Fic: next stop, dinner theater (SPN, Sam/Dean, NC-17)
next stop, dinner theater
Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sex, Language
Word Count: 910
Summary: The one where Dean gets Sam off ‘cause he’s bored. Community theater/public sex porn.
Author’s Notes: For ignited. Because she wouldn’t let me FINISH writing her this comment porn, I now post the madness here.
*
Dean hated that they had to watch the whole fucking performance at the community theater before jumping onstage to take care of the poltergeist. Stupid ghostly habits and the damn thing only appears when the whole play plays (heh) out.
So, like any other person in need of a good distraction and having someone else there to bother, he decides, that right now? What he’s gonna do is take care of Sam. Through the jeans, no tricks, won't even unzip his fucking pants, and yeah, he bets he can get him real flustered.
Presses his leg up against Sam's, tight squeeze through the rickety armchairs, flimsy things that don’t really divide up people all that much. Then Dean starts shifting in his seat, normal-like, bumps his hip, sharp angle hitting Sam just right.
Sam looks at him and there, got him, doesn’t let opportunity pass. Long slow lick of his lips, lets his eyes do the talking, been doing this kinda talk-without-words for a long ass time.
Starts off at the knee, good thing they're seated at the end of the aisle alongside the theater, stage right or whatever (has to think about which was it was, always gets thrown off about that). Last two seats up somewhere up front, crap view and they’re the only people in this area, which ain’t luck, that’s planning.
After all, they’re making the bum rush to the stage the second this crap acting’s over with.
Down the knee, squeezes Sam’s long thigh, fucking too long, the muscles strong underneath, lean but his legs have filled out, ain't those skinny poles he used to have. Strokes his thumb hard, finding a bruise that hasn’t healed, nasty whack suffered a week ago, getting tossed into a wall leaves some marks, Dean knows that.
And Sammy, once he’s got that hint of pain, makes him all confused in the best way, Dean could make him beg if he’s patient enough.
Dean’s not all that patient, ‘specially now.
Then, sees before feels, Sam's dick getting hard under the jeans, so Dean, well he just starts nonchalantly stroking, rough and fast, too much, and Sam's hissing under his breath.
"Don't have time for this," Sam says through clenched teeth. Got the whole this isn’t happening denial face on, nostrils flared, almost seeing red in his eyes, at least, that’s what Dean can figure in this dim light, only the stage lights, crap as they are, let Dean see Sam out of the shadows.
"Two more scenes left.” Bumps his shoulder against Sam’s, leaning over, knows proximity can do it, Sam getting a whiff of him, Dean ran out of his own cologne and had to deal with Sam’s crap, probably that’ll help do it, having Sam’s scent on him.
Sammy’s such a freak.
“I can get you off before the curtain falls for intermission," Dean breathes against Sam's neck.
“Jesus,” Sam says and then, someone, from fuckin’ ten rows over shushes Sam and Dean nearly laughs at that, but dammit. Now Sam’s flustered and it’s time to amp up the game or Sam’s gonna be forced to go up on stage with one monster erection and that ain’t fun for anyone.
Dean doesn’t think his camera phone will pick up the picture that great and he’d want to record the memory for a long, long time if it came to that.
‘Sides, he made a promise and Dean sees through with his promises.
So...Dean's nearly fisting Sam through his jeans, only not fisting, dry-rubbing, hard friction that should be getting Sam fucking spurting if Dean’s doing it right. And he fucking well is. Sam's forced to scrunch down in his seat like he's still not towering over all, fucking giant.
He's shivering now and yeah, that's good, only fuck, Dean’s kinda in the same boat himself. No way he’s gonna kill a ghost with a hard-on, it's just not smart, has to be quick about it, can unzip himself only it isn’t quiet so he coughs, no problem there, doesn’t pull out his dick, because dude, he heard what happened to Pee-Wee Herman.
Though really, with that kind of a name, what did people expect?
It don’t take much for Dean either, truth be honest, it’s this: Sam’s mouth going slack, eyes fluttering closed and his hips rocking aimlessly, “No where to put that cock,” Dean whispers in Sam’s ear. “Sucks to be you.”
After that, Dean’s pretty much finished.
Hey, it’s a good thing that knocking off the poltergeist ain’t no problem at all, otherwise they might have made fools of themselves, the way they’re all sweaty and their brains kind of aren’t there, but fuck it, they killed an evil thing and there were orgasms.
That’s a fucking awesome way to end a hunt.
Even better, once Sam’s got Dean pressed up against their motel room door, fucking his tongue like he means it (and Sam? Oh he means it), Dean remembers that best of all, it’s Sam’s turn to the laundry.
“Next time, we’re seeing some dinner theater. If I was eating, I wouldn’t have to do that to ya.”
Sam’s on his knees now, has to blow his hair out of his face, yanks Dean’s belt off in a smooth move. Says, irritably, “Dean, do I look pissed off at you.”
“Well, Sam, it’s hard to tell, sometimes fuck-”
Oh yeah, sometimes there are some distractions that Sam needs just as bad as Dean.
end
Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sex, Language
Word Count: 910
Summary: The one where Dean gets Sam off ‘cause he’s bored. Community theater/public sex porn.
Author’s Notes: For ignited. Because she wouldn’t let me FINISH writing her this comment porn, I now post the madness here.
*
Dean hated that they had to watch the whole fucking performance at the community theater before jumping onstage to take care of the poltergeist. Stupid ghostly habits and the damn thing only appears when the whole play plays (heh) out.
So, like any other person in need of a good distraction and having someone else there to bother, he decides, that right now? What he’s gonna do is take care of Sam. Through the jeans, no tricks, won't even unzip his fucking pants, and yeah, he bets he can get him real flustered.
Presses his leg up against Sam's, tight squeeze through the rickety armchairs, flimsy things that don’t really divide up people all that much. Then Dean starts shifting in his seat, normal-like, bumps his hip, sharp angle hitting Sam just right.
Sam looks at him and there, got him, doesn’t let opportunity pass. Long slow lick of his lips, lets his eyes do the talking, been doing this kinda talk-without-words for a long ass time.
Starts off at the knee, good thing they're seated at the end of the aisle alongside the theater, stage right or whatever (has to think about which was it was, always gets thrown off about that). Last two seats up somewhere up front, crap view and they’re the only people in this area, which ain’t luck, that’s planning.
After all, they’re making the bum rush to the stage the second this crap acting’s over with.
Down the knee, squeezes Sam’s long thigh, fucking too long, the muscles strong underneath, lean but his legs have filled out, ain't those skinny poles he used to have. Strokes his thumb hard, finding a bruise that hasn’t healed, nasty whack suffered a week ago, getting tossed into a wall leaves some marks, Dean knows that.
And Sammy, once he’s got that hint of pain, makes him all confused in the best way, Dean could make him beg if he’s patient enough.
Dean’s not all that patient, ‘specially now.
Then, sees before feels, Sam's dick getting hard under the jeans, so Dean, well he just starts nonchalantly stroking, rough and fast, too much, and Sam's hissing under his breath.
"Don't have time for this," Sam says through clenched teeth. Got the whole this isn’t happening denial face on, nostrils flared, almost seeing red in his eyes, at least, that’s what Dean can figure in this dim light, only the stage lights, crap as they are, let Dean see Sam out of the shadows.
"Two more scenes left.” Bumps his shoulder against Sam’s, leaning over, knows proximity can do it, Sam getting a whiff of him, Dean ran out of his own cologne and had to deal with Sam’s crap, probably that’ll help do it, having Sam’s scent on him.
Sammy’s such a freak.
“I can get you off before the curtain falls for intermission," Dean breathes against Sam's neck.
“Jesus,” Sam says and then, someone, from fuckin’ ten rows over shushes Sam and Dean nearly laughs at that, but dammit. Now Sam’s flustered and it’s time to amp up the game or Sam’s gonna be forced to go up on stage with one monster erection and that ain’t fun for anyone.
Dean doesn’t think his camera phone will pick up the picture that great and he’d want to record the memory for a long, long time if it came to that.
‘Sides, he made a promise and Dean sees through with his promises.
So...Dean's nearly fisting Sam through his jeans, only not fisting, dry-rubbing, hard friction that should be getting Sam fucking spurting if Dean’s doing it right. And he fucking well is. Sam's forced to scrunch down in his seat like he's still not towering over all, fucking giant.
He's shivering now and yeah, that's good, only fuck, Dean’s kinda in the same boat himself. No way he’s gonna kill a ghost with a hard-on, it's just not smart, has to be quick about it, can unzip himself only it isn’t quiet so he coughs, no problem there, doesn’t pull out his dick, because dude, he heard what happened to Pee-Wee Herman.
Though really, with that kind of a name, what did people expect?
It don’t take much for Dean either, truth be honest, it’s this: Sam’s mouth going slack, eyes fluttering closed and his hips rocking aimlessly, “No where to put that cock,” Dean whispers in Sam’s ear. “Sucks to be you.”
After that, Dean’s pretty much finished.
Hey, it’s a good thing that knocking off the poltergeist ain’t no problem at all, otherwise they might have made fools of themselves, the way they’re all sweaty and their brains kind of aren’t there, but fuck it, they killed an evil thing and there were orgasms.
That’s a fucking awesome way to end a hunt.
Even better, once Sam’s got Dean pressed up against their motel room door, fucking his tongue like he means it (and Sam? Oh he means it), Dean remembers that best of all, it’s Sam’s turn to the laundry.
“Next time, we’re seeing some dinner theater. If I was eating, I wouldn’t have to do that to ya.”
Sam’s on his knees now, has to blow his hair out of his face, yanks Dean’s belt off in a smooth move. Says, irritably, “Dean, do I look pissed off at you.”
“Well, Sam, it’s hard to tell, sometimes fuck-”
Oh yeah, sometimes there are some distractions that Sam needs just as bad as Dean.
end