Pilot; a prompt.
Pairing: Sam/Dean, implied Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,277
Warnings: Infidelity; but to whom is the real question.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in any way, shape, or form.
A/N: This was written for adammilliganisthe12thdoctor on tumblr, and therefore is not my usual style. They asked for fluffy, graphic smut with top!Dean, and well. I don't normally do that, haha.
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Last night, Sam’s brother showed up out of the blue; no calls, no emails. He didn’t even knock, he just broke into his apartment while Sam was sleeping with his girlfriend, Jess. He needed Sam’s help, he said. Dad’s gone missing, he said. On a hunting trip, he said.
Sam swallowed and excused himself out into the hall, brother in tow, so they could fight properly and privately. He should have known privacy was the last thing he needed with his brother. At the bottom of the stairwell, standing under the shadows cast by the moonlight, he was still one of the most beautiful things Sam had ever seen. He told himself to think of Jess-- it didn’t really help; he just realized that he loved both of them so much it hurt.
Their shoulders accidentally brushed on the way out to the car to look at the case their dad was working when he vanished, and it sent liquid fire through his veins. He decided to say yes right then and there, but kept up the good fight, for old times' sake. The twinkle in Dean’s eyes told him he knew, and would play along, too. Y’know, for old times' sake.
Half an hour passed, and then miles were disappearing in their rear view like stars disappeared during sunrise. Sam complained about Dean’s music, Dean complained about Sam’s hair, they both complained about the heat, and neither had been happier in years. They checked into a typical, run-down motel room at the same motel as their father. The plan was to check his out after they both settled in.
“So. Jess is…nice,” Dean said, somewhat awkwardly filling the silence as they moved towards their room. Their steps matched, right foot, left foot, right foot, left; Sam focused on that and chose to ignore Dean’s comment. He didn’t want to think about Jess for some reason.
“Or not?” the elder continued, unlocking the door and shouldering it open. He threw a questioning look at Sam as they shuffled inside.
“No, she is, I just…” Sam waved his hand in a flustered manner before dropping it to his thigh, “Don’t wanna…talk about her? I wanna keep her and this life…separate,” he finished, looking at Dean nervously.
“Uh…huh,” Dean studied him, green eyes flitting up and down his body, and Sam flushed.
“Lookin' good, Sammy,” he said randomly. Sam’s flush darkened, and he stammered as he tried to push past Dean to the other bed.
“I’ve been, uh, working out. Y’know. Didn’t wanna, wanna get out of shape,” he stopped in front of the bed, facing away from Dean, and nodded at thin air.
“Yeah, out of shape.”
Dean's shadow nodded, distorted. It was a monster, and he was prey. He just wasn't sure yet how much of a fight he was going to give.
Dean's voice resonated in the silence, “You’ve always looked good, Sammy.”
Sam bit his lip. He knew that tone. He had heard it many times; dark nights when their dad was out and they found comfort in the heat of each other’s bodies, the beating of the other’s heart. He told himself he should move, but he was frozen, duffel still on his shoulder, facing the bed. He was open to an attack, and they both knew it. He was an easy kill.
He felt more than heard Dean move closer. There were hot puffs of breath on his neck, followed by lips. He sighed lightly, tilting his head to give them better access. A hand came up to his shoulder, slid the duffel off, and crawled down his chest to pull him back against his brother. Dean buried his head in the crook of Sam’s neck, whispering.
“Missed you so much,” his other hand slid up around Sam’s waist and they clasped around his middle.
“I…I missed you too, Dean,” Sam admitted, folding his hands on top of his brother’s, stroking them absently with his thumb. He could let himself have this. This, this connection that he’d never experienced with anyone else. Maybe just this weekend…It wasn’t really cheating if it was Dean, right?
He tried to shake the feeling that he had actually been cheating on Dean the whole time and turned himself around in Dean’s arms. His arms wrapped found themselves around Dean’s shoulders while Dean’s moved to his waist, and they moved to sit with their foreheads touching.
Dean’s hand came up to his jaw, held him in place with questioning eyes, and Sam nodded as best as he could while his face was, (for lack of a better word), trapped. Dean smiled, more with his eyes with his lips, then kissed him. It was a kiss of separation-- he was slow, languid, exploring his younger brother's mouth like it was the first time all over again. Dean kissed him like it was an art at which he planned to excel.
The kisses between them became heated, bodies rocking, teeth clashing, their hands exploring and mouths gasping. Dean moved Sam backwards, lowering him gently to the bed, and planted himself between his lean thighs while stroking them lovingly. His finger ran in swirls right above Sam’s pant line, and the heady rush of yesDeanplease almost made him miss the words whispered hotly into his neck.
“Can we?”
Sam flipped them over in place of a proper response, moving his thighs on either side of his brother’s hips. As if that weren’t enough of an answer, he began working on button of his pants.
“Yeah. Yeah, we can,” crept out of his throat, parched by the heat of the room. He was starving, dying, thirsting to death and the only thing that could stop it was this beautiful man beneath him; the miles of freckled skin his to feast upon, delicious cries nectar to become drunk upon, blood in his veins to revive him.
They made short work of what remained of their clothes, not paying any mind to where it had gone. They were soon moving against each other with just skin on skin, glorious friction, sweet bliss. It was the dirtiest of addictions, the rough kind of grinding and rolling that made Sam’s eyes roll back in his skull at the angry red marks his brother's hands left on his thighs.
Sam ground down and spoke,“Do you have--?” his question cut off by a high keen and the sound of flesh on flesh. Dean smoothed a free hand down his back, plush bottom lip between his teeth.
"Don't worry, Sammy. Always prepared," Dean smirked. He released Sam for a brief moment to lean over the edge of the bed and pull a small bottle out of the jacket he had previously discarded. He returned with a smug grin, a wink, and a none-too-gentle grab of Sam's rear.
“Bastard,” Sam laughed. It didn’t stop his hips from rolling down once more, nor did it stop the hiss of pleasure from escaping his lips as he felt Dean’s finger breach his entrance slowly. He rocked backwards and his eyes fluttered closed, panting loudly.
“Always so beautiful, Sammy…” Dean said, sliding his other hand up into his hair and pulling him down into a kiss.
It was all so familiar to them; the mouths, the skin, the fingers stretching and pulling. All that was missing was the hectic air, the thrill at the possibility of being caught at the bottom of their stomachs. It seemed too soon like Dean was pulling his fingers out; not enough time had passed for him to be rolling Sam over and guiding himself inside slowly, feeling his little brother's warm heat enclose him inch by inch.
“Dean…” Sam let his name ride out on a gasp, grasping the shoulders above him for something, anything to hold onto.
“Shh, it’s okay, I gotcha,” Dean murmured, rocking his hips forward slowly as he drove himself in, allowing Sam to get used to him. It had been years since they were last together like this, maybe longer since Sam was on this end; there was a lot for his body to readjust itself to.
Dean finally bottomed out with a rough groan. It was so much better than he’d remembered; being with Sam, being inside of him… It was almost too much to bear. Then Sam, the little shit, did the same thing he had done just a few hours at the apartment; he disconnected the two of them, rolled them over, and regained his position on top with a wide grin.
"Woah, easy tiger," Dean murmured, hands settling on the spurs of Sams hips as his brother's massive hands reached to guide him back in place. He rocked down and up, back and forth a few times, face scrunched up in concentration, before gasping quietly. He clasped his hands on the ones on his hips and rose up on his knees, head tilted back and mouth open.
"Dean," He looked like he was praying- face enraptured and skin flushed- an angel, all Dean’s for the taking. Then that angel fell, his legs giving out underneath him, bringing their hips together as they both cried out. Again and again Sam did this; he built himself up on his shaky legs, only to allow the calloused hands on his hips to raze him back down to the scratchy sheets and the hot and heavy promise that lay atop them.
The slow pace was driving Dean wild. He sat up, knocking Sam backwards so that he once again had the upper hand. A pang shot through his stomach at it's familiarity, the nights it seemed that they would spend hours "wrestling" and tearing at each other's clothes, fighting each other for dominance and preferred positions. Was he not good enough for this beautiful boy beneath him? Was he not loving enough for the man he had raised? the one for whom he'd willingly give his life?
He growled low in his throat, seeing red for a moment. His hand pinned Sam's above his head and he pulled out before leaning down to whisper in his ear, “Tell me you want me,” he thrust against Sam’s rear without purpose, nipped the lobe of his ear, twisted his rosy nipple. It was cruel for the both of them, really, but it sent shivers down his spine to have this kind of control.
“Dean…” Sam whined, hips bucking for any kind of friction, any kind of release.
“No. Say it, Sammy,” desperation was painted his tone, and he grabbed Sam's jaw, forcing eye to eye. Years of longing, betrayal, drunk calls that went straight to voice mail, and so much more flashed in between them.
Sam swallowed and nodded.
“I want you, Dean," the elder sagged visibly with relief and released his brother's jaw. "Want you so bad,” Sam continued softly, licking across Dean's bottom lip, kissing his chin.
Dean chuckled, resting his forehead once more on Sam's.
"Whatcha want, Sammy?"
“Need you. Now. Please,” Sam trailed his lips down Dean's jaw, his neck, his shoulder.
Obviously pleased with the answer, Dean pressed his lips to Sam's and guided himself slowly back inside before moving the tempo to something he liked. Sam’s hands were still held underneath his own, fifteen fingers laced in a huge cluster-fuck of tangled and clenched knuckles as Dean hit the spot inside of Sam that made his stomach drop and his mouth water.
Dean braced the arm that was pinning Sam down beside the two of them in order to snake his free hand in between their sweating, writhing bodies. His hips were moving at their own rhythm now, his orgasm looming in the distance.
“Want you to come first, Sammy,” he panted against his brother’s lips. He got a garbled response as he began touching Sam where he was hot and desperate for it, and Dean smiled. Always good with words, his Sammy.
“Dean, Dean…I-,” Sam bit his lip and turned his head into the pillow, rotating his hips in time with his older brother’s thrusts. Dean simply kept stroking him, tugs and twists that matched the movement of his hips. He leaned in and sucked Sam’s lip out from his teeth, nibbling on it with his own.
“It’s okay, okay Sammy. Right here. I gotcha, c’mon,” he muttered, nonsense words really, into Sam’s sweaty hair. His lips moved against Sam's temple, and somehow that struck him harder than anything they were doing. A few more sharp tugs and Sam came with a cry, spilling warm and wet on Dean’s hand.
Dean released his hands in favor of wrapping his arms around the shaking figure below him, face buried in Sam’s neck again. He felt Sam’s long arms go around him, too, as he drove himself to the edge. He was so close, and Sam was so tight, so warm, so Sam. It didn’t take him much longer until he was spilling himself into Sam’s willing body, teeth embedded in his shoulder.
He rolled off to the side, separating with a noise that should have been grosser than it was, but they ignored it. There were more important noises in the room, like the sounds of their heart beats slowing, their panting breaths, the soft rustling of cloth as they cleaned off with one of their shirts, and the even softer sound of skin on skin as their fingers traced each other in rediscovered wonder. Dean smiled, eyes crinkling. He kissed Sam again, hand coming up to cup his face and thumb stroking his cheek. Sam sighed into it, his fingers circling Dean’s wrist.
Sam figured he could let himself have this. It was Dean, after all.
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End