Your mouth is making promises - Wincest drabble
Sam/Dean
PG-13
~600 words
Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Sam when he smiled like that. His bashful little boy smile, all dimples, white teeth, and downturned glance. No one could. Sam could charm the wimple off a nun and he damn well knew it. He’d be working that smile since he was six. Sam’s smile was a hungry Winchester boy’s best weapon and it had gotten both of them countless free desserts in diners and coffee shops across America.
And apparently it still works at 26, Dean marveled, watching as the grandmotherly cashier slipped two slices of pie into their take out bag. On the house. “We’re just going to throw it out soon,” she explained. “Might as well not let it go to waste.”
"Thank you, Ma’am’ Sam said, look down at her through his lashes and flashing those dimples. Dean coughed and rolled his eyes. Sam stepped hard on his foot under the pretense of turning around.
"Have a nice night!" the cashier called as they left.
"You too," Sam said, laughing as Dean groaned and tugged him out by his arm.
"I can’t believe that still works," Dean said, shaking his head as he slid behind the wheel of the Impala. The passenger door shut with a thud as Sam slid in next to Dean.
"Whatever, dude. You’re just jealous because I got two pieces of pie."
"You wish." Dean checked the road and pulled out of the lot. "You got one piece of pie." He looked over and Sam was still smiling, obviously pleased with himself. Dean wanted to mock him, but truthfully, he was as helpless in the face of Sam’s smiles as any cashier. And judging by the look in his eyes, Sam knew it, too.
Dean shook his head at himself and Sam laughed softly in the dark as Dean turned back to the road.
They drove in silence for a while, the interior of the car going from dark to light to dark again as they passed through the cones of the streetlights. Dean heard the rustle of a paper bag, the soft click of a plastic lid being opened, and an appreciative groan.
"Hey, are you eating my pie?" He turned to glare at Sam.
Sam, who had two of his finger stuck in his mouth, eyes closed and was groaning happily as he sucked chocolate cream pie off them.
"Sam," Dean whispered. "Not fair."
Sam pulled his fingers out of his mouth with an exaggerated obscene pop. Dean glanced quickly back and forth between his brother and the road. Sam stuck his fingers back into the pie, scooping out the filling and holding it out to Dean. “Want some?” This time his smile was tighter, much les wholesome, and his tongue flicked out to touch his lips and then back in. His eyes were dark.
This smile, Dean knew how to deal with. Not taking his eyes off the road, Dean reached out and pulled Sam’s fingers into his mouth and proceeded to suck the pie fillings off of Sam’s hand, suck the smile off his face, and suck the moans right from the depths of Sam’s lungs. With a quick flick of the tongue to the webbing between Sam’s finger and quick nip to the pads, Dean let Sam’s fingers slip from his mouth.
Sam whined at the loss. “Dean.” Dean chuckled. “Dean,” Sam repeated, voice heated. He looked over at Sam as they passed under a streetlight. Ooh, if the nuns could see Sammy’s face now. It was dark and full of intent. “How far to the motel?”
"Not far, Sam.Why? Got plans?"
"Gonna fuck you into the mattress. How’s that for a plan?"
The sounded like a fine plan to Dean. Sam’s mouth might get the pie, but what Dean’s mouth got them was a whole lot better than that.