Tonight, She was Chuck
Title: Tonight, She was Chuck
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: ~1850
Disclaimer: I don't have any part in SPN and am merely a fan. :) Please do not sue; I'm unemployed.
Note: Written for the spnkink_meme prompt Becky writes S/D fanfic and because she made another deal/found cursed object/book of magic/whatever what she writes happens. And plz, if it makes any sense don't write good porn, write smth that Becky would write : Binus: boys already were doing it without any help, but now they are confused, because they don't do it like Becky describes it. Maybe it's who tops who bottoms, maybe it's kinks, etc...
Summary: Becky takes over Chuck's typerwriter and writes S/D pr0n
She went to Chuck’s house on a whim. Well, not a whim really. She missed him. Like, really really missed him. And not because of Sam and Dean. She missed his laugh and the way he held her, she missed watching old B-movies together and drinking cheap wine. She went to his house to fix things. So when she knocked on the door and no one answered, her good mood dampened slightly. She knocked again, and nothing. By the fourth knock and two shouts later, she was angry. He was always home! Hadn’t that been one of their problems? He couldn’t leave his house because of the angels or he needed to be there in case Sam and/or Dean needed him. Again.
She twisted the knob and watched with a trickle of fear as the door popped open. Was he dead? Oh god, she thought. She hoped he wasn’t dead.
She poked her head in and saw the incredibly neatly made living room, and through the door on the other side of the room she saw the kitchen counter cleared. His house was never clean, she thought. Something was definitely wrong. She looked around the room and saw nothing. Not even a body. She closed her eyes and let out a relieved breath. “Chuck?” Becky called out; she shifted her bag on her shoulder and pushed further into the room. “I’m coming in!”
She closed the door behind her and took a breath. Technically, she reasoned, this wasn’t illegal. Entering wasn’t illegal. Breaking and entering was. Or at least that’s what Chuck said Dean had said. And Chuck would totally appreciate her taking Dean’s side.
There was no mail or papers so she couldn't tell how long he’d been gone. But he was gone, she was sure. She spied his typewriter on his desk and the half-filled bottle of whiskey beside it, and squealed. She walked over to it on tiptoes and looked around. He never let her do this, she thought wildly. Only He could touch his typewriter.
She sat at his desk. Ran her fingers over the keys. Gingerly touched the bottle. She bit her lip and grinned. What could it hurt?
She grabbed a few sheets of paper from the stack on the floor and slid the first page into the typewriter. She linked her fingers together, stretched them out over her head and enjoyed the cracks she heard. She poured a glass of whiskey and began typing. She wouldn’t drink the whiskey, of course. I mean, it’s like really alcoholic. And it burns. But that’s what Chuck did when he wrote.
And today she was Chuck.
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Dean opened the bathroom door, his towel barely knotted at his waist. In his other hand was a towel that he used to wipe the drops still clinging to his sculpted chest. The cold air made him shiver and his nipples pebble into tiny buds. He raised the towel to dry his short locks and looked over at Sam. Beautiful Sam.
His brother was seated on the edge of the bed watching TV, elbows bent on his knees and he was flicking from channel to channel, looking for something to watch.
The cries on the television were barely audible. “Dude,” Dean said with a smirk. “It’s not even noon.”
Sam looked over, confused and distressed, “There is nothing on but porn. Like, nothing.”
Dean barely heard a word. He dropped the towel, then wrapped the other one in his hand over his muscular shoulders. Before Sam could move or know what was happening, Dean was on him.
Sam looked down at where Dean was straddling him, then back to Dean’s face. “Seriously? Now?”
Dean shook his head, “Dude, I don’t know. I’m just --”
“Naked.”
“Naked.” Dean tried to pull away, “Dude, come on! Let me go.”
“In my lap,” Sam grinned and tightened his grip on Dean’s thighs.
Sam’s hands rounded Dean’s waist, one pat his brother’s exceptional ass, and Dean leaned closer. “Fuck me,” he begged into Sam’s ear. “Fuck me, Sammy.”
Sam groaned and fell back, pulling Dean with him. Dean’s hands slid under Sam’s shirt, scratching at his stomach and twisting his nipples into tiny buds. Twisting until Sam gasped at the pleasured pain. When Sam moaned, Dean thrust his naked cock against Sam’s clothed member.
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Becky stopped; she pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter.
“Man, writing is easy,” Becky whispered reverently as she skimmed the words on the page. She looked at the whiskey and gulped it down, then poured herself another. That’s what writers did. Drink and write and drink. She gasped as it burned down her throat and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Whoow. Okay. Time for the hard part.”
She giggled. Hard part. She grabbed another sheet, set it, and began again…
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When Sam moaned, Dean thrust his naked cock against Sam’s clothed member. Dean whimpered and clawed his nails down Sam’s sides.
“Naked,” Dean ground out, “I want you naked.”
“Yes,” Sam moaned. He turned his head from side to side; his glorious hair sprawled over the white pillows. Dean looked down at the masterful body before him; toned lines, gorgeous muscle, and deep eyes. His flowing hair and the sweat building along his body. When Sam bit his lower lip, his sexy dimples winked at Dean.
Dean tore Sam’s shirt from his body, pulling and ordering the shirt to hell and back. He wanted Sam naked. And he wanted him naked now. He worked open the button on Sam’s jeans then paused.
Sam looked up, around the room and back to Dean, “What are we doing? It’s, like,” he paused when Dean thrust against his thigh, “noon.”
“Weird, right?” Dean’s hands shook as they pulled the zipper down. His hands never shook. And why did he suddenly think Sam looked like a Greek god?
“Witches?” Sam asked. He ground himself up as Dean pulled the jeans lower.
“Maybe,” Dean agreed, then leaned down and worked his tongue against Sam’s clavicle. “But we haven’t been near witc-Jesus, you taste like sex. I love the taste of you, Sammy.”
Sam looked down as Dean licked and kissed his way down Sam’s body. Love bites and hickeys lining his belly until Dean reached Sam’s throbbing member. Dean looked up, his pupils blown and his plump lips red and glistening. Then he looked back down at Sam's long cock and gasped.
“So beautiful,” he whispered. He caressed Sam’s rippling thighs and breathed in the heavy musk, he pulled Sam’s boxers lower so that he could pull his hardened rod free. Then he licked the crease where Sam's leg met his sex.
Dean looked up into Sam’s eyes, kept his eyes on Sam’s as he lowered his mouth onto the leaking head. Sam tried to stop himself from bucking up, tried to control himself. But then Dean took him down whole in a single motion and Sam cried out.
Jesus, Sam thought blindly, where was this coming from? Fucking, what gag reflex, he thought as he thrust into Dean’s mouth and his hand moved to the back of Dean's head. He looked down as Dean nosed his way against Sam’s stomach and he spread his legs farther as his brother hummed along his cock.
Dean pulled back, gasped, and went down again. He was a man on a sexual mission. He released with a pop, and went down again. Then he licked his tongue along the bottom vein of Sam’s cock and let the spit fall, he slicked it over Sam’s balls and ran two fingers along the underside. Stroking, slowly . Stroking, faster. When Sam keened, fucking keened, Dean thought, Dean pulled free.
He moved his hand to jerk Sammy slowly as he crawled back up his brother’s beautiful body. He kissed into Sam’s mouth, precum and saliva mixing in their mouths. Sam tasted himself on Dean’s mouth and pulled his brother for more.
Dean kept jacking Sam, kept licking into his brother’s mouth, while Sam grabbed the sheets tightly and repeatedly whimpered his brother’s name. He was beautiful, Dean thought. Stretched before him, aroused and begging. Fucking witches, he thought before biting Sam’s ear.
Every time Dean lifted to kiss at Sam’s jaw, Sam would move a shaking hand to Dean’s face and pull him back. “More,” Sam begged. “I need more of you.”
Dean stopped and threw his leg over Sam’s, moved himself so that he hovered over his brother’s cock. The angry head leaking and dripping with saliva and precum.
Sam gripped Dean’s hips, gripped them tighter until he felt the bruises forming, then pushed Dean down. No prep, Sam though wildly. So tight. To the hilt in a single thrust. Dean gasped and cried out, cried out to God and Sammy, then began to move. His body tight and slowly his movements sped up. Dean clawed at Sam, head thrown back. He praised God and heaven and Sam. He declared his love for Sam, for Sam’s gorgeous cock. Skin to skin they were one; they were lovers and more. They were united.
Dean
Becky looked up abruptly when the front door opened and Chuck stood in the doorway with two grocery bags in his hands. “What are you doing?!” Chuck asked.
Some fruit fell out of one of the bags as he rushed over to her. In haste Becky grabbed the pages she’d typed and the one in the typewriter, stuffed them into her bag. She quickly stood and backed away.
“I was looking for you, but you were out,” she squealed, then grinned, “And I was writing you a note. But I didn’t have a pen.” She pointed to the typewriter. “So I wanted to type it.”
Chuck stopped and looked at her, “You can never type on that, Becky.”
“It was just a note, Chuck.” She shrugged and edged her way to the door. “Geez. But you're here now so we don't need that note.” She pushed the pages further into her bag, cringing at the sound of the pages crinkling.
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Dean slowed down suddenly and lightly traced his hands over Sam’s body. He traced his fingers over the welts that were forming on his brother’s chest. The burn had receded and now he felt stretched, full, and alive. Sam’s grip loosened and he slid his hands from Dean’s waist to his shoulders, up his arms to slide around Dean’s neck, then pulled him down and lightly kissed him. He then ran his hands down to link around Dean’s wrists.
He pulled Dean closer. “This is better,” he whispered. Gently he began to thrust into Dean as Dean met him slow beat for slow beat. Dean moved one arm to cradle around Sam’s head, then leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on Sam bruised lips. He lazily sucked Sam’s tongue into his mouth and lightly, playfully, bit his lower lip.
“Fucking witches,” Dean murmured.
EDIT: This has been edited and can be found HERE.