And Then You Stole My Comb, You Asshole: R, Wincest
Dean is still sniggering and Sam looks out the window. Sighs. Wondered if maybe somebody (Gabriel?) had heard his mental prayers to be close to Dean again, and taken them in a totally not-funny and not-cool direction. Genies were always doing that sort of thing, and monkey’s paws.
“You missed the best part, dude.” Dean doesn’t bother looking away from the road at him; they both know what expression Sam is wearing right now. “When I had Lacy down on the bed, but I was eating Wendy out, and then I get this idea, right? Like maybe I can get them to come at the same time - ” Sam concentrates on what little he can see of the view: forty feet of ill-tended field, fading into the darkness. It may actually be the most boring scenery possible. Dean prods him.
“Dude. Listen when a man is talking,” he chides. Sam grimaces, trying to replace mental images by force. Dean isn’t a bad-looking dude, but come on, brother.
In the split-second before he reacts, Sam watches Dean fall to his knees at the hit and wonders why they never consider what might happen on a hunt if one of them actually gets whammied. He dispatches the succubus with little trouble, because she’s too distracted, can’t quite keep her eyes off Dean as the venom gets to work in his system, even as she turns to run for her life. Done in by her own sex drive. She and Dean could’ve been great together.
Dean’s already woozy and grinning as Sam helps him up. “Mmmm,” he says into Sam’s hair, jelly-legged. “Man, why am I always the one who ends up all… all incapacitated?” Sam rolls his eyes in a long-suffering fashion, because he and Dean have bickered about this before and Dean is well-aware of the controversial nature of that assertion.
“You gonna help me pick up some ladies, Sammy?” Dean almost falls into the passenger seat when Sam releases him, trying to at least guide him so he doesn’t end up on his ass in the mud. “Or…” Dean wiggled his eyebrows comically, “you gonna take care of me yourself?”
Sam is sliding into the driver’s seat, and looks over in wide-eyed shock. “What?” He asks. “Eeww, dude.”
Dean shrugs, nonchalant, as Sam starts the engine. “Just saying. Not sure the chicks go for guys who can’t stand up.”
“So the next place your mind goes is me fucking you?” Sam shoots him a look. “That’s just messed up, man.”
Dean frowns, considering. “Well, I dunno, dude! Next few towns have any hookers?” Sam purses his lips, frowning. “Yeah, yeah, exploitation. Sammy, you never let me have any fun.” Sam looks over, and Dean is being utterly sincere. Furthermore, he’s pouting. Tonight is really weird.
“Besides,” Dean adds, “Who said anything about you fucking me? Yeah, right! You could skewer an ox with that thing.” And now Sam is blushing. Great. “Besides, I’m the victim here. And!” (Another exciting point occurs to him). “And I’m older! I’d totally get to top.” Dean nods decisively.
Sam would like to say Dean hasn’t used the I’m-the-big-brother line of reasoning since they were kids, but it’s a lie. At least since college, he usually restricts it to when he’s drunk.
“You’re doing a great job persuading me,” Sam replies dryly. “I bet you’ll be a skilled, considerate lover.”
Dean sputters. “Sam!” He sounds almost hurt. “Do not insult the Lover, or you will face the Warrior. I have mad skills! My women always leave satisfied. I’m… I’m like Denny’s. But way better, and for sex.” Sam snorts a laugh at that.
“Sounds thrilling.” God, being condescending is fun.
Conversation stops as they reach the town. As they sweep down Elm Street (the one street in town, basically), a sobering fact occurs to both of them. Something that really should’ve been on their minds before now.
It’s five AM. The town is deserted. Bars are long-closed. Streets are empty.
“Crap.” Sam observes as he takes in their situation.
Dean sighs. “We could try to drive to Capital City.” His voice says he doesn’t want to suggest it. Sam looks over, and Dean’s trying to be mature and sympathetic. He also has a huge boner. Capital City would definitely have hookers, plenty of them, 24/7. But Capital City is two and a half hours away.
Sam looks to the heavens, and heaves the deepest sigh this side of meditation. And turns into the motel parking lot.
Dean is raring to go, almost jittery despite his lack of strength or balance. He gets somewhat better when Sam is touching him, which makes sense. Anyway, they get into the room okay. Sam dumps Dean on the bed, because that angle was really awkward, and now his back hurts. He straightens up, taking a moment.
Dean sprawls back, and Sam frowns curiously as Dean reaches into his jeans back-pocket, movements sloppy. He gets out his wallet and flips it open, then takes out two packets - one, square, is obviously a condom. And the other, larger - is that lube?
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.
“What? Be prepared. Boy Scouts.” Dean scowls at Sam’s continued incredulity. “Whatever, learning with dad was basically boy scouts. We just didn’t have those fruity neckerchiefs. Hey, I got a compass and a bowie in the other pocket.” It hardly seems like Dean is in a position to decide what is and isn’t fruity if he’s about to be having sex with another man, but at this point it isn’t worth mentioning.
“Fine,” Sam sighs, and reluctantly begins to strip.
He isn’t sure if he’s expecting Dean to object, but Dean doesn’t seem about to, since he’s unzipped and is now jacking himself as he watches, lust tempered with impatience. Sam hurries it up, then sets to work on Dean, who makes a mournful noise as his hand is (by necessity) pulled off his cock so Sam can remove his shirt. He’s happy again as Sam pulls down his pants, only then realizing that Dean is still wearing his socks and shoes. Irritated, Sam kneels and pries them off. Dean’s legs bend and separate as they’re freed. Sam gets back up, and sees that Dean has opened the packet of lube and is about to apply some to his cock.
“Dean!” Sam reprimands. Dean looks up.
“You should put the condom on first,” Sam starts blushing a little as he says it, and has to look away.
Dean nods contemplatively. “Fair point.” One hand is already slippery, but he opens the foil packet with the other hand and his teeth, and rolls the condom down in one quick gesture. Sam mentally skips right over the implications of this practiced ease. He looks down at Dean as his fingers rub himself over the condom, feeling a bit lost.
Dean sees Sam’s expression and rolls his eyes. “Alright, come on,” he pats the bed next to him. Sam lies down slowly, not sure if he should be on his stomach, or what. Dean grins at him, and before Sam knows what’s happening Dean has sat up partway and twisted himself over to Sam’s own confused cock. Sam cranes his neck just in time to see it enter Dean’s mouth. Then his head thumps back down, because, wow.
Sam is lost for a few minutes, floaty and boneless, and maybe he should do this more often. Then Dean pulls off, sits up, and grins down cheekily.
“Why’d you stop?” Sam can’t stop himself asking. Dean’s grin gets even wider.
“Mad skills. Right? Anyway, it’s time for fuckin’.”
They scoot around, Sam separating his legs, lifting one over Dean’s head as his brother finds his place. Dean grabs the lube packet off Sam’s belly where he left it (for safekeeping) and empties it out onto his fingers, getting to work prepping Sam with obvious enthusiasm. Sam relaxes, lying back. This, he muses, is not half-bad. Not that he’ll admit it to Dean.
Dean slaps his thigh, and Sam looks up. “Ready or not,” Dean says with a smile. Sam fidgets a little, nervous.
“Okay,” he nods.
Dean goes slow. When he’s all the way in, Sam closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling. Dean is breathing hard next to his ear, and Sam hears him swear.
“What am I?” Sam asks.
Dean whimpers. “The best little brother ever.” Then he pulls back, and things really get started.
“Dean,” Sam gets out between thrusts. “You - so - owe - me - for - this.” His breath catches as Dean brushes his prostate.
“Yeah - right …. Sammy,” Dean seems to be having more trouble with sentences. “If - you’re - not - into - it - then - you - should’ve - told - your - dick.” Which is a good point, Sam concedes. But as Dean kisses him, Sam decides he could really do without all the dirty talk. I mean, seriously? Do all his hookups have to put up with this?
“Dude,” Dean’s elbow hits Sam’s ribs. Sam ignores him. He’s sleepy.
“Dude,” Dean tries again. “Your O-face? Is like this,” Dean bites his lip, bugs out his eyes, and flares one nostril as wide as it goes.
“Mmmm,” Sam murmurs. “Shut up.”
“Just thought you might like some warning. You’ll scare off all comers with that thing, man, seriously. And that blowjob?” Yes, they’d gone multiple times. You don’t get rid of succubus venom that easy. Plus, they’d kind of gotten into it. “Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but man do you need some practice. Ow!”
Sam headbutts Dean’s shoulder. Finally, some quiet.
Dean is kicking Sam under the table. Sometimes Sam wishes Dean had an easier time expressing himself verbally.
“Dude,” Dean is making suggestive expressions at him, smirking and working the eyebrows. “We should totally bang later. Like, after we talk to the dude and his daughter. C’mon.” Sam is trying to study the menu, but Dean won’t let him be.
“Keep it down, dude. These people probably don’t like hearing about gay incestuous sex at lunch.”
Dean gestures dismissively. “Bunch of prudes.” His eyes turn back to Sam, trying for “pleading”. “Come on, Sammy. I’ll totally blow you.” Jesus.
“Fine,” Sam tries to sound distracted, but now he’s starting to look forward to it, too. “But you’re going to have to try bottoming some time, you know.”
Dean avoids his gaze. “Yeah, sure.” Sam pressed his lips together and vows to himself that it will happen before the week is out.
Turns out Dean really loves bottoming, a fact which confuses him to no end. Out of concern for his fragile male ego, Sam doesn’t even make fun of him about it. For almost two whole days.
“You missed the best part, dude.” Dean doesn’t bother looking away from the road at him; they both know what expression Sam is wearing right now. “When I had Lacy down on the bed, but I was eating Wendy out, and then I get this idea, right? Like maybe I can get them to come at the same time - ” Sam concentrates on what little he can see of the view: forty feet of ill-tended field, fading into the darkness. It may actually be the most boring scenery possible. Dean prods him.
“Dude. Listen when a man is talking,” he chides. Sam grimaces, trying to replace mental images by force. Dean isn’t a bad-looking dude, but come on, brother.
In the split-second before he reacts, Sam watches Dean fall to his knees at the hit and wonders why they never consider what might happen on a hunt if one of them actually gets whammied. He dispatches the succubus with little trouble, because she’s too distracted, can’t quite keep her eyes off Dean as the venom gets to work in his system, even as she turns to run for her life. Done in by her own sex drive. She and Dean could’ve been great together.
Dean’s already woozy and grinning as Sam helps him up. “Mmmm,” he says into Sam’s hair, jelly-legged. “Man, why am I always the one who ends up all… all incapacitated?” Sam rolls his eyes in a long-suffering fashion, because he and Dean have bickered about this before and Dean is well-aware of the controversial nature of that assertion.
“You gonna help me pick up some ladies, Sammy?” Dean almost falls into the passenger seat when Sam releases him, trying to at least guide him so he doesn’t end up on his ass in the mud. “Or…” Dean wiggled his eyebrows comically, “you gonna take care of me yourself?”
Sam is sliding into the driver’s seat, and looks over in wide-eyed shock. “What?” He asks. “Eeww, dude.”
Dean shrugs, nonchalant, as Sam starts the engine. “Just saying. Not sure the chicks go for guys who can’t stand up.”
“So the next place your mind goes is me fucking you?” Sam shoots him a look. “That’s just messed up, man.”
Dean frowns, considering. “Well, I dunno, dude! Next few towns have any hookers?” Sam purses his lips, frowning. “Yeah, yeah, exploitation. Sammy, you never let me have any fun.” Sam looks over, and Dean is being utterly sincere. Furthermore, he’s pouting. Tonight is really weird.
“Besides,” Dean adds, “Who said anything about you fucking me? Yeah, right! You could skewer an ox with that thing.” And now Sam is blushing. Great. “Besides, I’m the victim here. And!” (Another exciting point occurs to him). “And I’m older! I’d totally get to top.” Dean nods decisively.
Sam would like to say Dean hasn’t used the I’m-the-big-brother line of reasoning since they were kids, but it’s a lie. At least since college, he usually restricts it to when he’s drunk.
“You’re doing a great job persuading me,” Sam replies dryly. “I bet you’ll be a skilled, considerate lover.”
Dean sputters. “Sam!” He sounds almost hurt. “Do not insult the Lover, or you will face the Warrior. I have mad skills! My women always leave satisfied. I’m… I’m like Denny’s. But way better, and for sex.” Sam snorts a laugh at that.
“Sounds thrilling.” God, being condescending is fun.
Conversation stops as they reach the town. As they sweep down Elm Street (the one street in town, basically), a sobering fact occurs to both of them. Something that really should’ve been on their minds before now.
It’s five AM. The town is deserted. Bars are long-closed. Streets are empty.
“Crap.” Sam observes as he takes in their situation.
Dean sighs. “We could try to drive to Capital City.” His voice says he doesn’t want to suggest it. Sam looks over, and Dean’s trying to be mature and sympathetic. He also has a huge boner. Capital City would definitely have hookers, plenty of them, 24/7. But Capital City is two and a half hours away.
Sam looks to the heavens, and heaves the deepest sigh this side of meditation. And turns into the motel parking lot.
Dean is raring to go, almost jittery despite his lack of strength or balance. He gets somewhat better when Sam is touching him, which makes sense. Anyway, they get into the room okay. Sam dumps Dean on the bed, because that angle was really awkward, and now his back hurts. He straightens up, taking a moment.
Dean sprawls back, and Sam frowns curiously as Dean reaches into his jeans back-pocket, movements sloppy. He gets out his wallet and flips it open, then takes out two packets - one, square, is obviously a condom. And the other, larger - is that lube?
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.
“What? Be prepared. Boy Scouts.” Dean scowls at Sam’s continued incredulity. “Whatever, learning with dad was basically boy scouts. We just didn’t have those fruity neckerchiefs. Hey, I got a compass and a bowie in the other pocket.” It hardly seems like Dean is in a position to decide what is and isn’t fruity if he’s about to be having sex with another man, but at this point it isn’t worth mentioning.
“Fine,” Sam sighs, and reluctantly begins to strip.
He isn’t sure if he’s expecting Dean to object, but Dean doesn’t seem about to, since he’s unzipped and is now jacking himself as he watches, lust tempered with impatience. Sam hurries it up, then sets to work on Dean, who makes a mournful noise as his hand is (by necessity) pulled off his cock so Sam can remove his shirt. He’s happy again as Sam pulls down his pants, only then realizing that Dean is still wearing his socks and shoes. Irritated, Sam kneels and pries them off. Dean’s legs bend and separate as they’re freed. Sam gets back up, and sees that Dean has opened the packet of lube and is about to apply some to his cock.
“Dean!” Sam reprimands. Dean looks up.
“You should put the condom on first,” Sam starts blushing a little as he says it, and has to look away.
Dean nods contemplatively. “Fair point.” One hand is already slippery, but he opens the foil packet with the other hand and his teeth, and rolls the condom down in one quick gesture. Sam mentally skips right over the implications of this practiced ease. He looks down at Dean as his fingers rub himself over the condom, feeling a bit lost.
Dean sees Sam’s expression and rolls his eyes. “Alright, come on,” he pats the bed next to him. Sam lies down slowly, not sure if he should be on his stomach, or what. Dean grins at him, and before Sam knows what’s happening Dean has sat up partway and twisted himself over to Sam’s own confused cock. Sam cranes his neck just in time to see it enter Dean’s mouth. Then his head thumps back down, because, wow.
Sam is lost for a few minutes, floaty and boneless, and maybe he should do this more often. Then Dean pulls off, sits up, and grins down cheekily.
“Why’d you stop?” Sam can’t stop himself asking. Dean’s grin gets even wider.
“Mad skills. Right? Anyway, it’s time for fuckin’.”
They scoot around, Sam separating his legs, lifting one over Dean’s head as his brother finds his place. Dean grabs the lube packet off Sam’s belly where he left it (for safekeeping) and empties it out onto his fingers, getting to work prepping Sam with obvious enthusiasm. Sam relaxes, lying back. This, he muses, is not half-bad. Not that he’ll admit it to Dean.
Dean slaps his thigh, and Sam looks up. “Ready or not,” Dean says with a smile. Sam fidgets a little, nervous.
“Okay,” he nods.
Dean goes slow. When he’s all the way in, Sam closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling. Dean is breathing hard next to his ear, and Sam hears him swear.
“What am I?” Sam asks.
Dean whimpers. “The best little brother ever.” Then he pulls back, and things really get started.
“Dean,” Sam gets out between thrusts. “You - so - owe - me - for - this.” His breath catches as Dean brushes his prostate.
“Yeah - right …. Sammy,” Dean seems to be having more trouble with sentences. “If - you’re - not - into - it - then - you - should’ve - told - your - dick.” Which is a good point, Sam concedes. But as Dean kisses him, Sam decides he could really do without all the dirty talk. I mean, seriously? Do all his hookups have to put up with this?
“Dude,” Dean’s elbow hits Sam’s ribs. Sam ignores him. He’s sleepy.
“Dude,” Dean tries again. “Your O-face? Is like this,” Dean bites his lip, bugs out his eyes, and flares one nostril as wide as it goes.
“Mmmm,” Sam murmurs. “Shut up.”
“Just thought you might like some warning. You’ll scare off all comers with that thing, man, seriously. And that blowjob?” Yes, they’d gone multiple times. You don’t get rid of succubus venom that easy. Plus, they’d kind of gotten into it. “Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but man do you need some practice. Ow!”
Sam headbutts Dean’s shoulder. Finally, some quiet.
Dean is kicking Sam under the table. Sometimes Sam wishes Dean had an easier time expressing himself verbally.
“Dude,” Dean is making suggestive expressions at him, smirking and working the eyebrows. “We should totally bang later. Like, after we talk to the dude and his daughter. C’mon.” Sam is trying to study the menu, but Dean won’t let him be.
“Keep it down, dude. These people probably don’t like hearing about gay incestuous sex at lunch.”
Dean gestures dismissively. “Bunch of prudes.” His eyes turn back to Sam, trying for “pleading”. “Come on, Sammy. I’ll totally blow you.” Jesus.
“Fine,” Sam tries to sound distracted, but now he’s starting to look forward to it, too. “But you’re going to have to try bottoming some time, you know.”
Dean avoids his gaze. “Yeah, sure.” Sam pressed his lips together and vows to himself that it will happen before the week is out.
Turns out Dean really loves bottoming, a fact which confuses him to no end. Out of concern for his fragile male ego, Sam doesn’t even make fun of him about it. For almost two whole days.