FIC: Unfettered
So __tiana__ and I are playing this little game we're calling Porn with Friends. This is what has resulted so far...
Title: Unfettered
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,632
Thanks: ignited for letting me force this upon her.
Notes: For __tiana__ who gave me the prompts RAW and DAMN.
Summary: Wherein Dean is naked. A lot.
Unfettered:
The clothes don't just vanish off of Dean, it's more like they melt off, like water running down his body. Slow and deliberate, Sam watches as they slip down the curves and musculature of Dean's back while he stares, transfixed. And Dean stands frozen in place, aware it's happened but not aware of what to do next.
Probably because his clothes have just been melted off in the middle of a public library. Where a nearby class of visiting kindergarteners was enjoying story-time until the naked guy showed up.
There is a lot of screaming, and Sam tries to ignore the alarms going off as they abscond from the place along with a copy of the nearest encyclopedia Dean could grab to cover himself. From Husband through Italic.
**
And it wasn't just that the clothes come off the next day, much like the day before, but that they seem to slough off and then vanish altogether. They're a little less panicked when it happens this time, probably because the diner booth makes it easier to immediately cover up the naughty bits.
Dean has to snap his fingers a few times to get Sam's attention, he was distracted by the freckle that had strayed down to Dean's collarbone. The rest of them perfectly content to stay on Dean's shoulders. But one lone freckle stands out against the rest.
Once Sam's attention is focused back on the awkwardness of the situation, before anyone else can notice, they slink out the back, taking a server tray along with them.
Dean is particularly upset because he really liked that pair of jeans, they were broken in just right. "You know how it is, Sammy. I just got them worn-in in all the right places and they even held up during the job in Cranston when we had to climb over those barb-wire fences!"
Sam nods as Dean angrily throws on his clothes, turning his focus back to researching whatever it is that's causing this.
"Think it's a curse?" Dean asks. "Or the Trickster-Gabriel, whatever he's calling himself now."
Sam shakes his head. "Where's the lesson in this? It's pure chaos, gotta be a curse."
Dean sighs. Sam looks up and he's actually pouting now.
"What?" Sam says.
"I really, really liked those pants."
**
There's got to be something connecting the timing of the incidents if it's truly a curse, but there's nothing Sam can see. All Sam sees is Dean's bare backside as he stays crouched down by the washing machine he was loading at the time.
Sam can't see his face, but he assumes by the way Dean's shoulders are tensing up that he's not in the best of spirits. At least the Laundromat is pretty much empty, and they're all the way in the back.
"All things considered, this was the ideal place, yeah?" Sam says as Dean throws on a pair of freshly dried boxer-briefs, still-technically dirty jeans, and a sopping wet t-shirt.
Dean quirks his head. "You're right. Which makes no sense for a curse." Dean hops up on one of the dryers, putting on his socks. "What the hell is going on?"
**
"So let's just, take stock of everything. Everything you and I are doing right now, right at this moment," Dean says as he pulls over to the side of the road after his clothes dribble off of him while they're driving to Bobby's.
Sam nods, his eyes darting from where they had been looking below Dean's seatbelt.
"I was driving, and I was thinking about..." Dean pauses, looking up. "Tangerines and oranges. I can never tell the difference between them. No idea how people do that."
Sam smiles. "Tangerines are smaller."
"Yeah but how do you know they're not clementines? Anyway, what were you doing?"
Sam shakes his head. "Just sitting here."
"What were you thinking about?"
"Uh," Sam rolls his head back in his seat. "I dunno, it mustn't have been important."
"You're sure?" Dean asks.
Sam shrugs. "Nothing really in particular," he says as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "I'll grab you something from the trunk."
**
Dean's almost used to the feeling, the sudden chill in the room. Bobby isn't though, and there's the sound of glass breaking as his beer drops on the ground.
"Boy," Bobby starts, "this has got to be the strangest god damn curse I have ever in my life..." he trails off.
"Awesome," Dean says. "Glad I wasn't wearing the leather jacket, though. I'm gonna miss the vest, but what're you gonna do?" Dean says as he trudges up the stairs.
"Nothing like this in your research, Sam?" Bobby says.
Sam looks up from his laptop. "No, I mean, I've been looking. There's just been no connecting thread to any of the uh, occurrences."
"Right. You gonna help me mop this up?" Bobby says, gesturing to the mess on the floor.
"Uh," Sam pauses, adjusting the laptop over his lap. "In a minute." Dean trots back down the stairs.
"I got it," Dean says. "So in case this is relevant, let's go over what we were doing before this happened."
"Well, you and I were talking about that hunt last month in Andover, and then it just-" Bobby gestures to Dean. "Happened."
"I was talking to you, but in the back of my head I might have been thinking about pancakes," Dean says. "Sam?"
"What?" Sam says.
"What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing!" Sam blinks. "Oh, from before. Yeah, um. I can't really remember," Sam mutters into his chest. "Not important."
Dean's eyes go a little wide. "Seriously? C'mon Sam you must have been thinking about something."
"Um," Sam says, looking to his right. "Books. I was thinking about getting some new books."
"Were you actually thinking about books or are you just saying that because you're looking at a bookshelf right now?" Bobby says, narrowing his stare at Sam.
"I was thinking about books." Sam swallows, and then stands up quickly, closing his laptop and holding it at a peculiar angle over his jeans. "'Scuse me I gotta go now," Sam says.
**
The next time it happens over breakfast in Bobby's kitchen which is better than the diner, but worse because the curse pretty much obliterates any kind of textile touching him. And Dean happened to be holding onto a very hot pan of crackling bacon with an oven mitt, which soon becomes his bare hand.
So after the screaming and the near-scalding and the loss of bacon-which Dean takes almost as hard as the near-scalding, Dean comes back to the kitchen wearing Sam's clothing.
"Very funny," Sam says.
"Maybe it's in my clothes, Sam. Maybe they're cursed," Dean says as he gets himself a bowl of cereal, not pouting over the bacon any more, really.
Sam raises an eyebrow. "And Bobby's oven mitt and apron?"
"Caught in the wake of my cursed clothes, pass the milk?"
"And?"
"And I'm totally running out of things I don't mind vanishing into the great unknown, or wherever these damn clothes are going! Happy now?" Dean says, frustrated.
"But you don't mind sacrificing my stuff to the great unknown," Sam says.
"Shaddup." Dean points to him with his spoon threateningly. After a few bites Dean says. "I would say it's got something to do with me thinking about food, but it'd happen a lot more frequently. What were you doing when it happened?"
Sam swallows. "Thinking about food too. Breakfast, and all."
"What exactly?" Dean asks. "Be specific, Sam."
Sam looks back towards the stove where Dean was standing before, wearing Bobby's tacky "Kiss the Cook" apron and humming while he cooked, his hips swaying a bit without Dean noticing- "Okay, I was actually trying to pinpoint the song you were humming."
"It was Since I've Been Loving You," Dean says. "Anything else?"
"Nah," Sam says.
Dean hums a few more bars of the song, pauses to look down, his clothes staying firmly in place. He taps his ring against the table, enjoying the way it makes a clanking sound. He stirs his cereal with his spoon, then starts to eat it carefully.
"You're sure?" Dean asks again, slowly pulling the spoon out of his mouth. Wet, pink lips expanding over the round circle of metal. Sam stares at him, thinking about the way his mouth can move and stretch.
"Positive," Sam says, shoveling the last of his cereal in his mouth. Then he stands up and drops his bowl and spoon in the sink, quickly darting out of the kitchen just as-
"Sonavabitch!" Dean shouts, realizing it happened again. Sam grimaces against the other side of the door.
**
Sam realizes enough is enough when Dean brings Castiel in on it. It's one thing to waste their downtime on it, and Bobby wasn't really doing anything. But Castiel should have been too busy to come help them when Dean called. It was the apocalypse, after all.
Okay, so maybe Castiel wasn't on top of some major breakthrough or battle strategy; but Sam really wishes he had been. Mostly because he figures it out in about three minutes.
"He's doing it," Castiel says, pointing to Sam. All the adrenaline starts rushing to his head.
"I am not!" Sam says, crossing his arms. "W-why would you even-"
"As Lucifer's vessel deteriorates he is frantically channeling his power into the next one. It lies dormant within you for the most part, but you have managed to subconsciously tap into some small piece of it and are manipulating-mmmph!" Sam claps his hand over Castiel's mouth and gives Dean a sheepish look.
"Give me just, ten minutes with him, and I promise I'll explain everything!" Sam shouts as he drags Castiel out of the room and down the stairs into Bobby's study.
"-manipulating reality whenever your desire flares up." Castiel concludes when Sam removes his hand.
"You do not, do not, say a word of this to Dean, okay?" Sam says in a panic, and then paces back and forth a bit. "Oh god, what am I going to tell him?" Sam says.
"You could lie," Castiel says.
Sam sighs. "I've been lying."
"You could... lie more."
Sam flops himself down on the couch. "Why is this happening? Why can't it just work when I wish for the apocalypse not to come, or for good things to happen?"
Castiel quirks his head. "You're tapping into the powers of Satan, and you wonder why it can't make good things happen?"
"So, what? I'll just make bad things happen? I don't want to do that!" Sam says.
"I've not made myself very clear, have I? This is a very, serendipitous occurrence, Sam. Both your desire, and the nature of that desire are in a sort of," Castiel waves vaguely with his hand, "harmonious alignment. The deep, repressed longing combining with the fact that it is in the nature of the profane power you are now tapping into."
"Would you mind filtering that down for me? My head hurts," Sam says.
"Forgive if I am a bit crude, but this is happening because you can't stop thinking about having sex with your brother."
**
Dean's naked again when Sam walks into their room. Sam thinks Castiel might have triggered it this time while they spoke, but he knows what's really to blame. Dean is just lying there on his bed, sipping a beer.
"Okay, so-" Sam starts.
"I eavesdropped." Dean interrupts. "My public nudity versus your right to privacy. I made a judgment call."
"Oh," Sam says.
"So," Dean breathes out. "When did you know you were doing it?"
"At the Laundromat," Sam says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing," Sam says, and then squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that Dean's staring daggers at him because he knows what he was thinking about. He was thinking about fucking Dean up against the washing machines and fucking him hard. "Sorry, sorry, force of habit."
"Sam, if there was ever a time for full disclosure," Dean says.
"I was thinking about doing things to-with you. Having sex," Sam blurts out, hoping his face isn't flushing the way he thinks it is.
Dean nods him on, and motions for him to come sit on the edge of the bed, which Sam does, as he wrings his hands and goes back over the events of the past few weeks in his mind.
"And then in the car I was thinking about how I could just lean over and blow you while you were driving. When you were talking to Bobby, I was checking out your ass. During breakfast I was thinking about you wearing nothing but that apron and sitting in my lap and feeding me bacon. And then right after I was thinking about how my cock would stretch out your mouth because you were sucking on a spoon. And when Castiel told me I was preoccupied with thinking about fucking you I thought about how much I wanted to be fucking you."
Dean blinks a few times, takes another pull from the beer. "Castiel said fucking?"
"I'm summarizing," Sam says as he rolls his shoulders back, looking Dean in the eyes, concentrating on not letting his gaze wander any lower. "I am really, really sorry."
Dean finishes off the beer and puts the bottle on the side table. "Y'know what would be nice right now?"
"What?" Sam says.
"If I wasn't the only naked person in the room," Dean says as he leans forward, fingers catching on the buttons of Sam's shirt. "It really makes me all self-conscious."
Sam's clothes are in a puddle on the floor as he breathes out.
**
Maybe Dean thinks Sam should just get the thoughts out of his system. He's just being helpful. With his mouth.
His mouth stretched tight around the head of Sam's cock. It's a very helpful mouth. Right now, it's helping Sam build up some much-needed confidence so he can put his hand on the back of Dean's head and coax him on, gently.
Dean responds by releasing his cock and giving him a wink and a click of his tongue, and then swallowing Sam down his throat in one fluid motion. Sam gasps, and his eyes start to roll back. He moves his hands to his sides, bunching in the sheets as he grips them tight.
Sam glances back to see Dean fucking his mouth down over his cock, it sliding in and out, wet and pink and Dean is so incredibly hot like this. Sam can see the musculature of his neck as he angles himself better over Sam. His arms are wrapped around Sam's thighs, locking himself in place as Sam's hips try to buck up into his mouth. But Dean's got him, Dean's got him right where he needs to be-
And Sam comes in a final burst of sensation through his body, shooting down Dean's throat and Dean swallows it all before letting him go, Sam not realizing how high he was bucking up into Dean's mouth until he flops down on the bed.
Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and breathes heavy. Sam can see the rise and fall of Dean's chest as he pants.
Pants.
Dean looks down, smiling. "Sam, you didn't."
Sam licks his lips. Dean's favorite jeans are really worn in all the right places, sitting low on his hips that jut out and Sam wants to run his tongue down them slowly. Sam wants to grab Dean's cock through his jeans, wants to make him come inside the denim, wants to see it turn dark blue from the wet.
"They really are nice pants," Sam says, licking his lips.
Title: Unfettered
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,632
Thanks: ignited for letting me force this upon her.
Notes: For __tiana__ who gave me the prompts RAW and DAMN.
Summary: Wherein Dean is naked. A lot.
Unfettered:
The clothes don't just vanish off of Dean, it's more like they melt off, like water running down his body. Slow and deliberate, Sam watches as they slip down the curves and musculature of Dean's back while he stares, transfixed. And Dean stands frozen in place, aware it's happened but not aware of what to do next.
Probably because his clothes have just been melted off in the middle of a public library. Where a nearby class of visiting kindergarteners was enjoying story-time until the naked guy showed up.
There is a lot of screaming, and Sam tries to ignore the alarms going off as they abscond from the place along with a copy of the nearest encyclopedia Dean could grab to cover himself. From Husband through Italic.
**
And it wasn't just that the clothes come off the next day, much like the day before, but that they seem to slough off and then vanish altogether. They're a little less panicked when it happens this time, probably because the diner booth makes it easier to immediately cover up the naughty bits.
Dean has to snap his fingers a few times to get Sam's attention, he was distracted by the freckle that had strayed down to Dean's collarbone. The rest of them perfectly content to stay on Dean's shoulders. But one lone freckle stands out against the rest.
Once Sam's attention is focused back on the awkwardness of the situation, before anyone else can notice, they slink out the back, taking a server tray along with them.
Dean is particularly upset because he really liked that pair of jeans, they were broken in just right. "You know how it is, Sammy. I just got them worn-in in all the right places and they even held up during the job in Cranston when we had to climb over those barb-wire fences!"
Sam nods as Dean angrily throws on his clothes, turning his focus back to researching whatever it is that's causing this.
"Think it's a curse?" Dean asks. "Or the Trickster-Gabriel, whatever he's calling himself now."
Sam shakes his head. "Where's the lesson in this? It's pure chaos, gotta be a curse."
Dean sighs. Sam looks up and he's actually pouting now.
"What?" Sam says.
"I really, really liked those pants."
**
There's got to be something connecting the timing of the incidents if it's truly a curse, but there's nothing Sam can see. All Sam sees is Dean's bare backside as he stays crouched down by the washing machine he was loading at the time.
Sam can't see his face, but he assumes by the way Dean's shoulders are tensing up that he's not in the best of spirits. At least the Laundromat is pretty much empty, and they're all the way in the back.
"All things considered, this was the ideal place, yeah?" Sam says as Dean throws on a pair of freshly dried boxer-briefs, still-technically dirty jeans, and a sopping wet t-shirt.
Dean quirks his head. "You're right. Which makes no sense for a curse." Dean hops up on one of the dryers, putting on his socks. "What the hell is going on?"
**
"So let's just, take stock of everything. Everything you and I are doing right now, right at this moment," Dean says as he pulls over to the side of the road after his clothes dribble off of him while they're driving to Bobby's.
Sam nods, his eyes darting from where they had been looking below Dean's seatbelt.
"I was driving, and I was thinking about..." Dean pauses, looking up. "Tangerines and oranges. I can never tell the difference between them. No idea how people do that."
Sam smiles. "Tangerines are smaller."
"Yeah but how do you know they're not clementines? Anyway, what were you doing?"
Sam shakes his head. "Just sitting here."
"What were you thinking about?"
"Uh," Sam rolls his head back in his seat. "I dunno, it mustn't have been important."
"You're sure?" Dean asks.
Sam shrugs. "Nothing really in particular," he says as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "I'll grab you something from the trunk."
**
Dean's almost used to the feeling, the sudden chill in the room. Bobby isn't though, and there's the sound of glass breaking as his beer drops on the ground.
"Boy," Bobby starts, "this has got to be the strangest god damn curse I have ever in my life..." he trails off.
"Awesome," Dean says. "Glad I wasn't wearing the leather jacket, though. I'm gonna miss the vest, but what're you gonna do?" Dean says as he trudges up the stairs.
"Nothing like this in your research, Sam?" Bobby says.
Sam looks up from his laptop. "No, I mean, I've been looking. There's just been no connecting thread to any of the uh, occurrences."
"Right. You gonna help me mop this up?" Bobby says, gesturing to the mess on the floor.
"Uh," Sam pauses, adjusting the laptop over his lap. "In a minute." Dean trots back down the stairs.
"I got it," Dean says. "So in case this is relevant, let's go over what we were doing before this happened."
"Well, you and I were talking about that hunt last month in Andover, and then it just-" Bobby gestures to Dean. "Happened."
"I was talking to you, but in the back of my head I might have been thinking about pancakes," Dean says. "Sam?"
"What?" Sam says.
"What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing!" Sam blinks. "Oh, from before. Yeah, um. I can't really remember," Sam mutters into his chest. "Not important."
Dean's eyes go a little wide. "Seriously? C'mon Sam you must have been thinking about something."
"Um," Sam says, looking to his right. "Books. I was thinking about getting some new books."
"Were you actually thinking about books or are you just saying that because you're looking at a bookshelf right now?" Bobby says, narrowing his stare at Sam.
"I was thinking about books." Sam swallows, and then stands up quickly, closing his laptop and holding it at a peculiar angle over his jeans. "'Scuse me I gotta go now," Sam says.
**
The next time it happens over breakfast in Bobby's kitchen which is better than the diner, but worse because the curse pretty much obliterates any kind of textile touching him. And Dean happened to be holding onto a very hot pan of crackling bacon with an oven mitt, which soon becomes his bare hand.
So after the screaming and the near-scalding and the loss of bacon-which Dean takes almost as hard as the near-scalding, Dean comes back to the kitchen wearing Sam's clothing.
"Very funny," Sam says.
"Maybe it's in my clothes, Sam. Maybe they're cursed," Dean says as he gets himself a bowl of cereal, not pouting over the bacon any more, really.
Sam raises an eyebrow. "And Bobby's oven mitt and apron?"
"Caught in the wake of my cursed clothes, pass the milk?"
"And?"
"And I'm totally running out of things I don't mind vanishing into the great unknown, or wherever these damn clothes are going! Happy now?" Dean says, frustrated.
"But you don't mind sacrificing my stuff to the great unknown," Sam says.
"Shaddup." Dean points to him with his spoon threateningly. After a few bites Dean says. "I would say it's got something to do with me thinking about food, but it'd happen a lot more frequently. What were you doing when it happened?"
Sam swallows. "Thinking about food too. Breakfast, and all."
"What exactly?" Dean asks. "Be specific, Sam."
Sam looks back towards the stove where Dean was standing before, wearing Bobby's tacky "Kiss the Cook" apron and humming while he cooked, his hips swaying a bit without Dean noticing- "Okay, I was actually trying to pinpoint the song you were humming."
"It was Since I've Been Loving You," Dean says. "Anything else?"
"Nah," Sam says.
Dean hums a few more bars of the song, pauses to look down, his clothes staying firmly in place. He taps his ring against the table, enjoying the way it makes a clanking sound. He stirs his cereal with his spoon, then starts to eat it carefully.
"You're sure?" Dean asks again, slowly pulling the spoon out of his mouth. Wet, pink lips expanding over the round circle of metal. Sam stares at him, thinking about the way his mouth can move and stretch.
"Positive," Sam says, shoveling the last of his cereal in his mouth. Then he stands up and drops his bowl and spoon in the sink, quickly darting out of the kitchen just as-
"Sonavabitch!" Dean shouts, realizing it happened again. Sam grimaces against the other side of the door.
**
Sam realizes enough is enough when Dean brings Castiel in on it. It's one thing to waste their downtime on it, and Bobby wasn't really doing anything. But Castiel should have been too busy to come help them when Dean called. It was the apocalypse, after all.
Okay, so maybe Castiel wasn't on top of some major breakthrough or battle strategy; but Sam really wishes he had been. Mostly because he figures it out in about three minutes.
"He's doing it," Castiel says, pointing to Sam. All the adrenaline starts rushing to his head.
"I am not!" Sam says, crossing his arms. "W-why would you even-"
"As Lucifer's vessel deteriorates he is frantically channeling his power into the next one. It lies dormant within you for the most part, but you have managed to subconsciously tap into some small piece of it and are manipulating-mmmph!" Sam claps his hand over Castiel's mouth and gives Dean a sheepish look.
"Give me just, ten minutes with him, and I promise I'll explain everything!" Sam shouts as he drags Castiel out of the room and down the stairs into Bobby's study.
"-manipulating reality whenever your desire flares up." Castiel concludes when Sam removes his hand.
"You do not, do not, say a word of this to Dean, okay?" Sam says in a panic, and then paces back and forth a bit. "Oh god, what am I going to tell him?" Sam says.
"You could lie," Castiel says.
Sam sighs. "I've been lying."
"You could... lie more."
Sam flops himself down on the couch. "Why is this happening? Why can't it just work when I wish for the apocalypse not to come, or for good things to happen?"
Castiel quirks his head. "You're tapping into the powers of Satan, and you wonder why it can't make good things happen?"
"So, what? I'll just make bad things happen? I don't want to do that!" Sam says.
"I've not made myself very clear, have I? This is a very, serendipitous occurrence, Sam. Both your desire, and the nature of that desire are in a sort of," Castiel waves vaguely with his hand, "harmonious alignment. The deep, repressed longing combining with the fact that it is in the nature of the profane power you are now tapping into."
"Would you mind filtering that down for me? My head hurts," Sam says.
"Forgive if I am a bit crude, but this is happening because you can't stop thinking about having sex with your brother."
**
Dean's naked again when Sam walks into their room. Sam thinks Castiel might have triggered it this time while they spoke, but he knows what's really to blame. Dean is just lying there on his bed, sipping a beer.
"Okay, so-" Sam starts.
"I eavesdropped." Dean interrupts. "My public nudity versus your right to privacy. I made a judgment call."
"Oh," Sam says.
"So," Dean breathes out. "When did you know you were doing it?"
"At the Laundromat," Sam says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing," Sam says, and then squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that Dean's staring daggers at him because he knows what he was thinking about. He was thinking about fucking Dean up against the washing machines and fucking him hard. "Sorry, sorry, force of habit."
"Sam, if there was ever a time for full disclosure," Dean says.
"I was thinking about doing things to-with you. Having sex," Sam blurts out, hoping his face isn't flushing the way he thinks it is.
Dean nods him on, and motions for him to come sit on the edge of the bed, which Sam does, as he wrings his hands and goes back over the events of the past few weeks in his mind.
"And then in the car I was thinking about how I could just lean over and blow you while you were driving. When you were talking to Bobby, I was checking out your ass. During breakfast I was thinking about you wearing nothing but that apron and sitting in my lap and feeding me bacon. And then right after I was thinking about how my cock would stretch out your mouth because you were sucking on a spoon. And when Castiel told me I was preoccupied with thinking about fucking you I thought about how much I wanted to be fucking you."
Dean blinks a few times, takes another pull from the beer. "Castiel said fucking?"
"I'm summarizing," Sam says as he rolls his shoulders back, looking Dean in the eyes, concentrating on not letting his gaze wander any lower. "I am really, really sorry."
Dean finishes off the beer and puts the bottle on the side table. "Y'know what would be nice right now?"
"What?" Sam says.
"If I wasn't the only naked person in the room," Dean says as he leans forward, fingers catching on the buttons of Sam's shirt. "It really makes me all self-conscious."
Sam's clothes are in a puddle on the floor as he breathes out.
**
Maybe Dean thinks Sam should just get the thoughts out of his system. He's just being helpful. With his mouth.
His mouth stretched tight around the head of Sam's cock. It's a very helpful mouth. Right now, it's helping Sam build up some much-needed confidence so he can put his hand on the back of Dean's head and coax him on, gently.
Dean responds by releasing his cock and giving him a wink and a click of his tongue, and then swallowing Sam down his throat in one fluid motion. Sam gasps, and his eyes start to roll back. He moves his hands to his sides, bunching in the sheets as he grips them tight.
Sam glances back to see Dean fucking his mouth down over his cock, it sliding in and out, wet and pink and Dean is so incredibly hot like this. Sam can see the musculature of his neck as he angles himself better over Sam. His arms are wrapped around Sam's thighs, locking himself in place as Sam's hips try to buck up into his mouth. But Dean's got him, Dean's got him right where he needs to be-
And Sam comes in a final burst of sensation through his body, shooting down Dean's throat and Dean swallows it all before letting him go, Sam not realizing how high he was bucking up into Dean's mouth until he flops down on the bed.
Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and breathes heavy. Sam can see the rise and fall of Dean's chest as he pants.
Pants.
Dean looks down, smiling. "Sam, you didn't."
Sam licks his lips. Dean's favorite jeans are really worn in all the right places, sitting low on his hips that jut out and Sam wants to run his tongue down them slowly. Sam wants to grab Dean's cock through his jeans, wants to make him come inside the denim, wants to see it turn dark blue from the wet.
"They really are nice pants," Sam says, licking his lips.