The Gift That Keeps on Giving - Sam/Dean NC-17

[queerly_it_is]

Title - The Gift That Keeps on Giving
Author - queerly_it_is
Pairing - Sam/Dean
Rating - NC-17
Word Count - 2.2k

Warnings - Porn with a dash of plot. Gag!kink, lapsex, exhibitionism/public sex, dirty talk, mentions of comeplay.

Disclaimer - I own neither the show nor the characters. I make no profit.

Summary - Turns out, Sam has no problem with Dean borrowing the gag. He’s also a little bit more of an exhibitionist than he realised.

Authors Notes - By (surprising and oddly heart-warming) popular demand, a sequel to my earlier Sam/Dean gag!kink fic The gift of silence. You probably don't need to read that to understand this but it may help (it's porn *shrugs*). I dunno what it says about me that my porn ends up being a ‘verse. I’m not sure I really mind all that much, honestly.



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Sam has spent what feels like his entire life watching his brother.

His first word was his brother’s name. His first steps were toward his brother. The only times he’s ever had his heart broken; he was either moving toward or walking away from his brother. Growing up, it was his brother he tried hardest to emulate. His brother is everything.

That centre-of-the-universe mentality goes both ways, Sam knows. He also knows it isn’t exactly healthy.

He honestly doesn’t care.

He used to. As a teenager he’d spent so many nights lying in the dark, listening to Dean breathe - or snore, as the case so often was - and wondering how he could possibly have so many tangled, twisted, conflicting, all-consuming feelings for just one person.

The word ‘family’ doesn’t cover it. No words do. The words ‘family’ or ‘brother’ mean something very different than they do to the rest of the world, when your last name is Winchester.

Sam has been in love with his brother for as long as he can remember, before he knew that there were different kinds of love, or what the word even really meant.

They live, breathe, fight, bleed, die and are resurrected; all for one another.

They share a soul. They share a Heaven. They share a bed.

Sam has given up on questioning it; trying to define it or understand it. He just accepts it, because he needs it.

Now, he’s slumped down on the worn foam padding of a too-small folding chair, sitting in the back row of a darkened movie theatre, the squish of old popcorn under his boots, watching his brother again; this time as he rides his cock with a ball gag strapped in his mouth.

The gag had been a gift. So is this, in its own way.

They don’t do it this way all that often, for no reason either of them has ever cared enough about to stop analyse; there’s no real need to. Dean is kind of a toppy bastard, and Sam is too invested in getting off with his brother to question it.

Remember what he said about it not being healthy? He really doesn’t care.

The theatre is all-but empty; it’s the middle of the afternoon in a small town, on a Thursday, and the only other people in the place are four teenagers near the front that’re too involved in their own activities to bother looking in the far corner of the back row.

Doesn’t matter that there’s practically no one else here, though, Sam gets that it’s the idea of discovery that Dean’s getting off on; the thought that the pimply usher with the dim flashlight could wander through, or the truant kids at the front could turn around and see them. He feels his cock jerk inside the tight, slick grip of Dean’s ass, and thinks maybe his brother isn’t the only one with an exhibitionist streak.

Sam can just make out the obscene stretch of Dean’s lips around the gag, the dark band of soft leather that keeps it in place. He can barely hear the muffled sounds Dean is making as Sam grips his hips a little tighter and tugs him down onto his cock, lifts him bodily upwards, and then does it again, harder.

Sam isn’t the only one who’s loud when he’s getting fucked.

He isn’t sure how long they’ve been here, doesn’t really matter anyway; but that small part of his brain that’s always taking in details notes that it’s no longer the same movie playing as when they started; when Dean had slid into his lap with all the grace and barely-restrained power of a jungle cat, hungry look in his eyes and smirk on his face as he’d slicked Sam up and lowered himself steadily onto him, grip of internal muscle opening smooth and easy where he’d stretched himself in the bathroom earlier.

Sam’s gotten off three times, by his count, Dean at least that many; no real break in between; Sam shoved up inside his brother the whole time. The fact that they’re both straddling thirty makes that pretty fucking impressive, far as Sam’s concerned.

This’ll probably be the last round though; Dean is gonna wanna drive when they leave town in the morning, and no way is he gonna be capable of that if they overdo it; he’s gonna be squirmy as hell as it is. Sam kinda likes that idea.

He shifts upright a little more in the seat, moves Dean along with him like a rag doll, muscles in his brother’s legs probably exhausted with all the push-and-pull they’ve been doing. He puts a hand to the middle of Dean’s back, spreads his fingers far as he can, palm spanning the warm expanse of muscle and freckled skin hidden beneath the thin, black tee he’s wearing, sweat sticking it to him in a long line down to his bare ass, and tugs him in.

He pulls Dean closer to him as he shifts and grinds his hips in a way he knows is scraping over Dean’s abused prostate, feels the shiver run all through him where he’s sprawled on Sam’s lap, arms braced on the back of the chair either side of Sam’s head, like a completed circuit.

He can feel the sticky-wet length of Dean’s dick bobbing against his stomach with each bounce of his brother’s body. He’s coming dry at this point, but there’s enough jizz slicking his skin to leave wet smears on the hem of Sam’s shirt and the exposed strip of his abs where it‘s ridden up.

He runs one hand up to the back of Dean’s head, while his other stays splayed over his hip, keeping his movements regular and even. He slips his fingers into what little give there is in the strap buckled just above Dean’s neck, and uses it to tug him down, until his face is beside Sam’s and Sam can whisper smoker-rough into his brother’s ear.

“Loving this, aren’t you Dean?” Tone smug as he can make it while still being reasonably quiet, enjoying the chance to be the one talking for a change while Dean’s mouth is stuffed with the gag.

“You’re so fucking wet Dean. So much come in you. Should’ve brought a plug too, so I can keep it all inside you when we leave, just let you hold it there for me ‘till we get to the next state and I can bend you over the car and eat it outta you.” He feels the vibration of Dean’s groan as it runs up his throat and sticks behind the gag.

He used to be awful at this talking stuff; blushing and stammering and awkward where Dean seemed to take to it the same way he takes to anything sex-related; smoothly and with so much confidence you’d think he’d invented the damn kink in the first place.

He’s had a lot of practice by now though, and the fact that when they’re like this Dean seems somehow smaller and more vulnerable than Sam’s used him being actually helps a lot; mask of cocky indifference not so thick. Seeing Dean like this always awakens something in Sam that’s both protective and predatory at the same time; something that makes him wanna fuck Dean so hard and ruthless he can’t move for days, while also wanting to shield him and take of him and make sure he knows just how much Sam loves him.

But Dean’s only ever gonna be comfortable with one of those, so Sam tries to combine them as much as he can and still get away with it.

“So fucking good Dean; still so tight and hot and perfect no matter how hard I fuck you. Made for me, Dean. Made for me to take and use any way I want.” Gets him another shiver, and Sam is so right about Dean’s overcompensating control-issues it’s not even funny. He fucks up harder, deeper, makes Dean rise higher off his dick before he lets him drop back down again.

“Anyone could see you like this Dean; see how much of a slut you are when I’ve got my cock in you.” Pulls Dean’s body down and holds him there as he circles his hips, extra stretch making Dean jerk and his cock leak a pathetic dribble of precome that shines in the flashing lights from the screen.

“I think you like that idea Dean. You want someone to see you getting fucked? Maybe I should’ve faced you the other way, huh? So they could all see your pretty mouth all stretched and gagged up.” Another sharp thrust at just the right angle, sensation of orgasm starting to pool at the base of his spine.

“You gonna come again, Dean? Come with your brother’s cock in you? Scream for me Dean, c’mon, let it out.” Shifting his hips up, shoving his dick into Dean hard as he can in this position, with Dean almost too fucked-out to help. He nails Dean’s prostate over and over, then takes his hand off of Dean’s hip and wraps it around his burning-hot length. He knows Dean’s gotta be sore by now, but Sam knows he’s gonna make him come again anyway.

Grip slicked up by whatever earlier release has run down his skin and coated him, Sam fucks into Dean with just the right force to push Dean’s cock into his fist. Dean’s got his head on Sam’s shoulder now, hands loosely clasped behind his neck, eyes barely open and so black Sam knows it isn’t just from the lack of light in here, and fuck he’s so easy to just move around like this.

“Give it up Dean, know you wanna come again, so hard and needy for me. C’mon Dean.” Coaxing, almost goading tone as he pistons in and out of the wet heat, thumb stroking over the sensitive slit, flicking under the head. When Dean finally does come, he just leaks a small amount of milky-white as his gorgeous dick twitches hard in Sam’s hand, muscles clenching as much as they can around him after being fucked steadily and repeatedly for who-knows how long.

It’s still enough to make Sam lose it himself, though. Small load pumping into Dean to join the rest, and fuck next time they do this they are definitely bringing a plug.

“Gonna fill up you up Dean.” Words shot and voice like sandpaper. “Can feel my dick pushing all that come around inside you.” One last spine-melting thrust to ride out the aftershocks, and Dean just melts onto him like his puppeteer just let go of the strings. Sam can feel the breath punching out of his nose and through the vents in the gag.

He strokes over Dean’s back as he tries to get some blood flowing into the other parts of his body, and then gently uses both hands around the back of Deans head to undo the gag. He cradles Dean’s stubble-scratchy jaw as he takes the ball out of his mouth, and tries to see in the darkness of the theatre as Dean works his jaw around, trying to get rid of the ache.

Sam puts the gag to one side, hands Dean the bottle of water on the seat next to him, and Dean downs half of it in one long swallow; sweat-damp line of his throat working, eyes closed, head tipped back; looking every bit the hedonist Sam’s always accusing him of being. He’s fucking beautiful when he’s wrecked like this, just for Sam.

Gulping down the rest of the water, Dean drops his head to Sam’s shoulder again, looking completely wrung-out now.

“Dude, you’re gonna hafta carry me outta here.” Rough, papery-thin words as he presses a sucking kiss to the side of Sam’s neck.

“Like my legs are gonna work after having you on toppa me for so long?” Turning into the kiss and wetting Dean’s stretched-out lips with his own.

“Callin’ me fat, Sammy?” Gets him a snort as Sam nips along his jaw to his ear, starts whispering again.

“Not lettin’ you clean up, Dean, gonna keep you wet and messy, so anyone that gets close to you’ll know you’ve just been fucked.” Nice to hear Dean’s moaning out loud again after having him gagged for so long.

“If you get hard again; you’re on your own. No way I’m goin’ again for like, a week.” Real tiredness creeping in, and yeah Sam’s not exactly up for another round either.

“You’d last two days before you jumped me and you know it.” Manages to get Dean’s jeans up his legs, diligently ignoring the small river of come and lube running down the backs of his thighs.

“Not all of us are used to the monk-style sex life Sammy.” Barely any concentration in the words at all, and Sam just knows the bastard’ll fall asleep here if he lets him.

“Don’t think you had any complaints, during that.” Needlessly pointed out, the way Dean’s moulded to him like the other half of a sculpture.

“I was gagged.” Weak retort making Sam snort a laugh as he kisses Dean again.

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna get outta here? There’s a real bed back in the room.” Trying to make it sound as enticing as he can; ass numb and legs aching from being in the old chair with 6’1” of solid muscle sitting on him. Dean sorta squishes in against him, head turning to see what’s on the screen.

“Mm. Can’t we watch the end’o the movie, first?”

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