Yay, fic.
Title: Bored
Author: Llama
Fandom: Supernatural
Word count: 650
Pairing, if applicable: Sam/Dean
Rating: R to be cautious, see Warnings.
Summary: Sam's bored, and Dean doesn't stand a chance.
Warnings: Incest (siblings, none of it dwelled on or explicitly stated in the fic). Also, Dean is about 18 here, Sam is younger than him. Please don't read if that's going to offend you, and mods, if you want the entry locked or whatever just say.
Notes: You can find info on Supernatural here if you need it. No, I have no idea why the prompt pushed me towards exhibitionism, but it's what happened.
Sam was bored. Bored, sick of being squashed up in the back of the car on yet another long night drive, and most of all, utterly bored, sick and tired of Led Zeppelin. Either the tape deck was more screwed than he thought, or Stairway to Heaven really did go on forever.
The silent poking war that had been going on while they passed the towns of Boring, Really Goddamn Boring and Who the Hell Decided that was a Town Anyway lost its appeal when Dean turned mean, which he always did these days. It was too dark to read, too uncomfortable to sleep, and if they talked too much Dad would just start testing them on what they'd learnt about ghosts and shapeshifters this week, Sam would tell him to go to hell again and Dean would get that look that Sam hated, the one that said he had no clue how to make it better.
That was worse than Dean being all grown-up and mean.
Dean's fingers pinched at Sam's knee under the blanket, and his fingers were ow, sharp. Sam took a deep breath and let his nails trace a slow, circular trail over Dean's leg in return. He could tell Dean was waiting for Sam to take his revenge, but so far he didn't seem suspicious. Clearly he was made of stone, because the motel in Ohio where Dad had left them alone long enough for Sam to pull Dean into the shower with him was days behind them. Dean went for a prod to Sam's thigh next, so Sam smoothed his hand along the inner seam of Dean's jeans, the stitching rubbing pleasantly against his palm, the heel of his hand brushing Dean's groin just enough to feel the effect he was having on him.
The way Dean tensed against him was all part of the fun.
It was too dark to make out the expression on Dean's face when Sam pressed down hard over his cock, but he was so still Sam thought for one disappointing moment that he'd won. Then Dean leaned over and fumbled a hand over Sam's shirt, pinching and twisting vaguely in the vicinity of a nipple, his breath harsh and heavy against Sam's neck, and god, that was more like it. Sam thumbed Dean's jeans open and wriggled a hand inside.
There wasn't much room to manoeuvre, and he was sure the angle was awful for Dean as well as his wrist, but Dean's eyes grew ever more cartoon-wide with each awkward stroke of Sam's hand, his lips glistening wet in the near dark. Every flash of headlights that arced over him revealed the flush spread across his face. Sam wanted to lick it right off him.
"You boys okay back there?"
Dean jerked his hand out of Sam's lap as if he'd been caught in the act, but Sam just tightened his grip on Dean's cock for the hell of it and gave it a determined stroke. If he was as close as Sam thought-oh, yeah. Dean's jaw tensed and he spilled over Sam's hand, his mouth close enough for Sam to see how hard he bit down on his lip.
Sam thought about licking that too.
"Dean smells," he said instead, and smirked across the back seat.
Dad snorted and turned the music up a notch. "Couple of hours to daylight, get some sleep," he said, and went back to drumming along on the steering wheel while Sam carefully licked every taste of his brother from his hand. Dean didn't try to touch Sam or return the favour, but he didn't take his eyes off him either, not until he dozed off with his bony feet digging into Sam's hip.
Apparently it made Robert Plant wonder (god, repeatedly), but Sam just jammed his knees harder into the back of his dad's seat, rested his cheek against the chilly window and grinned.
Author: Llama
Fandom: Supernatural
Word count: 650
Pairing, if applicable: Sam/Dean
Rating: R to be cautious, see Warnings.
Summary: Sam's bored, and Dean doesn't stand a chance.
Warnings: Incest (siblings, none of it dwelled on or explicitly stated in the fic). Also, Dean is about 18 here, Sam is younger than him. Please don't read if that's going to offend you, and mods, if you want the entry locked or whatever just say.
Notes: You can find info on Supernatural here if you need it. No, I have no idea why the prompt pushed me towards exhibitionism, but it's what happened.
Sam was bored. Bored, sick of being squashed up in the back of the car on yet another long night drive, and most of all, utterly bored, sick and tired of Led Zeppelin. Either the tape deck was more screwed than he thought, or Stairway to Heaven really did go on forever.
The silent poking war that had been going on while they passed the towns of Boring, Really Goddamn Boring and Who the Hell Decided that was a Town Anyway lost its appeal when Dean turned mean, which he always did these days. It was too dark to read, too uncomfortable to sleep, and if they talked too much Dad would just start testing them on what they'd learnt about ghosts and shapeshifters this week, Sam would tell him to go to hell again and Dean would get that look that Sam hated, the one that said he had no clue how to make it better.
That was worse than Dean being all grown-up and mean.
Dean's fingers pinched at Sam's knee under the blanket, and his fingers were ow, sharp. Sam took a deep breath and let his nails trace a slow, circular trail over Dean's leg in return. He could tell Dean was waiting for Sam to take his revenge, but so far he didn't seem suspicious. Clearly he was made of stone, because the motel in Ohio where Dad had left them alone long enough for Sam to pull Dean into the shower with him was days behind them. Dean went for a prod to Sam's thigh next, so Sam smoothed his hand along the inner seam of Dean's jeans, the stitching rubbing pleasantly against his palm, the heel of his hand brushing Dean's groin just enough to feel the effect he was having on him.
The way Dean tensed against him was all part of the fun.
It was too dark to make out the expression on Dean's face when Sam pressed down hard over his cock, but he was so still Sam thought for one disappointing moment that he'd won. Then Dean leaned over and fumbled a hand over Sam's shirt, pinching and twisting vaguely in the vicinity of a nipple, his breath harsh and heavy against Sam's neck, and god, that was more like it. Sam thumbed Dean's jeans open and wriggled a hand inside.
There wasn't much room to manoeuvre, and he was sure the angle was awful for Dean as well as his wrist, but Dean's eyes grew ever more cartoon-wide with each awkward stroke of Sam's hand, his lips glistening wet in the near dark. Every flash of headlights that arced over him revealed the flush spread across his face. Sam wanted to lick it right off him.
"You boys okay back there?"
Dean jerked his hand out of Sam's lap as if he'd been caught in the act, but Sam just tightened his grip on Dean's cock for the hell of it and gave it a determined stroke. If he was as close as Sam thought-oh, yeah. Dean's jaw tensed and he spilled over Sam's hand, his mouth close enough for Sam to see how hard he bit down on his lip.
Sam thought about licking that too.
"Dean smells," he said instead, and smirked across the back seat.
Dad snorted and turned the music up a notch. "Couple of hours to daylight, get some sleep," he said, and went back to drumming along on the steering wheel while Sam carefully licked every taste of his brother from his hand. Dean didn't try to touch Sam or return the favour, but he didn't take his eyes off him either, not until he dozed off with his bony feet digging into Sam's hip.
Apparently it made Robert Plant wonder (god, repeatedly), but Sam just jammed his knees harder into the back of his dad's seat, rested his cheek against the chilly window and grinned.