if you ignored the horrid bedspreads but the first time Dean had seen the bathroom, he’d just about demanded that Dad get another room. Unfortunately, it appeared that all the bathrooms of this particular motel were in the same horrible shade of pink-something about getting a special deal on the tile or something. It made Dean want to shudder every time. Maybe that reaction would get better in a few days.
Deciding to ignore the Barbie pink of the tile and the unnecessary layers of lace and frills every where, Dean strips off his shirt. He throws it over the sink that is a hideous kind of pink, too, this one more pearly shell and unbuttons his jeans, sliding them off his hips.
Dad’s gone for at least a week. A week. To themselves. Sure, Sammy might have to go to school during that week but afterward… Dean shivers and turns on the water. He really shouldn’t be wasting any time because yeah, they had a week, but that could still be an amazingly short time. It’s just, though, that he knows that if he goes out there right now, he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to control himself. He’s going to take the edge off first, while he makes sure that Dad’s not going to double back or anything. He and Sam have already been caught in enough compromising positions by their father before, thank you very much. Dean smirks at himself and adjusts the temperature just right before stepping in.
So the bathroom might be horribly decorated but at least it’s got good water pressure. Dean groans as the water hits his skin, relaxing his muscles and relieving the tension he hadn’t even know he was carrying. With a small smile, he runs his hand down his chest to wrap his dick in a firm grip. “Fuck yeah…” he whispers into the shower. That’s just what he needs. He moves downward to cup his balls and bites back a groan. Yeah…
A body slams Dean up against the shower wall, a hand shoving Dean away from his dick and Dean feels a moment of panic before he hears Sammy’s voice hissing in his ear. “Can’t believe you were in here doing this without me!”
Dean shivers at the feel of Sam pressing him against the wall, holding him immobilized and hard and solid behind him. Sam jacks him hard and fast and Dean can’t help the sluttish tilt of his hips as he pushes back, squirming against Sam’s hold and trying to get closer. “Sammy…” he groans. Fuck, but the kid is going to be the death of him.
Sam pushes his big dick right up against Dean’s ass, snarling out a “yes.” Then he’s mouthing at the back of Dean’s neck, using every inch of height he’s grown this year, and his hand is pumping between Dean’s legs. Dean shudders with the feel of Sam rubbing behind him, wanting to push even further back but at the same time, he wants to shove up into Sam’s welcoming grip and he tries to do both at the same time, working himself into a sinuous writhe. “So hot, Dean…” Sam gasps and then he’s coming against Dean’s back, a seeping warmth on Dean’s skin.
Dean growls as Sam tightens his hand and he feels himself pushing over the edge too, splattering onto the shower wall. Sam collapses against him, spent, pressing Dean even closer to the wall and Dean just moans, loving the heavy weight of his brother, how it feels like he can’t get away. He’s so fucking screwed up in the head. Sam presses wet, lazy kisses to Dean’s throat and Dean finally works up the ambition to turn himself around. “Happy?” he asks and Sam just hums as Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders, the wall they’re leaning against being the only thing keeping them up in the foggy haze of orgasm.
They stay in the shower long enough to wash away the jizz and regain their equilibriums before Dean reaches out and turns the knob. As the water fades into a trickle and eventually stops, he pushes Sam into stepping out of the tub. Sam staggers, his knees apparently still just a little weak, but he goes willingly enough. Dean follows him but stops at the mirror, catching sight of himself. He tilts his head a little and glares at the slowly developing hickey that’s in plain fricking sight. Sam meets his eyes in the mirror and shrugs with a shit-eating grin. “Dad’s not going to be home for a week,” Sam says before he happily waltzes out of the bathroom.
“Bitch,” Dean mutters, irritably poking at the bruise. He’s going to have to have a talk with Sam about leaving hickeys where people can see them. Except there’s a small part of Dean that is ridiculously pleased at the moment. Dean rolls his eyes at his own pathetic neediness and follows Sam out into the main room of the motel.
Sam’s sprawled happily on the bed with his eyes giving Dean the best come-hither look he can manage and even if it does maybe need a little work, fucked if Dean can resist it. They’re both naked and wet but Dean sprawls out on the bed right alongside Sam. Oh well. That’s why there’s two beds, right? Sam fiddles with the hair at Dean’s neck, staring at Dean’s ear. “Dad’s gone for a week,” Sam says quietly and bites his lip.
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, burying his nose under Sam’s jaw. He still smells faintly of sweat because even though they were both in the shower together, there wasn’t a whole lot of washing going on. Dean trails his hands down Sam’s lean sides, chuckling with Sam jerks with a gasp.
“We could…” Sam trails off, still not quite meeting Dean’s eyes. “If you want.”
Sam, though, doesn’t have to say what’s on his mind because Dean’s pretty sure he’s on the same damn page. Not like the idea is ever far from his mind anyway. “Gonna kill me, Sam,” he groans. He’s been happy with the handjobs and the blowjobs and while, yeah, he wants to take it to the next level, Sam’s still 15. 15, Dean reminds himself.
“You always say that,” Sam complains quietly. “I want to, Dean.” And then he’s moving his hands and Dean doesn’t even have time to react before Sam’s grabbing his dick and stroking him. Dean’s dick is a damn traitor and gets back up again, even though Dean thought for sure he was down for the count at least for an hour or so. “Want to, Dean…”
Dean whimpers and kisses Sam’s neck, legs churning as he pushes up into Sam’s touch and Sam’s body. He wants it too. Wants it so damn bad. But he doesn’t want to hurt Sammy. Can’t hurt Sammy.
But he feels himself weakening with every teasing stroke Sam gives him. The kid’s willing. He’s even more willing than Dean is and frankly, look at how many lines they’ve already crossed…
Metallica suddenly erupts in the room, as loud as it can be when it’s been compressed into a midi file. Dean jerks upward instinctively while Sam groans and bangs his head back against the pillow. Sam tries his best to hold Dean still but Dean fends him off and scrambles off the bed to head for his coat pocket and his cell phone. His hard-on is already starting to wilt.
He grabs his jacket, ripping it off the chair it’d been sitting on and yanks out the phone, flipping it open. “Yeah?” he asks.
“Need you to do something for me,” his father says by way of greeting and Dean’s already nodding his head.
“Yes, sir.” Dean glances up at Sammy who’d narrowed his eyes at Dean’s affirmative answer because now he knows who’s on the other side of the line.
“Grab a pen and some paper because I need you and Sammy to do some research before I reach Michigan, here. See what you can dig up for me so I don’t have to waste any time.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean repeats, striding over to the table and fumbling through Sam’s backpack for a notebook and a pencil. It feels a bit awkward to be talking to his dad while he’s completely naked, but Dean’s trying hard not to think about that at the moment. “Ready,” he says, bending down over the table, pencil poised.
“I need you to look up information on a Mark Dearborn, probably died in the early 1920s,” Dad says and Dean nods to himself, jotting down Mark Dearborn 1920s while his father continues. “Look up how he died, any acquaintances-” Dean jerks the phone away from his ear, even as his father continues listing off what he wants because Sam has suddenly pressed up behind Dean again, his hand once again on Dean’s dick.
“Get off,” Dean hisses, low enough that Dad can’t hear it but Sam just growls.
“No.” He bites Dean’s neck and Dean shudders, choking back a moan. “Maybe you should hang up,” Sam whispers. That is simultaneously the best idea and the craziest thing Sam has ever said all rolled into one.
“Dean?” Dad asks sharply and Dean can hear it even with the phone a full foot away from him.
Dean jerks the phone back to his ear, trying to ignore Sam’s insistent touches. “Yeah, I’m here.” He shoves back at Sam but Sam just takes that as an invitation, jerking his hips against Dean in a way that almost makes Dean whimper into the phone.
“Are you listening?” his father snipes and Dean winces.
His heart is clenching in his chest at possibly disappointing Dad so Dean goes with a half-truth. “Yeah,” he says, just writing. “Could you, uh, repeat that last part?”
Dad sighs like Dean always pulls something like this and Dean kicks back at Sam, knocking him in the shin and feeling a twinge of satisfaction at Sam’s hiss of pain. To their father, you’re only as good as your last performance and like hell Sam was going to fuck this up for him. “I said to pay close attention to an Irene Schmaucher and to find out where she’s buried at.”
“Okay,” Dean says, writing that down, to. “Got it.”
“Good,” Dad says flatly and continues on with his list but all Dean can really focus on is the fact that Sam is suddenly on his knees in front of Dean and the erection that had disappeared when Dean had heard the phone ring is suddenly back with a vengeance. They've never done this before, never pushed this hard, but fuck if it's not the absolutely hottest thing Dean's ever seen. Dad’s in his ear saying something about a Barry Right, or maybe Barry White, Dean’s not sure, maybe his father just wants some good soul music or something, because Sam’s licking his lips with a positively evil grin.
Dean tries to back up, to retreat, but Sam reaches out and grabs Dean’s hips, holding him still as he leans in to lick over the head of Dean’s dick, all smooth confidence. Dean’s breath catches on a gasp and he drops the pen because fuck, where the hell had little Sammy learned to tease like that? It hits Dean hard in the gut, stabbing inside him, when he realizes exactly who Sam learned his skills from. Apparently Sammy’s been doing more than just watching Dean with the popsicles…
“Are you okay?” Dad growls, concern edging out the irritation but just barely.
“Fine,” Dean whispers, wincing at how breathy his voice sounds. He clears his throat. “I’m fine.” Christ, fuck, no, he's not.
There’s a pause like maybe Dad doesn’t quite believe him but Dean can’t be worried about that because he can’t formulate a lie right now to save his life-Sam’s slowly sucking down Dean’s dick. He's being careful and tentative about it but he's warm and eager and Dean's going to fucking pass out. “You punk ass bitch,” Dean grinds out, remembering just in time to tilt the phone away from his mouth. Sam hums happily around his mouthful and Dean can feel the vibrations shooting up his dick. He gasps and catches himself on the table as his knees shake. Fuck!
“Dean,” his father says sternly, “I really need you to focus, son. This is important.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean moans and he’s going to kill Sam.
The little bitch wraps a hand around the base of Dean’s cock as he sucks, just like he knows Dean likes from all the times Dean has done it to him. Dean glares down helplessly, unable to do much more than spread his legs a little wider and Sam smirks up at him. He pulls off of Dean’s dick for a quick second, whispering “I’ll show you ‘yes, sir…’” and it’s totally not Dean’s fault that that’s fucking hot. Then Dean’s right back in that accommodating heat and Sam’s sucking to the best of his new found ability. Dean doesn’t want to insult his little brother or anything, but Sam’s apparently turning into quite the cocksucker.
He doesn’t know how he manages to make it through the rest of the conversation with his father, or even if he gets everything written down correctly, all he knows that that he didn’t come screaming into the phone, which, yeah, is definitely a win. After his father finally says “get to it” as way of goodbye and hangs up, Dean drops the phone on the table and glares down at the still busy Sam.
Sam smirks and pulls off, obviously finished here now that he’s apparently failed his goal of getting Dean to come while he was on the phone but Dean’s really having none of it. He sinks a hand into Sam’s hair, jerking him back where he was and savoring Sam’s startled look. “Finish what you started, bitch,” and it doesn’t come out as much as an out and out demand as Dean wanted but it’s not so pathetic that Sam can ignore it. For the first time since Sam hit his knees in front of Dean, he blushes and leans forward.
Sam's tentative and more than a little shy now that Dean's entire attention is focused on him and it's obvious what they're doing. He takes a little too much, gags and pulls off but Dean doesn't let him get too far. Not that Sam needs any reminding--he's right back at Dean before Dean even barely realizes that he's gone. Sam spreads his lips out over Dean's cock again, his blush high in his cheeks and Dean feels desire stab him straight in the gut. Fuck. Seeing his little brother, seeing Sam do this for him--it makes Dean know that he's not going to last.
Dean keeps Sam in place as he sucks and fuck but it feels good. It's Sam's first time and Dean wants to take it easy but it's also been a while since he's had this too and he can't quite control himself. Dean lets himself thrust a little, pushing in and out of Sam’s surprisingly naturally talented mouth and Sam starts moaning around Dean’s dick like a damn pornstar. Dean hazards a glance down and sees Sam’s lips around his cock, Sam’s lashes heavy on his cheeks and, the final straw, Sam’s hand working furiously between his legs, and he’s coming so hard his knees buckle and he has to catch himself on the table.
Sam whines and swallows it all down as Dean pumps into him and Dean clenches his fist on the edge of the table top, biting his lip to stop from shouting. Sam keeps sucking even after Dean runs dry, sending shivers up and down Dean’s spine as Sam’s mouth keeps stimulating the sensitive skin. Then Sam moans and stiffens and Dean sags against the table because he knows Sam is coming.
Sam buries his nose right against Dean’s groin, taking all of Dean’s softening cock inside his mouth as he spills onto the floor and it’s all Dean can do to hold himself upright.
When Sam finishes, he lets Dean go, Dean’s spent cock slipping from his mouth in a wet slide along Sam’s lips and Sam jerkily pushes himself to his feet. “Good?” Sam asks, a combination of smug and nervous and Dean quirks an eyebrow at him and drags the kid in for a long deep kiss.
He’s itching to return the favor but it’s going to have to wait until at least after a nap. He does know, though, that little Sammy’s going to get a little payback after the stunt he just pulled. Dean swirls his tongue lazily inside Sam’s mouth, making plans as Sam leans into him. Maybe it’s time to introduce Sammy to the pleasures and frustrations of handcuffs…
They’ve got a week, after all.