I don't know about you guys, but I cannot stop thinking about Batcave fic. Bathrobe and fancy aged liquor and possible bubble bath and stacks of books and secret doors etc!
Please prompt and write/art. I want to make more batcave stick figure art and stuff.
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Please prompt and write/art. I want to make more batcave stick figure art and stuff.
( Read more... )
Dean sat back on his haunches, coughing and sputtering a little, his cheeks red with exertion and his lips swollen. The toolbelt hung low on his hips; above it Dean’s stomach rippled with his panting breaths. Below it, the bulge in his jeans was a lot bigger than it had been.
“God Dean, you’re, you’re so,” Sam said, breathless.
Dean looked up through his long lashes. “Yeah?” he asked hopefully.
Sam pulled him to his feet by both arms, then lifted him effortlessly up onto the marble-topped counter next to the sink. Dean squeaked an unmanly protest, which didn’t fit with the fantasy plan but Sam didn’t give a fuck, this was so much better. Sam pushed him back up against the mirrored wall and spread his legs so Sam could get in between them. The tools in the toolbelt clattered against the marble as Dean leaned back, his lean body spread out for Sam, muscles taut in his bare belly and chest, nipples drawn into sharp points. Sam put his mouth there first, sucking one and then the other hard, catching them between his teeth until Dean swore and bucked, hammers and wrenches clunking against the counter as he raised his hips. Sam couldn’t wait long; he palmed the bulge between Dean’s spread thighs, sliding his hand under the warm leather of the toolbelt just above it. Dean groaned and pushed against his fingers, and Sam could feel how stiff he was, a handful even for Sam.
“Yeah,” Sam hissed, and managed to reach up under the toolbelt to unsnap Dean’s jeans and tug down the zipper. Dean scrabbled for the buckle to take off the belt and Sam slapped his hands away, probably a bit too roughly.
“No!” he barked, and held one of Dean’s hands down. “Leave it on,” he growled, and Dean’s eyes went wide momentarily before they fluttered closed and he threw his head back against the mirror with a thunk, moaning dramatically.
Sam yanked his jeans down, stepping back to force Dean’s legs together enough to pull them all the way off over his bare feet, and then Sam pushed them apart again and leaned in to take Dean’s straining cock in his mouth. He remembered how to do this, and Dean shouted in surprise as Sam swallowed him down. Sam took him to the edge and then pulled back, and Dean was too far gone to even protest when Sam manhandled Dean’s thighs even wider and slid him forward on the counter and licked right up the crack of his ass to his hole. Dean lost his voice then, squirming and panting and wheezing and slamming his fists against the marble as Sam tried to work his tongue as far inside as he could, and when Sam finally took pity on his brother and sucked his cock down again, Dean came like a shot, his whole body convulsing while Sam held him down and tried to swallow it all.
“Jesuschrist,” Dean swore when Sam finally let him go to sit down wearily on the bathroom floor, wiping at his mouth. Dean was sprawled on the counter, naked except for the toolbelt still fastened around his hips.
Sam swallowed again, trying to catch his breath. There didn’t seem to be any words appropriate for this fucked up situation, so he stayed silent.
Dean unbuckled the toolbelt and laid it on the counter, scratching his stomach again. “So,” he said, voice still gravelly. “You got a thing for tools, huh?”
Sam shook his head. “More like a thing for you with tools.”
“Seemed like that was a long time comin’” Dean said, smirking a little.
Sam shrugged. He was blushing again. “Guess so.”
Dean smirked more. He jumped off the counter and held out a hand to Sam. “If I’da known that, I would’ve done a lot more motel repairs over the years.”
Sam smiled and let Dean pull him to his feet. “Yeah?”
Dean looked him up and down and licked his lips. “Yeah. How bout we try out the new water pressure now.”
Sam climbed in behind his brother, running his hands over the curve of Dean’s bare ass appreciatively. They stayed in there until both the hot water and their bodies were spent. Then they ate the sandwiches Sam had made and drank the beer, but Dean never did get around to taking the tools back to the basement. They figured it made sense to keep them in the bedroom - you never knew when the water pressure might need adjusting.
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I am so full of joy from this, haha, I can barely type.
Well DONE.
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Also, so much love for this line: he’d brought the Impala back to life almost as often as they’d been resurrected themselves.
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