fic: the sun beats hot on my bones
rating: nc-17 (wow that was quite a jump)
character(s): sam & dean
summary: sam owns a ranch. dean finds it. sam/dean. AU.
beta: the utterly glorious sailoreyes67 who is always super-helpful and fantastic even when i email her a fic to be betaed for posting the next day. I LOVE YOU.
wordcount: 1522
warnings: um. porn ahoy?!
a/n: written for insmallpackages; CWRPF or SPN, Jared/Jensen or Sam/Dean, working in a barn or a ranch (ficlet or art or podfic). crossposted to supernaturalfic and samdean_otp
the sun beats hot on my bones
Sam’s hand is going immediately to the rifle by his bed even before he snaps fully awake. He rolls out of the covers and splashes water on his face; pulls on his boots and goes silently downstairs and out the back door.
He makes his way carefully towards the silhouette on his barnhouse-he already knows he’s gonna catch whoever it is by surprise; damned kids; don’t they know they’re gonna get hurt-
Sam is jarred out of his thoughts when a hand comes heavily down on his shoulder.
“Aw, did I scare you?” The lazy drawl comes from behind and Sam turns around to come face-to-just-slightly-lower-face with his trespasser.
He smells like earth and outdoors, but underneath it all there’s this unmistakably distinctive smell.
City.
Sam grins then, wide and predatory. “Nah, s’all the perfume on you. Long way from home, city boy.”
The other man’s initial smirk falters a little, but he’s back in no time flat: “Thought maybe the smell of manure on you would help cover it up a little.”
Sam raises his weapon. “Let’s see if a little gunpowder won’t do the trick.”
“Whoa, easy, tiger. Didn’t mean for you to get your coveralls in a bunch.” He raises his hands and continues: “Look, let’s start over. I’m Dean. Sorry for trespassing.”
Sam grudgingly relents, aiming his weapon slightly lower. “Why were you on my roof?”
Dean doesn’t respond for a long time. When he finally does, it’s something entirely unexpected.
“How ‘bout I don’t answer that question, and I work for you instead?”
Sam is taken aback, but he sizes Dean up anyway. His face is strong-square jaw; good nose-and his body is core-heavy-square and dense; good for manual labor.
“Alright,” he says at last, “I’ll give you a chance. You can sleep in the spare room. We start tomorrow. 4:30 AM. Sleep in and you’re out.”
Dean nods-like a soldier, Sam thinks-and starts following Sam towards the house. “Y’know, I still don’t know your name.”
“It’s Sam.”
{+++}
They're heading out to the fields right on schedule, and Sam's glad to be back on familiar territory.
"We're raising a barn today."
Dean stops walking. “We’re what-.”
Sam continues, “We’ll also be repairing troughs, replacing windmill parts, and fixing fences. Ever wired a fence? Welded anything?”
“Um-” It’s odd how distracted Dean sounds, “I work with cars, if that counts.”
Sam stops and turns. Dean bumps right into him, eyes flicking back upwards from-Sam’s crotch? He’s kind of worried about the level of desperation required to hallucinate, so Sam changes the subject. “Why the high-class smell?”
Dean shrugs. “Adoptive parents.”
Sam studies Dean again. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet. Okay, fixtures on water troughs need tightening. We’re plowing my fields and the fans on my mill need to be re-welded and replaced. Fences are to be rewired before noon, because cows don’t wait for anyone and we’ve got a barn to raise.”
Dean looks behind them, back towards Sam’s perfectly-maintained barnhouse. “Does this mean you’re tearing that down?”
Impressively, he sounds appropriately horrified, so Sam graces him with a response.
“Neighbor down the road. There was a storm a couple days ago. Duty calls.”
“Alright. Where do we start?”
“Let’s start you off easy,” Sam decides. “Fieldwork.”
They walk towards the field. Sam pats his plow and says, “Meet Jessica. She’ll be your best friend today.”
Dean stares. “Aren’t there, I dunno, machines for this kinda thing?”
Sam tips his hat and smiles at him, not at all sorry. “Don’t have machines. I like to get up close and personal. ‘Sides, it’s not like anyone else lives here.”
Dean steps up to the plow; takes in the spiked wheels and wide handles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jess.”
{+++}
In retrospect, Sam thinks, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for him to start Dean off with the plow on the hottest day of the year to date.
Dean’s shirt is off and there’s sweat running down his back, pooling in the dimples at the base of his spine before disappearing under the band of his jeans.
Sam keeps trying to convince himself that he doesn’t want to grab Dean’s ass and see if it’s as perky as it looks, but he’s been alone for a long time.
Dean turns; catches Sam looking and laughs at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”
Sam forces the blush down and smiles; tries to pass it off as a joke. “Show-off. Why don’t you wear a shirt like a normal person?”
“Because it’s fucking hot out, man. Besides, you’re not wearing a shirt, either.”
“I’m wearing a tank top,” Sam says, crossing his arms across his chest and wondering if he imagined Dean swallowing.
{+++}
It’s nearing noon and the sun has reached its high point up in the sky. They head into the barn to get some much-needed shade and materials for the fencing.
Sam’s sweltering in the heat (unusual for early summer; he hopes it doesn’t ruin his fruit trees) so he finally strips his shirt off. He sticks it in his back jean pocket and watches as Dean bends over to carefully pick up the first coils of wire.
This time Dean doesn’t miss Sam’s appreciative gaze as he stands back up.
“You watchin’ me?”
Sam can’t tell if he sounds angry or not.
His heart is racing.
“Maybe.”
“Cut the crap. Been watchin’ me all day, Sammy,” Dean says and steps in close, invades Sam’s space and there’s no trace of city there anymore; it’s all just sweat and musk and metal and dirt and the salty tang of hard work.
Sam’s pretty sure he keens a little when, without warning, Dean grinds their lower halves together, and his dick stiffens so fast it hurts.
Sam throws his head back; can’t move, can’t think, can’t fucking breathe because Dean keeps moving and Sam can feel the hard hot line of Dean’s cock through his jeans.
“Like what you see?” Dean slides his thigh between Sam’s legs and tips Sam’s head forwards; forces him to look. “Yeah? Do you?”
Sam makes a noise that’s something along the lines of a starving man looking at a steak and lunges for Dean’s face, pressing their mouths together without finesse and forcing his tongue inside.
Dean moans and his eyelashes flutter as he goes pliant in Sam’s hands. Sam takes that split second to flip their positions, pressing Dean against the wall and trapping him there.
“God, Sam, why didn’t you do this sooner?” Dean pants as Sam all but tries to eat his face off.
“Wanted to. God, I wanted to.” Sam is dying, an entire day’s worth of pent-up sexual energy forcing its way out onto Dean who is underneath him and pushing back just as hard. “Fucking-do you know you have back dimples?”
Dean laughs at Sam, breathless and amused as he turns his head and nips at Sam’s mouth. “Have you seen yourself? Been-Jesus-been wanting my hands on you all day, you goddamned cocktease-” he rips at Sam’s jeans and shoves them down; tracks his mouth down to the vee of Sam’s crotch and stops there.
“Cocktease?” Sam swears, “And you aren’t? Took your shirt off first thing this morning, you little-fuck-” he breaks off and grasps Dean’s short hair in both hands.
Dean licks a long wet stripe from the bottom to just under the head of Sam’s cock and stays there. Before Sam can protest, Dean opens his mouth wide and swallows Sam whole.
Sam’s hips act of their own accord; they piston forward and slam Dean’s head hard into the barn wall because Jesus fucking goddamned Christ, what Dean just did was no easy effort.
Dean moans; almost too soft to hear but vibrations are shooting up Sam’s spine anyway, and Dean rolls Sam’s balls in his hand and sucks slowly up to the tip of his cock; takes his mouth off (there’s saliva connecting Dean’s pretty, pretty mouth to Sam’s swollen dick and that shouldn’t be so hot) and Sam is grateful because he wouldn’t have lasted another second.
Dean smiles up at Sam; resumes his position and tightens his lips around the crown of Sam’s cock.
The only warning Sam manages before he arches and shoots into Dean’s mouth is a strangled groan, but Dean swallows hungrily; refuses to let even a single drop go and milks Sam through the aftershocks.
For a long time there’s nothing but the sound of Sam trying to get his breath back and Dean’s fist sliding lazily up and down the shaft of his own dick.
Sam rolls over onto Dean and shifts downwards so he can return the favor, but Dean stops him with a hand on his chest. “Wait, whatever happened to raising that barn for your neighbors?”
Sam drops his head and plants lazy kisses across Dean’s collarbone. “They’re crabby and steal my apples. Screw the neighbors.”
Dean grins at Sam and pulls him down for another kiss.
“I’d rather you not, if it’s all the same.”
character(s): sam & dean
summary: sam owns a ranch. dean finds it. sam/dean. AU.
beta: the utterly glorious sailoreyes67 who is always super-helpful and fantastic even when i email her a fic to be betaed for posting the next day. I LOVE YOU.
wordcount: 1522
warnings: um. porn ahoy?!
a/n: written for insmallpackages; CWRPF or SPN, Jared/Jensen or Sam/Dean, working in a barn or a ranch (ficlet or art or podfic). crossposted to supernaturalfic and samdean_otp
the sun beats hot on my bones
Sam’s hand is going immediately to the rifle by his bed even before he snaps fully awake. He rolls out of the covers and splashes water on his face; pulls on his boots and goes silently downstairs and out the back door.
He makes his way carefully towards the silhouette on his barnhouse-he already knows he’s gonna catch whoever it is by surprise; damned kids; don’t they know they’re gonna get hurt-
Sam is jarred out of his thoughts when a hand comes heavily down on his shoulder.
“Aw, did I scare you?” The lazy drawl comes from behind and Sam turns around to come face-to-just-slightly-lower-face with his trespasser.
He smells like earth and outdoors, but underneath it all there’s this unmistakably distinctive smell.
City.
Sam grins then, wide and predatory. “Nah, s’all the perfume on you. Long way from home, city boy.”
The other man’s initial smirk falters a little, but he’s back in no time flat: “Thought maybe the smell of manure on you would help cover it up a little.”
Sam raises his weapon. “Let’s see if a little gunpowder won’t do the trick.”
“Whoa, easy, tiger. Didn’t mean for you to get your coveralls in a bunch.” He raises his hands and continues: “Look, let’s start over. I’m Dean. Sorry for trespassing.”
Sam grudgingly relents, aiming his weapon slightly lower. “Why were you on my roof?”
Dean doesn’t respond for a long time. When he finally does, it’s something entirely unexpected.
“How ‘bout I don’t answer that question, and I work for you instead?”
Sam is taken aback, but he sizes Dean up anyway. His face is strong-square jaw; good nose-and his body is core-heavy-square and dense; good for manual labor.
“Alright,” he says at last, “I’ll give you a chance. You can sleep in the spare room. We start tomorrow. 4:30 AM. Sleep in and you’re out.”
Dean nods-like a soldier, Sam thinks-and starts following Sam towards the house. “Y’know, I still don’t know your name.”
“It’s Sam.”
{+++}
They're heading out to the fields right on schedule, and Sam's glad to be back on familiar territory.
"We're raising a barn today."
Dean stops walking. “We’re what-.”
Sam continues, “We’ll also be repairing troughs, replacing windmill parts, and fixing fences. Ever wired a fence? Welded anything?”
“Um-” It’s odd how distracted Dean sounds, “I work with cars, if that counts.”
Sam stops and turns. Dean bumps right into him, eyes flicking back upwards from-Sam’s crotch? He’s kind of worried about the level of desperation required to hallucinate, so Sam changes the subject. “Why the high-class smell?”
Dean shrugs. “Adoptive parents.”
Sam studies Dean again. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet. Okay, fixtures on water troughs need tightening. We’re plowing my fields and the fans on my mill need to be re-welded and replaced. Fences are to be rewired before noon, because cows don’t wait for anyone and we’ve got a barn to raise.”
Dean looks behind them, back towards Sam’s perfectly-maintained barnhouse. “Does this mean you’re tearing that down?”
Impressively, he sounds appropriately horrified, so Sam graces him with a response.
“Neighbor down the road. There was a storm a couple days ago. Duty calls.”
“Alright. Where do we start?”
“Let’s start you off easy,” Sam decides. “Fieldwork.”
They walk towards the field. Sam pats his plow and says, “Meet Jessica. She’ll be your best friend today.”
Dean stares. “Aren’t there, I dunno, machines for this kinda thing?”
Sam tips his hat and smiles at him, not at all sorry. “Don’t have machines. I like to get up close and personal. ‘Sides, it’s not like anyone else lives here.”
Dean steps up to the plow; takes in the spiked wheels and wide handles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jess.”
{+++}
In retrospect, Sam thinks, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for him to start Dean off with the plow on the hottest day of the year to date.
Dean’s shirt is off and there’s sweat running down his back, pooling in the dimples at the base of his spine before disappearing under the band of his jeans.
Sam keeps trying to convince himself that he doesn’t want to grab Dean’s ass and see if it’s as perky as it looks, but he’s been alone for a long time.
Dean turns; catches Sam looking and laughs at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”
Sam forces the blush down and smiles; tries to pass it off as a joke. “Show-off. Why don’t you wear a shirt like a normal person?”
“Because it’s fucking hot out, man. Besides, you’re not wearing a shirt, either.”
“I’m wearing a tank top,” Sam says, crossing his arms across his chest and wondering if he imagined Dean swallowing.
{+++}
It’s nearing noon and the sun has reached its high point up in the sky. They head into the barn to get some much-needed shade and materials for the fencing.
Sam’s sweltering in the heat (unusual for early summer; he hopes it doesn’t ruin his fruit trees) so he finally strips his shirt off. He sticks it in his back jean pocket and watches as Dean bends over to carefully pick up the first coils of wire.
This time Dean doesn’t miss Sam’s appreciative gaze as he stands back up.
“You watchin’ me?”
Sam can’t tell if he sounds angry or not.
His heart is racing.
“Maybe.”
“Cut the crap. Been watchin’ me all day, Sammy,” Dean says and steps in close, invades Sam’s space and there’s no trace of city there anymore; it’s all just sweat and musk and metal and dirt and the salty tang of hard work.
Sam’s pretty sure he keens a little when, without warning, Dean grinds their lower halves together, and his dick stiffens so fast it hurts.
Sam throws his head back; can’t move, can’t think, can’t fucking breathe because Dean keeps moving and Sam can feel the hard hot line of Dean’s cock through his jeans.
“Like what you see?” Dean slides his thigh between Sam’s legs and tips Sam’s head forwards; forces him to look. “Yeah? Do you?”
Sam makes a noise that’s something along the lines of a starving man looking at a steak and lunges for Dean’s face, pressing their mouths together without finesse and forcing his tongue inside.
Dean moans and his eyelashes flutter as he goes pliant in Sam’s hands. Sam takes that split second to flip their positions, pressing Dean against the wall and trapping him there.
“God, Sam, why didn’t you do this sooner?” Dean pants as Sam all but tries to eat his face off.
“Wanted to. God, I wanted to.” Sam is dying, an entire day’s worth of pent-up sexual energy forcing its way out onto Dean who is underneath him and pushing back just as hard. “Fucking-do you know you have back dimples?”
Dean laughs at Sam, breathless and amused as he turns his head and nips at Sam’s mouth. “Have you seen yourself? Been-Jesus-been wanting my hands on you all day, you goddamned cocktease-” he rips at Sam’s jeans and shoves them down; tracks his mouth down to the vee of Sam’s crotch and stops there.
“Cocktease?” Sam swears, “And you aren’t? Took your shirt off first thing this morning, you little-fuck-” he breaks off and grasps Dean’s short hair in both hands.
Dean licks a long wet stripe from the bottom to just under the head of Sam’s cock and stays there. Before Sam can protest, Dean opens his mouth wide and swallows Sam whole.
Sam’s hips act of their own accord; they piston forward and slam Dean’s head hard into the barn wall because Jesus fucking goddamned Christ, what Dean just did was no easy effort.
Dean moans; almost too soft to hear but vibrations are shooting up Sam’s spine anyway, and Dean rolls Sam’s balls in his hand and sucks slowly up to the tip of his cock; takes his mouth off (there’s saliva connecting Dean’s pretty, pretty mouth to Sam’s swollen dick and that shouldn’t be so hot) and Sam is grateful because he wouldn’t have lasted another second.
Dean smiles up at Sam; resumes his position and tightens his lips around the crown of Sam’s cock.
The only warning Sam manages before he arches and shoots into Dean’s mouth is a strangled groan, but Dean swallows hungrily; refuses to let even a single drop go and milks Sam through the aftershocks.
For a long time there’s nothing but the sound of Sam trying to get his breath back and Dean’s fist sliding lazily up and down the shaft of his own dick.
Sam rolls over onto Dean and shifts downwards so he can return the favor, but Dean stops him with a hand on his chest. “Wait, whatever happened to raising that barn for your neighbors?”
Sam drops his head and plants lazy kisses across Dean’s collarbone. “They’re crabby and steal my apples. Screw the neighbors.”
Dean grins at Sam and pulls him down for another kiss.
“I’d rather you not, if it’s all the same.”