fic: good boy, sam/dean, supernatural.
fic: good boy, Sam/Dean Winchester, Supernatural.
Dean will fuck with Sam until Sam fucks him.
Damn it. I wrote this as a way to convince a friend on Tumblr that Dean is the biggest bottom to ever bottom, because let's be honest. YOU'VE ALL SEEN HIS BUTT.
&;
SAM IS FUCKING HUGE, and Dean likes to piss him off. He buys too many bags of chips at the gas station, ice cold bottles of Coke wet with condensation, an forgets am’s iced tea. He’ll be a step too slow in a bar fight, not that he wants to lose, but he likes the look of Sam wet with sweat and spitting out blood, playing at Prince Charming.
Dean’s not a girl. He’s not some Southern belle with hips and frilly skirts. He likes fast cars and red meat.
“Could you not?” Sam asks, covering his face with a wide palm as Dean licks grease from his fingers.
“I think you’ve just got a red meat deficiency,” Dean says, and takes another bite.
Dean will let the pressure build, low in his belly, and grind against the heel of his hand in the car when he thinks Sam isn’t looking. Sam’s always too slow to jerk his eyes back to the black and white of the road, and Dean will grin insufferably the entire day.
Dean will fuck with Sam until Sam fucks him.
It’s almost become a routine. When Sam walks into their hotel room and Dean’s twisting two fingers deep inside himself, bent over the rickety desk in the corner, he curses a blue streak.
“Shoulda been a sailor, Sammy,” Dean pants, and groans high in the back of his throat when Sam smacks his ass in passing.
Sam sighs like fucking Dean is a chore, but when Dean hears his belt whipping through it’s loops, he grins against the inside of his bicep.
Sam grabs him, fingers five-starring against Dean’s freckled skin, and shoves him against the wall. He grinds against Dean’s exposed ass, and the electric feel of his zipper against Dean’s skin makes him gasp. Sam can’t stop touching him, not the swell of his shoulder blades, wide as wings, or the sharp crinkle of hair low on his stomach.
He sinks to his knees behind Dean, palms sliding against the grain of his leg hair and up the curve of his ass, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Dean keeps making thes noises little pants against the wall until his hands can’t get traction from the condensation. Sam spreads him open and laves a wet tongue against his ass, and Dean breaks for him.
“Sam, fuck-I, please,” Dean grits out.
“I know. Dean,” Sam says, biting where his ass meets his leg. “Are you gonna be good?”
“Sam please,” Dean begs, and Sam looks up the long stretch of his body to see his eyes closed tightly shut.
“Look at me,” Sam says. Then, “Dean Look at me.”
Dean wrenches his eyes open and looks over his shoulder at Sam, and Sam grins up at him.
“Good boy,” Sam says, pressing his thumb, teasing, inside Dean.
“Fuck you,” Dean spits out.
“Ah,” Sam says, and brings his hand down on Dean’s ass cheek. Squeezes when he knows it stings.
A shudder ripples through Dean, like his body can’t be contained in it’s own skin, and Sam licks a stripe over a fingermark on Dean’s skin.
“Please,” Dean says.
“Alright,” Sam agrees, and licks into Dean until his jaw is sore and Dean is clenching his hand in Sam’s hair.
“Come for me, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean goes off like a shot, like he’s been hanging onto Sam’s every word since he was born.
Sam holds him up by his hips when Dean sways, coltish legs almost giving out underneath him.
“Jesus, Sammy, come on,” Dean prompts. His mouth is bitten red, lower lip heavy and swollen. His mouth is blood-hot when Sam kisses him and licks wet over his lips.
He presses into Dean, spreading him open in one stroke. Dean rocks up onto his toes with the movement, and Sam holds him back down. He fucks into him in quick jabs, already halfway to coming just from eating Dean out, and Dean drops his head when Sam pushes a hand into his hair, commanding.
He holds himself in Dean and comes, biting at Dean’s neck and making this thick growling noise that makes Dean groan.
“Can you come again?” Sam asks, sliding his hands from Dean’s shoulders to his chest, one coming down over Dean’s thick cock.
Dean shakes his head, drops it back onto Sam’s shoulder. They’re nestled together; Sam plastered all along Dean’s back, holding him up.
“I can’t-Sam-hurts-”
Sam strokes him, quick, “I think you can, Dean.”
Dean shakes his head, short nails digging into Sam’s arm as he clenches his hand, other arm thrown back around Sam’s neck.
He cries out as he comes, almost like a wail.
“You’re so good, Dean,” Sam says, soothing. He rubs his thumb over the teeth-marks on Dean’s neck. “So gorgeous.”
Dean smiles lazily at him, and Sam knows he’s been played, but it doesn’t feel like losing.