SBP Fic: The Harder They Fall (Sam/Dean)
Fic for salt_burn_porn! Man, writing this was like pulling teeth. My brain didn't want to be in the mood at all.
The Harder They Fall
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 1800 words, teenchesters-era first time (Sam is 16)
Written for the prompt virgin.
Summary: Dean is drunk. Sam gets what he wants.
Dean's drunk. Dean is so drunk. He's so drunk he stumbles on the porch stairs and clips himself on the doorframe on his way into the house, cicada-loud darkness behind him spinning a little. Dean throws a thumbs-up out the door behind him and hears the engine of Melissa's car roar in response. Her headlights back down the driveway and fade away towards the main road, leaving Dean alone with near-summer darkness and the musty smell of their rented house of the season. Dean's got the Impala's keys snug in his pocket but his baby's safe back at the lookout point where he met up with some work buddies to drink; he'll walk back tomorrow to get her. It won't be so bad. It's almost summer, five miles on foot tomorrow afternoon after work aren't gonna be so bad. Right.
Dean's a good driver, a great flippin' driver even when he's drunk and a little stoned but tonight he's so smashed even the taste of Melissa's pussy in the back of his mouth is drowned out by the cheap tequila coating his tongue and the aftertaste of lime and pot. He didn't like his odds of running his car off those pretty cliffs they were out drinking on tonight. It's just a bonus that Melissa's offer of a drive back to his place happened to come with a free ride in the back of her truck. Dean licks his lips, tongue slow and furry, and locks the door behind him, fingers thick and deliberate on the deadbolt. It takes him a try or two.
Dean hits the first bedroom along the hallway and has a moment of disorientation, head spinning in the open doorway because it's dark and silent, empty, and then he remembers it's 'cuz Dad's out, Dean's been flashing back to two states ago, front bedroom is Dad's room here and his and Sam's is down the hall in this place. Yeah. Sammy. Waitin' for him. Dean heads down the hall, hand bracing against one wall in the spinny near-blackness.
Dean kicks his shoes off in the hall and gets his head trapped fumbling off his shirt as he goes through their bedroom door, collar snagged under his chin making him stagger blind and nearly fall before he gets the shirt off. Dean drops it on the floor, lets the universe slip sideways and falls heavy on his bed with a squeal of bedsprings. There's a moment where he thinks about nothing at all except the warm fuzziness of his limbs and the dull throb somewhere in the back of his head.
Dean can see the wet shine of Sam's eyes nearby in the dark. He focuses on that.
"Heyyy, kiddo," he slurs, hand landing heavy in Sam's hair to ruffle it. Sam's real close. Sam ducks away from Dean's hand and stares at him hard.
"You're in my bed," says Sam.
"No'm not," grunts Dean, slinging one arm over his eyes.
"Yeah, you are."
"Dude, you're on my bed," 'cause Sam is, Dean can feel him, the warm heavy presence of Sam's body next to his in the darkness. What's he doing crowding onto Dean's bed in the night?
"You came in and got on the wrong bed, Dean."
Dean grunts. Tomayto, tomahto. He'll move in a second.
"Hey, Dean," comes Sam's voice, a whisper in the dark, and the bed creaks next to him. But then Sam doesn't follow that up with anything else and Dean's mind fades out into a blurry moment of drunkenness, attention wandering. Dean can still taste that girl, taste sex, somewhere in the back of this mouth.
Then Sam crawls on top of him. Dean barely registers it for a moment, just a warm body settling against his, little brother cuddling up for a nap like they're kids again except no his drink-addled brain finally registers the difference, Sam's leg slinging over Dean in one quick motion to straddle his hips obscenely, warm body and shifting hands pressing in against Dean, the quick huff of Sam's breath against Dean's jaw as Sam nuzzles his head up under Dean's chin. Sam's plastering himself along Dean's body like girls do, like he wants to fuck.
Dean feels pig-stupid and slow, mind reeling 'cause what the hell like he knows what's going on, senses stripped down to the electric shock of his brother's body against his, to the warm stiff weight poking into his bare hip through Sam's boxers and the little wiggles Sam's starting to make against him. Sam's - Jesus - pressing a hard-on against Dean. Sam rocks tentatively, then with more certainty, hips moving slow and steady against the bare stretch of skin above Dean's jeans, thighs rubbing against Dean's legs.
"Dean." Sam's breath is a hot lick in his ear, determined and scared-silly sounding and low. Dean can feel through their pressed-together chests how hard Sam's heart is pounding. "Dean. Please. I want." His mouth presses damp against Dean's collarbones, experimental wet swipe of tongue making Dean's breath burst out of his lungs in a gasp of air. Dean might be poleaxed here but Sam sure knows what's up, even drunk and flat on his back Dean can feel the deliberate calculation of this that's all Sam, the careful shuffle of Sam's arms holding his body slung low and hot against Dean's. Dean's cornered and Sam knows it, maybe even planned it, maybe he waited up for Dean to come back drunk so Sam could pin him here dick to dick with nowhere to hide.
This isn't the first time Sam's tried something like this, but it's the first time it's happened when Dean's too drunk to remember how and why he's supposed to shove Sam off. Too drunk to be a better big brother, to remember that even though Sam crawling all over him is making arousal rattle like dice in Dean's belly Dean should spare Sam from this kind of fucked-up thing and put a stop to whatever Sam thinks he's doing. Sam's a lean insistent weight all against his body, hands skating over the muscles in Dean's shoulders, and Dean lies there and takes it because he can't come up with a goddamn clue what to do. Dean can feel himself straining for air like it's turning to sludge in his lungs, body shuddering from the way Sam's squirming and his fingers pluck fretfully against Sam's t-shirt and boxers. Sam takes that like some kind of invitation, maybe, because he pecks kisses over Dean's chin and then presses his soft hot mouth to Dean's. Sam's tongue is sweet and wet in his mouth, smart enough that Dean can tell he's practiced this on someone since the first time Sam leaned across the couch in the middle of Saturday morning cartoons and tried to shove his tongue down Dean's throat. Dean's hips are already rocking up against Sam's, half-conscious shuddery thrusts into the deliberate weight of Sam on top of him, helping his little brother ride him.
"Dean," Sam moans again. "Yeah. God. Lemme. Just - come on!" Sam tosses his head back and rolls his body against Dean, hips surging like a tide. Dean just tries to hang on, hands curling around Sam's hips, head buzzing. The sound of Sam's broken-down mattress squeaking is loud and obscene.
"I want it." Sam meets his eyes, gaze full of things Dean's too drunk and maybe too scared to make out. "Just this once. Dean. Please."
Sam's hands are on Dean's fly, nimbly yanking it open and down before Dean can even rally the sense to say "Wha-" and Christ Sam's shoving his whole hand down Dean's jeans, going for his dick like it's a money prize. Dean sucks in a breath and moans, can't help it, when Sam takes hold of his dick, fingers wrapping loosely around the shaft. Dean's so fucking hard he's almost blind with it, pulse pounding in his balls just from having his little brother on top of him. Sam squirms his dick against Dean's thigh like he can't help it when he runs his fingers over Dean's dick, touches the head, tugs it gently out of his boxers so it lays on Dean's stomach, red and pearling a little at the tip. Dean thunks his head against the pillow and groans, clutches at Sam's hips. Sam's hovering over Dean and touching his cock curiously with his clever fingers, mouth a little o of concentration, hair mussed and in his eyes, and Dean wants to do things to him that he won't even let himself name when he's sober.
"C'mon, Dean, I want you to- give it to me," Sam says, and he's prying Dean's hand off his hip, shoving down his own boxers one-handed. There's an instant when Dean sees his own brother's fucking cock for the very first time, narrow and jutting and god, virgin-pink, before Sam's wrapping Dean's fingers around Sam's dick and Dean's brain shorts out.
"Touch me," Sam insists, frantic little furrow appearing between his brows, hips rocking into Dean's loose hand, and like hell Dean can say no to that anyway. Dean closes his fist and tugs slowly, trying to focus through the drunken haze that is his brain, to watch the blissful yearning expressions breaking across Sam's face and the pull of his own rough fingers between Sam's legs. He can see Sam's pulse moving hummingbird-fast in his neck. Sam's tossing his head with desperate little whines, thighs shaking, so fucking close already that even someone as drunk as Dean can tell, and kissing skills aside Dean is pretty fucking sure his little brother's never made it with anybody, not even one of his little study-buddy girlfriends in the back of a library.
Until now.
"Sam," Dean pants, dick aching, and he pulls Sam's hips down tight against his, gets his hand around both of them at the same time to jerk them together but Sam comes just like that, at the first rub of Dean's fevered dick against his, come spurting and sliding everywhere in Dean's fist as Sam makes little drawn-out whimpering noises. Sam's head rolls forwards after he comes and then he topples like a tree, collapsing on top of Dean. Dean's dick is still hard and his brother feels lean and light sprawled across him. So fucking young. Sam's breath is shaky in his ear and oh god, what is Dean doing.
The Harder They Fall
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 1800 words, teenchesters-era first time (Sam is 16)
Written for the prompt virgin.
Summary: Dean is drunk. Sam gets what he wants.
Dean's drunk. Dean is so drunk. He's so drunk he stumbles on the porch stairs and clips himself on the doorframe on his way into the house, cicada-loud darkness behind him spinning a little. Dean throws a thumbs-up out the door behind him and hears the engine of Melissa's car roar in response. Her headlights back down the driveway and fade away towards the main road, leaving Dean alone with near-summer darkness and the musty smell of their rented house of the season. Dean's got the Impala's keys snug in his pocket but his baby's safe back at the lookout point where he met up with some work buddies to drink; he'll walk back tomorrow to get her. It won't be so bad. It's almost summer, five miles on foot tomorrow afternoon after work aren't gonna be so bad. Right.
Dean's a good driver, a great flippin' driver even when he's drunk and a little stoned but tonight he's so smashed even the taste of Melissa's pussy in the back of his mouth is drowned out by the cheap tequila coating his tongue and the aftertaste of lime and pot. He didn't like his odds of running his car off those pretty cliffs they were out drinking on tonight. It's just a bonus that Melissa's offer of a drive back to his place happened to come with a free ride in the back of her truck. Dean licks his lips, tongue slow and furry, and locks the door behind him, fingers thick and deliberate on the deadbolt. It takes him a try or two.
Dean hits the first bedroom along the hallway and has a moment of disorientation, head spinning in the open doorway because it's dark and silent, empty, and then he remembers it's 'cuz Dad's out, Dean's been flashing back to two states ago, front bedroom is Dad's room here and his and Sam's is down the hall in this place. Yeah. Sammy. Waitin' for him. Dean heads down the hall, hand bracing against one wall in the spinny near-blackness.
Dean kicks his shoes off in the hall and gets his head trapped fumbling off his shirt as he goes through their bedroom door, collar snagged under his chin making him stagger blind and nearly fall before he gets the shirt off. Dean drops it on the floor, lets the universe slip sideways and falls heavy on his bed with a squeal of bedsprings. There's a moment where he thinks about nothing at all except the warm fuzziness of his limbs and the dull throb somewhere in the back of his head.
Dean can see the wet shine of Sam's eyes nearby in the dark. He focuses on that.
"Heyyy, kiddo," he slurs, hand landing heavy in Sam's hair to ruffle it. Sam's real close. Sam ducks away from Dean's hand and stares at him hard.
"You're in my bed," says Sam.
"No'm not," grunts Dean, slinging one arm over his eyes.
"Yeah, you are."
"Dude, you're on my bed," 'cause Sam is, Dean can feel him, the warm heavy presence of Sam's body next to his in the darkness. What's he doing crowding onto Dean's bed in the night?
"You came in and got on the wrong bed, Dean."
Dean grunts. Tomayto, tomahto. He'll move in a second.
"Hey, Dean," comes Sam's voice, a whisper in the dark, and the bed creaks next to him. But then Sam doesn't follow that up with anything else and Dean's mind fades out into a blurry moment of drunkenness, attention wandering. Dean can still taste that girl, taste sex, somewhere in the back of this mouth.
Then Sam crawls on top of him. Dean barely registers it for a moment, just a warm body settling against his, little brother cuddling up for a nap like they're kids again except no his drink-addled brain finally registers the difference, Sam's leg slinging over Dean in one quick motion to straddle his hips obscenely, warm body and shifting hands pressing in against Dean, the quick huff of Sam's breath against Dean's jaw as Sam nuzzles his head up under Dean's chin. Sam's plastering himself along Dean's body like girls do, like he wants to fuck.
Dean feels pig-stupid and slow, mind reeling 'cause what the hell like he knows what's going on, senses stripped down to the electric shock of his brother's body against his, to the warm stiff weight poking into his bare hip through Sam's boxers and the little wiggles Sam's starting to make against him. Sam's - Jesus - pressing a hard-on against Dean. Sam rocks tentatively, then with more certainty, hips moving slow and steady against the bare stretch of skin above Dean's jeans, thighs rubbing against Dean's legs.
"Dean." Sam's breath is a hot lick in his ear, determined and scared-silly sounding and low. Dean can feel through their pressed-together chests how hard Sam's heart is pounding. "Dean. Please. I want." His mouth presses damp against Dean's collarbones, experimental wet swipe of tongue making Dean's breath burst out of his lungs in a gasp of air. Dean might be poleaxed here but Sam sure knows what's up, even drunk and flat on his back Dean can feel the deliberate calculation of this that's all Sam, the careful shuffle of Sam's arms holding his body slung low and hot against Dean's. Dean's cornered and Sam knows it, maybe even planned it, maybe he waited up for Dean to come back drunk so Sam could pin him here dick to dick with nowhere to hide.
This isn't the first time Sam's tried something like this, but it's the first time it's happened when Dean's too drunk to remember how and why he's supposed to shove Sam off. Too drunk to be a better big brother, to remember that even though Sam crawling all over him is making arousal rattle like dice in Dean's belly Dean should spare Sam from this kind of fucked-up thing and put a stop to whatever Sam thinks he's doing. Sam's a lean insistent weight all against his body, hands skating over the muscles in Dean's shoulders, and Dean lies there and takes it because he can't come up with a goddamn clue what to do. Dean can feel himself straining for air like it's turning to sludge in his lungs, body shuddering from the way Sam's squirming and his fingers pluck fretfully against Sam's t-shirt and boxers. Sam takes that like some kind of invitation, maybe, because he pecks kisses over Dean's chin and then presses his soft hot mouth to Dean's. Sam's tongue is sweet and wet in his mouth, smart enough that Dean can tell he's practiced this on someone since the first time Sam leaned across the couch in the middle of Saturday morning cartoons and tried to shove his tongue down Dean's throat. Dean's hips are already rocking up against Sam's, half-conscious shuddery thrusts into the deliberate weight of Sam on top of him, helping his little brother ride him.
"Dean," Sam moans again. "Yeah. God. Lemme. Just - come on!" Sam tosses his head back and rolls his body against Dean, hips surging like a tide. Dean just tries to hang on, hands curling around Sam's hips, head buzzing. The sound of Sam's broken-down mattress squeaking is loud and obscene.
"I want it." Sam meets his eyes, gaze full of things Dean's too drunk and maybe too scared to make out. "Just this once. Dean. Please."
Sam's hands are on Dean's fly, nimbly yanking it open and down before Dean can even rally the sense to say "Wha-" and Christ Sam's shoving his whole hand down Dean's jeans, going for his dick like it's a money prize. Dean sucks in a breath and moans, can't help it, when Sam takes hold of his dick, fingers wrapping loosely around the shaft. Dean's so fucking hard he's almost blind with it, pulse pounding in his balls just from having his little brother on top of him. Sam squirms his dick against Dean's thigh like he can't help it when he runs his fingers over Dean's dick, touches the head, tugs it gently out of his boxers so it lays on Dean's stomach, red and pearling a little at the tip. Dean thunks his head against the pillow and groans, clutches at Sam's hips. Sam's hovering over Dean and touching his cock curiously with his clever fingers, mouth a little o of concentration, hair mussed and in his eyes, and Dean wants to do things to him that he won't even let himself name when he's sober.
"C'mon, Dean, I want you to- give it to me," Sam says, and he's prying Dean's hand off his hip, shoving down his own boxers one-handed. There's an instant when Dean sees his own brother's fucking cock for the very first time, narrow and jutting and god, virgin-pink, before Sam's wrapping Dean's fingers around Sam's dick and Dean's brain shorts out.
"Touch me," Sam insists, frantic little furrow appearing between his brows, hips rocking into Dean's loose hand, and like hell Dean can say no to that anyway. Dean closes his fist and tugs slowly, trying to focus through the drunken haze that is his brain, to watch the blissful yearning expressions breaking across Sam's face and the pull of his own rough fingers between Sam's legs. He can see Sam's pulse moving hummingbird-fast in his neck. Sam's tossing his head with desperate little whines, thighs shaking, so fucking close already that even someone as drunk as Dean can tell, and kissing skills aside Dean is pretty fucking sure his little brother's never made it with anybody, not even one of his little study-buddy girlfriends in the back of a library.
Until now.
"Sam," Dean pants, dick aching, and he pulls Sam's hips down tight against his, gets his hand around both of them at the same time to jerk them together but Sam comes just like that, at the first rub of Dean's fevered dick against his, come spurting and sliding everywhere in Dean's fist as Sam makes little drawn-out whimpering noises. Sam's head rolls forwards after he comes and then he topples like a tree, collapsing on top of Dean. Dean's dick is still hard and his brother feels lean and light sprawled across him. So fucking young. Sam's breath is shaky in his ear and oh god, what is Dean doing.