Fic: Sleeping Sickness. Sam/Dean. NC-17
Some completely silly plotless porn based on this icon by nyaubaby
Title: Sleeping Sickness
Author: felisblanco
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17. Warnings for incest, I guess. General S4 spoilers through approx. half the season
Word count: 1864 words
Summary: Ever since Hell Dean has had trouble sleeping. It's come to the point that Sam is willing to do just about anything to give his brother some decent rest. Even if it means... that.
Author's note: Written for winchesterxgirl, this was supposed to be a drabble. Instead it turned into over 1800 words of stupid banter and porn. Oops? Title taken from the song by City and Colour. Unbeta'd so let me know if you spot typos.
Dean never sleeps anymore, it seems. No matter how much he drinks, two hours at most and he’s jerking awake, choking on silent gasps of terror. Every day his skin turns a little grayer, his eyes a little less alert. He’s slower, almost sluggish at times, and Sam knows it’s not a question of if but when his brother falls victim to his own exhaustion. Well, screw that. After all they’ve been through he’s not about to lose Dean on the altar of insomnia.
He tries slipping Dean sleeping pills but all they do is trap Dean within his nightmares, unable to wake up long enough to shake them off, so that’s a bust. He hums Metallica into Dean’s ear as he sleeps and gets slugged in the nose for his trouble. He runs Dean a hot bath and Dean slips under the water and almost drowns. He makes Dean hot milk with honey and Dean tiredly reminds him he’s lactose intolerant.
He seriously considers hitting Dean over the head with a crowbar.
In the end there’s only one thing that Sam can think of that’s guaranteed to put his brother to sleep.
The first girl Sam approaches takes one look at a glassy-eyed slack-jawed Dean and tells Sam in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t ‘do retards’. Sam would explain his brother is just tired but seriously? Dean deserves better than that stupid bitch.
The next one is willing enough (it helps that by then Dean has stopped drooling and is sleepily blinking those ridiculous doe eyes of his like frigging Bambi) but fifteen minutes after Sam sees them off at the motel she’s back at the bar, giving Sam the stink-eye. He finds a red-faced Dean at home, quickly snapping the laptop shut on a Google search for Viagra.
Oh. Well, that does throw a wrench in Sam’s plan. Still, no one said Dean had to be the one doing all the work. In fact, being worked on might even get a better result.
Sam would hire a rentboy to just fuck Dean senseless except the few hustlers he spots all look way too twinky to take a guy like Dean. If Dean were to swing that way (something Sam still isn’t completely sure of) he’d need a big guy, someone he could tell himself it was okay to be the bitch for. Especially if he’s having problems ‘performing’ himself since… well, Dean’s self-esteem isn’t exactly soaring on the best of days. So someone who wouldn’t be afraid to order him about, to play on Dean’s drilled-in submissive daddy issues. Someone he’d still be able to trust not to be a succubus or a shapeshifter or hell, a fucking vampire. Someone like…
Uhm. Oh. Huh.
Sam looks over at Dean where he’s slouching on the bed, remote in hand, half-lid eyes staring blindly at the TV. The circles under his eyes look like bruises and his skin is only a few pixels away from translucent. Christ, the guy needs some decent sleep and he needs it now.
Sam hesitates only for a moment before slamming the laptop shut and walking over to the bed to snatch the remote from Dean’s slack fingers and turn the TV off. Dean blinks up at him, scowling, but obviously too tired to really care.
“Dude,” Sam says, faking annoyance. “I’m bored. Let’s get out of here. Have a drink.”
Dean frowns but then he shrugs and struggles up from the bed. “Sounds good,” he says, even if he’s already slurring from the half bottle of Jack he put away earlier.
Half an hour, four beers and half a bottle of tequila later they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder with their backs leaning on the bar, watching the meager crowd work its way to intoxication. Dean is looking half a shot away from passing out and when Sam shuffles closer Dean doesn’t push him off but leans tiredly into his side. Step one of Sam’s plan is obviously working nicely. Which leads him to step two.
“Fuck, I’d hit that,” he says hotly, clucking his tongue.
Dean turns his head, the sleepy leer turning into a frown when he can’t spot anything resembling decent tits in the direction Sam is staring.
“Ass that tight, you just know he’s gonna be a good ride,” Sam adds and tips his glass at the nice pair of jeans currently hugging a, seriously no kidding, fantabulous ass.
Dean goes absolutely still beside him. There’s a long awkward silence and Sam is just starting to wonder how he can joke his way out of what was obviously a very bad idea when Dean clears his throat and says, “Yeah.”
Sam lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Yeah?” he asks, just to be sure.
A smile tugs at the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Definitely,” he says, then adds smugly, “Trust me. Takes one to know one.”
Sam almost chokes on his beer. He breathes out carefully, making sure to keep his face completely neutral. “I’m more of a pitcher myself,” he says, all easy, like they’re talking sports and not… sports!
Dean nods thoughtfully. “Pitching… pitching is good. Still… there’s something to be said about a big hard dick fucking your brains out.”
Sam shifts in his seat, earning a smirk from Dean until he catches a view of what exactly it is that Sam is adjusting and his eyes go wide.
“That’s what they tell me,” Sam brags easily, like his heart isn’t pounding in his chest, and he spreads his legs, offering Dean a better view. “Well, scream is more like it,” he adds with a smirk.
Dean visibly swallows. “’S that right?”
“You know it. Of course not everyone can actually take me.” Sam sighs, forlorn. “I mean, if they’re really tight…” He lets the suggestion hang in the air, then shoots a quick glance down at Dean’s ass where it’s now perching tense on the edge of the barstool, before meeting Dean’s eyes and adding, “Most guys just aren’t men enough.”
That does it. Dean’s eyes narrow, his jaw tensing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, voice tight.
“Nothing!” Sam proclaims innocently. “Just… you know,” he adds and gives Dean a doubtful look, grimacing slightly before smiling again. “Nothing, man. Forget I said anything.”
If anything that pisses Dean even more off. “You think I couldn’t take that?” he asks angry, jutting his chin down in the direction of Sam’s bulge. “I’ve had way bigger than you, little brother.”
Sam’s eyes widen, like he never in a million years meant to be insulting. “Oh sure, sure. It’s just…” Sam gives him a sympathetic look. “Well, you were re-hymenated.”
Dean looks at him, eyes slowly going darker and harder, and then he suddenly stands up, almost throwing the barstool over in the process. “We’re going home,” he growls.
“To the motel?” Sam asks, faking confusion. “But I was gonna…” He gives Tight Ass another longing look.
“You want tight? I’ll give you tight,” Dean bites out, grabbing Sam’s hand and dragging him out of the bar. “Re-hymenated, hah!” he mutters, completely oblivious to Sam’s victorious smirk. “Like I couldn’t take you. I can fucking take you. Could take your whole goddamn fist, you fucking Gigantor.”
Sam sucks in his breath because holy motherfucking god. Wouldn’t that be something? “But Dean, we’re brothers,” he still argues faintly, just so they’re clear on that. After all Dean hasn’t exactly been too clearheaded the last few weeks and it is possible he’d forgotten that whatever he might have seen in Hell, up here brothers don’t exactly do that.
Dean snorts. “Please. You’ve fucked a werewolf, a demon. I fucked a goddamn angel. Compared to that this is frigging vanilla.”
Well, Sam can’t exactly argue with that. Thank god. Instead he lets Dean drag him across the parking lot, over the road and straight to their motel room. Step two of his plan commencing in one, two… Dean unlocks the door and Sam has him inside the room and slammed up against the wall, tongue down his throat before either of them has time to change their minds. Dean moans into Sam’s mouth, rutting frantically against the thigh that Sam’s got pressed up against his brother’s crotch and holy fucking Christ, it’s the hottest thing ever!
It is also, without a doubt, the weirdest sex Sam has ever had in his life. Even without the whole incest thing.
Dean obviously feels he has something to proof because he talks, the whole frigging time. Growling “Real men don’t need prep, just get in there!” and “Rubber up, idiot, you fucked a filthy demon with that thing!” and “This tight enough for you, Princess?” and “You call that big? I’ve had sex with pixies that had bigger dicks than that,” which Sam would find totally insulting (not to mention disturbing) if the flow of words wasn’t constantly being interrupted by moans and groans of “Oh Jesus, Sammy!” and “Oh, oh, oh…Holy Cockzilla!” which pretty much belie every insult Dean throws at him.
“At least I don’t need Viagra,” Sam huffs anyway because there’s a limit to how much crap he’ll let Dean get away with.
Dean growls, throwing his arm back in an attempt to hit Sam over the head and when that doesn’t work he squeezes down on Sam’s dick, tight. It catches Sam completely off guard and he comes with a surprised yell, slamming inside his brother with all the force he’s got left before collapsing on top of Dean, crushing him into the mattress.
It takes Sam a long time before he gets his breath back and remembers that 1) Dean could probably use some air and 2) the whole point of this thing was to make Dean come.
“Dean,” he mumbles, gently easing his spent dick out before rolling over on his back. “Dude, do you need…?” He turns his head but all he sees is the sweaty back of his brother’s neck. “Hey, man, I wear you out?” he jokes. There’s no answer. “Uh… Dean?” Complete silence. Oh hell.
Sam frantically pushes Dean’s shoulder, rolling him over. Dean’s eyes are closed, his face is pale and Sam isn’t even sure he’s breathing. “Oh Jesus. Dean-?”
The snore is so loud it echoes off the walls, it's like a goddamn grizzly bear with congestion. Sam stares at Dean for a moment, stunned. At the slackness of his lips and the drop of drool already forming at the corner of his mouth. At the sweat drying at his temples and the come crusting on Dean’s stomach. At the absolute blissful and totally relaxed look on his face. A smile starts tugging at the corner of Sam’s lips and before he knows it he’s chuckling, quietly in his chest even if he doubts a whole army of demons could wake Dean up right now.
“Sucker,” he whispers before getting up to move over to the other bed, leaving Dean to sleep on the wet spot.
Now, the next plan: Sobering Dean up by giving him something else to suck on than that damn hipflask. Sam’s got a couple ideas.
fin
Title: Sleeping Sickness
Author: felisblanco
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17. Warnings for incest, I guess. General S4 spoilers through approx. half the season
Word count: 1864 words
Summary: Ever since Hell Dean has had trouble sleeping. It's come to the point that Sam is willing to do just about anything to give his brother some decent rest. Even if it means... that.
Author's note: Written for winchesterxgirl, this was supposed to be a drabble. Instead it turned into over 1800 words of stupid banter and porn. Oops? Title taken from the song by City and Colour. Unbeta'd so let me know if you spot typos.
Dean never sleeps anymore, it seems. No matter how much he drinks, two hours at most and he’s jerking awake, choking on silent gasps of terror. Every day his skin turns a little grayer, his eyes a little less alert. He’s slower, almost sluggish at times, and Sam knows it’s not a question of if but when his brother falls victim to his own exhaustion. Well, screw that. After all they’ve been through he’s not about to lose Dean on the altar of insomnia.
He tries slipping Dean sleeping pills but all they do is trap Dean within his nightmares, unable to wake up long enough to shake them off, so that’s a bust. He hums Metallica into Dean’s ear as he sleeps and gets slugged in the nose for his trouble. He runs Dean a hot bath and Dean slips under the water and almost drowns. He makes Dean hot milk with honey and Dean tiredly reminds him he’s lactose intolerant.
He seriously considers hitting Dean over the head with a crowbar.
In the end there’s only one thing that Sam can think of that’s guaranteed to put his brother to sleep.
The first girl Sam approaches takes one look at a glassy-eyed slack-jawed Dean and tells Sam in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t ‘do retards’. Sam would explain his brother is just tired but seriously? Dean deserves better than that stupid bitch.
The next one is willing enough (it helps that by then Dean has stopped drooling and is sleepily blinking those ridiculous doe eyes of his like frigging Bambi) but fifteen minutes after Sam sees them off at the motel she’s back at the bar, giving Sam the stink-eye. He finds a red-faced Dean at home, quickly snapping the laptop shut on a Google search for Viagra.
Oh. Well, that does throw a wrench in Sam’s plan. Still, no one said Dean had to be the one doing all the work. In fact, being worked on might even get a better result.
Sam would hire a rentboy to just fuck Dean senseless except the few hustlers he spots all look way too twinky to take a guy like Dean. If Dean were to swing that way (something Sam still isn’t completely sure of) he’d need a big guy, someone he could tell himself it was okay to be the bitch for. Especially if he’s having problems ‘performing’ himself since… well, Dean’s self-esteem isn’t exactly soaring on the best of days. So someone who wouldn’t be afraid to order him about, to play on Dean’s drilled-in submissive daddy issues. Someone he’d still be able to trust not to be a succubus or a shapeshifter or hell, a fucking vampire. Someone like…
Uhm. Oh. Huh.
Sam looks over at Dean where he’s slouching on the bed, remote in hand, half-lid eyes staring blindly at the TV. The circles under his eyes look like bruises and his skin is only a few pixels away from translucent. Christ, the guy needs some decent sleep and he needs it now.
Sam hesitates only for a moment before slamming the laptop shut and walking over to the bed to snatch the remote from Dean’s slack fingers and turn the TV off. Dean blinks up at him, scowling, but obviously too tired to really care.
“Dude,” Sam says, faking annoyance. “I’m bored. Let’s get out of here. Have a drink.”
Dean frowns but then he shrugs and struggles up from the bed. “Sounds good,” he says, even if he’s already slurring from the half bottle of Jack he put away earlier.
Half an hour, four beers and half a bottle of tequila later they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder with their backs leaning on the bar, watching the meager crowd work its way to intoxication. Dean is looking half a shot away from passing out and when Sam shuffles closer Dean doesn’t push him off but leans tiredly into his side. Step one of Sam’s plan is obviously working nicely. Which leads him to step two.
“Fuck, I’d hit that,” he says hotly, clucking his tongue.
Dean turns his head, the sleepy leer turning into a frown when he can’t spot anything resembling decent tits in the direction Sam is staring.
“Ass that tight, you just know he’s gonna be a good ride,” Sam adds and tips his glass at the nice pair of jeans currently hugging a, seriously no kidding, fantabulous ass.
Dean goes absolutely still beside him. There’s a long awkward silence and Sam is just starting to wonder how he can joke his way out of what was obviously a very bad idea when Dean clears his throat and says, “Yeah.”
Sam lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Yeah?” he asks, just to be sure.
A smile tugs at the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Definitely,” he says, then adds smugly, “Trust me. Takes one to know one.”
Sam almost chokes on his beer. He breathes out carefully, making sure to keep his face completely neutral. “I’m more of a pitcher myself,” he says, all easy, like they’re talking sports and not… sports!
Dean nods thoughtfully. “Pitching… pitching is good. Still… there’s something to be said about a big hard dick fucking your brains out.”
Sam shifts in his seat, earning a smirk from Dean until he catches a view of what exactly it is that Sam is adjusting and his eyes go wide.
“That’s what they tell me,” Sam brags easily, like his heart isn’t pounding in his chest, and he spreads his legs, offering Dean a better view. “Well, scream is more like it,” he adds with a smirk.
Dean visibly swallows. “’S that right?”
“You know it. Of course not everyone can actually take me.” Sam sighs, forlorn. “I mean, if they’re really tight…” He lets the suggestion hang in the air, then shoots a quick glance down at Dean’s ass where it’s now perching tense on the edge of the barstool, before meeting Dean’s eyes and adding, “Most guys just aren’t men enough.”
That does it. Dean’s eyes narrow, his jaw tensing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, voice tight.
“Nothing!” Sam proclaims innocently. “Just… you know,” he adds and gives Dean a doubtful look, grimacing slightly before smiling again. “Nothing, man. Forget I said anything.”
If anything that pisses Dean even more off. “You think I couldn’t take that?” he asks angry, jutting his chin down in the direction of Sam’s bulge. “I’ve had way bigger than you, little brother.”
Sam’s eyes widen, like he never in a million years meant to be insulting. “Oh sure, sure. It’s just…” Sam gives him a sympathetic look. “Well, you were re-hymenated.”
Dean looks at him, eyes slowly going darker and harder, and then he suddenly stands up, almost throwing the barstool over in the process. “We’re going home,” he growls.
“To the motel?” Sam asks, faking confusion. “But I was gonna…” He gives Tight Ass another longing look.
“You want tight? I’ll give you tight,” Dean bites out, grabbing Sam’s hand and dragging him out of the bar. “Re-hymenated, hah!” he mutters, completely oblivious to Sam’s victorious smirk. “Like I couldn’t take you. I can fucking take you. Could take your whole goddamn fist, you fucking Gigantor.”
Sam sucks in his breath because holy motherfucking god. Wouldn’t that be something? “But Dean, we’re brothers,” he still argues faintly, just so they’re clear on that. After all Dean hasn’t exactly been too clearheaded the last few weeks and it is possible he’d forgotten that whatever he might have seen in Hell, up here brothers don’t exactly do that.
Dean snorts. “Please. You’ve fucked a werewolf, a demon. I fucked a goddamn angel. Compared to that this is frigging vanilla.”
Well, Sam can’t exactly argue with that. Thank god. Instead he lets Dean drag him across the parking lot, over the road and straight to their motel room. Step two of his plan commencing in one, two… Dean unlocks the door and Sam has him inside the room and slammed up against the wall, tongue down his throat before either of them has time to change their minds. Dean moans into Sam’s mouth, rutting frantically against the thigh that Sam’s got pressed up against his brother’s crotch and holy fucking Christ, it’s the hottest thing ever!
It is also, without a doubt, the weirdest sex Sam has ever had in his life. Even without the whole incest thing.
Dean obviously feels he has something to proof because he talks, the whole frigging time. Growling “Real men don’t need prep, just get in there!” and “Rubber up, idiot, you fucked a filthy demon with that thing!” and “This tight enough for you, Princess?” and “You call that big? I’ve had sex with pixies that had bigger dicks than that,” which Sam would find totally insulting (not to mention disturbing) if the flow of words wasn’t constantly being interrupted by moans and groans of “Oh Jesus, Sammy!” and “Oh, oh, oh…Holy Cockzilla!” which pretty much belie every insult Dean throws at him.
“At least I don’t need Viagra,” Sam huffs anyway because there’s a limit to how much crap he’ll let Dean get away with.
Dean growls, throwing his arm back in an attempt to hit Sam over the head and when that doesn’t work he squeezes down on Sam’s dick, tight. It catches Sam completely off guard and he comes with a surprised yell, slamming inside his brother with all the force he’s got left before collapsing on top of Dean, crushing him into the mattress.
It takes Sam a long time before he gets his breath back and remembers that 1) Dean could probably use some air and 2) the whole point of this thing was to make Dean come.
“Dean,” he mumbles, gently easing his spent dick out before rolling over on his back. “Dude, do you need…?” He turns his head but all he sees is the sweaty back of his brother’s neck. “Hey, man, I wear you out?” he jokes. There’s no answer. “Uh… Dean?” Complete silence. Oh hell.
Sam frantically pushes Dean’s shoulder, rolling him over. Dean’s eyes are closed, his face is pale and Sam isn’t even sure he’s breathing. “Oh Jesus. Dean-?”
The snore is so loud it echoes off the walls, it's like a goddamn grizzly bear with congestion. Sam stares at Dean for a moment, stunned. At the slackness of his lips and the drop of drool already forming at the corner of his mouth. At the sweat drying at his temples and the come crusting on Dean’s stomach. At the absolute blissful and totally relaxed look on his face. A smile starts tugging at the corner of Sam’s lips and before he knows it he’s chuckling, quietly in his chest even if he doubts a whole army of demons could wake Dean up right now.
“Sucker,” he whispers before getting up to move over to the other bed, leaving Dean to sleep on the wet spot.
Now, the next plan: Sobering Dean up by giving him something else to suck on than that damn hipflask. Sam’s got a couple ideas.
fin