More porn than you can shake a stick at!
I've seriously written more in the past three days than in the past 6 months. O.O; So far Dean and Sam have had sex on the Impala, on the bed, in the shower, against the door, in a back alley, and in a graveyard. That covers everyone over at the porn meme, which means I still owe people who commented here (not necessarily porn?), and will hopefully get to them after I get back from New Orleans.
These are posted as they were written, unbeta'd comment!porn, so any mistakes are mine. These kind of ran away with me ...as you can see, they started out fairly short, and then got longer, and longer ... :)
Disclaimer: These are works of fiction, and all characters depicted within are copyright The CW. No offense or copyright infringement is intended.
For __3amconfession:
Sam/Dean, R, 274 words
Sam licks a stripe up Dean's throat, turns his head and nuzzles right under Dean's ear. Dean arches, back curving up off the trunk of the Impala, shoulderblades and ass and heels pressing dents into the metal that he'll cuss over later.
"Sam," Dean grinds out, fingers digging divots into Sam's hips, clawing under jeans and boxers to touch skin. "Stop teasing, dammit."
Sam laughs low in his throat and lets up just enough to reach between their bodies. He's got their belts open and their cocks out in record time, and they groan in unison as he brings them together and wraps his hand around them. Dean lifts his feet off the bumper to wrap his legs around Sam's waist, and that's it - they're both gone. Dean thrusts up and Sam thrusts down, hands rubbing and gripping and sliding, lips and teeth clashing in wet, messy kisses.
Dean comes first on a low groan, head slamming back against the slick metal and heels digging bruises into the backs of Sam's thighs. Sam keeps thrusting, using Dean's come and thrusting against his skin, into his own hand, and a few moments later he comes, too, spills all over Dean's belly and jeans before collapsing bonelessly atop his brother.
They lay that way for a few minutes, panting sharply in each other's ears, stomachs tacky with come. Then Dean shifts and says, "Dude, ew, did you have to get it on my pants?" and Sam laughs and kisses him before pulling away.
"Yeah, I did." He tugs a McDonald's napkin out of his pocket and tosses it at Dean, grinning. "Happy Valentine's Day, bitch."
For keepaofthecheez:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 596 words
Sam places both hands on Dean's shoulders and shoves, pushes Dean down onto the edge of the bed. Dean grunts, and the mattress screeches in protest under the sudden load, but that's nothing new, nothing they haven't dealt with before. Sam drops to his knees on the threadbare carpet, hands fumbling with Dean's belt, and Dean's fingers are already threading through his hair, already anticipating his mouth.
"Sammy, fuck," Dean groans as Sam rips open his fly, no gentleness as he works the jeans over Dean's cock and ass. They hit the floor in a jangle of belt buckle and loose change, and Sam leans back for a moment, resting his hands on Dean's bare knees and just looking. Dean looks positively obscene like this, bare from the waist down, cock curving up to drip precome on his cotton T-shirt. The street lights outside have crept between the Venetian blinds to cut stripes across his chest, but his face is still in shadow. Sam can see every flicker of expression in his mind's eye, though, knows exactly what every groan, every hitch of breath means.
"Sam, Jesus, c'mon," Dean practically whines, fingers tightening in Sam's hair. Sam doesn't resist, just lets himself be drawn forward, hands sliding up, over the fine hairs that dust Dean's thighs, to grip Dean's hips. He settles his shoulders between Dean's knees, leans forward and licks the bobbing tip once before curling his hand around the base and taking it into his mouth.
Dean relaxes his grip on Sam's hair, turns it into more of a cradle than a grab. He makes a keening noise as Sam curls his tongue under the head of his cock, and then stops breathing altogether when Sam pushes a knuckle behind his balls.
"Sam, baby, Christ," Dean babbles, and Sam slides a hand up to squeeze his hip, and that's it. That's all the encouragement he needs to start thrusting, gentle at first, just small flexes of his pelvis off the bed. The mattress is squeaking again, but they're both too far gone to pay it any attention.
Sam relaxes his throat, keeps playing Dean's balls and curling his tongue on the downstroke as Dean thrusts, a little deeper each time. Dean finally goes a little too deep, hits the back of Sam's throat and Sam gags, and he groans as Sam's throat contracts around his cockhead, but he pauses. Lets Sam recover, and then they're starting back again, shallower thrusts but a more frantic pace, until Dean is panting and gasping and swearing. Then all it takes is Sam wriggling a finger between Dean's legs, pressing up into that sweet spot right behind his balls, and Dean is coming warm and salty down his throat.
Sam pulls off and spits in his hand, falling back onto his haunches as he pushes his hand inside his jeans and starts jacking himself. His jaw aches and his eyes are watering, but, fuck, nothing gets him harder than listening to the sounds Dean makes while he's sucking him off. He meets Dean's eyes in the near-darkness, and it takes a minute, maybe less, before he's groaning and coming into his own hand.
Dean's recovered enough by then to grab Sam under his arms and drag him onto the bed. They kiss, slow and easy, and Sam laughs at the face Dean pulls when he tastes himself in Sam's mouth. He punches Dean in the arm and flops back on the bed, tucking his arms under his head and grinning up into the darkness.
"Happy Valentine's Day, jerk."
For kashmir1:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 519 words
The tiles are cool beneath Sam's back as Dean pushes him against them, and then Dean's mouth is on his, hot and dirty, tongues tangling and teeth clacking. There's graveyard dirt swirling down the drain, and Sam can taste the metallic grit of it coating his tongue, grinding between his teeth. This isn't the time or the place - they're both dead tired, and the water's going to run cold in a few minutes - but that doesn't seem to matter. They both want this - need this - right here, right now.
Dean's hand wraps around Sam's erection, and he gasps and gets a mouthful of the dirty water trickling out of Dean's hair. He spits it out on a laugh, low and husky, and reaches up to scrub a hand over the top of Dean's head, watching the dirt squelch out along Dean's hairline. "Dude, gross," he murmurs, but he's smiling.
Dean's grin is wicked and he waggles his eyebrows at Sam in an exaggerated manner. "Don't lie, Sam. You love dirty boys, doncha?"
Sam laughs again, a sharp bark that echoes off the ceramic walls of the shower, and then Dean is lining his cock up alongside Sam's and the laugh turns to a hiss. It's warm, and wet, and it would be better if Sam found the conditioner to slick the way, but he's having enough trouble just keeping his knees from buckling. Dean leans in and bites Sam's throat, licks a trickle of water from his collarbone as he twists his fist over the head of Sam's cock. He thumbs the slit, and Sam feels his eyes cross beneath closed lids, and has to wrap an arm around Dean's shoulders to keep himself upright. He rests his forehead in the curve of Dean's throat, small keening noises slipping from his mouth as Dean jacks him hard and fast, and it burns a little without any lubricant but the water, but it's God so good ...
Sam comes with a low cry, spilling over Dean's fist, and slitting his eyes watch the come mix with water and sluice down his legs. Dean's still rock hard, pressed into curve where Sam's hip meets his thigh, hips moving a little jitters against Sam's skin, but not really thrusting. Sam can hear him panting right in his ear, loud even over the pounding of the water.
Sam slides a hand between them and wraps it around Dean's cock. It only takes a few strokes before Dean is coming, too, a long, low groan muffled against Sam's neck.
For a few minutes they just stand there, sagging together against the wall and listening each other's breathing as it slows and eventually becomes inaudible beneath the spray of the showerhead. The afterglow is ruined as soon as the water turns ice cold, though, and Dean yelps and dives out the shower, leaving Sam to shiver and turn off the water.
"Pussy," Sam calls after him, shoving the curtain the rest of the way open.
Dean smirks as he tosses a towel at Sam's face. "Yeah, but you love me, bitch."
For clex_monkie89:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 649 words
The first time Sam ever sucks Dean off, it's in a back alley, and he's had too much to drink. His hands are fumbling and uncoordinated, and his lips are a little numb, so he ends up using too much teeth. Dean comes anyway, hot and salty down his throat, and if Sam weren't so drunk he probably would have choked. Afterwards they stumble back to the motel room and pass out in separate beds, and the next morning they avoid each other's eyes and skirt any subject that might bring up Sam's mouth on Dean's dick.
The first time Dean sucks Sam off, they're both dead sober. The light is on, and Dean backs Sam up against the door, cups his face in both hands and says, "I need ..." like he's breaking apart. Sam just nods, slumps against the door and pulls Dean into the vee of his legs and kisses him. It's not sweet or gentle; it's a battle for domination, tongues sweeping across palattes and teeth nipping lips, and then just hot, open, wet, like they're trying to devour each other.
Then Dean's dropping to his knees, pushing Sam's shirt up and tugging his jeans down. The jeans catch on Sam's hips, and Dean has to stop and undo the belt and button and zipper, saying, "Shitshit, God damn ..." under his breath. Sam laughs a little breathlessly and slides one hand to cup the back of Dean's head, fingers brushing the soft spot right behind his ears.
There's a pause when Dean finally gets Sam's jeans and boxers shoved down, when Dean looks up and Sam looks down, and they just ...stop. Their eyes meet, and Dean licks his lips, but it's not a tease - it's a question. Sam swallows, but he keeps his eyes steady on Dean's as he jerks his head in a nod, and that's all the affirmation Dean needs.
Dean wraps one hand around the base of Sam's cock and his lips around the head, and immediately gags when Sam cusses and bucks in response. "Fuck, Sam, don't ..." he growls, and uses his other arm to pin Sam's abdomen to the door before taking his cock back into his mouth.
He picks up a rhythym between mouth and hand, punctuates it with flickers of his tongue or small scrapes of his teeth, tries to remember every trick that's ever been used on him. Sam watches him through lowered lashes, uses the hand on his head to urge him faster, deeper, blunt nails scraping across his scalp.
"God, Dean, you look so fuckin' hot," Sam blurts after a minute, fingers sliding down to ghost over Dean's lips where they're wrapped around his cock. Dean groans at the words, and the vibration makes Sam jerk and grip the back of Dean's head. "So pretty like this," Sam continues, unable to stop now that he's started, "want you so bad, want to, ah, wanna lick you all over, wanna fuck you ..."
Dean moans again, and that's all it takes for Sam to come, spilling hot into Dean's mouth. It catches Dean by surprise, and he chokes, pulling partway off, a mixture of come and spit trickling from the corner of his mouth. He waits until Sam's finished to pull off, though, spitting on the ugly floral carpet and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Jesus," he says hoarsely, rubbing his jaw with one hand. "Warn a guy, will ya?"
There's another pause, and this time there's the potential for awkwardness, the potential for this to turn bad, but then Sam reaches down, grabs Dean by the lapels of his jacket and drags him to his feet. "Sorry," he says, but he's smirking unrepentantly as he pulls Dean in for a quick, biting kiss. "I'll try to remember that next time you're sucking my brains out my dick."
For merihn:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 783 words
They're in this dirty back alley behind a bar full of rednecks, and it's probably the worst place Dean could have picked to shove Sam up against a wall and tell him he wants to fuck him through the bricks. That's probably part of it, actually - the danger - because if any one of those drunk rednecks comes stumbling outside at the wrong moment, it'll be trouble of the worst kind.
But Sam's not exactly in a position to refuse, a little drunk and a lot horny, so when Dean spins him around the presses him against the grimy bricks, Sam just pillows his head on his forearm and mutters filthy little encouragements. Dean's got his belt undone and his jeans and boxers down in the space of a few seconds, and then he's pushing his fingers into Sam's mouth and ordering him to suck. Sam does as he's told, swirling his tongue over Dean's calluses and scraping his teeth over his knuckles, moaning a little, because he knows Dean likes it when he makes noise.
Dean pulls his fingers free with a wet pop, and then they're pressing wet and warm against Sam's ass, sliding down the crease and ghosting across his entrance. He makes a frustrated sound low in his throat, and arches his back, pressing into the touch.
"Fuck, Dean, stop being a tease, and just-" he says, but the words are cut off on a strangled sound when Dean pushes a finger inside, no preliminaries, just allthewayin. "Fuck," Sam hisses, hips jerking away from the intrusion, and then back into it.
"Easy, Sammy," Dean murmurs against his shoulder, free hand palming Sam's hip as he thrusts deep with his finger. His knuckles are pressed against Sam's ass, the spit cooling rapidly in the chill February air, so when he adds the second finger, Sam yelps.
"Hurt?" Dean asks, stilling.
Sam shakes his head and presses his face into the crook of his arm, laughter bubbling up from his chest. "Cold," he replies, voice muffled, and Dean laughs, too.
"Well, then, let me warm you up, sweetheart," Dean drawls, exaggerating and elongating his vowels, and he crowds in close behind Sam. He scissors his fingers, and it's not cold any more, it's hot, too hot, stifling, and Sam's breath catches on a moan. Dean's cock presses against Sam's hip, warm skin-on-skin contact, even though Sam doesn't remember hearing him open his jeans.
"C'mon, Dean, stop fucking around and just do it," Sam growls, groaning when Dean twists his fingers and pulls them out. "Now, do it, c'mon, Dean, fuck me."
"Okay, yeah, fuckin' impatient ..." Dean mutters, and there's a pause while he fumbles for a condom, rips open the packet with his teeth and rolls it on.
Then Sam feels the blunt press of Dean's cock against him, and Dean is sinking forward, and the condom is lubricated, but it still burns, and Sam has to bite down on his own thumb, eyes prickling. Dean reaches around to grip his cock, rubs his thumb under the head, and it's enough to take the edge off, enough to make Sam relax and push back. Dean stops once his hips are fitted tight against Sam's ass, giving Sam a chance to adjust, and for a moment they just breathe together, fast and shallow, listening to a car drive by the next street over.
Then Sam says, "Okay, yeah, move," and that's all the encouragement Dean needs to start moving, slow at first, but then fast and hard, driving deep. Sam adjusts his stance, bending his knees and leaning forward, and Dean changes the angle of his thrusts just a hair, and then he's hitting that sweet spot and Sam moans so loud he has to shove his fist in his mouth to muffle it. Dean starts stroking Sam's cock in counterpoint to his thrusts, and the whole situation is dirty and rough and kind of perfect.
It seems to take forever for Sam to come, but it's probably less than five minutes before he's spilling all over Dean's fist, ass clenching tight around Dean's cock. Dean pumps into him a few more times, and then he's coming with a bitten off, "Sam!" thrusting deep and staying there, gripping Sam's hips tight.
They pull apart after a few beats, Dean dropping the used condom on the ground beside the discarded condom packet, and they pull their jeans on with pleasure-slow fingers. Sam reaches out to straighten Dean's shirt and then pulls him in for a warm, easy kiss, and then they both shove their hands in their pockets and stumble out of the alley, shoulders bumping and stupid grins on their faces.
For storydivagirl:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 671 words
The grass in the graveyard is fresh-cut, and the scent of it hangs sweet and heavy in the warm night air. It's been a routine salt-and-burn, but digging graves isn't exactly light work, and they're both sweaty and covered with dirt. So it's not exactly the most romantic moment of Sam's life when Dean shoves him up against the side of a mausoleum and kisses him.
"Dude!" Sam hisses, shoving him away. "What are you doing?
Dean steps back into Sam's space, undeterred, crowding him against the weathered granite. "Uh, thought that was kind of obvious, Sam."
"We're in a graveyard," Sam says reasonably, and slaps away Dean's roaming hands.
"Yeah, so?"
"So ...don't you think that's kind of morbid?"
Dean appears to consider this for a moment, then grins and shakes his head. "Nope."
Sam gapes at him, but doesn't have a chance to respond before Dean is dropping to his knees and working open Sam's belt. Just the sight of Dean on his knees has Sam half-hard and wanting, and he fights a brief, internal struggle before giving up and slumping against the stone wall, legs splayed wide. "We're all dirty," he complains anyway, "and you smell bad."
Dean arches an incredulous eyebrow at Sam as he shoves Sam's pants to his ankles. "Dude, you're not going to be smelling me. Just shut the hell up and enjoy it, okay?"
"Fine," Sam mutters petulantly, and then jumps when Dean's hand closes around his cock. Dean smirks up at him, licks his lips, and then leans in to lick a slow circle around the head. Sam grits out, "Smug bastard," and then Dean is swallowing him down and his annoyance is lost on a moan.
Sam fists one hand in the collar of Dean's jacket, and the other scrabbles at the crumbling mortar and rock behind him. He was so not into this all of two minutes ago, but right now he doesn't think he's ever seen anything hotter than Dean on his knees in the dirt, sucking Sam's cock. It kind of feels like one of those really cheesy horror-film-cum-porno movies that Dean loves, which might have something to do with why Dean had the weird urge to suck Sam off in the middle of a graveyard.
Dean sets an easy rhythym, sinking down and then sucking back up, his hand covering what his mouth doesn't. Sam stares down at him, hips rocking unconsciously to the same rhythym, watching Dean's head bob between his legs. Dean's eyes flick up to him, and they're creased a little at the corners, like they do when he grins, and, God, could he be any hotter? Sam lets go of Dean's jacket in favor of sliding his fingers through Dean's hair, gripping the short strands as best he can and fucking Dean's mouth shallowly.
Then Dean does that trick where he curls his tongue, and sucks Sam down deep, pressing a finger behind his balls, and Sam is shaking and coming before he even realizes what's happening. He makes a strangled noise and sees white for a second, and, shit, what is he, twelve? The whole thing probably lasted less than three, four minutes.
Dean pulls off and he's smirking like the cat who got the canary as he pushes to his feet. Sam bends down to pull up his pants, refusing to meet Dean's eyes and blushing furiously, because what the hell?
"Jeez, Sammy, you should've told me you had a graveyard kink," Dean drawls, stepping in to snug his hips against Sam's while he reaches to do up Sam's belt. His cock is a hard line against Sam's thigh. "We could've been doing this a long time ago."
"I do not have -" Sam protests, but he's cut short when Dean shoves his tongue into his mouth.
Dean pulls away, still smirking, the smarmy jerk. "Right," he says, and turns to walk toward the car. Sam glares after him.
"Hey," Dean calls over his shoulder, "don't forget to grab the shovels!"
Hooray for Supernatural Day! \o/
These are posted as they were written, unbeta'd comment!porn, so any mistakes are mine. These kind of ran away with me ...as you can see, they started out fairly short, and then got longer, and longer ... :)
Disclaimer: These are works of fiction, and all characters depicted within are copyright The CW. No offense or copyright infringement is intended.
For __3amconfession:
Sam/Dean, R, 274 words
Sam licks a stripe up Dean's throat, turns his head and nuzzles right under Dean's ear. Dean arches, back curving up off the trunk of the Impala, shoulderblades and ass and heels pressing dents into the metal that he'll cuss over later.
"Sam," Dean grinds out, fingers digging divots into Sam's hips, clawing under jeans and boxers to touch skin. "Stop teasing, dammit."
Sam laughs low in his throat and lets up just enough to reach between their bodies. He's got their belts open and their cocks out in record time, and they groan in unison as he brings them together and wraps his hand around them. Dean lifts his feet off the bumper to wrap his legs around Sam's waist, and that's it - they're both gone. Dean thrusts up and Sam thrusts down, hands rubbing and gripping and sliding, lips and teeth clashing in wet, messy kisses.
Dean comes first on a low groan, head slamming back against the slick metal and heels digging bruises into the backs of Sam's thighs. Sam keeps thrusting, using Dean's come and thrusting against his skin, into his own hand, and a few moments later he comes, too, spills all over Dean's belly and jeans before collapsing bonelessly atop his brother.
They lay that way for a few minutes, panting sharply in each other's ears, stomachs tacky with come. Then Dean shifts and says, "Dude, ew, did you have to get it on my pants?" and Sam laughs and kisses him before pulling away.
"Yeah, I did." He tugs a McDonald's napkin out of his pocket and tosses it at Dean, grinning. "Happy Valentine's Day, bitch."
For keepaofthecheez:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 596 words
Sam places both hands on Dean's shoulders and shoves, pushes Dean down onto the edge of the bed. Dean grunts, and the mattress screeches in protest under the sudden load, but that's nothing new, nothing they haven't dealt with before. Sam drops to his knees on the threadbare carpet, hands fumbling with Dean's belt, and Dean's fingers are already threading through his hair, already anticipating his mouth.
"Sammy, fuck," Dean groans as Sam rips open his fly, no gentleness as he works the jeans over Dean's cock and ass. They hit the floor in a jangle of belt buckle and loose change, and Sam leans back for a moment, resting his hands on Dean's bare knees and just looking. Dean looks positively obscene like this, bare from the waist down, cock curving up to drip precome on his cotton T-shirt. The street lights outside have crept between the Venetian blinds to cut stripes across his chest, but his face is still in shadow. Sam can see every flicker of expression in his mind's eye, though, knows exactly what every groan, every hitch of breath means.
"Sam, Jesus, c'mon," Dean practically whines, fingers tightening in Sam's hair. Sam doesn't resist, just lets himself be drawn forward, hands sliding up, over the fine hairs that dust Dean's thighs, to grip Dean's hips. He settles his shoulders between Dean's knees, leans forward and licks the bobbing tip once before curling his hand around the base and taking it into his mouth.
Dean relaxes his grip on Sam's hair, turns it into more of a cradle than a grab. He makes a keening noise as Sam curls his tongue under the head of his cock, and then stops breathing altogether when Sam pushes a knuckle behind his balls.
"Sam, baby, Christ," Dean babbles, and Sam slides a hand up to squeeze his hip, and that's it. That's all the encouragement he needs to start thrusting, gentle at first, just small flexes of his pelvis off the bed. The mattress is squeaking again, but they're both too far gone to pay it any attention.
Sam relaxes his throat, keeps playing Dean's balls and curling his tongue on the downstroke as Dean thrusts, a little deeper each time. Dean finally goes a little too deep, hits the back of Sam's throat and Sam gags, and he groans as Sam's throat contracts around his cockhead, but he pauses. Lets Sam recover, and then they're starting back again, shallower thrusts but a more frantic pace, until Dean is panting and gasping and swearing. Then all it takes is Sam wriggling a finger between Dean's legs, pressing up into that sweet spot right behind his balls, and Dean is coming warm and salty down his throat.
Sam pulls off and spits in his hand, falling back onto his haunches as he pushes his hand inside his jeans and starts jacking himself. His jaw aches and his eyes are watering, but, fuck, nothing gets him harder than listening to the sounds Dean makes while he's sucking him off. He meets Dean's eyes in the near-darkness, and it takes a minute, maybe less, before he's groaning and coming into his own hand.
Dean's recovered enough by then to grab Sam under his arms and drag him onto the bed. They kiss, slow and easy, and Sam laughs at the face Dean pulls when he tastes himself in Sam's mouth. He punches Dean in the arm and flops back on the bed, tucking his arms under his head and grinning up into the darkness.
"Happy Valentine's Day, jerk."
For kashmir1:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 519 words
The tiles are cool beneath Sam's back as Dean pushes him against them, and then Dean's mouth is on his, hot and dirty, tongues tangling and teeth clacking. There's graveyard dirt swirling down the drain, and Sam can taste the metallic grit of it coating his tongue, grinding between his teeth. This isn't the time or the place - they're both dead tired, and the water's going to run cold in a few minutes - but that doesn't seem to matter. They both want this - need this - right here, right now.
Dean's hand wraps around Sam's erection, and he gasps and gets a mouthful of the dirty water trickling out of Dean's hair. He spits it out on a laugh, low and husky, and reaches up to scrub a hand over the top of Dean's head, watching the dirt squelch out along Dean's hairline. "Dude, gross," he murmurs, but he's smiling.
Dean's grin is wicked and he waggles his eyebrows at Sam in an exaggerated manner. "Don't lie, Sam. You love dirty boys, doncha?"
Sam laughs again, a sharp bark that echoes off the ceramic walls of the shower, and then Dean is lining his cock up alongside Sam's and the laugh turns to a hiss. It's warm, and wet, and it would be better if Sam found the conditioner to slick the way, but he's having enough trouble just keeping his knees from buckling. Dean leans in and bites Sam's throat, licks a trickle of water from his collarbone as he twists his fist over the head of Sam's cock. He thumbs the slit, and Sam feels his eyes cross beneath closed lids, and has to wrap an arm around Dean's shoulders to keep himself upright. He rests his forehead in the curve of Dean's throat, small keening noises slipping from his mouth as Dean jacks him hard and fast, and it burns a little without any lubricant but the water, but it's God so good ...
Sam comes with a low cry, spilling over Dean's fist, and slitting his eyes watch the come mix with water and sluice down his legs. Dean's still rock hard, pressed into curve where Sam's hip meets his thigh, hips moving a little jitters against Sam's skin, but not really thrusting. Sam can hear him panting right in his ear, loud even over the pounding of the water.
Sam slides a hand between them and wraps it around Dean's cock. It only takes a few strokes before Dean is coming, too, a long, low groan muffled against Sam's neck.
For a few minutes they just stand there, sagging together against the wall and listening each other's breathing as it slows and eventually becomes inaudible beneath the spray of the showerhead. The afterglow is ruined as soon as the water turns ice cold, though, and Dean yelps and dives out the shower, leaving Sam to shiver and turn off the water.
"Pussy," Sam calls after him, shoving the curtain the rest of the way open.
Dean smirks as he tosses a towel at Sam's face. "Yeah, but you love me, bitch."
For clex_monkie89:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 649 words
The first time Sam ever sucks Dean off, it's in a back alley, and he's had too much to drink. His hands are fumbling and uncoordinated, and his lips are a little numb, so he ends up using too much teeth. Dean comes anyway, hot and salty down his throat, and if Sam weren't so drunk he probably would have choked. Afterwards they stumble back to the motel room and pass out in separate beds, and the next morning they avoid each other's eyes and skirt any subject that might bring up Sam's mouth on Dean's dick.
The first time Dean sucks Sam off, they're both dead sober. The light is on, and Dean backs Sam up against the door, cups his face in both hands and says, "I need ..." like he's breaking apart. Sam just nods, slumps against the door and pulls Dean into the vee of his legs and kisses him. It's not sweet or gentle; it's a battle for domination, tongues sweeping across palattes and teeth nipping lips, and then just hot, open, wet, like they're trying to devour each other.
Then Dean's dropping to his knees, pushing Sam's shirt up and tugging his jeans down. The jeans catch on Sam's hips, and Dean has to stop and undo the belt and button and zipper, saying, "Shitshit, God damn ..." under his breath. Sam laughs a little breathlessly and slides one hand to cup the back of Dean's head, fingers brushing the soft spot right behind his ears.
There's a pause when Dean finally gets Sam's jeans and boxers shoved down, when Dean looks up and Sam looks down, and they just ...stop. Their eyes meet, and Dean licks his lips, but it's not a tease - it's a question. Sam swallows, but he keeps his eyes steady on Dean's as he jerks his head in a nod, and that's all the affirmation Dean needs.
Dean wraps one hand around the base of Sam's cock and his lips around the head, and immediately gags when Sam cusses and bucks in response. "Fuck, Sam, don't ..." he growls, and uses his other arm to pin Sam's abdomen to the door before taking his cock back into his mouth.
He picks up a rhythym between mouth and hand, punctuates it with flickers of his tongue or small scrapes of his teeth, tries to remember every trick that's ever been used on him. Sam watches him through lowered lashes, uses the hand on his head to urge him faster, deeper, blunt nails scraping across his scalp.
"God, Dean, you look so fuckin' hot," Sam blurts after a minute, fingers sliding down to ghost over Dean's lips where they're wrapped around his cock. Dean groans at the words, and the vibration makes Sam jerk and grip the back of Dean's head. "So pretty like this," Sam continues, unable to stop now that he's started, "want you so bad, want to, ah, wanna lick you all over, wanna fuck you ..."
Dean moans again, and that's all it takes for Sam to come, spilling hot into Dean's mouth. It catches Dean by surprise, and he chokes, pulling partway off, a mixture of come and spit trickling from the corner of his mouth. He waits until Sam's finished to pull off, though, spitting on the ugly floral carpet and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Jesus," he says hoarsely, rubbing his jaw with one hand. "Warn a guy, will ya?"
There's another pause, and this time there's the potential for awkwardness, the potential for this to turn bad, but then Sam reaches down, grabs Dean by the lapels of his jacket and drags him to his feet. "Sorry," he says, but he's smirking unrepentantly as he pulls Dean in for a quick, biting kiss. "I'll try to remember that next time you're sucking my brains out my dick."
For merihn:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 783 words
They're in this dirty back alley behind a bar full of rednecks, and it's probably the worst place Dean could have picked to shove Sam up against a wall and tell him he wants to fuck him through the bricks. That's probably part of it, actually - the danger - because if any one of those drunk rednecks comes stumbling outside at the wrong moment, it'll be trouble of the worst kind.
But Sam's not exactly in a position to refuse, a little drunk and a lot horny, so when Dean spins him around the presses him against the grimy bricks, Sam just pillows his head on his forearm and mutters filthy little encouragements. Dean's got his belt undone and his jeans and boxers down in the space of a few seconds, and then he's pushing his fingers into Sam's mouth and ordering him to suck. Sam does as he's told, swirling his tongue over Dean's calluses and scraping his teeth over his knuckles, moaning a little, because he knows Dean likes it when he makes noise.
Dean pulls his fingers free with a wet pop, and then they're pressing wet and warm against Sam's ass, sliding down the crease and ghosting across his entrance. He makes a frustrated sound low in his throat, and arches his back, pressing into the touch.
"Fuck, Dean, stop being a tease, and just-" he says, but the words are cut off on a strangled sound when Dean pushes a finger inside, no preliminaries, just allthewayin. "Fuck," Sam hisses, hips jerking away from the intrusion, and then back into it.
"Easy, Sammy," Dean murmurs against his shoulder, free hand palming Sam's hip as he thrusts deep with his finger. His knuckles are pressed against Sam's ass, the spit cooling rapidly in the chill February air, so when he adds the second finger, Sam yelps.
"Hurt?" Dean asks, stilling.
Sam shakes his head and presses his face into the crook of his arm, laughter bubbling up from his chest. "Cold," he replies, voice muffled, and Dean laughs, too.
"Well, then, let me warm you up, sweetheart," Dean drawls, exaggerating and elongating his vowels, and he crowds in close behind Sam. He scissors his fingers, and it's not cold any more, it's hot, too hot, stifling, and Sam's breath catches on a moan. Dean's cock presses against Sam's hip, warm skin-on-skin contact, even though Sam doesn't remember hearing him open his jeans.
"C'mon, Dean, stop fucking around and just do it," Sam growls, groaning when Dean twists his fingers and pulls them out. "Now, do it, c'mon, Dean, fuck me."
"Okay, yeah, fuckin' impatient ..." Dean mutters, and there's a pause while he fumbles for a condom, rips open the packet with his teeth and rolls it on.
Then Sam feels the blunt press of Dean's cock against him, and Dean is sinking forward, and the condom is lubricated, but it still burns, and Sam has to bite down on his own thumb, eyes prickling. Dean reaches around to grip his cock, rubs his thumb under the head, and it's enough to take the edge off, enough to make Sam relax and push back. Dean stops once his hips are fitted tight against Sam's ass, giving Sam a chance to adjust, and for a moment they just breathe together, fast and shallow, listening to a car drive by the next street over.
Then Sam says, "Okay, yeah, move," and that's all the encouragement Dean needs to start moving, slow at first, but then fast and hard, driving deep. Sam adjusts his stance, bending his knees and leaning forward, and Dean changes the angle of his thrusts just a hair, and then he's hitting that sweet spot and Sam moans so loud he has to shove his fist in his mouth to muffle it. Dean starts stroking Sam's cock in counterpoint to his thrusts, and the whole situation is dirty and rough and kind of perfect.
It seems to take forever for Sam to come, but it's probably less than five minutes before he's spilling all over Dean's fist, ass clenching tight around Dean's cock. Dean pumps into him a few more times, and then he's coming with a bitten off, "Sam!" thrusting deep and staying there, gripping Sam's hips tight.
They pull apart after a few beats, Dean dropping the used condom on the ground beside the discarded condom packet, and they pull their jeans on with pleasure-slow fingers. Sam reaches out to straighten Dean's shirt and then pulls him in for a warm, easy kiss, and then they both shove their hands in their pockets and stumble out of the alley, shoulders bumping and stupid grins on their faces.
For storydivagirl:
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 671 words
The grass in the graveyard is fresh-cut, and the scent of it hangs sweet and heavy in the warm night air. It's been a routine salt-and-burn, but digging graves isn't exactly light work, and they're both sweaty and covered with dirt. So it's not exactly the most romantic moment of Sam's life when Dean shoves him up against the side of a mausoleum and kisses him.
"Dude!" Sam hisses, shoving him away. "What are you doing?
Dean steps back into Sam's space, undeterred, crowding him against the weathered granite. "Uh, thought that was kind of obvious, Sam."
"We're in a graveyard," Sam says reasonably, and slaps away Dean's roaming hands.
"Yeah, so?"
"So ...don't you think that's kind of morbid?"
Dean appears to consider this for a moment, then grins and shakes his head. "Nope."
Sam gapes at him, but doesn't have a chance to respond before Dean is dropping to his knees and working open Sam's belt. Just the sight of Dean on his knees has Sam half-hard and wanting, and he fights a brief, internal struggle before giving up and slumping against the stone wall, legs splayed wide. "We're all dirty," he complains anyway, "and you smell bad."
Dean arches an incredulous eyebrow at Sam as he shoves Sam's pants to his ankles. "Dude, you're not going to be smelling me. Just shut the hell up and enjoy it, okay?"
"Fine," Sam mutters petulantly, and then jumps when Dean's hand closes around his cock. Dean smirks up at him, licks his lips, and then leans in to lick a slow circle around the head. Sam grits out, "Smug bastard," and then Dean is swallowing him down and his annoyance is lost on a moan.
Sam fists one hand in the collar of Dean's jacket, and the other scrabbles at the crumbling mortar and rock behind him. He was so not into this all of two minutes ago, but right now he doesn't think he's ever seen anything hotter than Dean on his knees in the dirt, sucking Sam's cock. It kind of feels like one of those really cheesy horror-film-cum-porno movies that Dean loves, which might have something to do with why Dean had the weird urge to suck Sam off in the middle of a graveyard.
Dean sets an easy rhythym, sinking down and then sucking back up, his hand covering what his mouth doesn't. Sam stares down at him, hips rocking unconsciously to the same rhythym, watching Dean's head bob between his legs. Dean's eyes flick up to him, and they're creased a little at the corners, like they do when he grins, and, God, could he be any hotter? Sam lets go of Dean's jacket in favor of sliding his fingers through Dean's hair, gripping the short strands as best he can and fucking Dean's mouth shallowly.
Then Dean does that trick where he curls his tongue, and sucks Sam down deep, pressing a finger behind his balls, and Sam is shaking and coming before he even realizes what's happening. He makes a strangled noise and sees white for a second, and, shit, what is he, twelve? The whole thing probably lasted less than three, four minutes.
Dean pulls off and he's smirking like the cat who got the canary as he pushes to his feet. Sam bends down to pull up his pants, refusing to meet Dean's eyes and blushing furiously, because what the hell?
"Jeez, Sammy, you should've told me you had a graveyard kink," Dean drawls, stepping in to snug his hips against Sam's while he reaches to do up Sam's belt. His cock is a hard line against Sam's thigh. "We could've been doing this a long time ago."
"I do not have -" Sam protests, but he's cut short when Dean shoves his tongue into his mouth.
Dean pulls away, still smirking, the smarmy jerk. "Right," he says, and turns to walk toward the car. Sam glares after him.
"Hey," Dean calls over his shoulder, "don't forget to grab the shovels!"
Hooray for Supernatural Day! \o/