May 2nd
Title: May 2nd
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 658
Summary: Sam gets an invitation to the kitchen for some reason...
A/N: A day late, but hey, I wrote words! And if that alone wasn't cause enough for celebration, Sammy's birthday certainly is. Set in the current season, probably, with absolutely zilcho spoilers.
Sam was slumped forward over the table, head resting on his arms. He’d only been resting his eyes for a minute, however long ago that was, his back was certainly protesting it now. He lifted his head slowly, stretching his arms up and back as he sat up and arching his back until he heard a crack. “Mmm.”
He yawned as he brought his arms back down, rubbing across his eyes and pushing his hair back out of his face. Blinking as he stared down at his research, brow furrowing as he noticed something that hadn’t been there before he shut his eyes. A note. He ran his thumb over Dean’s scrawl.
Meet me in the kitchen.
Sam’s eyebrow arched as he read it again. Since when did Dean not just slap him awake?
“Meet me in the kitchen?”
Was it breakfast time already? And if it was why hadn’t Dean just written, breakfast. Though of course the issue at hand was still the fact that he’d written anything at all. Notes were usually reserved for when they left the bunker without each other.
Sam shook his head on another yawn and he took another stretch before pushing himself up out of the chair. To go meet Dean in the kitchen, apparently.
He paused in the doorway, taking in the array of used bowls and utensils -and cake tins- and his brother, piping bag in hand, frosting a cake. That apparently he’d baked.
Dean had baked a cake and was now frosting it.
“Dean. What are you doing?”
Dean’s eyebrow quirked up at that, “Pirouetting. What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Sam snorted. Now Dean was making ballet references, if it was the other way around, Dean wouldn’t let that slide. But bigger picture.
“You baked. What’s the occasion?”
“You don’t really need me to tell you that do you?”
Oh.
Right.
“Is it May already?”
“Has been for a whole day now,” Dean said as he put the bag of frosting down, and he looked at his watch, taking a few steps towards his brother, “But since it’s officially past midnight. Happy Birthday, moron.”
“Thanks, jackass,” Sam said as Dean stepped within his grasp and he got his hand in Dean’s shirt and pulled him in the rest of the way.
“Hey, I made you a cake.”
“You did,” Sam gave Dean a quick kiss and then moved to get a better look at said cake, it was kind of beautiful, perfect even, it never ceased to amaze him just how good Dean was in the kitchen, “No candles?”
“Hmm,” Dean pressed himself up against Sam’s back, wrapping his arms around him, “I know something better that’s in need of blowing.”
Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “It’s my birthday.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, nose brushing along the back of Sam’s neck as he let one hand drop down to palm Sam’s crotch, “it is. I don’t gotta sing, do I?”
“Please don’t.”
Dean slapped him with both hands against his back, and Sam turned around to face him as Dean cupped his arm, “You love my voice.”
“Talking? Yeah. Dirty talking-”
A lascivious grin lighting up Dean’s entire face, “So you admit it?”
“I’m not ashamed.”
Dean gave him an mmhmm kinda look, and then let his gaze drop back down to the front of Sam’s pants and he got down on his knees.
“Dean,” Sam said as his big brother mouthed over the bulge in his jeans, one hand resting just beside his zipper. And Sam whined a little.
“Say please.”
“Please,” and Sam didn’t care how quickly he’d said it, it got Dean to unfasten his jeans, made Sam’s shoulders twitch when Dean stroked him through his boxers, hips snapping forward, pushing into the touch, “Uhh,” his eyelids fluttering but he forced them to stay open to look down at Dean, who was smirking.
Dean bit his lip, “Don’t forget to make a wish.”
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 658
Summary: Sam gets an invitation to the kitchen for some reason...
A/N: A day late, but hey, I wrote words! And if that alone wasn't cause enough for celebration, Sammy's birthday certainly is. Set in the current season, probably, with absolutely zilcho spoilers.
Sam was slumped forward over the table, head resting on his arms. He’d only been resting his eyes for a minute, however long ago that was, his back was certainly protesting it now. He lifted his head slowly, stretching his arms up and back as he sat up and arching his back until he heard a crack. “Mmm.”
He yawned as he brought his arms back down, rubbing across his eyes and pushing his hair back out of his face. Blinking as he stared down at his research, brow furrowing as he noticed something that hadn’t been there before he shut his eyes. A note. He ran his thumb over Dean’s scrawl.
Meet me in the kitchen.
Sam’s eyebrow arched as he read it again. Since when did Dean not just slap him awake?
“Meet me in the kitchen?”
Was it breakfast time already? And if it was why hadn’t Dean just written, breakfast. Though of course the issue at hand was still the fact that he’d written anything at all. Notes were usually reserved for when they left the bunker without each other.
Sam shook his head on another yawn and he took another stretch before pushing himself up out of the chair. To go meet Dean in the kitchen, apparently.
He paused in the doorway, taking in the array of used bowls and utensils -and cake tins- and his brother, piping bag in hand, frosting a cake. That apparently he’d baked.
Dean had baked a cake and was now frosting it.
“Dean. What are you doing?”
Dean’s eyebrow quirked up at that, “Pirouetting. What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Sam snorted. Now Dean was making ballet references, if it was the other way around, Dean wouldn’t let that slide. But bigger picture.
“You baked. What’s the occasion?”
“You don’t really need me to tell you that do you?”
Oh.
Right.
“Is it May already?”
“Has been for a whole day now,” Dean said as he put the bag of frosting down, and he looked at his watch, taking a few steps towards his brother, “But since it’s officially past midnight. Happy Birthday, moron.”
“Thanks, jackass,” Sam said as Dean stepped within his grasp and he got his hand in Dean’s shirt and pulled him in the rest of the way.
“Hey, I made you a cake.”
“You did,” Sam gave Dean a quick kiss and then moved to get a better look at said cake, it was kind of beautiful, perfect even, it never ceased to amaze him just how good Dean was in the kitchen, “No candles?”
“Hmm,” Dean pressed himself up against Sam’s back, wrapping his arms around him, “I know something better that’s in need of blowing.”
Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “It’s my birthday.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, nose brushing along the back of Sam’s neck as he let one hand drop down to palm Sam’s crotch, “it is. I don’t gotta sing, do I?”
“Please don’t.”
Dean slapped him with both hands against his back, and Sam turned around to face him as Dean cupped his arm, “You love my voice.”
“Talking? Yeah. Dirty talking-”
A lascivious grin lighting up Dean’s entire face, “So you admit it?”
“I’m not ashamed.”
Dean gave him an mmhmm kinda look, and then let his gaze drop back down to the front of Sam’s pants and he got down on his knees.
“Dean,” Sam said as his big brother mouthed over the bulge in his jeans, one hand resting just beside his zipper. And Sam whined a little.
“Say please.”
“Please,” and Sam didn’t care how quickly he’d said it, it got Dean to unfasten his jeans, made Sam’s shoulders twitch when Dean stroked him through his boxers, hips snapping forward, pushing into the touch, “Uhh,” his eyelids fluttering but he forced them to stay open to look down at Dean, who was smirking.
Dean bit his lip, “Don’t forget to make a wish.”