No Common Sense | SPN | Sam/Dean (Smith/Wesson) | NC-17
Title: No Common Sense
Author: majestic_shriek
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Smith/Wesson)
Word count: ~2000
Warnings/notes: Originally posted here for blindfold_spn Round 6, for the prompt: After Dean Smith first meets Sam Wesson, he's extremely attracted to him, but can't bring himself to admit it.So he keeps calling Sam's extension in IT support, as his computer mysteriously acts up/breaks down... over and over and over. Desk sex, manhandling.
The first time it happens, Sam actually chalks it down to coincidence. Just because he happened to bump into the guy in the elevator the other day, and now all of a sudden there's a service request in his in-tray from one D. Smith, well, it doesn't mean anything.
When he trudges up to the upper floors, it turns out that some random USB lead has been unplugged from the back of the unit. Sam eyes the 'damage' silently for a moment, because seriously, people can't be this stupid that they need to call tech support because a lead got jolted out of position. And then Sam remembers that he deals with this on the phone every hour of every day, and this isn't the most stupid thing he's seen.
D. Smith cements this by flustering awkwardly when Sam shows him the disconnected lead and plugs it back in deftly. "I'm sorry," he manages, "for calling you up here for something so stupid."
He sounds so earnest that Sam believes him. "It's alright," he says with a shrug. "Got me away from my desk for a moment, you know, can't complain."
D.Smith returns the smallest hint of a smile, and looks like he's about to say something else, but thinks better of it and turns his attention to the papers in his desk.
"I'll be seeing you then, Mr. Smith," says Sam, slowly, taking this as the sign he should be leaving.
D. Smith doesn't look up from his desk, and Sam doesn't hear the quiet, "Dean," as the door swings shut behind him.
*****
The second, third, fourth, fifth times it happens, Sam accepts the jobs without comment, fixing stupid mundane little problems with D.Smith's computer, his printer, his fax machine. Really, these are things that shouldn't be going wrong, and really, don't require Sam at all, just a bit of common sense. And honestly, even with all these requests flooding his in-tray, Sam can't bring himself to believe that smart D. Smith is someone with a complete lack of common sense.
Sam's been wrong before though.
In any case, when the sixth request for Sam's services rolls through, Sam really is suspicious. For one thing, it's always him. The little slips never seem to end up on anyone else's desk, and Sam's asked, just in case D. Smith really is utterly technically incompetent and is calling a service engineer every minute of the working day. For another, the sixth problem is, well, Sam can't see how D. Smith even managed this. What buttons was he pressing? Doesn't he have an iPhone or something where he can just google how to solve the problem? Seriously. Suspicious.
"So," Sam greets, as he knocks and enters D. Smith's office, "me again. I hear you've turned your screen upside down."
"I'm afraid so," D. Smith nods sheepishly. "I'm sorry for dragging you up here again."
"Really?" Sam says, tinged with disbelief, because seriously. Seriously. He leans over the keyboard anyway, presses ctrl-alt-up, and pulls back with a smile.
"Really," says D. Smith looking approvingly at his righted screen. "I honestly had no idea how it did that."
"Right," drawls Sam, and raises an eyebrow. "I don't believe you."
Sam swears that's the hint of a blush that appears on D. Smith's cheek. "Are you saying I'm lying?"
"I'm saying something fishy's going on, that's all." Sam steps closer to the desk again. "I've never seen you before, then we have, like, a couple of weird exchanges in the elevator, and I'm sorry about mentioning the dreams, man, but you've got to admit that's also a little weird, right, and then suddenly there's a load of service requests flooding me from you. And the other guys down in tech aren't getting anything from you, and you don't seen like the kind of guy who doesn't know his way around at least the basics of a computer, so, yeah, I reckon something's up."
"Dean," D. Smith responds.
"What?"
"Name's Dean. You talk a lot."
"Hey, dude, I know, my mom always said I could talk the hind leg of a donkey, but what, you keep calling me up here so you can tell me your name?"
"No," replies Dean matter-of-factly. "I keep calling you up here because I want to fuck you."
"You...pardon?"
"Would like to fuck you. Here. On this desk. Now, if possible. I've got a free hour, if Jenny's been keeping my diary straight."
"...you couldn't have mentioned this before? Any of the other times? Or like, a hint, or normal, I don't know, flirtation or something or..."
"I was waiting for the right moment." Dean licks his lips, and Sam can't help but track the movement, because damn, Dean is attractive, he'd have to have been blind not to have noticed, and God, it's so fucked up but his cock is half hard in his pants already, just from Dean's simple statement of intent. "Saw you in the elevator, and even though you're clearly not quite right in the head, you're hot. And I want you," Dean says, and Sam can't help the shiver that slips down his spine.
"Fuck," he says, and palms his hand against his cock. Dean's eyes go instantly to Sam's crotch, and Sam can see the glint in his eyes, the fact that Dean knows he's got him now.
"Jenny," Dean says, pushing the button on the intercom, "I'm not to be disturbed until I tell you otherwise, understood?"
He barely wastes the time in listening to her response before rising from his chair and striding round to where Sam is stood in front of the desk.
"Been calling you up here ever since," Dean says, stepping into Sam's space, pushing him against the hard edge of the table. "Wondering how long it would take you to get suspicious." Dean pushes his hand against Sam's rapidly hardening cock, god, he's completely hard now, the hot press of Dean against him, the desk digging into the curves of his back. He can feel Dean's cock through his pants now, hard and fat and god, he wants to feel that against him, see if it's anywhere half as beautiful as the rest of Dean. "Wondering how long I could hold out and just stare at you before I just took you on this desk."
"Hnnngrh," Sam manages, coherently, as Dean twists his hand against his cock, slipping his other hand to Sam's belt, pulling it loose and shoving his hand into his boxers.
"Couldn't have held out much longer," Dean says, finding the tip of Sam's cock and smearing the drips of precome gathered there around the head, slipping his fingers over and round, and fuck, he's got talented fingers, talented like the rest of him, Sam supposes, as he reaches to try and fumble with Dean's own belt. "You're too fucking hot. Once I'd worked up the courage to do this, I just had to fucking do it, fuck." Dean breathes, shoves his face into the side of Sam's neck and he's nibbling, biting at the flesh.
"Fuck," Sam gasps, managing to slip his fingers under, getting his own grasp on Dean's thick heavy length, arching up into the hot sucking pressure on his neck, "fuck, you're not too bad yourself."
"Didn't expect this, did you?" says Dean, pushing Sam back further onto the desk, papers flying onto the floor. Sam scrabbles for purchase - he's a big guy, but fuck, being manhandled like this, it's fucking hot, and he lets Dean push him back, shifts to make the process easier until he's lying there, and Dean's curved over the top of him, biting and sucking at his neck and working his cock with clever fingers. Sam can hardly breathe, just tries to concentrate on his own rhythm of twist-slick around Dean, aiming for the little huffs and gasps of pleasure Dean bites out against his skin.
"Unnng," is about all the response Sam can muster, and Dean's fingers tighten around him, pressure building, and Sam knows he's not going to last much longer, not with Dean playing him like this, with the burn and the moment being sucked into his skin like a brand, and he works his fingers around Dean tighter too, trying to bring him closer even as he fights the tide of his own impending release.
"Fuck," he rasps, "fuck, Dean, I'm gonna..."
"Fuck, yes, Sam," Dean growls, and nips down again at the curve of Sam's neck. Fuck, he's going to have marks there tomorrow, Sam knows, but he can't bring himself to care, not right now. "Come for me, Sammy," Dean commands, and Sam does, his fingers going slack around Dean and the world spinning blank around him as he releases his come, warm and wet, all over Dean's fingers, hot and messy.
"Fuck," Dean says, almost reverently, and gently raises his hand to his lips, smearing the come against Sam's skin before dipping and licking it off. "Fuck, hotter than I imagined it. God."
Sam breathes and shivers, leans into the smooth lick of Dean's tongue against his skin, and resumes his pull around Dean's own cock. Dean gasps, hips thrusting down into Sam's fist, seeking friction against Sam's thigh, and it's not long before Sam feels Dean tense above him and he comes, coating Sam's fingers.
Dean lies there, almost flat on top of Sam, breathing deeply, and Sam lies there too, eyes closed, wondering what the fuck just happened. Not that he's complaining: that was the best he's had for...well, since he can remember, but fuck. Fuck, he just had sex with an exec, in his office. Fuck.
"That was hot," says Dean after a while, standing with an effort, shifting with a look of mild disgust at the sticky mess in his boxers.
"Yeah," agrees Sam, sitting up awkwardly - fuck, his back hurts, and his neck feels raw, but he finds he doesn't care that much. "Just. You called me Sammy. No one calls me Sammy. Why'd you do that?"
Dean looks at him, confused. "I don't know," he says, after a minute. "It just seemed--right--you know. In that moment."
Sam nods, explanation sound enough, although the sound of the dream-Dean calling "Sammy!" in a panicked tone rises unbidden to his mind. "So," he says, ignoring it, and tucking himself back in, neat and tidy. "Well. I guess...I'll be seeing you."
"Yeah," Dean says, and he hovers awkwardly by the door. Sam can't really equate the awkward Dean with the one who had him against the desk not 15 minutes before, but maybe, well, heat of the moment.
"Right," Sam says, and reaches for the door handle.
"Unless," cuts in Dean, before Sam can open the door. "Unless, well, say I were to have another technical problem tomorrow, would you, perhaps, be willing to come and help fix it?"
Sam grins. He shouldn’t. This is wrong, they'll both get fired, but god, somehow it feels so right. "Darlin'," he drawls, as full on Texan as he can manage, "I'll fix your technical issues any time." He grins again, this time directed at Dean so he gets the full beam of the smile, and slips out of the door before Dean has a chance to say anymore.
Maybe working at Sandover won't be so bad after all.
Author: majestic_shriek
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Smith/Wesson)
Word count: ~2000
Warnings/notes: Originally posted here for blindfold_spn Round 6, for the prompt: After Dean Smith first meets Sam Wesson, he's extremely attracted to him, but can't bring himself to admit it.So he keeps calling Sam's extension in IT support, as his computer mysteriously acts up/breaks down... over and over and over. Desk sex, manhandling.
The first time it happens, Sam actually chalks it down to coincidence. Just because he happened to bump into the guy in the elevator the other day, and now all of a sudden there's a service request in his in-tray from one D. Smith, well, it doesn't mean anything.
When he trudges up to the upper floors, it turns out that some random USB lead has been unplugged from the back of the unit. Sam eyes the 'damage' silently for a moment, because seriously, people can't be this stupid that they need to call tech support because a lead got jolted out of position. And then Sam remembers that he deals with this on the phone every hour of every day, and this isn't the most stupid thing he's seen.
D. Smith cements this by flustering awkwardly when Sam shows him the disconnected lead and plugs it back in deftly. "I'm sorry," he manages, "for calling you up here for something so stupid."
He sounds so earnest that Sam believes him. "It's alright," he says with a shrug. "Got me away from my desk for a moment, you know, can't complain."
D.Smith returns the smallest hint of a smile, and looks like he's about to say something else, but thinks better of it and turns his attention to the papers in his desk.
"I'll be seeing you then, Mr. Smith," says Sam, slowly, taking this as the sign he should be leaving.
D. Smith doesn't look up from his desk, and Sam doesn't hear the quiet, "Dean," as the door swings shut behind him.
*****
The second, third, fourth, fifth times it happens, Sam accepts the jobs without comment, fixing stupid mundane little problems with D.Smith's computer, his printer, his fax machine. Really, these are things that shouldn't be going wrong, and really, don't require Sam at all, just a bit of common sense. And honestly, even with all these requests flooding his in-tray, Sam can't bring himself to believe that smart D. Smith is someone with a complete lack of common sense.
Sam's been wrong before though.
In any case, when the sixth request for Sam's services rolls through, Sam really is suspicious. For one thing, it's always him. The little slips never seem to end up on anyone else's desk, and Sam's asked, just in case D. Smith really is utterly technically incompetent and is calling a service engineer every minute of the working day. For another, the sixth problem is, well, Sam can't see how D. Smith even managed this. What buttons was he pressing? Doesn't he have an iPhone or something where he can just google how to solve the problem? Seriously. Suspicious.
"So," Sam greets, as he knocks and enters D. Smith's office, "me again. I hear you've turned your screen upside down."
"I'm afraid so," D. Smith nods sheepishly. "I'm sorry for dragging you up here again."
"Really?" Sam says, tinged with disbelief, because seriously. Seriously. He leans over the keyboard anyway, presses ctrl-alt-up, and pulls back with a smile.
"Really," says D. Smith looking approvingly at his righted screen. "I honestly had no idea how it did that."
"Right," drawls Sam, and raises an eyebrow. "I don't believe you."
Sam swears that's the hint of a blush that appears on D. Smith's cheek. "Are you saying I'm lying?"
"I'm saying something fishy's going on, that's all." Sam steps closer to the desk again. "I've never seen you before, then we have, like, a couple of weird exchanges in the elevator, and I'm sorry about mentioning the dreams, man, but you've got to admit that's also a little weird, right, and then suddenly there's a load of service requests flooding me from you. And the other guys down in tech aren't getting anything from you, and you don't seen like the kind of guy who doesn't know his way around at least the basics of a computer, so, yeah, I reckon something's up."
"Dean," D. Smith responds.
"What?"
"Name's Dean. You talk a lot."
"Hey, dude, I know, my mom always said I could talk the hind leg of a donkey, but what, you keep calling me up here so you can tell me your name?"
"No," replies Dean matter-of-factly. "I keep calling you up here because I want to fuck you."
"You...pardon?"
"Would like to fuck you. Here. On this desk. Now, if possible. I've got a free hour, if Jenny's been keeping my diary straight."
"...you couldn't have mentioned this before? Any of the other times? Or like, a hint, or normal, I don't know, flirtation or something or..."
"I was waiting for the right moment." Dean licks his lips, and Sam can't help but track the movement, because damn, Dean is attractive, he'd have to have been blind not to have noticed, and God, it's so fucked up but his cock is half hard in his pants already, just from Dean's simple statement of intent. "Saw you in the elevator, and even though you're clearly not quite right in the head, you're hot. And I want you," Dean says, and Sam can't help the shiver that slips down his spine.
"Fuck," he says, and palms his hand against his cock. Dean's eyes go instantly to Sam's crotch, and Sam can see the glint in his eyes, the fact that Dean knows he's got him now.
"Jenny," Dean says, pushing the button on the intercom, "I'm not to be disturbed until I tell you otherwise, understood?"
He barely wastes the time in listening to her response before rising from his chair and striding round to where Sam is stood in front of the desk.
"Been calling you up here ever since," Dean says, stepping into Sam's space, pushing him against the hard edge of the table. "Wondering how long it would take you to get suspicious." Dean pushes his hand against Sam's rapidly hardening cock, god, he's completely hard now, the hot press of Dean against him, the desk digging into the curves of his back. He can feel Dean's cock through his pants now, hard and fat and god, he wants to feel that against him, see if it's anywhere half as beautiful as the rest of Dean. "Wondering how long I could hold out and just stare at you before I just took you on this desk."
"Hnnngrh," Sam manages, coherently, as Dean twists his hand against his cock, slipping his other hand to Sam's belt, pulling it loose and shoving his hand into his boxers.
"Couldn't have held out much longer," Dean says, finding the tip of Sam's cock and smearing the drips of precome gathered there around the head, slipping his fingers over and round, and fuck, he's got talented fingers, talented like the rest of him, Sam supposes, as he reaches to try and fumble with Dean's own belt. "You're too fucking hot. Once I'd worked up the courage to do this, I just had to fucking do it, fuck." Dean breathes, shoves his face into the side of Sam's neck and he's nibbling, biting at the flesh.
"Fuck," Sam gasps, managing to slip his fingers under, getting his own grasp on Dean's thick heavy length, arching up into the hot sucking pressure on his neck, "fuck, you're not too bad yourself."
"Didn't expect this, did you?" says Dean, pushing Sam back further onto the desk, papers flying onto the floor. Sam scrabbles for purchase - he's a big guy, but fuck, being manhandled like this, it's fucking hot, and he lets Dean push him back, shifts to make the process easier until he's lying there, and Dean's curved over the top of him, biting and sucking at his neck and working his cock with clever fingers. Sam can hardly breathe, just tries to concentrate on his own rhythm of twist-slick around Dean, aiming for the little huffs and gasps of pleasure Dean bites out against his skin.
"Unnng," is about all the response Sam can muster, and Dean's fingers tighten around him, pressure building, and Sam knows he's not going to last much longer, not with Dean playing him like this, with the burn and the moment being sucked into his skin like a brand, and he works his fingers around Dean tighter too, trying to bring him closer even as he fights the tide of his own impending release.
"Fuck," he rasps, "fuck, Dean, I'm gonna..."
"Fuck, yes, Sam," Dean growls, and nips down again at the curve of Sam's neck. Fuck, he's going to have marks there tomorrow, Sam knows, but he can't bring himself to care, not right now. "Come for me, Sammy," Dean commands, and Sam does, his fingers going slack around Dean and the world spinning blank around him as he releases his come, warm and wet, all over Dean's fingers, hot and messy.
"Fuck," Dean says, almost reverently, and gently raises his hand to his lips, smearing the come against Sam's skin before dipping and licking it off. "Fuck, hotter than I imagined it. God."
Sam breathes and shivers, leans into the smooth lick of Dean's tongue against his skin, and resumes his pull around Dean's own cock. Dean gasps, hips thrusting down into Sam's fist, seeking friction against Sam's thigh, and it's not long before Sam feels Dean tense above him and he comes, coating Sam's fingers.
Dean lies there, almost flat on top of Sam, breathing deeply, and Sam lies there too, eyes closed, wondering what the fuck just happened. Not that he's complaining: that was the best he's had for...well, since he can remember, but fuck. Fuck, he just had sex with an exec, in his office. Fuck.
"That was hot," says Dean after a while, standing with an effort, shifting with a look of mild disgust at the sticky mess in his boxers.
"Yeah," agrees Sam, sitting up awkwardly - fuck, his back hurts, and his neck feels raw, but he finds he doesn't care that much. "Just. You called me Sammy. No one calls me Sammy. Why'd you do that?"
Dean looks at him, confused. "I don't know," he says, after a minute. "It just seemed--right--you know. In that moment."
Sam nods, explanation sound enough, although the sound of the dream-Dean calling "Sammy!" in a panicked tone rises unbidden to his mind. "So," he says, ignoring it, and tucking himself back in, neat and tidy. "Well. I guess...I'll be seeing you."
"Yeah," Dean says, and he hovers awkwardly by the door. Sam can't really equate the awkward Dean with the one who had him against the desk not 15 minutes before, but maybe, well, heat of the moment.
"Right," Sam says, and reaches for the door handle.
"Unless," cuts in Dean, before Sam can open the door. "Unless, well, say I were to have another technical problem tomorrow, would you, perhaps, be willing to come and help fix it?"
Sam grins. He shouldn’t. This is wrong, they'll both get fired, but god, somehow it feels so right. "Darlin'," he drawls, as full on Texan as he can manage, "I'll fix your technical issues any time." He grins again, this time directed at Dean so he gets the full beam of the smile, and slips out of the door before Dean has a chance to say anymore.
Maybe working at Sandover won't be so bad after all.