FIC - Distracted
title: Distracted
pairing:Sam/Dean
rating:R
a/n: short little ficlet
summary: Sam tries very hard to let his brother concentrate on work.
“Cut it out, for Christ’s sake!”, Dean snapped, beyond annoyed. Exasperated.
“What?”, I asked, a glint of humor and pure lust showing behind the completely sincere innocence in my widened eyes, head cocked to the side and bangs falling down into my face. Oh, he had a name for that, I’m sure.
“THAT!”, replied Dean, “That…that look, fuck, Sam, we’ve got a case, damn it, I’m trying to figure this shit out and you’re doing that!”
“Ooooooooooh, is this a ‘quit looking at me’ thing? Because I’d hardly think that me looking at you would get you so distracted, Mr. I’m So Serious.”, I teased, absolutely sure my look would be getting Mr. I’m So Serious very distracted.
Dean gave me another look. The “Fratricide is a much lesser sin than incest” look. I knew that one pretty well. Dean may have taken the opportunity over the years to name my bitchfaces, as he called them, but I had also had plenty of time to name Dean’s expressions, which I charitably referred to in my own mind as “reasons to kill you” faces.
So, since I was, always had been, the most awesome and benevolent and patient little brother on the planet, I looked away. No longer distracting him with whatever he called the look I’d been giving him, I busied myself with other things. Like pulling my arms straight up over my head in an exaggerated stretch, feeling my shoulder muscles relax a bit and knowing that the movement would expose just a tiny strip of skin between the waistband of my jeans and the hem of my t-shirt. Which was a little tight. Because it shrunk in the wash or something and I didn’t have a lot of clothes, so I kept on wearing it anyway. Out of necessity. That was the only reason. I didn’t mean to show off or tempt him to put down the newspaper articles in his hand, but he was still looking at me, and I had no control over his decision to look or not look. OK FINE, glare or not glare.
I settled back with my head on the pillow of the motel bed, adding just for the heck of it, “Anyway, I thought we’d gotten past that whole ‘stop looking at me, stop touching me, I’m going to tell on you’ phase a long time ago, De.” Oh. Did I just accidentally call him that silly half-name that I used to call him when we were little? Oops. I’d never do that while he was trying to concentrate on something important, because I knew that when he called me Sammy, which was also a childhood nickname, it gave me a completely out of control hard-on, and what if the same thing happened to him? That would be totally not fair and then he’d turn his attention back on me and away from the case we were working, and that would be terrible.
That comment got me the “quit fucking around” face. Which was probably OK, since if he was really mad he would have just told me to quit fucking around. Or possibly thrown a large, heavy blunt object at my head. But he just gave me the face, and turned back to the articles.
Which was good. Because he was doing something important. And I wasn’t selfish. I wasn’t a spoiled rotten brat who always expected to get everything I wanted right at the exact second that I wanted it. That would be immature and ridiculous and it was most certainly not the kind of behavior I engaged in on an almost daily basis. Because why would I do something like that if it didn’t result in me getting everything I wanted right at the exact second that I wanted it every single time that I did it?
The problem here was that at that very second, I wanted Dean to come and get in bed with me and he wasn’t doing it. Which was fine. It’s not like I couldn’t be patient and just wait for him to finish whatever he was working on. I was used to doing the research, it was necessary to be sure we were properly prepared for the job. But today I’d deferred to Dean’s research skills and let him find the background information that we’d need. Or, I guess if you were looking at it from his point of view, I had just said I didn’t feel like it today, which did NOT sound anything like “I don’t feeeeeeeeeeel like it, Dean", because that would be whiny and I didn’t ever whine about anything, EVER. So he started doing the research himself, because he wanted to, and not because he thought I was behaving like a petulant child, and most definitely not because he had some kind of complex that made him feel like he had to do everything himself, being the older brother and all.
So I just let him work, and read, and scribble notes down on the legal pad that was sitting on the tiny desk, and I busied myself with other mundane tasks. Like taking off my shirt. Since it was summer, and we were in Alabama, and it was hot, and the motel air conditioner wasn’t exactly stifling the heat. But after I took my shirt off, the AC started feeling a little more effective. And it made my nipples hard. So I touched them, and other things started happening. Because of the air conditioner! And then I thought maybe it would be ok for me to undo my jeans and push them down a little, just to the middle of my thighs, it wasn’t like I was getting naked. I just wanted to put my hand on my cock, and stroke it a little, since it was getting hard and feeling neglected and I figured it would be better for me to pay it a little bit of attention myself, so as not to bother Dean and take him away from his important research.
I was very quiet. Really, very very quiet so as not to direct Dean’s attention toward me, because he was busy. I might have let a couple of tiny little sighs escape my lips but I knew the best thing to do was to stay as quiet as I could and not distract my brother.
The next look I got was the “I’m going to fuck you through the mattress and into the floor” look, as newspaper clippings fell haphazardly onto the floor near the desk.
I felt really bad. I had distracted Dean from what he was doing and now the only thing he was paying attention to was me, as he closed the distance between the chair he’d been in to the bed I was lying on in approximately .62 seconds.
And that was not what I had intended. At all. But I wasn’t going to complain, I mean, if Dean felt the sudden urge to put his mouth around my cock then I had no reason to stop him. Maybe he just got bored with the newspaper stuff and wanted something else to do.
pairing:Sam/Dean
rating:R
a/n: short little ficlet
summary: Sam tries very hard to let his brother concentrate on work.
“Cut it out, for Christ’s sake!”, Dean snapped, beyond annoyed. Exasperated.
“What?”, I asked, a glint of humor and pure lust showing behind the completely sincere innocence in my widened eyes, head cocked to the side and bangs falling down into my face. Oh, he had a name for that, I’m sure.
“THAT!”, replied Dean, “That…that look, fuck, Sam, we’ve got a case, damn it, I’m trying to figure this shit out and you’re doing that!”
“Ooooooooooh, is this a ‘quit looking at me’ thing? Because I’d hardly think that me looking at you would get you so distracted, Mr. I’m So Serious.”, I teased, absolutely sure my look would be getting Mr. I’m So Serious very distracted.
Dean gave me another look. The “Fratricide is a much lesser sin than incest” look. I knew that one pretty well. Dean may have taken the opportunity over the years to name my bitchfaces, as he called them, but I had also had plenty of time to name Dean’s expressions, which I charitably referred to in my own mind as “reasons to kill you” faces.
So, since I was, always had been, the most awesome and benevolent and patient little brother on the planet, I looked away. No longer distracting him with whatever he called the look I’d been giving him, I busied myself with other things. Like pulling my arms straight up over my head in an exaggerated stretch, feeling my shoulder muscles relax a bit and knowing that the movement would expose just a tiny strip of skin between the waistband of my jeans and the hem of my t-shirt. Which was a little tight. Because it shrunk in the wash or something and I didn’t have a lot of clothes, so I kept on wearing it anyway. Out of necessity. That was the only reason. I didn’t mean to show off or tempt him to put down the newspaper articles in his hand, but he was still looking at me, and I had no control over his decision to look or not look. OK FINE, glare or not glare.
I settled back with my head on the pillow of the motel bed, adding just for the heck of it, “Anyway, I thought we’d gotten past that whole ‘stop looking at me, stop touching me, I’m going to tell on you’ phase a long time ago, De.” Oh. Did I just accidentally call him that silly half-name that I used to call him when we were little? Oops. I’d never do that while he was trying to concentrate on something important, because I knew that when he called me Sammy, which was also a childhood nickname, it gave me a completely out of control hard-on, and what if the same thing happened to him? That would be totally not fair and then he’d turn his attention back on me and away from the case we were working, and that would be terrible.
That comment got me the “quit fucking around” face. Which was probably OK, since if he was really mad he would have just told me to quit fucking around. Or possibly thrown a large, heavy blunt object at my head. But he just gave me the face, and turned back to the articles.
Which was good. Because he was doing something important. And I wasn’t selfish. I wasn’t a spoiled rotten brat who always expected to get everything I wanted right at the exact second that I wanted it. That would be immature and ridiculous and it was most certainly not the kind of behavior I engaged in on an almost daily basis. Because why would I do something like that if it didn’t result in me getting everything I wanted right at the exact second that I wanted it every single time that I did it?
The problem here was that at that very second, I wanted Dean to come and get in bed with me and he wasn’t doing it. Which was fine. It’s not like I couldn’t be patient and just wait for him to finish whatever he was working on. I was used to doing the research, it was necessary to be sure we were properly prepared for the job. But today I’d deferred to Dean’s research skills and let him find the background information that we’d need. Or, I guess if you were looking at it from his point of view, I had just said I didn’t feel like it today, which did NOT sound anything like “I don’t feeeeeeeeeeel like it, Dean", because that would be whiny and I didn’t ever whine about anything, EVER. So he started doing the research himself, because he wanted to, and not because he thought I was behaving like a petulant child, and most definitely not because he had some kind of complex that made him feel like he had to do everything himself, being the older brother and all.
So I just let him work, and read, and scribble notes down on the legal pad that was sitting on the tiny desk, and I busied myself with other mundane tasks. Like taking off my shirt. Since it was summer, and we were in Alabama, and it was hot, and the motel air conditioner wasn’t exactly stifling the heat. But after I took my shirt off, the AC started feeling a little more effective. And it made my nipples hard. So I touched them, and other things started happening. Because of the air conditioner! And then I thought maybe it would be ok for me to undo my jeans and push them down a little, just to the middle of my thighs, it wasn’t like I was getting naked. I just wanted to put my hand on my cock, and stroke it a little, since it was getting hard and feeling neglected and I figured it would be better for me to pay it a little bit of attention myself, so as not to bother Dean and take him away from his important research.
I was very quiet. Really, very very quiet so as not to direct Dean’s attention toward me, because he was busy. I might have let a couple of tiny little sighs escape my lips but I knew the best thing to do was to stay as quiet as I could and not distract my brother.
The next look I got was the “I’m going to fuck you through the mattress and into the floor” look, as newspaper clippings fell haphazardly onto the floor near the desk.
I felt really bad. I had distracted Dean from what he was doing and now the only thing he was paying attention to was me, as he closed the distance between the chair he’d been in to the bed I was lying on in approximately .62 seconds.
And that was not what I had intended. At all. But I wasn’t going to complain, I mean, if Dean felt the sudden urge to put his mouth around my cock then I had no reason to stop him. Maybe he just got bored with the newspaper stuff and wanted something else to do.