FIC: Doing The Best Things So Conservatively
Yeah, I got nothing to say about show that has not already been said/squeed about at length, so have PORN instead:
Title: Doing The Best Things So Conservatively
Pairing/Characters: SPOILERY! Highlight to see: [Smith/Wesson, Sam/Dean]
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,653
Notes: Thank you ignited for the beta and squee!!
Warning: SPOILERS FOR 4.17!!
Summary: And they really get down to business.
It's the way Sam will push Dean up on the copy machine, and pull at his tie without breaking the kiss he's had him locked in the past few minutes. Kissing on the couch in Dean's office leads to fucking on the desk, and it seems kissing in the supply cabinet leads to a definite misuse of corporate property. Namely, the Xerox Max 4000.
Dean's fingers are all tangled up in Sam's hair pulling and tugging in time with the rhythms of their mouths and hands and fingers shucking clothing and well, most importantly; pants. And Dean's lost in that, so he doesn't care really that the glass of the machine is cold against his backside and somehow Sam is able to type in his copy code while fingering him open.
Dean laughs when he hears the machine going and Sam growls against his chest, against the piece of skin he's wriggled free of tie and button-down shirt. Crisp white cuffs once neatly buttoned are splayed open, and the collar of Sam's polo is popped up on one side, that with his mussed hair making him disheveled and sexy. Dean makes that low noise in his throat, and Sam pushes in, against all odds and laws of office-physics and photocopiers, he pushes deep into Dean and he's there with him, Dean riding his cock and Sam kissing his chest in-between the gasps he makes when Dean clamps down as hard as he can on Sam inside of him.
And they're there, with all the whirring of the copier and the feeling of the stuffiness of the office. Dean in the deconstructed and displaced suit and Sam in the polo shirt riding up his chest so Dean can run his hand along the taut plane of Sam's stomach. Fingers running across and up and down, petting him and Sam gives a final push inside Dean, and final jut of his hips against the machine, which whines in protest.
"Paper jam?" Dean breathes out and Sam comes shouting.
"Fuck!" he says, slumping against Dean's body. Dean gives a few final strokes to his own cock before he comes in his own hand, neatly catching most of it. Sam pulls out and leans back against the door. Panting and sweating, cheeks red and eyes wet.
"Gonna clean you up, later," Dean murmurs as he slides down off the machine to sit on the floor, back to the wall.
Sam licks his lips "Fucking," he pauses for the words. "I'll fucking clean you off myself, Dean. C'mere," he says with a weak gesture of his hands.
Dean shakes his head. "I meant the Xerox Max 4000."
"Fuck the Xerox Max-whatever the fuck it is! No wait, fucking come here," Sam says.
"We call him 'Maxie'," Dean says with a wink.
**
And the next day, Dean finds some rather "interesting" items in his in-tray, complete with a cheeky note from his secretary that he suspects she's written in lipstick, her way of letting him know she's a living, breathing female and likely to suck his dick if he asked. However, he's already got someone for that particular position. And other positions as well.
Check it out! Someone's been naughty after-hours it reads.
Dean folds the papers up and slips them into his sleek, black work bag that he just ordered from Sharper Image. It's got a GPS attachment and a cell phone cooling pouch as well as being totally made from green leather technologies. Which is important to Dean, trying to make an impact on his carbon footprint and all.
He's totally seen that Al Gore movie twice. Dean knows it's important to think about things like this. Which is why he gets a little pang in his stomach when he calmly empties out his Nalgene bottle of iced yerba maté all over his keyboard, rendering it junk and dooming it to a lifetime in a landfill.
But it's important to think about the bigger picture.
**
Dean calls down to IT, and places the emergency service call with him.
"Something's really wrong with my motherboard I think, or maybe my CPU came loose."
"Oh, I definitely think we can tighten that right up," the voice on the other end says.
"I've got a major report due, so I'll need someone to service me, right away."
He laughs softly on the other end, Dean can picture the way he ducks his head and how his hair moves over his eyes. Dean can see himself pushing that hair up along his forehead, while his other hand rests on Sam's neck, just barely exposed through that awful lemon polo shirt the company makes him wear. Dean's thumb running over the ridges of a scar, from where he got scratched up the week before. The little sliver of skin that Dean loves to press his lips to.
"Well then, I suppose I'll take you on, personally."
"How incredibly professional of you."
"I'm sure," Sam clicks off the other end and Dean leans back in his chair, it squeaks slightly, the hinge still disjointed from what they did on Tuesday.
**
The chair scoots back against the shelves, rattling a few of Dean's knickknacks to the floor of his office. "Oh, fuck!" Dean shouts, but it's not over his now-shattered snowglobe of Milwaukee.
It's over the way Sam feels, riding his cock hard, the way he pants down the length of Dean's neck. "Fuck, fuck yes!" Dean says, his fingers pressing tight enough to leave marks in the muscle of Sam's back.
Sam squeezes down hard on Dean's cock, it's the only the he can do, still struggling with his arms wrapped around the width of Dean's desk chair. Hands bound together on the other side with Dean's own tie.
"Why the fucking, fuck did you have to wear that shirt today?" Sam groans. "I could fucking see-fucking everything, your chest and your nipples."
"I like it cold in here, sue me," Dean growls and thrusts up into Sam, squeezing his ass now, tight little thing in his hands. All strong and soft at the same time. Sam's skin warm and wet with sweat against his body.
Sam pulls back as far as he can on the length of Dean's cock before coming down again, hard and fast enough to make Dean come, milking him for it.
"I like it better when you're hot," Sam says, finally twisting his way out of Dean's makeshift cuffs and mussing up his hair as he rides Dean through his orgasm.
Later they sit in the chair, wrapped up in each other, just breathing and listening as each other's heartbeats start to slow as they both calm down, Sam's hands still messing up Dean's hair.
"You keep doing that, I might start purring," Dean says.
"Good," Sam says. "Sorry about your tie, Dean."
Dean shrugs. "S'okay," and he nuzzles closer against Sam.
Sam's cell goes off, but Dean doesn't release his grasp on Sam. "You gonna let go anytime soon?" Sam asks, starting to try and squirm out of Dean's grip.
"Nope," Dean says, and at that moment, the chair can't take it anymore, and comes apart under their combined weight, sending them both toppling to the floor.
**
Dean's blackberry vibrates loud enough to snap him out of his thoughts, and he picks up.
"Sam?"
"Didn't want to say it over the service call, but I'm gonna swing by the cafeteria first, do you want anything? Wheat grass? Steak tartare? You're still on that raw fast, right?"
Dean looks at the yerba maté still dripping on the floor and running all over his desk. "I'm on the detox from that right now actually, I'm slowly reintroducing myself to cooked foods with maté tea and boiled ginger water and beet salad-and you've stopped paying attention already."
"I'm totally paying attention to you and your rabbit food."
"Rabbits don't drink yerba maté."
"Because they know it's gross."
"It's not gross, it's good for you. Rabbits are stupid and that's why we make slippers out of them. And we're smart enough to develop highly nutritious-"
"Bacon cheeseburger with fries and ranch dressing."
Dean's stomach, the traitor, growls in response. "God damn you, I should have never told you about the fries with ranch thing. I'm gonna gain like, 40 pounds in a week or something."
"Hot dogs with mustard and cheesecake with strawberry syrup dripping all over."
"Fine!" Dean sighs. "Get me something to eat? Something cooked that used to have a face. An adorable one."
"Gotcha, what do you want?"
"That baconburger and fries and hey, y'know what? Get me a slice of whatever pie they've got today," Dean says, pulling absently at his tie, waves of familiarity and comfort washing over him. "Love me some pie."
"Sure thing. I'll see you soon Dean," Sam says.
"Soon," Dean says and hangs up, his hand resting against his stomach. "Love me some pie, Sam," he murmurs to himself and laughs.
**
"Love me some pie, Sam," Dean says softy against the sheets of the bed and Sam groans on the other end.
"Yeah yeah, breakfast pie, lunch pie, dinner pie-"
"Love me sooooome," Dean says again, in that voice that Sam hates because it's that awful accent Sam picked up for a week when they lived in Bon Temps, Louisiana. And Dean reaches out quickly while Sam's not paying attention and pulls him in closer. Wraps his arms around Sam's neck and plants big, sloppy wet kisses along his face.
"Get off, stop it! Stop it!" Sam fights back half-heartedly before letting Dean pull him back down on the bed. Kissing him back and running his teeth along the bottom of Dean's lip.
"Mmmmnnn," Dean moans.
"Pie's gonna get cold, Dean," Sam says. "You gonna let me go anytime soon?"
Dean shakes his head and pulls Sam in even closer. "Nope."
"Good."
end.
Title: Doing The Best Things So Conservatively
Pairing/Characters: SPOILERY! Highlight to see: [Smith/Wesson, Sam/Dean]
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,653
Notes: Thank you ignited for the beta and squee!!
Warning: SPOILERS FOR 4.17!!
Summary: And they really get down to business.
It's the way Sam will push Dean up on the copy machine, and pull at his tie without breaking the kiss he's had him locked in the past few minutes. Kissing on the couch in Dean's office leads to fucking on the desk, and it seems kissing in the supply cabinet leads to a definite misuse of corporate property. Namely, the Xerox Max 4000.
Dean's fingers are all tangled up in Sam's hair pulling and tugging in time with the rhythms of their mouths and hands and fingers shucking clothing and well, most importantly; pants. And Dean's lost in that, so he doesn't care really that the glass of the machine is cold against his backside and somehow Sam is able to type in his copy code while fingering him open.
Dean laughs when he hears the machine going and Sam growls against his chest, against the piece of skin he's wriggled free of tie and button-down shirt. Crisp white cuffs once neatly buttoned are splayed open, and the collar of Sam's polo is popped up on one side, that with his mussed hair making him disheveled and sexy. Dean makes that low noise in his throat, and Sam pushes in, against all odds and laws of office-physics and photocopiers, he pushes deep into Dean and he's there with him, Dean riding his cock and Sam kissing his chest in-between the gasps he makes when Dean clamps down as hard as he can on Sam inside of him.
And they're there, with all the whirring of the copier and the feeling of the stuffiness of the office. Dean in the deconstructed and displaced suit and Sam in the polo shirt riding up his chest so Dean can run his hand along the taut plane of Sam's stomach. Fingers running across and up and down, petting him and Sam gives a final push inside Dean, and final jut of his hips against the machine, which whines in protest.
"Paper jam?" Dean breathes out and Sam comes shouting.
"Fuck!" he says, slumping against Dean's body. Dean gives a few final strokes to his own cock before he comes in his own hand, neatly catching most of it. Sam pulls out and leans back against the door. Panting and sweating, cheeks red and eyes wet.
"Gonna clean you up, later," Dean murmurs as he slides down off the machine to sit on the floor, back to the wall.
Sam licks his lips "Fucking," he pauses for the words. "I'll fucking clean you off myself, Dean. C'mere," he says with a weak gesture of his hands.
Dean shakes his head. "I meant the Xerox Max 4000."
"Fuck the Xerox Max-whatever the fuck it is! No wait, fucking come here," Sam says.
"We call him 'Maxie'," Dean says with a wink.
**
And the next day, Dean finds some rather "interesting" items in his in-tray, complete with a cheeky note from his secretary that he suspects she's written in lipstick, her way of letting him know she's a living, breathing female and likely to suck his dick if he asked. However, he's already got someone for that particular position. And other positions as well.
Check it out! Someone's been naughty after-hours it reads.
Dean folds the papers up and slips them into his sleek, black work bag that he just ordered from Sharper Image. It's got a GPS attachment and a cell phone cooling pouch as well as being totally made from green leather technologies. Which is important to Dean, trying to make an impact on his carbon footprint and all.
He's totally seen that Al Gore movie twice. Dean knows it's important to think about things like this. Which is why he gets a little pang in his stomach when he calmly empties out his Nalgene bottle of iced yerba maté all over his keyboard, rendering it junk and dooming it to a lifetime in a landfill.
But it's important to think about the bigger picture.
**
Dean calls down to IT, and places the emergency service call with him.
"Something's really wrong with my motherboard I think, or maybe my CPU came loose."
"Oh, I definitely think we can tighten that right up," the voice on the other end says.
"I've got a major report due, so I'll need someone to service me, right away."
He laughs softly on the other end, Dean can picture the way he ducks his head and how his hair moves over his eyes. Dean can see himself pushing that hair up along his forehead, while his other hand rests on Sam's neck, just barely exposed through that awful lemon polo shirt the company makes him wear. Dean's thumb running over the ridges of a scar, from where he got scratched up the week before. The little sliver of skin that Dean loves to press his lips to.
"Well then, I suppose I'll take you on, personally."
"How incredibly professional of you."
"I'm sure," Sam clicks off the other end and Dean leans back in his chair, it squeaks slightly, the hinge still disjointed from what they did on Tuesday.
**
The chair scoots back against the shelves, rattling a few of Dean's knickknacks to the floor of his office. "Oh, fuck!" Dean shouts, but it's not over his now-shattered snowglobe of Milwaukee.
It's over the way Sam feels, riding his cock hard, the way he pants down the length of Dean's neck. "Fuck, fuck yes!" Dean says, his fingers pressing tight enough to leave marks in the muscle of Sam's back.
Sam squeezes down hard on Dean's cock, it's the only the he can do, still struggling with his arms wrapped around the width of Dean's desk chair. Hands bound together on the other side with Dean's own tie.
"Why the fucking, fuck did you have to wear that shirt today?" Sam groans. "I could fucking see-fucking everything, your chest and your nipples."
"I like it cold in here, sue me," Dean growls and thrusts up into Sam, squeezing his ass now, tight little thing in his hands. All strong and soft at the same time. Sam's skin warm and wet with sweat against his body.
Sam pulls back as far as he can on the length of Dean's cock before coming down again, hard and fast enough to make Dean come, milking him for it.
"I like it better when you're hot," Sam says, finally twisting his way out of Dean's makeshift cuffs and mussing up his hair as he rides Dean through his orgasm.
Later they sit in the chair, wrapped up in each other, just breathing and listening as each other's heartbeats start to slow as they both calm down, Sam's hands still messing up Dean's hair.
"You keep doing that, I might start purring," Dean says.
"Good," Sam says. "Sorry about your tie, Dean."
Dean shrugs. "S'okay," and he nuzzles closer against Sam.
Sam's cell goes off, but Dean doesn't release his grasp on Sam. "You gonna let go anytime soon?" Sam asks, starting to try and squirm out of Dean's grip.
"Nope," Dean says, and at that moment, the chair can't take it anymore, and comes apart under their combined weight, sending them both toppling to the floor.
**
Dean's blackberry vibrates loud enough to snap him out of his thoughts, and he picks up.
"Sam?"
"Didn't want to say it over the service call, but I'm gonna swing by the cafeteria first, do you want anything? Wheat grass? Steak tartare? You're still on that raw fast, right?"
Dean looks at the yerba maté still dripping on the floor and running all over his desk. "I'm on the detox from that right now actually, I'm slowly reintroducing myself to cooked foods with maté tea and boiled ginger water and beet salad-and you've stopped paying attention already."
"I'm totally paying attention to you and your rabbit food."
"Rabbits don't drink yerba maté."
"Because they know it's gross."
"It's not gross, it's good for you. Rabbits are stupid and that's why we make slippers out of them. And we're smart enough to develop highly nutritious-"
"Bacon cheeseburger with fries and ranch dressing."
Dean's stomach, the traitor, growls in response. "God damn you, I should have never told you about the fries with ranch thing. I'm gonna gain like, 40 pounds in a week or something."
"Hot dogs with mustard and cheesecake with strawberry syrup dripping all over."
"Fine!" Dean sighs. "Get me something to eat? Something cooked that used to have a face. An adorable one."
"Gotcha, what do you want?"
"That baconburger and fries and hey, y'know what? Get me a slice of whatever pie they've got today," Dean says, pulling absently at his tie, waves of familiarity and comfort washing over him. "Love me some pie."
"Sure thing. I'll see you soon Dean," Sam says.
"Soon," Dean says and hangs up, his hand resting against his stomach. "Love me some pie, Sam," he murmurs to himself and laughs.
**
"Love me some pie, Sam," Dean says softy against the sheets of the bed and Sam groans on the other end.
"Yeah yeah, breakfast pie, lunch pie, dinner pie-"
"Love me sooooome," Dean says again, in that voice that Sam hates because it's that awful accent Sam picked up for a week when they lived in Bon Temps, Louisiana. And Dean reaches out quickly while Sam's not paying attention and pulls him in closer. Wraps his arms around Sam's neck and plants big, sloppy wet kisses along his face.
"Get off, stop it! Stop it!" Sam fights back half-heartedly before letting Dean pull him back down on the bed. Kissing him back and running his teeth along the bottom of Dean's lip.
"Mmmmnnn," Dean moans.
"Pie's gonna get cold, Dean," Sam says. "You gonna let me go anytime soon?"
Dean shakes his head and pulls Sam in even closer. "Nope."
"Good."
end.