Library Sex, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Library Sex
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 097 Writer's choice
Word Count: 2091
Summary: Umm...once again, I blame wandereringray Totally. So, Dean's had a few drinks and comes back to find Sam still hard at work at the local library...and he's horny...and Sam has these huge hands that make Dean crazy...porn-i-ness ensues.
Warnings: Incest (just in case you hadn't figured that out yet, m/m sex, hand!porn, licking, sucking, biting and other fun library activities
This is my fourtieth ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
Sam looks up from his research as Dean sinks into the chair at the end of the table. It’s late, and the library will be closing before too long. “Where you been?” Sam asks as he turns back to the books in front of him.
“Nowhere. How’s it coming?” Dean thinks that sounded pretty good, considering.
Sam shrugs and jots down another name. “So far I have 5 possibilities, all named Jacob Warren, all killed under strange circumstances in the last 200 years.”
“Tha’s a little odd, isn’ it?” Shit, that sounded a little less good.
Sam tilts his head to the side and looks at his brother. “Are you drunk?”
Dean considers the question, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as if he could taste the alcohol there and know for sure. “Nah…jus…had a few drinks ‘s all.” He’s aiming at dismissive, though in his current state is not sure where the line is.
Sam snorts and turns back to the books. “Figures. I sit here all night digging through historical documents and you go out drinking.”
“You told me to go.” Dean counters, sitting forward. His eyes meet Sam’s and then he grins. “Told me to go get laid or something.”
Sam groans. Dean’s been horny as hell for the last three days, and driving his brother crazy with his needs and Sammy had gotten fed up with him when he tried to feel him up in the dark recesses of the library. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Jealous?” Dean grins. Let Sammy think what he wanted. He’d never tell him that he’d flirted with every pretty girl in town and left them all to come looking for him.
“Just let me finish this and I’ll take you back to the motel and pour you into bed.”
Dean leans back and stretches out his feet, waving his hand dismissively at Sam. “Whatever dude.”
He can tell Sam is trying to ignore him and finish compiling his notes. His left hand is splayed out across a page of scribbled names and dates, tracing family lines as he transcribed them more neatly into a notebook on his right.
Dean watches from under hooded eyes, looking at the long eyelashes that hide Sam’s eyes from him, down the long sweep of his nose, over his chin…his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows and Dean licks his lips.
A movement on the table draws his attention and Dean follows Sam’s hand as it grazes across the paper and back, double checking his work. Sam has enormous hands, long fingers that make Dean a little crazy sometimes. Right now the back of that hand is scratched, one long cut under the little finger, stretching all the way to the middle finger, and the knuckles are bruised from the fight a few days ago in a bar.
Dean glances up to see what Sam is doing, and when his attention is firmly on what his other hand is doing, Dean reaches forward, covering Sam’s hand with his own. His is smaller, not by a whole lot, but smaller. Sam’s skin is hot, dry. Dean drags his hand over it, his fingers starting at Sam’s wrist, sliding down until they rest on the bruised flesh.
He feels Sam still, turn. “Dean, what are you doing?”
“Checking.” Dean says, his fingers playing around the knuckles lightly. Sam winces, but doesn’t pull away.
“Checking what?”
“Damage.”
Sam makes this tiny sound in his chest when Dean presses just a little too hard, but still doesn’t move to take his hand away. Dean’s fingers move on, sliding over the scabbed cut. He can’t remember where the cut came from, but he knows which spot still hurts, it’s lined in red, the skin surrounding it hot with the offense. Sam hisses slightly and Dean can see him swallow out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m trying to finish, Dean.”
“Finish.” Dean responds, his fingers rubbing down the length of Sam’s, sliding between them. Dean brings his fingertips up to the soft flesh between each finger, caressing softly. God he loves Sam’s hands.
Slowly, Dean lifts the hand, pulling his chair closer and turning so he can’t see Sam’s face. “Dean?” Sam stops as Dean’s lips press against the middle of his palm. It’s soft and light, and Dean lingers just long enough to feel Sam’s attention slide back to his pen.
The tip of his tongue pokes out of his lips as he moves his kiss to the heel of his hand, pressing kisses along the curve under his thumb. Sam clears his throat and Dean smiles against his skin. He knows that sound. It’s a sure sign Sam is getting hard and is uncomfortable about it. He opens his mouth just a little more and moves back around the base of his thumb and across to the other side, leaving damp skin behind.
“Dean…stop…”
“Not doing nothing.” Dean says, his tongue curling around the side of Sam’s hand.
“I need my hand.”
“Need it more.” Dean responds, moving still closer. He turns the hand over and kisses over the cut, tongue sliding out and pressing against the sore spot before moving up to suckle at his knuckles.
“Damn.” It’s scarcely a whisper, and an admission that Dean latches onto, moving his mouth down the length of Sam’s middle finger…the one he broke when he was seventeen, the one with a middle knuckle that was larger than the others. He reaches the tip and sucks on it lightly, pressing blunt teeth against the fingernail as he pulls his mouth slowly away.
Dean has both hands on Sam’s one now, enveloping the hot skin with his own burning flesh, caressing and turning, bringing it up to rub along his stubbled chin, over his jaw until Sam’s thumb sits against his lip. Dean’s tongue darts out to taste, curling around the lower part of the digit, under the knuckle and over the web of skin stretched between the thumb and the hand.
Sam’s stopped pretending to do anything at all with his other hand, and is slowly moving closer to Dean. His tiny moans are sinking directly into Dean’s cock, already hard and aching. Dean opens his mouth and takes in the whole of Sam’s thumb, running his tongue over and around and adding the slightest touch of teeth as he dragged it through his mouth.
“Fuck…Dean.”
Dean kisses down his palm, down to the round mound under the thumb. Opening his eyes to look up at his brother, Dean’s lips slip over his skin, over the entire base, closing and sucking until he sees Sam’s eyes flutter closed.
He sighs as he releases the skin, then goes in again, his teeth connecting, digging into the flesh as he sucks hard. It’s going to leave a mark and he knows it. Knows and doesn’t care. Sam’s mouth is open as Dean moves again, rounding the table so he’s directly next to Sam, holding his hand over the space between them.
Dean releases his lips, soothing over the red skin with his tongue before kissing over the bruised knuckles. “Open your jeans.” Dean whispers and Sam stirs, his eyes opening, his pupils large and dark.
“Dean…someone will see.”
Dean smiles against Sam’s hand and slowly lets one of his drift over to where Sam’s right hand lays against the table. He lifts it and moves it slowly to Sam’s lap. “There’s no one here, Sam. No one but you and me.”
“Dean.” It’s breathy and tentative and Dean knows when Sam flexes his right hand against his hardness.
“Want to see you.” Dean whispers, sucking Sam’s index finger into his mouth. Sam’s hand twitches under his and Dean can feel his brother, hot and thick and hard under the denim. Dean’s hand follows Sam’s as it moves to his button, to his zipper, ducking under denim to wrap slowly around himself.
Dean’s other hand caresses against the bruised knuckles as his mouth skips over to Sam’s middle finger, the long digit sliding into his mouth more on Sam’s movement than Dean’s. Their joined hands slide over Sam’s cock, Dean’s fingers twining through Sam’s to feel the soft skin over hard muscle.
Dean pulls Sam’s finger from his mouth and rubs the wet finger over his chin, down his throat, presses Sam’s hand over his collarbone, pressing fingers against fading bruises from a tussle a week or more ago, massaging Sam’s thumb against the pounding vein in his neck.
Sam’s breath hitches, because as much as Dean loves Sam’s hands, Sam loves Dean’s neck. He presses against Dean and Dean’s hand pushes his to go faster as it strokes his cock. Dean let’s his head fall back, pushing forward against Sam, pressing harder as Sam pressed back.
Sam whimpers and Dean’s cock twitches at the sound. “God, Sam.”
Sam’s hand walks up the column of Dean’s neck and two fingers shove into his mouth, taking Dean by surprise. He sucks at them greedily, pulls them in until his teeth are against those knuckles, worrying at the skin. Sam pulls, but Dean holds them in his teeth and pulls harder on Sam’s cock. Slowly, Dean lets his teeth scrape up Sam’s fingers until Sam can nearly pull them free, only he pushes them back in, sliding over Dean’s tongue and out again, following the slow drag of their joined hands.
Dean looks up, meets Sam’s eyes and damn if he isn’t the hottest damn thing he’s ever seen like this. Dean shifts, and Sam’s knee is between his legs, pressing against his cock that he just knows is already leaking, already so close to coming he might not make it long enough to finish Sam.
But Sam is close too, and Dean takes control of his left hand again, pulling it across his jaw and up to his mouth, his tongue sliding over fingers, over the lines of his palm, back to that spot at the base of his thumb. He can feel Sam stiffening, feel it coming, and waits for it, gently suckling the tender mark he’s already made and just as Sam’s hips come up off the chair, Dean bites down, biting and sucking while Sam comes all over the underside of the table and when Dean tastes the light coppery tang of Sam’s blood, his own cock just explodes with only the lightest touch of Sam’s knee.
Sam is panting and Dean is spent, cradling his brother’s hand against his chest while he pulls himself together. Sam frees his right hand, using it to tuck himself back into his jeans. With a deep breath, Dean sits back, letting go of Sam and looking around them as if just realizing where they were. Sam chuckles and rolls his eyes, reaching for his notes.
“We’re closing now boys.” The voice startles them both and they look up at the smile on the elderly librarian’s face. “You’re welcome to come back tomorrow, and I’ll hold these books for you.”
Sam smiles up at her, kicking Dean when he started giggling. “Thank you ma’am. I think we have what we need.”
She nods and turns toward the back of the library. “Just leave those there. I’ll have my granddaughter shelve them tomorrow. I’ll be locking the front door in five minutes.”
Sam gathers what was his and stacks the rest and kicks Dean again to get him moving. “Come on, asshole, let’s get you out of the public before someone realizes what that is staining the front of your jeans.”
Dean smirks and makes no move to hide the stain, walking out of the library as proud as a peacock. He’s only at the bottom of the stairs when Sam’s hand connects with his head. “Ow!”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“Me? Its not like I did it alone.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“I’m the big brother, I’m supposed to be.” Dean stops beside the Impala and grins. “Besides you could have told me to stop.”
“I did.” Sam said, hands on his hips. The expression didn’t exactly match the body language though and Dean shrugged.
“You could have meant it.”
“You’re an ass.”
“And you’re my bitch, Sammy.”
Sam moved up into his brother’s space, looking down on him. His hands delved into Dean’s pockets, pulling him tight against him. “You’re the one with come in your shorts,” he whispered before releasing Dean and coming away with the car keys. “Now get your drunk ass into the car before I decide on payback.”
Title: Library Sex
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 097 Writer's choice
Word Count: 2091
Summary: Umm...once again, I blame wandereringray Totally. So, Dean's had a few drinks and comes back to find Sam still hard at work at the local library...and he's horny...and Sam has these huge hands that make Dean crazy...porn-i-ness ensues.
Warnings: Incest (just in case you hadn't figured that out yet, m/m sex, hand!porn, licking, sucking, biting and other fun library activities
This is my fourtieth ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
Sam looks up from his research as Dean sinks into the chair at the end of the table. It’s late, and the library will be closing before too long. “Where you been?” Sam asks as he turns back to the books in front of him.
“Nowhere. How’s it coming?” Dean thinks that sounded pretty good, considering.
Sam shrugs and jots down another name. “So far I have 5 possibilities, all named Jacob Warren, all killed under strange circumstances in the last 200 years.”
“Tha’s a little odd, isn’ it?” Shit, that sounded a little less good.
Sam tilts his head to the side and looks at his brother. “Are you drunk?”
Dean considers the question, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as if he could taste the alcohol there and know for sure. “Nah…jus…had a few drinks ‘s all.” He’s aiming at dismissive, though in his current state is not sure where the line is.
Sam snorts and turns back to the books. “Figures. I sit here all night digging through historical documents and you go out drinking.”
“You told me to go.” Dean counters, sitting forward. His eyes meet Sam’s and then he grins. “Told me to go get laid or something.”
Sam groans. Dean’s been horny as hell for the last three days, and driving his brother crazy with his needs and Sammy had gotten fed up with him when he tried to feel him up in the dark recesses of the library. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Jealous?” Dean grins. Let Sammy think what he wanted. He’d never tell him that he’d flirted with every pretty girl in town and left them all to come looking for him.
“Just let me finish this and I’ll take you back to the motel and pour you into bed.”
Dean leans back and stretches out his feet, waving his hand dismissively at Sam. “Whatever dude.”
He can tell Sam is trying to ignore him and finish compiling his notes. His left hand is splayed out across a page of scribbled names and dates, tracing family lines as he transcribed them more neatly into a notebook on his right.
Dean watches from under hooded eyes, looking at the long eyelashes that hide Sam’s eyes from him, down the long sweep of his nose, over his chin…his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows and Dean licks his lips.
A movement on the table draws his attention and Dean follows Sam’s hand as it grazes across the paper and back, double checking his work. Sam has enormous hands, long fingers that make Dean a little crazy sometimes. Right now the back of that hand is scratched, one long cut under the little finger, stretching all the way to the middle finger, and the knuckles are bruised from the fight a few days ago in a bar.
Dean glances up to see what Sam is doing, and when his attention is firmly on what his other hand is doing, Dean reaches forward, covering Sam’s hand with his own. His is smaller, not by a whole lot, but smaller. Sam’s skin is hot, dry. Dean drags his hand over it, his fingers starting at Sam’s wrist, sliding down until they rest on the bruised flesh.
He feels Sam still, turn. “Dean, what are you doing?”
“Checking.” Dean says, his fingers playing around the knuckles lightly. Sam winces, but doesn’t pull away.
“Checking what?”
“Damage.”
Sam makes this tiny sound in his chest when Dean presses just a little too hard, but still doesn’t move to take his hand away. Dean’s fingers move on, sliding over the scabbed cut. He can’t remember where the cut came from, but he knows which spot still hurts, it’s lined in red, the skin surrounding it hot with the offense. Sam hisses slightly and Dean can see him swallow out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m trying to finish, Dean.”
“Finish.” Dean responds, his fingers rubbing down the length of Sam’s, sliding between them. Dean brings his fingertips up to the soft flesh between each finger, caressing softly. God he loves Sam’s hands.
Slowly, Dean lifts the hand, pulling his chair closer and turning so he can’t see Sam’s face. “Dean?” Sam stops as Dean’s lips press against the middle of his palm. It’s soft and light, and Dean lingers just long enough to feel Sam’s attention slide back to his pen.
The tip of his tongue pokes out of his lips as he moves his kiss to the heel of his hand, pressing kisses along the curve under his thumb. Sam clears his throat and Dean smiles against his skin. He knows that sound. It’s a sure sign Sam is getting hard and is uncomfortable about it. He opens his mouth just a little more and moves back around the base of his thumb and across to the other side, leaving damp skin behind.
“Dean…stop…”
“Not doing nothing.” Dean says, his tongue curling around the side of Sam’s hand.
“I need my hand.”
“Need it more.” Dean responds, moving still closer. He turns the hand over and kisses over the cut, tongue sliding out and pressing against the sore spot before moving up to suckle at his knuckles.
“Damn.” It’s scarcely a whisper, and an admission that Dean latches onto, moving his mouth down the length of Sam’s middle finger…the one he broke when he was seventeen, the one with a middle knuckle that was larger than the others. He reaches the tip and sucks on it lightly, pressing blunt teeth against the fingernail as he pulls his mouth slowly away.
Dean has both hands on Sam’s one now, enveloping the hot skin with his own burning flesh, caressing and turning, bringing it up to rub along his stubbled chin, over his jaw until Sam’s thumb sits against his lip. Dean’s tongue darts out to taste, curling around the lower part of the digit, under the knuckle and over the web of skin stretched between the thumb and the hand.
Sam’s stopped pretending to do anything at all with his other hand, and is slowly moving closer to Dean. His tiny moans are sinking directly into Dean’s cock, already hard and aching. Dean opens his mouth and takes in the whole of Sam’s thumb, running his tongue over and around and adding the slightest touch of teeth as he dragged it through his mouth.
“Fuck…Dean.”
Dean kisses down his palm, down to the round mound under the thumb. Opening his eyes to look up at his brother, Dean’s lips slip over his skin, over the entire base, closing and sucking until he sees Sam’s eyes flutter closed.
He sighs as he releases the skin, then goes in again, his teeth connecting, digging into the flesh as he sucks hard. It’s going to leave a mark and he knows it. Knows and doesn’t care. Sam’s mouth is open as Dean moves again, rounding the table so he’s directly next to Sam, holding his hand over the space between them.
Dean releases his lips, soothing over the red skin with his tongue before kissing over the bruised knuckles. “Open your jeans.” Dean whispers and Sam stirs, his eyes opening, his pupils large and dark.
“Dean…someone will see.”
Dean smiles against Sam’s hand and slowly lets one of his drift over to where Sam’s right hand lays against the table. He lifts it and moves it slowly to Sam’s lap. “There’s no one here, Sam. No one but you and me.”
“Dean.” It’s breathy and tentative and Dean knows when Sam flexes his right hand against his hardness.
“Want to see you.” Dean whispers, sucking Sam’s index finger into his mouth. Sam’s hand twitches under his and Dean can feel his brother, hot and thick and hard under the denim. Dean’s hand follows Sam’s as it moves to his button, to his zipper, ducking under denim to wrap slowly around himself.
Dean’s other hand caresses against the bruised knuckles as his mouth skips over to Sam’s middle finger, the long digit sliding into his mouth more on Sam’s movement than Dean’s. Their joined hands slide over Sam’s cock, Dean’s fingers twining through Sam’s to feel the soft skin over hard muscle.
Dean pulls Sam’s finger from his mouth and rubs the wet finger over his chin, down his throat, presses Sam’s hand over his collarbone, pressing fingers against fading bruises from a tussle a week or more ago, massaging Sam’s thumb against the pounding vein in his neck.
Sam’s breath hitches, because as much as Dean loves Sam’s hands, Sam loves Dean’s neck. He presses against Dean and Dean’s hand pushes his to go faster as it strokes his cock. Dean let’s his head fall back, pushing forward against Sam, pressing harder as Sam pressed back.
Sam whimpers and Dean’s cock twitches at the sound. “God, Sam.”
Sam’s hand walks up the column of Dean’s neck and two fingers shove into his mouth, taking Dean by surprise. He sucks at them greedily, pulls them in until his teeth are against those knuckles, worrying at the skin. Sam pulls, but Dean holds them in his teeth and pulls harder on Sam’s cock. Slowly, Dean lets his teeth scrape up Sam’s fingers until Sam can nearly pull them free, only he pushes them back in, sliding over Dean’s tongue and out again, following the slow drag of their joined hands.
Dean looks up, meets Sam’s eyes and damn if he isn’t the hottest damn thing he’s ever seen like this. Dean shifts, and Sam’s knee is between his legs, pressing against his cock that he just knows is already leaking, already so close to coming he might not make it long enough to finish Sam.
But Sam is close too, and Dean takes control of his left hand again, pulling it across his jaw and up to his mouth, his tongue sliding over fingers, over the lines of his palm, back to that spot at the base of his thumb. He can feel Sam stiffening, feel it coming, and waits for it, gently suckling the tender mark he’s already made and just as Sam’s hips come up off the chair, Dean bites down, biting and sucking while Sam comes all over the underside of the table and when Dean tastes the light coppery tang of Sam’s blood, his own cock just explodes with only the lightest touch of Sam’s knee.
Sam is panting and Dean is spent, cradling his brother’s hand against his chest while he pulls himself together. Sam frees his right hand, using it to tuck himself back into his jeans. With a deep breath, Dean sits back, letting go of Sam and looking around them as if just realizing where they were. Sam chuckles and rolls his eyes, reaching for his notes.
“We’re closing now boys.” The voice startles them both and they look up at the smile on the elderly librarian’s face. “You’re welcome to come back tomorrow, and I’ll hold these books for you.”
Sam smiles up at her, kicking Dean when he started giggling. “Thank you ma’am. I think we have what we need.”
She nods and turns toward the back of the library. “Just leave those there. I’ll have my granddaughter shelve them tomorrow. I’ll be locking the front door in five minutes.”
Sam gathers what was his and stacks the rest and kicks Dean again to get him moving. “Come on, asshole, let’s get you out of the public before someone realizes what that is staining the front of your jeans.”
Dean smirks and makes no move to hide the stain, walking out of the library as proud as a peacock. He’s only at the bottom of the stairs when Sam’s hand connects with his head. “Ow!”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“Me? Its not like I did it alone.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“I’m the big brother, I’m supposed to be.” Dean stops beside the Impala and grins. “Besides you could have told me to stop.”
“I did.” Sam said, hands on his hips. The expression didn’t exactly match the body language though and Dean shrugged.
“You could have meant it.”
“You’re an ass.”
“And you’re my bitch, Sammy.”
Sam moved up into his brother’s space, looking down on him. His hands delved into Dean’s pockets, pulling him tight against him. “You’re the one with come in your shorts,” he whispered before releasing Dean and coming away with the car keys. “Now get your drunk ass into the car before I decide on payback.”