written in like, twenty minutes. I'm sorry for any mistakes =(
Sam's really fucking sick of Dean flirting with girls. It only takes a glance at him, leaning over the counter and talking to the barmaid in that low, sexy tone, to get Sam's blood boiling. Logically, he knows Dean isn't going home with anyone but him. But the very idea of Dean flirting with someone else makes Sam want to grab him and brand "Property of Samuel Winchester" all over his skin.
He takes a deep breath and methodically packs his stuff away; laptop into the bag, notes shuffled into an almost-neat pile and tucked away next to it, phone into his right pocket, wallet into his inside one. Careful, sharp movements to keep him occupied. Then he slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and walks straight out the door without a backwards look. The door swings shut behind him, drowning out the low rumble of the inside of the bar.
It only takes two minutes for Dean to come around the corner to look for him.
It takes even less time for Sam to grab him and slam him back against the wall of the alleyway.
"What the - Sam!"
Sam ignores him and slides his thigh in between Dean's legs, pushing his dick against Dean's already half-hard one. Sam pulls his jeans apart, yanks the zipper down hard. Dean gasps and grabs onto Sam's shoulders when Sam slides his hand in and cups him. He's off balance and on his toes, Sam's larger body pinning him against the wall, forcing him to ride down against Sam's thigh.
Sam leans in, breath warming the space underneath Dean's ear. Dean goes quiet and still, holding his breath as Sam whispers, "You really like to just piss me off, don't you, Dean?"
Dean laughs shakily, mouth forming around some wise-ass older brother comment, and Sam pulls his hand out of Dean's pants and slaps it over his lips.
"Everywhere we go, you feel this need to flirt with everything on two feet," he murmurs, and Dean struggles, pushes against Sam's thigh, which does nothing to lessen the erection Sam can feel in between four layers of cotton and denim, four layers too many.
"What're you trying to do? You know I'm not going to let them have you, anyway," he says, with a smooth lick at the soft skin under Dean's ear, a bite to his earlobe. Dean whimpers underneath his hand, a hot vibration of lust and want. His mouth falls open to breath heavy and hot against Sam's fingers, and Sam takes his hand away.
"What's it gonna take to prove you're mine?" Sam rolls his hips against Dean's, going in to suck a bruise into his neck as his head falls back. Dean's fingers clench around his shoulders, and he mindlessly rocks back against Sam's thigh. Sam pulls Dean's cock out, runs a hand over it, spreading the precome leaking out of the tip.
"Am I gonna have to brand you, tattoo you, huh?" he says, and Dean moans, splays his legs open, wanton and sexy, looking like a goddamn whore against the wall of the alleyway.
Sam kisses him hard, fucking his mouth open with rough swipes and jabs of his tongue, and Dean tilts his back to accommodate his his and just takes it. His tongue winds circles around Sam's, and he thrusts his hips against him in a mockery of what Sam would like to do with him if there were a horizontal surface within reach. But there isn't, so he goes with second best, and spins Dean around until he's pressed face first against the wall.
Sam's really fucking sick of Dean flirting with girls. It only takes a glance at him, leaning over the counter and talking to the barmaid in that low, sexy tone, to get Sam's blood boiling. Logically, he knows Dean isn't going home with anyone but him. But the very idea of Dean flirting with someone else makes Sam want to grab him and brand "Property of Samuel Winchester" all over his skin.
He takes a deep breath and methodically packs his stuff away; laptop into the bag, notes shuffled into an almost-neat pile and tucked away next to it, phone into his right pocket, wallet into his inside one. Careful, sharp movements to keep him occupied. Then he slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and walks straight out the door without a backwards look. The door swings shut behind him, drowning out the low rumble of the inside of the bar.
It only takes two minutes for Dean to come around the corner to look for him.
It takes even less time for Sam to grab him and slam him back against the wall of the alleyway.
"What the - Sam!"
Sam ignores him and slides his thigh in between Dean's legs, pushing his dick against Dean's already half-hard one. Sam pulls his jeans apart, yanks the zipper down hard. Dean gasps and grabs onto Sam's shoulders when Sam slides his hand in and cups him. He's off balance and on his toes, Sam's larger body pinning him against the wall, forcing him to ride down against Sam's thigh.
Sam leans in, breath warming the space underneath Dean's ear. Dean goes quiet and still, holding his breath as Sam whispers, "You really like to just piss me off, don't you, Dean?"
Dean laughs shakily, mouth forming around some wise-ass older brother comment, and Sam pulls his hand out of Dean's pants and slaps it over his lips.
"Everywhere we go, you feel this need to flirt with everything on two feet," he murmurs, and Dean struggles, pushes against Sam's thigh, which does nothing to lessen the erection Sam can feel in between four layers of cotton and denim, four layers too many.
"What're you trying to do? You know I'm not going to let them have you, anyway," he says, with a smooth lick at the soft skin under Dean's ear, a bite to his earlobe. Dean whimpers underneath his hand, a hot vibration of lust and want. His mouth falls open to breath heavy and hot against Sam's fingers, and Sam takes his hand away.
"What's it gonna take to prove you're mine?" Sam rolls his hips against Dean's, going in to suck a bruise into his neck as his head falls back. Dean's fingers clench around his shoulders, and he mindlessly rocks back against Sam's thigh. Sam pulls Dean's cock out, runs a hand over it, spreading the precome leaking out of the tip.
"Am I gonna have to brand you, tattoo you, huh?" he says, and Dean moans, splays his legs open, wanton and sexy, looking like a goddamn whore against the wall of the alleyway.
Sam kisses him hard, fucking his mouth open with rough swipes and jabs of his tongue, and Dean tilts his back to accommodate his his and just takes it. His tongue winds circles around Sam's, and he thrusts his hips against him in a mockery of what Sam would like to do with him if there were a horizontal surface within reach. But there isn't, so he goes with second best, and spins Dean around until he's pressed face first against the wall.
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