[SPN] FIC: "I Wish I Were a Little Bar of Soap," Sam/Dean, NC17
Title: I Wish I Were a Little Bar of Soap (Bar of Soap)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Shameless pornography
Summary: Uh. Shameless pornography.
Warnings: Incest, rimming
Notes: In which there is shower sex, written for waterofthemoon (♥) in the bitch_jerkoff Complete Wish Fulfillment Fest. Basically this has no redeeming features whatsoever. To borrow marvolo's phrase: spit in your palms, kids; this be porn. I hope you like it, Sara-love! Even if it's a few days late >.> 1200 words.
***
"Move over."
Shaking his wet bangs out of his eyes, Sam pushes aside the curtain and peers at his brother through the steam-heavy air in the bathroom. "Excuse me?"
Dean rolls his eyes and steps into the tub, naked as the day he was born. He digs an elbow into Sam's side, trying to edge his way under the shower's spray.
"Ow!"
"Seriously, out of the way. And hand me the shampoo, will you?"
Sam can only shake his head and pass Dean the little bottle of complimentary motel shampoo, as if he's four instead of twenty-four and still regularly shares his showers with his older brother. "Is there any particular reason you couldn't wait, I don't know, fifteen minutes to take your own damn shower instead of hijacking mine?"
"You used up all the hot yesterday, bitch." Dean pauses in lathering his hair to favor Sam with a serious look. "Fuck taking cold showers."
"I...what? Dean, we're at a motel. They've probably got a water heater the size of a bus."
Dean shrugs. "It's an old place. Maybe it's a problem with the pipes, or something."
Sam stares. "I don't believe this."
"Believe it, Sammy." Dean arches into the spray, water sluicing down his chest, and then quirks an eyebrow at Sam. "If you're not done, don't let me stop you."
Huffing, Sam shoulders his way back under the showerhead, ducking his head to finish rinsing his own hair. When he faces the water, he feels Dean's hand curling against his hip and can't help but grin. "What happened to 'don't let me stop you?'" he asks.
"Oh, this?" Dean's fingers trail over Sam's belly, stopping teasingly short of his dick. "You can still condition or exfoliate or whatever girly shit you were going to do."
Sam turns around, slips a leg between Dean's, and bends to slant their mouths together.
"Or, uh, not," Dean murmurs, smiling against his lips.
Feeling Dean's cock filling against his thigh, Sam reaches down to wrap his hand around it, craving the feel of slick flesh against his palm, but Dean catches his hand, stops him.
"Turn around," he says, tone low and intimate, fingers loosely circling Sam's wrist.
Sam shudders in pleased anticipation and spins to face the tiled wall. He feels lips pressing against his nape, a hand warm and solid at his waist. Dean strokes the small of his back, stopping just at the top of his cleft, and Sam's dick twitches, awaiting blunt fingers pressing into his ass, of teeth sinking into his shoulder and Dean's cock leaving a sticky trail over his thigh as Dean gets him ready. Instead he hears knees hitting the tub and a subtle change in the sound of the water's fall.
"Dean?"
A brief exhale ghosts over his skin, and then fingers spread him wide open for a hot, wet pressure against his hole.
"Shit!" Sam widens his stance to give Dean better access, laying his palms flat against the wall.
Dean doesn't really like doing this; he loves making Sam lose it, loves to spread him out and tease until Sam is depserate and begging, but it's always a surprise when he chooses this way to do it.
A very, very pleasant surprise.
Sam groans as Dean licks into him, rocking backward, needing more. "Fuck, that's good," he breathes, voice low and husky. "Fuck me, come on."
Dean hums low in his throat, approving, and Sam feels the vibration everywhere, pleasure sparking inside him as Dean slips two fingers into his ass. Dean works him hard and fast, tongue slip-sliding around his fingers, and Sam pants into the wall, loose and open and so fucking hard. Callused fingertips drag over his prostate until Sam cries out and reaches down to touch himself, needing to come, so fucking ready for it. But Dean grabs his wrist as soon as he manages to get a hand on his dick, yanks his arm behind his back.
"No," he says, nipping at the flesh of Sam's buttock and scissoring his fingers. "I want you to come from this, without a hand on you."
"Oh, God."
Then Dean is eating at him with renewed enthusiasm, stroking rough fingers in and out, and Sam can barely breathe for how filthy and amazing it feels, so good that he can't control the groans and nonsense coming out of his mouth. His cock jerks needy and neglected as he fucks himself back on Dean's fingers and mouth.
"Dean, fuck," Sam moans, tugging against Dean's iron grip on his wrist. "Your mouth, God, need to come."
Dean makes a strangled noise, pulls his mouth away from Sam's ass with a lewd smacking sound. "Yeah? You want me to make you come?"
Sam's eyes roll back in his head. "Please, fuck, please," he whimpers, and then Dean takes pity on him, curling a hand around Sam's cock. He strokes once, twice and Sam's gone, thighs shaking, come spattering the tiles as pleasure washes over him in waves.
He breathes hard, fucked-out and rattled, and as soon as the color comes back into his vision he turns and hauls Dean to his feet, pushing him into the wall. He grips the back of Dean's neck with one hand and curls the other around Dean's cock, hot and pulsing in his fist.
Dean groans low, tilts his face up for a kiss, but he's too far gone for finesse.
"Come for me, Dean," Sam murmurs, and Dean chokes and comes, biting at Sam's lips and shooting warm and sticky-white against the wet skin of Sam's belly.
They slump together against the tile, Sam crowding into Dean's space, resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder until their breathing evens out.
"Holy shit," Dean says.
Then the water suddenly goes ice-cold, and Sam just about jumps out of his skin. "Jesus!"
Dean laughs. "What did I tell you, Sammy?" He ducks behind Sam's body, using him as a shield against the frigid water.
"I didn't -- ugh, God." Sam bats at the showerhead, the spigots -- anything to get away from the cold water.
Dean, of course, continues to laugh his head off.
Sam glares at him. "This is all your fault."
"Hey, I warned you, didn't I?"
"Yeah, and now I'm covered in come that I have to wash off!"
"You have fun with that," Dean says, and he scampers out of the bathroom, snagging a towel on the way out.
Sam shivers and looks down at the mess on his stomach with disgust. "You owe me, you jerk!" he yells, casting about for a washcloth.
He can hear Dean still laughing on the other side of the thin motel wall. "Already paid, bitch!"
And unfortunately, Sam can't really argue with that.
***
COMMENTS ARE THE FUEL THAT RUNS THE PORN MACHINE, BOYS AND GIRLS.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Shameless pornography
Summary: Uh. Shameless pornography.
Warnings: Incest, rimming
Notes: In which there is shower sex, written for waterofthemoon (♥) in the bitch_jerkoff Complete Wish Fulfillment Fest. Basically this has no redeeming features whatsoever. To borrow marvolo's phrase: spit in your palms, kids; this be porn. I hope you like it, Sara-love! Even if it's a few days late >.> 1200 words.
***
"Move over."
Shaking his wet bangs out of his eyes, Sam pushes aside the curtain and peers at his brother through the steam-heavy air in the bathroom. "Excuse me?"
Dean rolls his eyes and steps into the tub, naked as the day he was born. He digs an elbow into Sam's side, trying to edge his way under the shower's spray.
"Ow!"
"Seriously, out of the way. And hand me the shampoo, will you?"
Sam can only shake his head and pass Dean the little bottle of complimentary motel shampoo, as if he's four instead of twenty-four and still regularly shares his showers with his older brother. "Is there any particular reason you couldn't wait, I don't know, fifteen minutes to take your own damn shower instead of hijacking mine?"
"You used up all the hot yesterday, bitch." Dean pauses in lathering his hair to favor Sam with a serious look. "Fuck taking cold showers."
"I...what? Dean, we're at a motel. They've probably got a water heater the size of a bus."
Dean shrugs. "It's an old place. Maybe it's a problem with the pipes, or something."
Sam stares. "I don't believe this."
"Believe it, Sammy." Dean arches into the spray, water sluicing down his chest, and then quirks an eyebrow at Sam. "If you're not done, don't let me stop you."
Huffing, Sam shoulders his way back under the showerhead, ducking his head to finish rinsing his own hair. When he faces the water, he feels Dean's hand curling against his hip and can't help but grin. "What happened to 'don't let me stop you?'" he asks.
"Oh, this?" Dean's fingers trail over Sam's belly, stopping teasingly short of his dick. "You can still condition or exfoliate or whatever girly shit you were going to do."
Sam turns around, slips a leg between Dean's, and bends to slant their mouths together.
"Or, uh, not," Dean murmurs, smiling against his lips.
Feeling Dean's cock filling against his thigh, Sam reaches down to wrap his hand around it, craving the feel of slick flesh against his palm, but Dean catches his hand, stops him.
"Turn around," he says, tone low and intimate, fingers loosely circling Sam's wrist.
Sam shudders in pleased anticipation and spins to face the tiled wall. He feels lips pressing against his nape, a hand warm and solid at his waist. Dean strokes the small of his back, stopping just at the top of his cleft, and Sam's dick twitches, awaiting blunt fingers pressing into his ass, of teeth sinking into his shoulder and Dean's cock leaving a sticky trail over his thigh as Dean gets him ready. Instead he hears knees hitting the tub and a subtle change in the sound of the water's fall.
"Dean?"
A brief exhale ghosts over his skin, and then fingers spread him wide open for a hot, wet pressure against his hole.
"Shit!" Sam widens his stance to give Dean better access, laying his palms flat against the wall.
Dean doesn't really like doing this; he loves making Sam lose it, loves to spread him out and tease until Sam is depserate and begging, but it's always a surprise when he chooses this way to do it.
A very, very pleasant surprise.
Sam groans as Dean licks into him, rocking backward, needing more. "Fuck, that's good," he breathes, voice low and husky. "Fuck me, come on."
Dean hums low in his throat, approving, and Sam feels the vibration everywhere, pleasure sparking inside him as Dean slips two fingers into his ass. Dean works him hard and fast, tongue slip-sliding around his fingers, and Sam pants into the wall, loose and open and so fucking hard. Callused fingertips drag over his prostate until Sam cries out and reaches down to touch himself, needing to come, so fucking ready for it. But Dean grabs his wrist as soon as he manages to get a hand on his dick, yanks his arm behind his back.
"No," he says, nipping at the flesh of Sam's buttock and scissoring his fingers. "I want you to come from this, without a hand on you."
"Oh, God."
Then Dean is eating at him with renewed enthusiasm, stroking rough fingers in and out, and Sam can barely breathe for how filthy and amazing it feels, so good that he can't control the groans and nonsense coming out of his mouth. His cock jerks needy and neglected as he fucks himself back on Dean's fingers and mouth.
"Dean, fuck," Sam moans, tugging against Dean's iron grip on his wrist. "Your mouth, God, need to come."
Dean makes a strangled noise, pulls his mouth away from Sam's ass with a lewd smacking sound. "Yeah? You want me to make you come?"
Sam's eyes roll back in his head. "Please, fuck, please," he whimpers, and then Dean takes pity on him, curling a hand around Sam's cock. He strokes once, twice and Sam's gone, thighs shaking, come spattering the tiles as pleasure washes over him in waves.
He breathes hard, fucked-out and rattled, and as soon as the color comes back into his vision he turns and hauls Dean to his feet, pushing him into the wall. He grips the back of Dean's neck with one hand and curls the other around Dean's cock, hot and pulsing in his fist.
Dean groans low, tilts his face up for a kiss, but he's too far gone for finesse.
"Come for me, Dean," Sam murmurs, and Dean chokes and comes, biting at Sam's lips and shooting warm and sticky-white against the wet skin of Sam's belly.
They slump together against the tile, Sam crowding into Dean's space, resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder until their breathing evens out.
"Holy shit," Dean says.
Then the water suddenly goes ice-cold, and Sam just about jumps out of his skin. "Jesus!"
Dean laughs. "What did I tell you, Sammy?" He ducks behind Sam's body, using him as a shield against the frigid water.
"I didn't -- ugh, God." Sam bats at the showerhead, the spigots -- anything to get away from the cold water.
Dean, of course, continues to laugh his head off.
Sam glares at him. "This is all your fault."
"Hey, I warned you, didn't I?"
"Yeah, and now I'm covered in come that I have to wash off!"
"You have fun with that," Dean says, and he scampers out of the bathroom, snagging a towel on the way out.
Sam shivers and looks down at the mess on his stomach with disgust. "You owe me, you jerk!" he yells, casting about for a washcloth.
He can hear Dean still laughing on the other side of the thin motel wall. "Already paid, bitch!"
And unfortunately, Sam can't really argue with that.
***
COMMENTS ARE THE FUEL THAT RUNS THE PORN MACHINE, BOYS AND GIRLS.