(Sam/Dean, r-rated, 949 words)
(Sam/Dean, r-rated, 949 words, weecest) babysitting (erm… kind of… I'm sure this counts if you're Dean), for dev_earl
It's hard to tell whether Sam's legs have gone numb due to the amount of alcohol he's consumed or the weight of Dean's head and shoulders resting on his thighs. One thing he's sure of is that it's the alcohol sending that pleasant, muffled buzz through his system… He's pretty sure it's the alcohol and not having Dean sprawled out across his lap that's doing that.
"Man," says Dean. "I am so wasted. I mean, totally. Don't ask me to drive or hunt or shit 'cos I. Am. Wasted."
The motel bed smells vaguely of damp and there's something hard digging in to the back of Sam's neck - he thinks it might be the handle of Dean's knife under the pillow - but he's too blissed out to move. Maybe later he'll need to piss, or vomit, but not right now.
His fingers curl about the neck of his beer bottle, sweat making the glass slippery, and he lifts it to the dull electric glare of the light to peer at it blearily. His lower lip wobbles at what he sees and he knees Dean gently in the back.
"My bottle. S'empty." Dean doesn't move and Sam wonders if he's falling asleep, so he knees him harder. "Dean. My bottle. I need another."
Dean groans and tries to wriggle bonelessly away from Sam's knees, ends up with his skull cradled in the v of Sam's thighs. Sam's sixteen and the weight of his brother's head right there is enough to make him a little hard. Then Dean's rolling over to fumble around over the side of the bed and Sam can hear the clink of their empties.
"Nup," says Dean. "No more beer for you, kid."
Sam flops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. The lightbulb is pirouetting above his head and the afterimage of the light burns his eyes so he closes them. He loses himself in his breathing, the slow thrum of his blood and the niggling pleasure of a half-hard cock.
At the click of a lighter, Sam cracks his eyes open and sees a cigarette hanging slack from Dean's pursed lips. It's kind of fascinating: watching Dean try to light his cigarette while his hand wobbles backwards and forwards, his mouth a small pink pout of intense concentration. Finally, he gets the damn thing lit and the smell of it drifts up to Sam.
"Dad doesn't like you smoking," he says.
"So don't tell him," says Dean. "And he's not exactly wild about you getting drunk on a school night, y'know."
Sam watches him some more. It's a weird angle, seeing Dean's nose and cheekbones from up here, the swell of his lips, the line of his leg as it hangs off the side of the bed, his sock tugged down so far off his foot he's barely wearing it.
"You're gonna set the bed on fire," he says at last.
Dean rolls his eyes and flips over onto his stomach. His chin digs in sharp in Sam's stomach and his collarbone grinds against Sam's cock. He jabs the cigarette towards Sam and Sam's first thought is that he's trying to burn him. He opens his mouth to protest and Dean shoves the cigarette into it.
Then Dean tugs Sam's fly down and fumbles with his underwear until he can pull his cock out. It stiffens some more just for being touched by Dean. Sam's belly goes tight with want and he jerks his hips up, pushing into Dean's grip. It's still a weird angle to be watching your brother's hand on your cock, though.
"Pretty gay," says Sam around the cigarette. He drops ash onto his t-shirt and frowns at it briefly. "What you're doing is pretty gay."
The corner of Dean's mouth twitches and he casts him a disdainful look, or, as disdainful as he can manage when he's mostly drunk.
"Shut up."
He says this right before he takes Sam's cock into his mouth. And then Sam can't manage words, just an odd strangled, whining noise. It's crazy, watching from this angle as Dean's lips slide slickly down the length of him, watching his cock disappear into his brother's mouth. The wet heat around him is awesome and then Dean sucks and Sam's spine goes ramrod straight.
He knows he's not going to last long. Dean's got one hand on Sam's hip, the jeans tugged down enough to expose skin, and is holding Sam down so he can't fuck Dean's mouth, can only take it as Dean fucks his mouth on Sam's cock. His cheeks are hollowed and every time he draws back, the light gleams off Sam's cock, left shining from Dean's mouth.
When he comes, his mouth goes slack and the cigarette slips from his lips, hits his chest and burns him. The pain makes him squeal which is just as well because he thinks he might be shrieking something humiliating about his brother's impressive cocksucking abilities otherwise.
While Sam retrieves the cigarette, Dean spits into a beer bottle. Sam stops, just as he's sticking the cigarette back in his mouth, as his come rolls from Dean's swollen lips and down the inside of the glass. Dean pulls a face then smirks at him and steals the cigarette. He rolls onto his back and takes a long drag.
Sam tries to make his brain function but it's drunk and still coming down from an orgasm and simply won't cooperate.
"Huh?" he says, and hopes Dean gets his meaning from that.
Seems like Dean does. He pats the nearest part of Sam he can reach, his calf, and says, "Dad told me to keep you out of trouble."
It's hard to tell whether Sam's legs have gone numb due to the amount of alcohol he's consumed or the weight of Dean's head and shoulders resting on his thighs. One thing he's sure of is that it's the alcohol sending that pleasant, muffled buzz through his system… He's pretty sure it's the alcohol and not having Dean sprawled out across his lap that's doing that.
"Man," says Dean. "I am so wasted. I mean, totally. Don't ask me to drive or hunt or shit 'cos I. Am. Wasted."
The motel bed smells vaguely of damp and there's something hard digging in to the back of Sam's neck - he thinks it might be the handle of Dean's knife under the pillow - but he's too blissed out to move. Maybe later he'll need to piss, or vomit, but not right now.
His fingers curl about the neck of his beer bottle, sweat making the glass slippery, and he lifts it to the dull electric glare of the light to peer at it blearily. His lower lip wobbles at what he sees and he knees Dean gently in the back.
"My bottle. S'empty." Dean doesn't move and Sam wonders if he's falling asleep, so he knees him harder. "Dean. My bottle. I need another."
Dean groans and tries to wriggle bonelessly away from Sam's knees, ends up with his skull cradled in the v of Sam's thighs. Sam's sixteen and the weight of his brother's head right there is enough to make him a little hard. Then Dean's rolling over to fumble around over the side of the bed and Sam can hear the clink of their empties.
"Nup," says Dean. "No more beer for you, kid."
Sam flops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. The lightbulb is pirouetting above his head and the afterimage of the light burns his eyes so he closes them. He loses himself in his breathing, the slow thrum of his blood and the niggling pleasure of a half-hard cock.
At the click of a lighter, Sam cracks his eyes open and sees a cigarette hanging slack from Dean's pursed lips. It's kind of fascinating: watching Dean try to light his cigarette while his hand wobbles backwards and forwards, his mouth a small pink pout of intense concentration. Finally, he gets the damn thing lit and the smell of it drifts up to Sam.
"Dad doesn't like you smoking," he says.
"So don't tell him," says Dean. "And he's not exactly wild about you getting drunk on a school night, y'know."
Sam watches him some more. It's a weird angle, seeing Dean's nose and cheekbones from up here, the swell of his lips, the line of his leg as it hangs off the side of the bed, his sock tugged down so far off his foot he's barely wearing it.
"You're gonna set the bed on fire," he says at last.
Dean rolls his eyes and flips over onto his stomach. His chin digs in sharp in Sam's stomach and his collarbone grinds against Sam's cock. He jabs the cigarette towards Sam and Sam's first thought is that he's trying to burn him. He opens his mouth to protest and Dean shoves the cigarette into it.
Then Dean tugs Sam's fly down and fumbles with his underwear until he can pull his cock out. It stiffens some more just for being touched by Dean. Sam's belly goes tight with want and he jerks his hips up, pushing into Dean's grip. It's still a weird angle to be watching your brother's hand on your cock, though.
"Pretty gay," says Sam around the cigarette. He drops ash onto his t-shirt and frowns at it briefly. "What you're doing is pretty gay."
The corner of Dean's mouth twitches and he casts him a disdainful look, or, as disdainful as he can manage when he's mostly drunk.
"Shut up."
He says this right before he takes Sam's cock into his mouth. And then Sam can't manage words, just an odd strangled, whining noise. It's crazy, watching from this angle as Dean's lips slide slickly down the length of him, watching his cock disappear into his brother's mouth. The wet heat around him is awesome and then Dean sucks and Sam's spine goes ramrod straight.
He knows he's not going to last long. Dean's got one hand on Sam's hip, the jeans tugged down enough to expose skin, and is holding Sam down so he can't fuck Dean's mouth, can only take it as Dean fucks his mouth on Sam's cock. His cheeks are hollowed and every time he draws back, the light gleams off Sam's cock, left shining from Dean's mouth.
When he comes, his mouth goes slack and the cigarette slips from his lips, hits his chest and burns him. The pain makes him squeal which is just as well because he thinks he might be shrieking something humiliating about his brother's impressive cocksucking abilities otherwise.
While Sam retrieves the cigarette, Dean spits into a beer bottle. Sam stops, just as he's sticking the cigarette back in his mouth, as his come rolls from Dean's swollen lips and down the inside of the glass. Dean pulls a face then smirks at him and steals the cigarette. He rolls onto his back and takes a long drag.
Sam tries to make his brain function but it's drunk and still coming down from an orgasm and simply won't cooperate.
"Huh?" he says, and hopes Dean gets his meaning from that.
Seems like Dean does. He pats the nearest part of Sam he can reach, his calf, and says, "Dad told me to keep you out of trouble."