[Slash] Sing Along Winchester - Sam/Dean - 1/1
Title: Sing Along Winchester
Author anyothergirl415
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Words: ~1,500
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, a slightly cracky PWP (Bottom!Sam if you’re curious)
Disclaimer: If I had my way, this would be the show. Very seldom do I have my way. (also, I don’t own either song. Pretty sure you know who does).
Summary: Apparently on this particular Wednesday Sam was going to learn a lot of things about his brother that he never knew.
Notes: Unbeta’d, written in less than an hour, inspired by singing in my shower and annoyingly catchy pop songs. :)
“Jesus Christ Dean,” Sam grunted as he elbowed the motel door open, balancing two cartons of food in one hand - along with the room and the car keys - and a drink carrier in the right with two extra large drinks precariously balanced. “Help would be a little nice,” he grumbled in annoyance, kicking the door shut behind him.
Looking up Sam realized his brother wasn’t even in the motel room which was just awesome. Rolling his eyes Sam carried the items to the table, stooping to slide them onto the smooth surface, vaguely registering the running water coming from the bathroom.
And then…
“Oh oh oh, oh oh ohh oh oh, oh oh oh oh.”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted in a perfect arch along his forehead, steps slow as he crossed the room. The beat of Dean’s ‘ohs’ sounded vaguely familiar but Sam couldn’t quite put a name to the song.
And then…
“If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, don’t be mad once you see that he want it, if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.”
“No. Way.” Sam breathed, eyes widening to match that curve of eyebrows. Sam’s jaw would have dropped if hadn’t had to clench it shut to stifle the laugh threatening to bubble up and give away his presence. God Sam wished he had a phone that could record videos. His fingers curled around the doorknob, wicked grin tilting his lips up as the knob turned easily under his palm.
Reflected in the mirror was Dean through the half open shower curtain, and holy shit he was doing is best Beyonce impression. Not that Sam knew Dean even had a Beyonce impression, or that one could be better than the other. Apparently on this particular Wednesday Sam was going to learn a lot of things about his brother that he never knew. Like the fact that Dean could sway his hips back and forth like some type of fucking exotic dancer. And clearly Dean held no qualms about flicking his wrists in a decidedly outrageously gay way.
“Here’s a man that makes me then takes me. And delivers me to a destiny, to infinity and beyond, pull me into your arms, say I’m the one you own. If you don’t you’ll be alone, and like a ghost I’ll be gone.”
Jesus Christ Dean knew the fucking lyrics. It was one thing to know the chorus and the little ‘oh’ bit because even Sam knew that from walking through stores, hearing it in snatches and pieces on the radio in passing, but to know them.
It was safe to say, Dean would never live this down.
The water turned off as Dean started up with the ‘ohs’ again, hip jerking hard to the left then the right, body swaying like there was actual music playing. Sam’s smirk grew as Dean pulled the shower curtain back and temporary faltered.
But only for a split second.
In the next a grin was curving his lips around the next round of, “if you like it than you shoulda put a ring on it,” and Dean slithered across the bathroom, skin glistening from the shower. He pointed his finger at Sam, twitching it back and forth as he sang.
The smirk on Sam’s face fell, the color draining from his skin as Dean backed him out of the bathroom. Sam swallowed hard, stomach churning, stepping back in quick little shuffles. Here Sam thought he had enough blackmail to make Dean his permanent slave and suddenly everything was flipping around, heat boiling up in his veins, mouth gaping in slow motion.
“All the single ladies, all the single ladies,” Dean continued though the smirk never left his lips and the moment Sam dropped down on the mattress he was crawling over his lap, arms wrapped around his back, legs pressed hard into his sides. Sam gasped as fingers threaded in his hair and tugged sharply, extending his neck back in an arch. He could feel the water along Dean’s body seeping into his clothes, shirt and jeans becoming an impromptu towel for Dean to grind and writhe against.
“Dean,” Sam exhaled the name slowly, arms curling around his brother’s back and sliding down the wet flesh.
Hands curled along the front of his shirt and Sam registered the distinct tear of buttons separating from fabric before the material was yanked roughly from his arms. Shit. Shit. Shit. Dean was too good. Too much. Sam was going to come in his pants just from the way his brother rocked against his hips, still humming the song softly as he moved.
“C’mon man,” Sam groaned and fell back on his hands, body extending in an arch as Dean dipped down and scattered kisses along his skin.
“Eager beaver Sammy dammy,” Dean muttered into the skin.
Sam blinked a few times, lifting his head to stare at the top of his brother’s damp hair as he traveled down his chest, fingers hooking into his jeans and tugging up sharply. “Are you high?”
Dean laughed, low and throaty, “high on life Sammy boy, high on life.”
Somehow this didn’t really convince Sam and he couldn’t help turning his head from side to side, just in case there was a little baggie of pot stashed on the nightstand or something. A half smoked joint. Hookah. Did hookah get you high? Sam had never smoked the stuff but he’d heard- “Ohfuck.” Sam had been too lost in his considerations to realize Dean had slid his jeans down and was now opening his mouth wide and sucking Sam in.
And of course he was still humming that damn song.
If Sam’s body hadn’t been tingling from sensory overload he might have smacked Dean on the back of the head and tell him to shut the fuck up. His brother knew how to make up for it though, in some of the best ways Sam had ever felt.
“Fuckin… do it Dean… c’mon.” Sam growled and slithered up on the bed, hissing as Dean’s teeth dragged along his flesh before letting go. “Want you to fuck me.”
“You’re always so needy,” Dean mused, snatching the bottle of lube from the nightstand that had been used less than four hours ago. Possibly less than three. And yes, Sam did have a tendency to be a little needy but Dean was the one who had just been singing Beyonce and giving him a lap dance. It evened out. Kind of.
Dean was fucking humming again and Sam opened his mouth to sputtered some indignant protest about being fucked by his older brother humming a song called Single Ladies - there were just some lines Sam couldn’t cross - but then Dean was sliding in and his brain was wiped clean. Or simply reduced to chants of Dean, fuck, Dean.
They rock together hard, hips meeting, flesh sliding. And it was a pretty damn good thing Dean didn’t start humming because Sam might have cried. Cruel man. Cruel. Lucky his brother was just as focused in on the task, driving down hard enough into him to rock the headboard up against the wall.
Everything reduced down to harsh pants, soft moans, slapping flesh. Until Sam hit with force enough to arch him off the bed and Dean stilled to ride out their pleasure, eyes locking to tell each other everything that was never said with actual words.
Minutes later Dean pulled back and dropped to Sam’s side, panting softly.
Sam blinked once, twice, swallowed hard and scratched at his chest.
And then…
“If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it,” he sang softly, lips barely parted.
Dean rolled on his side, slapping a hand on his chest and laughing, “god Sam, that song is so gay. I can’t believe you sing Beyonce.”
As his brother climbed off the bed Sam gaped at him, pushing up on his hands and scowling, “you suck ass Dean.”
“Not today,” Dean chuckled, heading for the table and the food that had been previously forgotten.
-=-=-=-
“A little help?” Sam called out, shoving his hip hard against the motel door, balancing a pizza box and a six pack in his hands as he slipped the key from the lock. “Dean?” Turning into the room Sam sighed and shook his head. His brother was just so helpful.
He slipped the items onto the table and toed out of his shoes, lips thinning out as he registered the sound of the shower running.
And then…
“Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah, Roma roma-ma, GaGa, oh-la-la, want your bad romance.”
Sam’s eyes widened and he turned slowly toward the bathroom door, mouth dropping. Sam was fully prepared to accept that his brother knew Beyonce lyrics. Lady GaGa? That was pushing it.
Author anyothergirl415
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Words: ~1,500
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, a slightly cracky PWP (Bottom!Sam if you’re curious)
Disclaimer: If I had my way, this would be the show. Very seldom do I have my way. (also, I don’t own either song. Pretty sure you know who does).
Summary: Apparently on this particular Wednesday Sam was going to learn a lot of things about his brother that he never knew.
Notes: Unbeta’d, written in less than an hour, inspired by singing in my shower and annoyingly catchy pop songs. :)
“Jesus Christ Dean,” Sam grunted as he elbowed the motel door open, balancing two cartons of food in one hand - along with the room and the car keys - and a drink carrier in the right with two extra large drinks precariously balanced. “Help would be a little nice,” he grumbled in annoyance, kicking the door shut behind him.
Looking up Sam realized his brother wasn’t even in the motel room which was just awesome. Rolling his eyes Sam carried the items to the table, stooping to slide them onto the smooth surface, vaguely registering the running water coming from the bathroom.
And then…
“Oh oh oh, oh oh ohh oh oh, oh oh oh oh.”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted in a perfect arch along his forehead, steps slow as he crossed the room. The beat of Dean’s ‘ohs’ sounded vaguely familiar but Sam couldn’t quite put a name to the song.
And then…
“If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, don’t be mad once you see that he want it, if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.”
“No. Way.” Sam breathed, eyes widening to match that curve of eyebrows. Sam’s jaw would have dropped if hadn’t had to clench it shut to stifle the laugh threatening to bubble up and give away his presence. God Sam wished he had a phone that could record videos. His fingers curled around the doorknob, wicked grin tilting his lips up as the knob turned easily under his palm.
Reflected in the mirror was Dean through the half open shower curtain, and holy shit he was doing is best Beyonce impression. Not that Sam knew Dean even had a Beyonce impression, or that one could be better than the other. Apparently on this particular Wednesday Sam was going to learn a lot of things about his brother that he never knew. Like the fact that Dean could sway his hips back and forth like some type of fucking exotic dancer. And clearly Dean held no qualms about flicking his wrists in a decidedly outrageously gay way.
“Here’s a man that makes me then takes me. And delivers me to a destiny, to infinity and beyond, pull me into your arms, say I’m the one you own. If you don’t you’ll be alone, and like a ghost I’ll be gone.”
Jesus Christ Dean knew the fucking lyrics. It was one thing to know the chorus and the little ‘oh’ bit because even Sam knew that from walking through stores, hearing it in snatches and pieces on the radio in passing, but to know them.
It was safe to say, Dean would never live this down.
The water turned off as Dean started up with the ‘ohs’ again, hip jerking hard to the left then the right, body swaying like there was actual music playing. Sam’s smirk grew as Dean pulled the shower curtain back and temporary faltered.
But only for a split second.
In the next a grin was curving his lips around the next round of, “if you like it than you shoulda put a ring on it,” and Dean slithered across the bathroom, skin glistening from the shower. He pointed his finger at Sam, twitching it back and forth as he sang.
The smirk on Sam’s face fell, the color draining from his skin as Dean backed him out of the bathroom. Sam swallowed hard, stomach churning, stepping back in quick little shuffles. Here Sam thought he had enough blackmail to make Dean his permanent slave and suddenly everything was flipping around, heat boiling up in his veins, mouth gaping in slow motion.
“All the single ladies, all the single ladies,” Dean continued though the smirk never left his lips and the moment Sam dropped down on the mattress he was crawling over his lap, arms wrapped around his back, legs pressed hard into his sides. Sam gasped as fingers threaded in his hair and tugged sharply, extending his neck back in an arch. He could feel the water along Dean’s body seeping into his clothes, shirt and jeans becoming an impromptu towel for Dean to grind and writhe against.
“Dean,” Sam exhaled the name slowly, arms curling around his brother’s back and sliding down the wet flesh.
Hands curled along the front of his shirt and Sam registered the distinct tear of buttons separating from fabric before the material was yanked roughly from his arms. Shit. Shit. Shit. Dean was too good. Too much. Sam was going to come in his pants just from the way his brother rocked against his hips, still humming the song softly as he moved.
“C’mon man,” Sam groaned and fell back on his hands, body extending in an arch as Dean dipped down and scattered kisses along his skin.
“Eager beaver Sammy dammy,” Dean muttered into the skin.
Sam blinked a few times, lifting his head to stare at the top of his brother’s damp hair as he traveled down his chest, fingers hooking into his jeans and tugging up sharply. “Are you high?”
Dean laughed, low and throaty, “high on life Sammy boy, high on life.”
Somehow this didn’t really convince Sam and he couldn’t help turning his head from side to side, just in case there was a little baggie of pot stashed on the nightstand or something. A half smoked joint. Hookah. Did hookah get you high? Sam had never smoked the stuff but he’d heard- “Ohfuck.” Sam had been too lost in his considerations to realize Dean had slid his jeans down and was now opening his mouth wide and sucking Sam in.
And of course he was still humming that damn song.
If Sam’s body hadn’t been tingling from sensory overload he might have smacked Dean on the back of the head and tell him to shut the fuck up. His brother knew how to make up for it though, in some of the best ways Sam had ever felt.
“Fuckin… do it Dean… c’mon.” Sam growled and slithered up on the bed, hissing as Dean’s teeth dragged along his flesh before letting go. “Want you to fuck me.”
“You’re always so needy,” Dean mused, snatching the bottle of lube from the nightstand that had been used less than four hours ago. Possibly less than three. And yes, Sam did have a tendency to be a little needy but Dean was the one who had just been singing Beyonce and giving him a lap dance. It evened out. Kind of.
Dean was fucking humming again and Sam opened his mouth to sputtered some indignant protest about being fucked by his older brother humming a song called Single Ladies - there were just some lines Sam couldn’t cross - but then Dean was sliding in and his brain was wiped clean. Or simply reduced to chants of Dean, fuck, Dean.
They rock together hard, hips meeting, flesh sliding. And it was a pretty damn good thing Dean didn’t start humming because Sam might have cried. Cruel man. Cruel. Lucky his brother was just as focused in on the task, driving down hard enough into him to rock the headboard up against the wall.
Everything reduced down to harsh pants, soft moans, slapping flesh. Until Sam hit with force enough to arch him off the bed and Dean stilled to ride out their pleasure, eyes locking to tell each other everything that was never said with actual words.
Minutes later Dean pulled back and dropped to Sam’s side, panting softly.
Sam blinked once, twice, swallowed hard and scratched at his chest.
And then…
“If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it,” he sang softly, lips barely parted.
Dean rolled on his side, slapping a hand on his chest and laughing, “god Sam, that song is so gay. I can’t believe you sing Beyonce.”
As his brother climbed off the bed Sam gaped at him, pushing up on his hands and scowling, “you suck ass Dean.”
“Not today,” Dean chuckled, heading for the table and the food that had been previously forgotten.
-=-=-=-
“A little help?” Sam called out, shoving his hip hard against the motel door, balancing a pizza box and a six pack in his hands as he slipped the key from the lock. “Dean?” Turning into the room Sam sighed and shook his head. His brother was just so helpful.
He slipped the items onto the table and toed out of his shoes, lips thinning out as he registered the sound of the shower running.
And then…
“Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah, Roma roma-ma, GaGa, oh-la-la, want your bad romance.”
Sam’s eyes widened and he turned slowly toward the bathroom door, mouth dropping. Sam was fully prepared to accept that his brother knew Beyonce lyrics. Lady GaGa? That was pushing it.