Fic: Another Spin on Things
Title:Another Spin on Things
Author: merepersiflage
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Category: porn with issues
Word Count: 3800
Summary: In “Stranded at the Drive-in” Dean took the demon’s shirt. Sam is not happy about that.
Warnings: incest, graphic m/m sex, language
Disclaimer: You betcha.
Notes: If you didn’t read Stranded at the Drive-in
all you need to know is that Sam and Dean’s relationship has just started again, mid season one, and that Sam found out Dean slept with Dad’s friend Caleb while Sam was at Stanford.
Four days, one salt-and-burn, and five states after James the incubus had been forcefully reduced to an eau de semen mist, Dean had just about forgotten that he’d grabbed that Monsters of Reality t-shirt. Well, not actually forgotten, Dean didn’t forget anything, but at the moment he had no idea why Sam had suddenly slammed him up against the dusty wall of the Super Special Clean 24-hour Laundromat.
The sign had proclaimed it a 24-hour laundromat, but the door had been locked when they tried it. So Sam had picked the lock, Dean claiming it was a matter of maintaining truth in advertising and all, and if they wore their clothes much longer evil would smell them coming. A quick inspection didn’t turn up any security cameras. What was anybody gonna steal, a bunch of quarters and an industrial dryer?
So they were alone under a single cobwebbed center light when Sam did his slamming Dean into the wall thing, slamming him close enough to the soap vending machine that Dean’s arm went numb when his elbow hit it.
His brother could go from pissy to raging quicker than anyone Dean ever saw-except Dad of course, but he usually skipped the pissy and went from zero to duck and cover in three point five seconds-but he really couldn’t figure out why Sam had two fists full of his shirt and seemed about to spit in his face.
“Hey Sam, I know I didn’t have time to starch your shorts yet.”
Sam just glared, jaw clenched and sticking out so far it was almost in the next county.
“Sam. What?” Dean shoved his arms between Sam’s and broke his grip. “Get off me, man.”
A foul bundle of cloth smacked him in the nose.
“Dude. That’s really-” he unwadded it.
“Oh.”
“What the fuck, Dean? Are you hanging onto some, what, souvenir of getting fucked by that thing?”
“I didn’t-” Yeah, but it’d been close. “C’mon Sam. It’s a really cool shirt.”
“His shirt.”
“You’re not still jealous. You know it wasn’t-”
“Yeah, I know. I watched you.” Sam spat the words out.
“Sam. C’mon, man, didn’t we deal with this already?”
“No. We fucked.” Sam poured so much bitter into that word that it sounded nastier than Dean had ever heard it.
Dean shifted. Sam’s anger was starting to gnaw on his guts.
“Yeah. And I thought it pretty well worked that out. I mean who else am I fucking?”
“Besides Caleb and random demons?”
Sam’s fist twisted in his shirt again and the vending machine rattled.
Dean jerked free again. Jesus, couldn’t Sam have chosen someplace else to have his breakdown instead of here with piles of clothes waiting to go into the washers that had already eaten a quarter of their current cash reserve?
“Sam, ya really think this is the best time for this conversation?”
“Who said we were having a conversation?”
Dean resisted the urge to lick his lips at Sam’s tone. Not much else had happened since the night they’d left the drive-in, but it’d only taken that one night to get back in the habit of Sam. Of knowing how fucking hot his mouth was. How he kissed. How he sounded when he came. And there was no mistaking that tone in Sam’s voice. He’d have recognized it even if they hadn’t started touching each other like that again.
He stalked over to the washer where the jeans were piled. “Fine then. But we finish this first.” He opened the lid and stuffed in the heavy pile of denim. One pair stood out with a particular odor. “Here.” He tossed them at Sam. “Wash these separately, with maybe triple detergent or something.”
As soon as the lid clanged back down, he found himself flung over the top of the washer, Sam pressing into him from behind. Based on what he could feel pressing into his ass, his brother really wasn’t focused on the laundry
“I didn’t pick the place for this, Dean. You did.”
“Huh?”
“You stuffed that shirt in the laundry like it was nothing.”
“Because it is nothing, Sam. I just like the shirt.”
Sam grabbed his wrists and pressed them on top of the machine. His long leg kicked Dean’s apart and again he was plastered to his back.
If being a lawyer didn’t work out, Sam had a promising career in police brutality. The position was so familiar Dean could almost see the flashing blue and red lights.
Unlike those times, though, Dean could fight back, but there wasn’t much room and they were likely to do some serious damage to each other and the machines. He just wanted to get the laundry done. He’d driven for sixteen hours today, and he wanted to find a motel and get horizontal, alone even.
“Do you want me to throw the shirt out? Rip it up? Will that make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck that. I like that shirt. Look.” He tried to twist to face his brother, but Sam was on him tighter than his own clothes. “When we find a motel, we can process and have a big chick-flick moment about it, okay? Will that make you happy?”
“No.” Sam ground against him with obvious intent.
Dean looked up at the windows he could see over the washer’s control panel.
“Sam. We’re right off the highway.”
“Have you seen anyone else?”
“No, but-”
“Then no one will see us.”
This wasn’t gonna happen. Yeah, Sam was jealous and Dean didn’t mind if he needed to fuck him to feel better, ‘cause it’d sure been fun last time. Sam definitely had a lot going for him in that department. And he couldn’t wait to get his dick back in Sam’s tight ass because that felt way better than he’d ever imagined, but they weren’t doing it here.
He tried again to push Sam away, without turning it into a knock-down-drag-out, but Sam slammed him back down.
“You want to keep that shirt?”
He couldn’t remember Sam’s voice being so deep before, so full and rich that it just echoed everywhere in him. His dick, in particular, really seemed to like the sound.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Then you’ll just have to accept the consequences when I see the damn thing.”
Dean really didn’t like his baby brother thinking he could tell him what to do on the basis of one fuck, no matter what kind of skills he had. And he was just about to prove to him that he wasn’t accepting jack, inconvenient location and all, when the machine went into the wash cycle under him with a vibration that went right the hell to his cock.
“Shit.”
Sam groaned as if he could feel it too, and he probably could since it was rattling through Dean like some kind of bone deep percussion massage.
Whatever reservations Dean had about sex in a laundromat were taking a hike. Sam panted in his ear, and his dick throbbed from the shaking below and the grinding above. Actually, grinding was beginning to sound like a pretty damned good plan.
He tried to move again, this time to simply turn and face Sam, hell he didn’t care if Sam wanted him to stay on the machine. Fucking on a vibrating surface had a whole new appeal, and he could hardly wait to find another of those motels with the little coin box on the headboard that guaranteed a “soothing massage.”
Sam pressed him down with one arm while his other hand got busy with Dean’s belt. He pulled it free of the loops.
“Uh. What kind of consequences do you think you’re talkin’ about here, Sam?”
Sam did that really quiet, not even breathing thing he did when he was thinking too hard and then laughed. “Not that kind, unless you want me to . . .”
“No!”
“Okay then. I just thought the buckle might, um get in the way.”
“Oh.”
Sam shoved a hand in his waistband and Dean felt his brother’s legs brush his ass. When did Sam get his pants down? Sam’s hand slipped back around to cradle his dick. The edge of the machine made things a little cramped.
“Should we move?” Sam suggested. Dean looked up to see the folding tables just in front of the windows. They were more than four feet off the ground.
“I don’t even think you’re that tall, Kong.”
“Oh, wait.”
“Wait?”
That was really getting to be his least favorite of Sam’s expressions. It was way more annoying than No, we’re not. Be serious, Dean and We could get jobs, you know and no where near as interesting as God, Dean, I’m gonna come.
He heard Sam slamming the lids on the machines.
“Now, you’re suddenly interested in the laundry?”
“Can’t waste all that money.”
“I am going to kick your ass, boy.”
“Some talk from somebody bareassed over a washing machine.”
He really should go do something about that before the little bastard got the idea that he could get away with being a smartass all the time, but those vibrations rushing along his dick were too much fun to interrupt at the moment.
The machine shuddered to a stop, the water draining as it prepared for the rinse cycle. The loss of stimulation made him groan and push away from the machine.
“Going somewhere?”
There was that deep reverberation in Sam’s voice again. He really must have been workin’ it in college because he sure as hell didn’t have those kind of moves before he left-not that he’d really needed them with Dean before. Pretty much just a look in his eyes or the his breath close enough to feel was all Dean needed to feel like he had a telephone pole stuffed in his pants.
“Why should I have all the fun?” He purred in a voice he knew had always worked on Sam.
Sam stepped up, and Dean figured he was about to use his fucking height and weight to try to pin him to the machine again so he yanked his head down for a hard kiss. Sam’s mouth opened under his, but he fought him for control of the kiss until they managed to hit a balance of thrusting tongues and sliding, hungry lips.
The washer shook under their hips as it began the spin cycle. Dean spun Sam around until he was facing the washer. He cupped his brother’s dick to shield it from the cool metal, letting the vibrations do all the work.
Sam gasped.
“Yeah.” Dean agreed. He pressed against Sam, his dick finding the crease of Sam’s ass, riding in sweat and precome. He slowed his rocking and whispered in Sam’s ear. “I’m only gonna say this once. So listen.”
Sam groaned, so Dean guessed that meant he could hear.
“I’m not the one who left, Sam. I’m not the one who spent four years plannin’ his apple pie life. I get that you’ve got a boatload of issues you need to work out, and hell, we can even fuck’em out if you think that’ll work. But stop actin’ like I betrayed you or something. I don’t remember making any promises, and you sure as hell didn’t keep any.”
“Dean-”
“Four years, Sammy. So you don’t get to be a jealous bitch about a fucking t-shirt.” He grabbed Sam’s bicep and spun him around again, pressing his lips to Sam’s open mouth, dragging him into the kiss with his lips and tongue until Sam moaned.
“So.” He stepped back. “You want to fuck this out, fuck me? Go ahead. Here’s your chance. But it doesn’t mean you get to tattoo your fucking name on my ass. I don’t want to hear shit about James or Caleb again.”
Sam stared at him for a second before he was on him, shoving him hard against the machine. Sam’s hand worked between them, fingers slick with something that from the smell could only be the detergent he’d been pouring out. Sam twisted their cocks together, bucked his hips until they were sliding, stroking against each other through his wide tight grip, every one of Dean’s nerves tingling with the vibrations behind him. As far as working things out went, it was a hell of a lot more fun and probably more productive than every conversation they’d had since Palo Alto.
Dean licked inside Sam’s mouth as the pressure on his dick got sweeter and hotter, rims catching and pulling as their cocks slipped by each other.
He arched farther up into all that slick friction, breathing becoming too challenging to keep on kissing Sam. The second he pulled his mouth free, Sam jerked away and spun him around again. Dean’s hands smacked into the vibrating metal.
Even over the rumble of spinning clothes, he could hear the snap of the plastic cap of detergent, and Sam’s cold slippery fingers were sliding down the crease of his ass. Dean’s fingers tightened around the sides of the machine. Well, he’d told Sam to fuck it out; guess he was gonna listen for a change.
He could feel his body tense as Sam teased him with the tip of a finger, tried to relax, and then just tensed again as Sam drove inside. He bit his lip and rocked forward, wrapping his hand around his dick to keep the edge of the machine from digging in. Sam’s finger fucked him, twisting, curling and his breath huffed out between his clenched teeth. It was still on the edge of too much, too fast, but he’d be damned if he’d tell Sam to stop.
Sam laid over him, his voice a growl in his ear. “It fucking kills me you let someone get here first. All those times you told me no.”
Dean parted his lips enough to gasp, “Still wouldn’t have kept you from walking out the door, would it?” And he knew goddamned well it wouldn’t now. No matter what this meant to Sam, no matter how hard he’d pushed for it all that time, fucking him wasn’t going to change the fact that Sam was just here for one hunt. Dad, revenge, and gone. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only one working out some issues.
Sam’s long finger twisted and wriggled again and oh god, leave it to Sam to find just the right fucking spot. Because he always had to be right. Of course he’d be the one to hit nerves that just made Dean want to grind harder, open wider. Sam reached under him and lifted his thigh up, stretching him around fuck two fingers. It ripped the breath from his lungs, whistling past his teeth.
Sam’s rich voice hit him again. “Did he get you ready like this? Or did the bourbon take care of that? God, did you make that sound?”
Dean tried to shut his throat. He didn’t want to be making any sounds, but Sam’s fingers and voice were curling inside him, deep and dirty. “Are you going to fuck me or just talk?”
“Maybe I’ll just leave you the fuck alone.” His fingers slid all the way out, leaving Dean gasping and biting back a please . Sam’s fingers slammed back in. “You don’t seem to have any trouble finding other people to fuck. Maybe you can just get off with the washing machine. You’ve got . . .” his fingers slid free again. “Maybe another two minutes left on spin. Think that’ll be enough?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Me?” Sam was pressed over him again, mouth at his ear, hand at the top of his ass. He could feel the press of him there. His cock just pushing enough to let him know he was there, not enough to force his way inside. “I’m not the one who fucks everything that moves.”
And Dean felt like a total idiot. Yes, he’d know Sam was jealous, but he hadn’t realized that Sam was actually hurt. Hurt like Dean had been that night in his brother’s apartment. That night he’d taken it like a shotgun blast to the chest, the soft pride and trace of emphasis when Sam had introduced Jessica as his girlfriend, the shine in his eyes that had used to belong to Dean. The way he’d gone to her side, them against Dean, when it had always been Dean and Sam to stand against anything. And that’s what Sam was feeling now? From that one-two-times with Caleb?
He wanted to laugh.
“So, is the washing machine gonna be enough, or do you want something else, Dean? Should I go see if there’s some random creature out there you could fuck?”
And there was really only one way to solve this. At least only one way that didn’t involve him saying something so utterly stupid he’d never let himself hear the end of it like you’re all I ever wanted.
“Nope.” He arched his back and brought himself back and down on Sam’s cock. The sharp burn of penetration lanced through him, shot out in spikes through his body, but he kept driving back until he had Sam in him deep.
“Fuck.” Sam’s voice got soft.
They panted together for a few minutes, One of Sam’s hands pressed on the top of his ass, the other gripped his hip, keeping his leg braced up. Dean’s hand started a light stroke on his own dick as the rinse cycle sloshed and hummed beneath him. He rubbed himself through the first minute of that tearing stretch, until he could take a deep breath without an eye-watering sting.
Sam shifted and grunted, his strokes sloppy and uneven. A few thick choked sounds from Sam’s throat and he was collapsing on top of him. Well, that was a little bit too quick and dirty.
But he’d underestimated Sammy’s stamina. His brother pushed up, and started thrusting quick and deep, with a holy-shit dip and roll that had Dean lit up inside like Sam’s dick was some kind of sparkler. If he would just keep doing that, god, please. He was afraid to move, afraid to lose that whole body rush of pleasure Sam was giving him.
He knew he was panting, moaning. Fuck, he could barely keep from begging.
“Did he do you like this, Dean?” Sam’s voice vibrated through him like the hum of the washer. “Did he get you whining like this?”
He wasn’t fucking whining. It was a manly groan.
“Did he?”
“Sam.”
Sam stopped. Fucking stopped. Jerked all the way back until the head of his cock was rubbing outside again.
“Sam.”
Sam stabbed forward, making the burn of the initial breach blend into the so-good friction. All the way out, and slamming, forcing his way in again and again, until Dean was having trouble hanging onto the machine, his cock, his fucking mind.
“Did he?” Sam demanded again.
Fucking hell. “No. Goddamn it, Sam.”
Sam rewarded him with those perfect rolling thrusts again.
“Why, Dean? All those fucking years. You wouldn’t let me, let us. Why him?”
And Sam would probably stop again, because he was showing some ridiculous self-control like he’d never had as a kid, but damn it, Dean was going to give him the truth. “You weren’t fucking there, Sam. You were gone. And you were always gonna leave.”
“Dean.” Sam dropped down over his back, hips still working in those rolling bursts that were turning Dean inside out.
He didn’t want to give up that ball-juicing rub but he wanted to see Sam’s face. If his brother was still nursing his jealous pissed off look he was going to take him apart somehow. And then the washer went into spin, jerking his hand along his cock, jerking them both hard and fast and he couldn’t think about anything but rushing toward that edge as hard and fast as he could.
And then he was over, pumping into his hand, hips jerking hard as that orgasm just roared through him, splintering light behind his squeezed shut eyes, splintering his fucking spine until everything was liquid inside him, rushing out through his dick, splashing over his fingers.
A total brain shut down followed.
He became aware of his breathing first, short hard breaths, then of Sam shaking hard against him. He could feel the wet slide of their sweat against each other, the gluey come on his belly, Sam’s hand still pressing him down against the cold metal.
“Sam.”
Sam’s mouth pressed a kiss, then a bite on the back of his neck, sucking the skin hard between his teeth. Dean jerked away, separating them with a pull that made him wince.
“Don’t blame that on me this time,” Sam said and as Dean turned gingerly, he was relieved to see Sam peeling off a condom and dropping it in the garbage. He really didn’t feel like well, feeling that all night, while they still had laundry to do. He tossed his shirt in one of the machines still on the wash cycle and pulled up his jeans.
The buzzer on their machine sounded. He was about to point out that he’d had enough time to get off on the machine alone, but a look at Sam’s tight jaw had him turning back to open the washer. The jeans weren’t going to load themselves into the dryer, so awkwardness and issues were going to have to take a back seat to life. Sam handed him a quarter without comment. In fact, other than to hand off quarters, they didn’t look at each other or touch or even speak.
It wasn’t the first time they’d done this uneasy dance. Chores were just another backdrop to their push and pull. There’d been hundreds of trips to laundromats, pranks, fighting, stealing kisses, making or paying bets, though Dean could say it was the first time it’d had ever ended with sex on a washing machine.
The familiarity of the silent work seemed to take away some of the tension, so as he pulled the first bunch of hot dry clothes out, he looked up and caught Sam’s eye.
“We good? You get that possessive shit out of your system?”
Sam dropped another quarter in the dryer with the jeans before answering. His eyes were almost black.
Dean pulled a shirt down over his head. Sam was in front of him in two steps, pressing him back against the hot glass. His brother grabbed a fistful of his fresh new Monsters of Reality shirt.
“No.” Sam ground his hips hard against him, but there was a smile on his face.
“Well, all right.”
Author: merepersiflage
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Category: porn with issues
Word Count: 3800
Summary: In “Stranded at the Drive-in” Dean took the demon’s shirt. Sam is not happy about that.
Warnings: incest, graphic m/m sex, language
Disclaimer: You betcha.
Notes: If you didn’t read Stranded at the Drive-in
all you need to know is that Sam and Dean’s relationship has just started again, mid season one, and that Sam found out Dean slept with Dad’s friend Caleb while Sam was at Stanford.
Four days, one salt-and-burn, and five states after James the incubus had been forcefully reduced to an eau de semen mist, Dean had just about forgotten that he’d grabbed that Monsters of Reality t-shirt. Well, not actually forgotten, Dean didn’t forget anything, but at the moment he had no idea why Sam had suddenly slammed him up against the dusty wall of the Super Special Clean 24-hour Laundromat.
The sign had proclaimed it a 24-hour laundromat, but the door had been locked when they tried it. So Sam had picked the lock, Dean claiming it was a matter of maintaining truth in advertising and all, and if they wore their clothes much longer evil would smell them coming. A quick inspection didn’t turn up any security cameras. What was anybody gonna steal, a bunch of quarters and an industrial dryer?
So they were alone under a single cobwebbed center light when Sam did his slamming Dean into the wall thing, slamming him close enough to the soap vending machine that Dean’s arm went numb when his elbow hit it.
His brother could go from pissy to raging quicker than anyone Dean ever saw-except Dad of course, but he usually skipped the pissy and went from zero to duck and cover in three point five seconds-but he really couldn’t figure out why Sam had two fists full of his shirt and seemed about to spit in his face.
“Hey Sam, I know I didn’t have time to starch your shorts yet.”
Sam just glared, jaw clenched and sticking out so far it was almost in the next county.
“Sam. What?” Dean shoved his arms between Sam’s and broke his grip. “Get off me, man.”
A foul bundle of cloth smacked him in the nose.
“Dude. That’s really-” he unwadded it.
“Oh.”
“What the fuck, Dean? Are you hanging onto some, what, souvenir of getting fucked by that thing?”
“I didn’t-” Yeah, but it’d been close. “C’mon Sam. It’s a really cool shirt.”
“His shirt.”
“You’re not still jealous. You know it wasn’t-”
“Yeah, I know. I watched you.” Sam spat the words out.
“Sam. C’mon, man, didn’t we deal with this already?”
“No. We fucked.” Sam poured so much bitter into that word that it sounded nastier than Dean had ever heard it.
Dean shifted. Sam’s anger was starting to gnaw on his guts.
“Yeah. And I thought it pretty well worked that out. I mean who else am I fucking?”
“Besides Caleb and random demons?”
Sam’s fist twisted in his shirt again and the vending machine rattled.
Dean jerked free again. Jesus, couldn’t Sam have chosen someplace else to have his breakdown instead of here with piles of clothes waiting to go into the washers that had already eaten a quarter of their current cash reserve?
“Sam, ya really think this is the best time for this conversation?”
“Who said we were having a conversation?”
Dean resisted the urge to lick his lips at Sam’s tone. Not much else had happened since the night they’d left the drive-in, but it’d only taken that one night to get back in the habit of Sam. Of knowing how fucking hot his mouth was. How he kissed. How he sounded when he came. And there was no mistaking that tone in Sam’s voice. He’d have recognized it even if they hadn’t started touching each other like that again.
He stalked over to the washer where the jeans were piled. “Fine then. But we finish this first.” He opened the lid and stuffed in the heavy pile of denim. One pair stood out with a particular odor. “Here.” He tossed them at Sam. “Wash these separately, with maybe triple detergent or something.”
As soon as the lid clanged back down, he found himself flung over the top of the washer, Sam pressing into him from behind. Based on what he could feel pressing into his ass, his brother really wasn’t focused on the laundry
“I didn’t pick the place for this, Dean. You did.”
“Huh?”
“You stuffed that shirt in the laundry like it was nothing.”
“Because it is nothing, Sam. I just like the shirt.”
Sam grabbed his wrists and pressed them on top of the machine. His long leg kicked Dean’s apart and again he was plastered to his back.
If being a lawyer didn’t work out, Sam had a promising career in police brutality. The position was so familiar Dean could almost see the flashing blue and red lights.
Unlike those times, though, Dean could fight back, but there wasn’t much room and they were likely to do some serious damage to each other and the machines. He just wanted to get the laundry done. He’d driven for sixteen hours today, and he wanted to find a motel and get horizontal, alone even.
“Do you want me to throw the shirt out? Rip it up? Will that make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck that. I like that shirt. Look.” He tried to twist to face his brother, but Sam was on him tighter than his own clothes. “When we find a motel, we can process and have a big chick-flick moment about it, okay? Will that make you happy?”
“No.” Sam ground against him with obvious intent.
Dean looked up at the windows he could see over the washer’s control panel.
“Sam. We’re right off the highway.”
“Have you seen anyone else?”
“No, but-”
“Then no one will see us.”
This wasn’t gonna happen. Yeah, Sam was jealous and Dean didn’t mind if he needed to fuck him to feel better, ‘cause it’d sure been fun last time. Sam definitely had a lot going for him in that department. And he couldn’t wait to get his dick back in Sam’s tight ass because that felt way better than he’d ever imagined, but they weren’t doing it here.
He tried again to push Sam away, without turning it into a knock-down-drag-out, but Sam slammed him back down.
“You want to keep that shirt?”
He couldn’t remember Sam’s voice being so deep before, so full and rich that it just echoed everywhere in him. His dick, in particular, really seemed to like the sound.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Then you’ll just have to accept the consequences when I see the damn thing.”
Dean really didn’t like his baby brother thinking he could tell him what to do on the basis of one fuck, no matter what kind of skills he had. And he was just about to prove to him that he wasn’t accepting jack, inconvenient location and all, when the machine went into the wash cycle under him with a vibration that went right the hell to his cock.
“Shit.”
Sam groaned as if he could feel it too, and he probably could since it was rattling through Dean like some kind of bone deep percussion massage.
Whatever reservations Dean had about sex in a laundromat were taking a hike. Sam panted in his ear, and his dick throbbed from the shaking below and the grinding above. Actually, grinding was beginning to sound like a pretty damned good plan.
He tried to move again, this time to simply turn and face Sam, hell he didn’t care if Sam wanted him to stay on the machine. Fucking on a vibrating surface had a whole new appeal, and he could hardly wait to find another of those motels with the little coin box on the headboard that guaranteed a “soothing massage.”
Sam pressed him down with one arm while his other hand got busy with Dean’s belt. He pulled it free of the loops.
“Uh. What kind of consequences do you think you’re talkin’ about here, Sam?”
Sam did that really quiet, not even breathing thing he did when he was thinking too hard and then laughed. “Not that kind, unless you want me to . . .”
“No!”
“Okay then. I just thought the buckle might, um get in the way.”
“Oh.”
Sam shoved a hand in his waistband and Dean felt his brother’s legs brush his ass. When did Sam get his pants down? Sam’s hand slipped back around to cradle his dick. The edge of the machine made things a little cramped.
“Should we move?” Sam suggested. Dean looked up to see the folding tables just in front of the windows. They were more than four feet off the ground.
“I don’t even think you’re that tall, Kong.”
“Oh, wait.”
“Wait?”
That was really getting to be his least favorite of Sam’s expressions. It was way more annoying than No, we’re not. Be serious, Dean and We could get jobs, you know and no where near as interesting as God, Dean, I’m gonna come.
He heard Sam slamming the lids on the machines.
“Now, you’re suddenly interested in the laundry?”
“Can’t waste all that money.”
“I am going to kick your ass, boy.”
“Some talk from somebody bareassed over a washing machine.”
He really should go do something about that before the little bastard got the idea that he could get away with being a smartass all the time, but those vibrations rushing along his dick were too much fun to interrupt at the moment.
The machine shuddered to a stop, the water draining as it prepared for the rinse cycle. The loss of stimulation made him groan and push away from the machine.
“Going somewhere?”
There was that deep reverberation in Sam’s voice again. He really must have been workin’ it in college because he sure as hell didn’t have those kind of moves before he left-not that he’d really needed them with Dean before. Pretty much just a look in his eyes or the his breath close enough to feel was all Dean needed to feel like he had a telephone pole stuffed in his pants.
“Why should I have all the fun?” He purred in a voice he knew had always worked on Sam.
Sam stepped up, and Dean figured he was about to use his fucking height and weight to try to pin him to the machine again so he yanked his head down for a hard kiss. Sam’s mouth opened under his, but he fought him for control of the kiss until they managed to hit a balance of thrusting tongues and sliding, hungry lips.
The washer shook under their hips as it began the spin cycle. Dean spun Sam around until he was facing the washer. He cupped his brother’s dick to shield it from the cool metal, letting the vibrations do all the work.
Sam gasped.
“Yeah.” Dean agreed. He pressed against Sam, his dick finding the crease of Sam’s ass, riding in sweat and precome. He slowed his rocking and whispered in Sam’s ear. “I’m only gonna say this once. So listen.”
Sam groaned, so Dean guessed that meant he could hear.
“I’m not the one who left, Sam. I’m not the one who spent four years plannin’ his apple pie life. I get that you’ve got a boatload of issues you need to work out, and hell, we can even fuck’em out if you think that’ll work. But stop actin’ like I betrayed you or something. I don’t remember making any promises, and you sure as hell didn’t keep any.”
“Dean-”
“Four years, Sammy. So you don’t get to be a jealous bitch about a fucking t-shirt.” He grabbed Sam’s bicep and spun him around again, pressing his lips to Sam’s open mouth, dragging him into the kiss with his lips and tongue until Sam moaned.
“So.” He stepped back. “You want to fuck this out, fuck me? Go ahead. Here’s your chance. But it doesn’t mean you get to tattoo your fucking name on my ass. I don’t want to hear shit about James or Caleb again.”
Sam stared at him for a second before he was on him, shoving him hard against the machine. Sam’s hand worked between them, fingers slick with something that from the smell could only be the detergent he’d been pouring out. Sam twisted their cocks together, bucked his hips until they were sliding, stroking against each other through his wide tight grip, every one of Dean’s nerves tingling with the vibrations behind him. As far as working things out went, it was a hell of a lot more fun and probably more productive than every conversation they’d had since Palo Alto.
Dean licked inside Sam’s mouth as the pressure on his dick got sweeter and hotter, rims catching and pulling as their cocks slipped by each other.
He arched farther up into all that slick friction, breathing becoming too challenging to keep on kissing Sam. The second he pulled his mouth free, Sam jerked away and spun him around again. Dean’s hands smacked into the vibrating metal.
Even over the rumble of spinning clothes, he could hear the snap of the plastic cap of detergent, and Sam’s cold slippery fingers were sliding down the crease of his ass. Dean’s fingers tightened around the sides of the machine. Well, he’d told Sam to fuck it out; guess he was gonna listen for a change.
He could feel his body tense as Sam teased him with the tip of a finger, tried to relax, and then just tensed again as Sam drove inside. He bit his lip and rocked forward, wrapping his hand around his dick to keep the edge of the machine from digging in. Sam’s finger fucked him, twisting, curling and his breath huffed out between his clenched teeth. It was still on the edge of too much, too fast, but he’d be damned if he’d tell Sam to stop.
Sam laid over him, his voice a growl in his ear. “It fucking kills me you let someone get here first. All those times you told me no.”
Dean parted his lips enough to gasp, “Still wouldn’t have kept you from walking out the door, would it?” And he knew goddamned well it wouldn’t now. No matter what this meant to Sam, no matter how hard he’d pushed for it all that time, fucking him wasn’t going to change the fact that Sam was just here for one hunt. Dad, revenge, and gone. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only one working out some issues.
Sam’s long finger twisted and wriggled again and oh god, leave it to Sam to find just the right fucking spot. Because he always had to be right. Of course he’d be the one to hit nerves that just made Dean want to grind harder, open wider. Sam reached under him and lifted his thigh up, stretching him around fuck two fingers. It ripped the breath from his lungs, whistling past his teeth.
Sam’s rich voice hit him again. “Did he get you ready like this? Or did the bourbon take care of that? God, did you make that sound?”
Dean tried to shut his throat. He didn’t want to be making any sounds, but Sam’s fingers and voice were curling inside him, deep and dirty. “Are you going to fuck me or just talk?”
“Maybe I’ll just leave you the fuck alone.” His fingers slid all the way out, leaving Dean gasping and biting back a please . Sam’s fingers slammed back in. “You don’t seem to have any trouble finding other people to fuck. Maybe you can just get off with the washing machine. You’ve got . . .” his fingers slid free again. “Maybe another two minutes left on spin. Think that’ll be enough?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Me?” Sam was pressed over him again, mouth at his ear, hand at the top of his ass. He could feel the press of him there. His cock just pushing enough to let him know he was there, not enough to force his way inside. “I’m not the one who fucks everything that moves.”
And Dean felt like a total idiot. Yes, he’d know Sam was jealous, but he hadn’t realized that Sam was actually hurt. Hurt like Dean had been that night in his brother’s apartment. That night he’d taken it like a shotgun blast to the chest, the soft pride and trace of emphasis when Sam had introduced Jessica as his girlfriend, the shine in his eyes that had used to belong to Dean. The way he’d gone to her side, them against Dean, when it had always been Dean and Sam to stand against anything. And that’s what Sam was feeling now? From that one-two-times with Caleb?
He wanted to laugh.
“So, is the washing machine gonna be enough, or do you want something else, Dean? Should I go see if there’s some random creature out there you could fuck?”
And there was really only one way to solve this. At least only one way that didn’t involve him saying something so utterly stupid he’d never let himself hear the end of it like you’re all I ever wanted.
“Nope.” He arched his back and brought himself back and down on Sam’s cock. The sharp burn of penetration lanced through him, shot out in spikes through his body, but he kept driving back until he had Sam in him deep.
“Fuck.” Sam’s voice got soft.
They panted together for a few minutes, One of Sam’s hands pressed on the top of his ass, the other gripped his hip, keeping his leg braced up. Dean’s hand started a light stroke on his own dick as the rinse cycle sloshed and hummed beneath him. He rubbed himself through the first minute of that tearing stretch, until he could take a deep breath without an eye-watering sting.
Sam shifted and grunted, his strokes sloppy and uneven. A few thick choked sounds from Sam’s throat and he was collapsing on top of him. Well, that was a little bit too quick and dirty.
But he’d underestimated Sammy’s stamina. His brother pushed up, and started thrusting quick and deep, with a holy-shit dip and roll that had Dean lit up inside like Sam’s dick was some kind of sparkler. If he would just keep doing that, god, please. He was afraid to move, afraid to lose that whole body rush of pleasure Sam was giving him.
He knew he was panting, moaning. Fuck, he could barely keep from begging.
“Did he do you like this, Dean?” Sam’s voice vibrated through him like the hum of the washer. “Did he get you whining like this?”
He wasn’t fucking whining. It was a manly groan.
“Did he?”
“Sam.”
Sam stopped. Fucking stopped. Jerked all the way back until the head of his cock was rubbing outside again.
“Sam.”
Sam stabbed forward, making the burn of the initial breach blend into the so-good friction. All the way out, and slamming, forcing his way in again and again, until Dean was having trouble hanging onto the machine, his cock, his fucking mind.
“Did he?” Sam demanded again.
Fucking hell. “No. Goddamn it, Sam.”
Sam rewarded him with those perfect rolling thrusts again.
“Why, Dean? All those fucking years. You wouldn’t let me, let us. Why him?”
And Sam would probably stop again, because he was showing some ridiculous self-control like he’d never had as a kid, but damn it, Dean was going to give him the truth. “You weren’t fucking there, Sam. You were gone. And you were always gonna leave.”
“Dean.” Sam dropped down over his back, hips still working in those rolling bursts that were turning Dean inside out.
He didn’t want to give up that ball-juicing rub but he wanted to see Sam’s face. If his brother was still nursing his jealous pissed off look he was going to take him apart somehow. And then the washer went into spin, jerking his hand along his cock, jerking them both hard and fast and he couldn’t think about anything but rushing toward that edge as hard and fast as he could.
And then he was over, pumping into his hand, hips jerking hard as that orgasm just roared through him, splintering light behind his squeezed shut eyes, splintering his fucking spine until everything was liquid inside him, rushing out through his dick, splashing over his fingers.
A total brain shut down followed.
He became aware of his breathing first, short hard breaths, then of Sam shaking hard against him. He could feel the wet slide of their sweat against each other, the gluey come on his belly, Sam’s hand still pressing him down against the cold metal.
“Sam.”
Sam’s mouth pressed a kiss, then a bite on the back of his neck, sucking the skin hard between his teeth. Dean jerked away, separating them with a pull that made him wince.
“Don’t blame that on me this time,” Sam said and as Dean turned gingerly, he was relieved to see Sam peeling off a condom and dropping it in the garbage. He really didn’t feel like well, feeling that all night, while they still had laundry to do. He tossed his shirt in one of the machines still on the wash cycle and pulled up his jeans.
The buzzer on their machine sounded. He was about to point out that he’d had enough time to get off on the machine alone, but a look at Sam’s tight jaw had him turning back to open the washer. The jeans weren’t going to load themselves into the dryer, so awkwardness and issues were going to have to take a back seat to life. Sam handed him a quarter without comment. In fact, other than to hand off quarters, they didn’t look at each other or touch or even speak.
It wasn’t the first time they’d done this uneasy dance. Chores were just another backdrop to their push and pull. There’d been hundreds of trips to laundromats, pranks, fighting, stealing kisses, making or paying bets, though Dean could say it was the first time it’d had ever ended with sex on a washing machine.
The familiarity of the silent work seemed to take away some of the tension, so as he pulled the first bunch of hot dry clothes out, he looked up and caught Sam’s eye.
“We good? You get that possessive shit out of your system?”
Sam dropped another quarter in the dryer with the jeans before answering. His eyes were almost black.
Dean pulled a shirt down over his head. Sam was in front of him in two steps, pressing him back against the hot glass. His brother grabbed a fistful of his fresh new Monsters of Reality shirt.
“No.” Sam ground his hips hard against him, but there was a smile on his face.
“Well, all right.”