Supernatural - Accidents Will Happen
"If you could, just tell us in your own words what you remember of that night." Sam had perfected the kind of smile that communicated just enough sympathy to seem convincing. But it was his eyes that really made them open up.
So while the woman tried to remember as best she could, Sam mentally went through the list of things they already knew about the situation. This seemed more like a by-the-numbers type affair. They'd done this sort of thing a hundred times, maybe a thousand times, if they'd done it once. He could already see the pieces falling into place.
Glancing over at some movement next to him on the sofa, he noticed Dean...was he playing with himself?
He leaned closer, lowering his voice and keeping an eye on the woman. She was off in her world of remembrance, thankfully.
"Dude," he whispered, "can you wait until we get back to the hotel?"
"Huh?" Dean looked up, his gaze glassy and clearly distracted. "What?" Then he traced Sam's glance down between his legs and back up again. "I'm not playing with myself!"
It was a little louder than he meant, and the two instantly turned to the woman with smiles and polite laughter.
"Sorry! I was just saying, I'm not a planner, myself," Dean offered.
Sam waved a hand, nodding to her. "Please, continue. I'm sorry to interrupt. You were saying?"
She seemed to buy it, so she started to talk again. At least she was pretty easy to convince; it appeared that, more than anything, she just wanted someone to listen to the various things she had to say, whether or not they actually had anything to do with anything else.
Sam settled back on the couch's cushions, folding his hands politely in his lap. More movement beside him made him slowly turn, first his eyes, then his head, to see Dean tapping his foot as if he were keeping time for a fast-paced tune.
He stared for at least five seconds before Dean noticed and stopped, clearing his throat and folding his hands. "Uh. Sorry."
Then came the rocking. Sam tried not to show his amusement overtly, but it was then that it dawned on him: Dean really had to go. To *go*. In a way, it was cute.
And in a way, it was rich, sweet revenge for all the teasing Sam had to endure. Even this morning, they'd bickered over breakfast. Breakfast! He didn't consider himself a petty man, certainly more empathic than his brother would ever let on, but what could be the harm?
Dean started to lean forward as the woman seemed to come to an end to her story, but then Sam spoke and his brother looked at him with an expression akin to shock.
"Could you tell us more about that? I mean...you said he had met with her once before, I think you said it was at a party? Tell us more about the party, if you would."
"Sam!" Dean hissed, as she began to weave her tale eagerly.
"It could be important," Sam replied, gesturing for his brother to calm down.
By now Dean had started grumbling, almost like a dog growling to himself. Sam knew Dean wouldn't say it outright -- that would be like admitting some kind of weakness -- which made it all the more amusing. His own machismo would be his downfall, as it had been several times before.
Sam caught Dean looking frantically at his watch, the clock, the door, rocking back and forth. The thought of Dean making a mess on the couch brought a grin to Sam's face, although he quickly pushed it down so as not to appear insensitive. To the woman, of course; Dean could deal with it.
Then, at long last, the account of the party ended. Sam opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Dean shot to his feet and gave a quick salute. "Thank you ma'am, we'll be in touch. Got to get on the road or we're gonna be late to meet our colleague."
Pointedly he shot a glare in his brother's direction. "You know...you remember *John*, right? John *Head*?"
Not waiting for an answer, Dean was off, out of the room as if it were a race. Sam gave the woman a smile and shook her hand.
"Sorry, he's...he didn't sleep well last night. I think it's a bug going around."
"Oh yeah! They're all over the place at this time of year. I think that guy had it when I saw him last...you remember the one with the ugly sweater?"
At first Sam moved to stop her, but then he raised a brow. "Oh really?"
Maybe this wasn't going to be an open-and-shut case after all.
"Yeah, just one of those sneezy, antsy bugs, makes you a little hyperactive and nervous. Like, you look strung-out, you know? That kind of bug."
Sam slowly nodded his head, knowing he probably looked more serious about it than he should. He forced a smile again and waved, tucking the little notepad back in his jacket. "Thanks. We'll be in touch."
She looked pleased, waving back and then moving to go about her business.
As soon as Sam stepped one foot out the door, Dean had him by the jacket, slamming him against the wall.
"What the hell was that about?"
Sam coughed, looking down at Dean, who quickly released him, holding his hands up. "What was...what about? You know what I just got out of her? It might bring the whole thing together. I know what we're up against."
Dean softened a bit, reaching over to smooth the fabric of the jacket down, fussing with the lapels as his cheeks turned slightly pink. "Uh, sorry man. Guess I didn't sleep well last night, right?" He tried to play it off with a single chuckle.
Sam wasn't buying it, but he knew he could bide his time. They both climbed into the car. As it started down the road, he noticed Dean was actually bouncing in his seat. Although he had let up before, now Dean couldn't seem to keep his hand off his crotch.
"Dean, uh..."
"Just shut it, Sam! I..." He lowered his voice, as if someone might overhear them even though they were in a car in motion. "I really need to pee."
Sam couldn't help himself, grinning so wide, trying to hide it with his hand, looking out the window. He didn't want to laugh, but a little sound escaped before he could stop it.
"You think this is funny?" Dean had reached the point where he viewed everything as a point of contention. "If I don't make it, you are cleaning this car with a toothbrush!"
Sam reached over to shove at his brother's shoulder. "Shut up, it's your own fault for drinking a whole pot of coffee this morning." Then his grin returned. "And a whole six-pack last night, without even sharing with your sweet baby brother!"
"You were out."
"I was out for an hour!"
Dean now wore his frowny face, which Sam couldn't help but find a little adorable in this situation. He looked like a determined baby bird or something, and he knew that it wasn't all anger: it was at least half anguish and trying not to get more upset about it than he already was.
Sam knew it was serious when that face softened and Dean's brows steepled. He nervously chewed his lower lip, squeezing his hand between his legs; thankfully they weren't going too fast in the car. And then it came to a stop at a red light.
Sam's eyes widened, his lips parted, and he saw Dean tremble. His brother pushed back in the seat, bouncing his leg, and then suddenly he went very still. At first it was impossible to detect, but after a moment there was a hissing audible in the car, and then the sound of liquid collecting. Sam's eyes flicked down, to see a creeping puddle expanding under Dean's thigh.
The light seemed to take forever, but neither Sam nor Dean was paying attention to it so much as what was happening before their eyes. Dean looked as if he were a mixture of ashamed, embarrassed, and profoundly relieved. With as much as had begun to pour off the seat, he must have had a full bladder and then some.
The car shifted back into motion. The trip back passed in absolute silence, and when Dean pulled into the parking space at the motel, he just sat there for minutes, not saying anything, not taking that one hand off the steering wheel.
Sam swallowed hard, at last, and reached over to rest his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean shrugged it off, at first, but he only replaced it after, and this time it stayed.
"Hey, uh," Sam began, "better out than in, right?"
Dean slowly turned to look at him. Dean's eyes were shinier than usual. Was he crying? Was he going to? But he started to laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Tears hadn't fallen, but they had welled up, whether from embarrassment or from utter blissful relief.
"That's why I keep you around. Toothbrush!" Dean started to move, then stopped himself. "Uh." He frowned. "Can you, uh, make sure nobody's gonna see me going in?"
Sam gave a quick nod, patting his brother's shoulder again and stepping out of the car, looking around and circling to the driver's side. He pulled open the door and held out his hand. For once, Dean took it and stood, though slowly, carefully, and he winced as the liquid in his clothes shifted and ran down his legs, dribbling on the pavement.
Sam noticed it all. He gave Dean a shove and pressed the room key into his hand. "Hurry," he murmured, waiting until he was alone.
And then he was alone, with Dean's puddle in the seat and the floor, and the wetness that had run over his shoes, and the soggy footsteps that led to their room. Sam forced a rough swallow again, shivering. He wasn't supposed to feel like this.
At first, it had only been amusement, maybe a little sadistic, at his big, macho brother in a situation he had made for himself. And then there was a little pity and of course the usual Sam sympathy. And then...something else was there. Something he had never really felt before, possibly because he had never seen anything like this before.
His heart thumped as if it might break out of his chest, and he leaned heavily against the roof. He had to; he reached down and fished his cock out of his pants and started to pump it furiously. It grew to full hardness in an instant, and soon he was dripping, slick, sticky, ready.
Before he realised what he had done, Sam shot all over the seat. His breathing slowed and became deeper, and he hurriedly licked his lips, staring down at his handiwork. What had he done? It almost felt as if he had no control over himself.
He couldn't let Dean turn him on this much. No. He'd have to go get something and get this cleaned up before his brother saw. Had to.
Looking around himself, Sam rushed from the door of the car to the door of the motel and ducked inside, looking for that toothbrush and a roll of paper towels.
So while the woman tried to remember as best she could, Sam mentally went through the list of things they already knew about the situation. This seemed more like a by-the-numbers type affair. They'd done this sort of thing a hundred times, maybe a thousand times, if they'd done it once. He could already see the pieces falling into place.
Glancing over at some movement next to him on the sofa, he noticed Dean...was he playing with himself?
He leaned closer, lowering his voice and keeping an eye on the woman. She was off in her world of remembrance, thankfully.
"Dude," he whispered, "can you wait until we get back to the hotel?"
"Huh?" Dean looked up, his gaze glassy and clearly distracted. "What?" Then he traced Sam's glance down between his legs and back up again. "I'm not playing with myself!"
It was a little louder than he meant, and the two instantly turned to the woman with smiles and polite laughter.
"Sorry! I was just saying, I'm not a planner, myself," Dean offered.
Sam waved a hand, nodding to her. "Please, continue. I'm sorry to interrupt. You were saying?"
She seemed to buy it, so she started to talk again. At least she was pretty easy to convince; it appeared that, more than anything, she just wanted someone to listen to the various things she had to say, whether or not they actually had anything to do with anything else.
Sam settled back on the couch's cushions, folding his hands politely in his lap. More movement beside him made him slowly turn, first his eyes, then his head, to see Dean tapping his foot as if he were keeping time for a fast-paced tune.
He stared for at least five seconds before Dean noticed and stopped, clearing his throat and folding his hands. "Uh. Sorry."
Then came the rocking. Sam tried not to show his amusement overtly, but it was then that it dawned on him: Dean really had to go. To *go*. In a way, it was cute.
And in a way, it was rich, sweet revenge for all the teasing Sam had to endure. Even this morning, they'd bickered over breakfast. Breakfast! He didn't consider himself a petty man, certainly more empathic than his brother would ever let on, but what could be the harm?
Dean started to lean forward as the woman seemed to come to an end to her story, but then Sam spoke and his brother looked at him with an expression akin to shock.
"Could you tell us more about that? I mean...you said he had met with her once before, I think you said it was at a party? Tell us more about the party, if you would."
"Sam!" Dean hissed, as she began to weave her tale eagerly.
"It could be important," Sam replied, gesturing for his brother to calm down.
By now Dean had started grumbling, almost like a dog growling to himself. Sam knew Dean wouldn't say it outright -- that would be like admitting some kind of weakness -- which made it all the more amusing. His own machismo would be his downfall, as it had been several times before.
Sam caught Dean looking frantically at his watch, the clock, the door, rocking back and forth. The thought of Dean making a mess on the couch brought a grin to Sam's face, although he quickly pushed it down so as not to appear insensitive. To the woman, of course; Dean could deal with it.
Then, at long last, the account of the party ended. Sam opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Dean shot to his feet and gave a quick salute. "Thank you ma'am, we'll be in touch. Got to get on the road or we're gonna be late to meet our colleague."
Pointedly he shot a glare in his brother's direction. "You know...you remember *John*, right? John *Head*?"
Not waiting for an answer, Dean was off, out of the room as if it were a race. Sam gave the woman a smile and shook her hand.
"Sorry, he's...he didn't sleep well last night. I think it's a bug going around."
"Oh yeah! They're all over the place at this time of year. I think that guy had it when I saw him last...you remember the one with the ugly sweater?"
At first Sam moved to stop her, but then he raised a brow. "Oh really?"
Maybe this wasn't going to be an open-and-shut case after all.
"Yeah, just one of those sneezy, antsy bugs, makes you a little hyperactive and nervous. Like, you look strung-out, you know? That kind of bug."
Sam slowly nodded his head, knowing he probably looked more serious about it than he should. He forced a smile again and waved, tucking the little notepad back in his jacket. "Thanks. We'll be in touch."
She looked pleased, waving back and then moving to go about her business.
As soon as Sam stepped one foot out the door, Dean had him by the jacket, slamming him against the wall.
"What the hell was that about?"
Sam coughed, looking down at Dean, who quickly released him, holding his hands up. "What was...what about? You know what I just got out of her? It might bring the whole thing together. I know what we're up against."
Dean softened a bit, reaching over to smooth the fabric of the jacket down, fussing with the lapels as his cheeks turned slightly pink. "Uh, sorry man. Guess I didn't sleep well last night, right?" He tried to play it off with a single chuckle.
Sam wasn't buying it, but he knew he could bide his time. They both climbed into the car. As it started down the road, he noticed Dean was actually bouncing in his seat. Although he had let up before, now Dean couldn't seem to keep his hand off his crotch.
"Dean, uh..."
"Just shut it, Sam! I..." He lowered his voice, as if someone might overhear them even though they were in a car in motion. "I really need to pee."
Sam couldn't help himself, grinning so wide, trying to hide it with his hand, looking out the window. He didn't want to laugh, but a little sound escaped before he could stop it.
"You think this is funny?" Dean had reached the point where he viewed everything as a point of contention. "If I don't make it, you are cleaning this car with a toothbrush!"
Sam reached over to shove at his brother's shoulder. "Shut up, it's your own fault for drinking a whole pot of coffee this morning." Then his grin returned. "And a whole six-pack last night, without even sharing with your sweet baby brother!"
"You were out."
"I was out for an hour!"
Dean now wore his frowny face, which Sam couldn't help but find a little adorable in this situation. He looked like a determined baby bird or something, and he knew that it wasn't all anger: it was at least half anguish and trying not to get more upset about it than he already was.
Sam knew it was serious when that face softened and Dean's brows steepled. He nervously chewed his lower lip, squeezing his hand between his legs; thankfully they weren't going too fast in the car. And then it came to a stop at a red light.
Sam's eyes widened, his lips parted, and he saw Dean tremble. His brother pushed back in the seat, bouncing his leg, and then suddenly he went very still. At first it was impossible to detect, but after a moment there was a hissing audible in the car, and then the sound of liquid collecting. Sam's eyes flicked down, to see a creeping puddle expanding under Dean's thigh.
The light seemed to take forever, but neither Sam nor Dean was paying attention to it so much as what was happening before their eyes. Dean looked as if he were a mixture of ashamed, embarrassed, and profoundly relieved. With as much as had begun to pour off the seat, he must have had a full bladder and then some.
The car shifted back into motion. The trip back passed in absolute silence, and when Dean pulled into the parking space at the motel, he just sat there for minutes, not saying anything, not taking that one hand off the steering wheel.
Sam swallowed hard, at last, and reached over to rest his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean shrugged it off, at first, but he only replaced it after, and this time it stayed.
"Hey, uh," Sam began, "better out than in, right?"
Dean slowly turned to look at him. Dean's eyes were shinier than usual. Was he crying? Was he going to? But he started to laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Tears hadn't fallen, but they had welled up, whether from embarrassment or from utter blissful relief.
"That's why I keep you around. Toothbrush!" Dean started to move, then stopped himself. "Uh." He frowned. "Can you, uh, make sure nobody's gonna see me going in?"
Sam gave a quick nod, patting his brother's shoulder again and stepping out of the car, looking around and circling to the driver's side. He pulled open the door and held out his hand. For once, Dean took it and stood, though slowly, carefully, and he winced as the liquid in his clothes shifted and ran down his legs, dribbling on the pavement.
Sam noticed it all. He gave Dean a shove and pressed the room key into his hand. "Hurry," he murmured, waiting until he was alone.
And then he was alone, with Dean's puddle in the seat and the floor, and the wetness that had run over his shoes, and the soggy footsteps that led to their room. Sam forced a rough swallow again, shivering. He wasn't supposed to feel like this.
At first, it had only been amusement, maybe a little sadistic, at his big, macho brother in a situation he had made for himself. And then there was a little pity and of course the usual Sam sympathy. And then...something else was there. Something he had never really felt before, possibly because he had never seen anything like this before.
His heart thumped as if it might break out of his chest, and he leaned heavily against the roof. He had to; he reached down and fished his cock out of his pants and started to pump it furiously. It grew to full hardness in an instant, and soon he was dripping, slick, sticky, ready.
Before he realised what he had done, Sam shot all over the seat. His breathing slowed and became deeper, and he hurriedly licked his lips, staring down at his handiwork. What had he done? It almost felt as if he had no control over himself.
He couldn't let Dean turn him on this much. No. He'd have to go get something and get this cleaned up before his brother saw. Had to.
Looking around himself, Sam rushed from the door of the car to the door of the motel and ducked inside, looking for that toothbrush and a roll of paper towels.