(no subject)
Title: Watching You
Author: mauled_down
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: PWP. Masturbation.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn’t be sharing them. I’m selfish that way.
Feedback: Is like oxygen, I tell you.
Summary: Dean watches Sam.
Dean has watched Sam undress a million times. This time, it’s different. Sam is different. His hands linger on the helm of his shirt for a moment, before he pulls it over his head with a slow, refined motion. The look on Sams face is somewhat pained, and yet, it’s not actual pain Dean sees shadowing those handsome features. Sam entwines his fingers behind his neck, standing there for a moment, staring at something Dean can’t see from where he stands.
Dean should go in, really. He’s holding two cups of coffee in his hands and a bag of take-away between his fingers, but he doesn’t really want to move. Instead, he tilts his head for a better view through the crack of the door and shifts his weight on the other leg, searching for a more comfortable position.
He sees Sam now, sees that Sam is staring at a mirror. His arms locked into the bended posture, his fingers crossed behind his neck. Sam stares at his half-naked image in the mirror, his eyes dark and needy. Dean blinks rapidly for a while when Sam unlocks his fingers, and runs his hands down his torso.
There’s something caressing in that movement, and Sam takes his time. Slowly, agonisingly slowly he runs his large hands over his chest, his stomach, and they linger there, tempting, tormenting.
Dean takes a deep breath through his teeth when Sam pushes his thumbs under the waistline of his jeans. The cloth falls to his ankles with ease, and he gracefully steps forward, leaving the heap of jeans behind him as he bridges the distance between himself and the mirror. Sam is only wearing his white boxer shorts, and Dean can see the outline of his erection against the loose fabric.
He moves slowly, lowering himself, placing the cups of coffee and take-away on the floor, next to him, without taking his eyes off his little brother. He runs his hand over his face, squinting his eyes as if to see better. He doesn’t understand why he simply doesn’t walk away, or at least look the other way, but he can’t avert his eyes of the glimmering, bare skin of his brother.
Sam brushes his hand over his erection, making a soft moan. Dean clenches his fingers into a tight fist, breaths out through nose. Sams eyes are locked to the mirror, as if he was staring himself in the eye while he releases his cock from its cotton prison, and slowly jerks it a couple of times, as if to test the waters. His lips, swollen and full, form a perfect ‘o’, and his free hand strokes his chest in lazy circles. Dean can feel himself growing hard, unbelievably hard, uncomfortably hard, but all he can do is stare.
Sam closes his eyes, tilts his head back and lets out a moan that could very easily be the undoing of Dean. His free hand trails down his torso, and cups his balls, gently tugging and stroking them. Sams breath is mere gasps now, and the pace of his hand stroking his length is quickening. He pushes his hips to meet his own strokes, swinging where he stands in a graceful motion. Dean can feel his throat tightening, making it harder for him to breathe.
Then suddenly, Sam opens his eyes, staring at himself in the mirror, stops his movement, and lets out a long, deep groan, as he comes all over his hands. Dean swallows hard, as he stares at Sam gathering his breath, gasping for air as he starts looking around for something to help him clean himself.
The spell is broken, and the magic of the moment is gone. Dean quickly picks the coffees and the take-away up and stomps his feet on the floor as if to make it sound like he was coming up the stairs, to make Sam aware that he was back. Sam quickly grabs his jeans and boxers and hurries to the toilet, locking the door behind him.
“Yo, Sammy, I got you some coffee.” Dean says, as the enters the room, just a little too loud and light. “It’s a bit cold now, though.” He adds, and smiles to himself.
Sam emerges from the toilet, fully dressed now, running his hand through his hair. “What took you so long?” He asks, his voice a bit higher than usual, a bit lighter than it really is.
Dean looks at Sam, and gives him his signature smile, but decides not to answer. After all, he is gunning to see that show again in the very near future.
Author: mauled_down
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: PWP. Masturbation.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn’t be sharing them. I’m selfish that way.
Feedback: Is like oxygen, I tell you.
Summary: Dean watches Sam.
Dean has watched Sam undress a million times. This time, it’s different. Sam is different. His hands linger on the helm of his shirt for a moment, before he pulls it over his head with a slow, refined motion. The look on Sams face is somewhat pained, and yet, it’s not actual pain Dean sees shadowing those handsome features. Sam entwines his fingers behind his neck, standing there for a moment, staring at something Dean can’t see from where he stands.
Dean should go in, really. He’s holding two cups of coffee in his hands and a bag of take-away between his fingers, but he doesn’t really want to move. Instead, he tilts his head for a better view through the crack of the door and shifts his weight on the other leg, searching for a more comfortable position.
He sees Sam now, sees that Sam is staring at a mirror. His arms locked into the bended posture, his fingers crossed behind his neck. Sam stares at his half-naked image in the mirror, his eyes dark and needy. Dean blinks rapidly for a while when Sam unlocks his fingers, and runs his hands down his torso.
There’s something caressing in that movement, and Sam takes his time. Slowly, agonisingly slowly he runs his large hands over his chest, his stomach, and they linger there, tempting, tormenting.
Dean takes a deep breath through his teeth when Sam pushes his thumbs under the waistline of his jeans. The cloth falls to his ankles with ease, and he gracefully steps forward, leaving the heap of jeans behind him as he bridges the distance between himself and the mirror. Sam is only wearing his white boxer shorts, and Dean can see the outline of his erection against the loose fabric.
He moves slowly, lowering himself, placing the cups of coffee and take-away on the floor, next to him, without taking his eyes off his little brother. He runs his hand over his face, squinting his eyes as if to see better. He doesn’t understand why he simply doesn’t walk away, or at least look the other way, but he can’t avert his eyes of the glimmering, bare skin of his brother.
Sam brushes his hand over his erection, making a soft moan. Dean clenches his fingers into a tight fist, breaths out through nose. Sams eyes are locked to the mirror, as if he was staring himself in the eye while he releases his cock from its cotton prison, and slowly jerks it a couple of times, as if to test the waters. His lips, swollen and full, form a perfect ‘o’, and his free hand strokes his chest in lazy circles. Dean can feel himself growing hard, unbelievably hard, uncomfortably hard, but all he can do is stare.
Sam closes his eyes, tilts his head back and lets out a moan that could very easily be the undoing of Dean. His free hand trails down his torso, and cups his balls, gently tugging and stroking them. Sams breath is mere gasps now, and the pace of his hand stroking his length is quickening. He pushes his hips to meet his own strokes, swinging where he stands in a graceful motion. Dean can feel his throat tightening, making it harder for him to breathe.
Then suddenly, Sam opens his eyes, staring at himself in the mirror, stops his movement, and lets out a long, deep groan, as he comes all over his hands. Dean swallows hard, as he stares at Sam gathering his breath, gasping for air as he starts looking around for something to help him clean himself.
The spell is broken, and the magic of the moment is gone. Dean quickly picks the coffees and the take-away up and stomps his feet on the floor as if to make it sound like he was coming up the stairs, to make Sam aware that he was back. Sam quickly grabs his jeans and boxers and hurries to the toilet, locking the door behind him.
“Yo, Sammy, I got you some coffee.” Dean says, as the enters the room, just a little too loud and light. “It’s a bit cold now, though.” He adds, and smiles to himself.
Sam emerges from the toilet, fully dressed now, running his hand through his hair. “What took you so long?” He asks, his voice a bit higher than usual, a bit lighter than it really is.
Dean looks at Sam, and gives him his signature smile, but decides not to answer. After all, he is gunning to see that show again in the very near future.