Supernatural fic: The Art of Compromise (Five Tries) - S/D (R)
So, this is like the first post-able thing I've written in over a year, oops. This is what occupies me during accounting class.
There's another little thing coming in a minute. Sorry to my flist for the spam.
Title: The Art of Compromise (Five Tries)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: incest
Contains: mild sexuality
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1728
Summary: Dean and Sam argue over who bottoms.
A/N: Thanks to lunachickk and ranereins.
“No.”
“Dean-”
“No. No way. I’m the oldest.”
“That’s not a good reason!” Sam’s look clearly says you’re being a moron, which Dean calls a job well done; point for him, and the score stands at Dean: 1, Book Boy: 0.
But as fun as it is to get Sam to make that face, this conversation isn’t doing anything to help Dean’s hard on. “It’s in the rule book somewhere. Older brother doesn’t have to take it.”
“Yeah? And where the hell did you find a rule book on…screwing around with your brother?”
“Right next to Dean Winchester’s Guide to Picking up Chicks. C’mon now, roll over.” He shoves Sam’s shoulder a little, but the stubborn shit doesn’t move.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to be my bitch; I’m just saying there’s no reason I shouldn’t get to top. Unless…what, do you not trust me or something?” And then Sam’s face falls, and he looks just like he did when he was nine and kids teased him about his hand-me-downs and ew, Dean really doesn’t want to be thinking about Sam as a kid right now what with the bed and the naked and the lube on the nightstand.
Now, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that Sam turned into a girl in the past five minutes (that’s one - or maybe three - incidents they never, ever speak of), but a quick look down kills that theory. Which means that Sam is playing him. Pretty much like a fiddle, since Dean’s been a sucker for that pleading little face ever since…oh, forever. It’s a low blow, man, a low blow. And not ‘blow’ in the fun sense.
“Trust you? Yes, no, I mean… whatever. Anyway, you’re gayer, you should be on bottom.”
“I’m gayer? You’re the one who was bragging about his cock sucking skills before we even started having sex.” Touché. But really, Dean does give great head; he’s had tons of practice.
Which isn’t the point, because Sam is still gayer and Dean can prove it. “You had a boyfriend.”
“I went out with Chris for three weeks freshman year. We didn’t get this far.”
“Yeah, well…” Aw, screw it. None of this is gonna get him laid.
Dean slides down the bed as he wraps his hand around Sam Junior, stroking a little to get him back in the mood. Sam rises up on his elbows, looks down, and asks, “What are you doing?”
“Do I need to give you the birds and bees talk again? What does it look like I’m doing?”
“I thought we were supposed to be fuck-” Sam makes this girly squeaky noise when Dean licks up the side of his cock. Dean would laugh, but his mouth is about to be full. “Fuck. You can’t distract me with a blow job.”
“Are you complaining? ’Cause I can stop.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not arguing. Just keep doing that.”
Dean grins and goes back down.
Score.
*
“No. No way. There is no way I’d trust you.”
“Dude, look, it’s a normal quarter.” Dean holds it up, showing both sides. “How’m I supposed to rig it?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “You’d find a way.”
“All right then, you flip the goddamned coin.” He throws it straight at Sam’s nose, a perfect bull’s-eye. Super.
“Hey!” Sam’s nose scrunches up a little bit as he glares, and if Dean were a total pussy, he’d think it was cute. Sam digs his hand into his jeans pocked, pulling out another quarter. “Okay, but I’m using my own.”
“Whatever, princess, just hurry it up so we can get to burying the bone in the backyard.”
“Could you be anymore crude? No, wait, don’t answer that. Just call it.”
“Heads,” Dean says as Sam tosses the coin into the air.
Catch, flip, and Sam grins. “It’s tails. Better luck next time.”
Screw that. “I got fucked last time, damn it!”
Sam, the pain in the ass that he is, smirks. “Hey, you’re the one that suggested a coin flip. Gotta play by your own rules, man. Don’t be a sore loser.”
Dean thinks about arguing for it, but all that does is get Sam pissy. He’ll just have to up his game for the next round. Sam can gloat now, but later, oh, he won’t know what’s hit him.
*
With a totally deserved, “Hell yeah,” Dean smacks his open palm against Sam’s fist. “Paper beats rock, bitch!”
“What the hell?” Heh. That confused look is awesome. “I can’t believe you…you didn’t throw scissors.”
“Do you know how long I’ve been savin’ that? Years, Sammy, years. Been waiting for something good to use it on. You shouldn’t’ve let yourself get lulled into a false sense of security.”
“Two outta three.”
“Hey, you wouldn’t gimme two outta three if you’d won.”
“Because I don’t cheat.”
“Dude, how do you cheat at rock, paper, scissors? ’Cause if there were a way, I’da been using it all this time.”
“Whatever. You got it tonight, but we’re coming up with a better way to divide this up.”
“Whatever you say, Samantha. Just get on the bed. I want you on your back this time.”
*
Dean’s lying back on another motel bed, watching Sam squirting some lube onto his fingers, when he interrupts, “Whoa, hey, it’s my turn now.”
Sam looks up from what he’s doing, and yeah, he’s just getting ready to pull out the I hate my asshole brother glare. “No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“It isn’t.”
“Is!”
“God, stop already. You are such a five year old,” Sam says like he’s the model of maturity. Yeah, right, Mr. Superglue. “And I got fucked last time.”
“You forget about this morning already?” Dean takes a moment to really appreciate that memory. Okay, moment over.
“That was not fucking; that was fingering during a blow job. That doesn’t count.”
Dean crosses his arms and tries to look serious, like that ever works. “It was something of yours up my ass. It totally counts.”
“Dean-”
“Does too.”
“Dean, just shut up. I’m not doing that again. We said we’d take turns topping, and you went last.”
“Hey, you had me all lubed up this morning. Not my fault you didn’t follow through.”
“I’d just come like five minutes ago. There was no way I was getting it up again.”
“Sammy, Sammy, they make pills for that now, you know.”
“You know, we don't have to fuck tonight.” He rolls off the bed and up on his feet.
Dean points to his erection. “Hey, you can’t leave me like this.”
“You’ve got hands.” Sam makes for the bathroom, grabbing his jeans on the way there, and shuts the door behind him.
Fuck.
Or not, really.
*
Can’t be more than seven in the morning when Dean wakes up to Sam being all creepy and standing over him, staring. “Jesus fuck! Don’t do that!” No, Dean doesn’t flail around like a girl, even if Sam’s face right in front of him first thing is scary as all hell. Even more so when he drops a pile of papers right on Dean’s stomach.
“Huh?” Dean eyes the top page. “This looks suspiciously like legal mumbo-jumbo…”
Sam waves at the papers. “Go on, read.”
“It’s morning…”
“Dean. Read it.”
“I’m allergic to reading.”
“Dean!”
“All right! Jeeze. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Dean sits up and clears his throat. “Ahem. ‘The party of the first part’…blah, blah, blah…‘anal sex, defined as the penetration of one party’s’…yadda…excluding penetration by fingers or tongue, but including that by sexual aids such as dildos (see Appendix B for complete list)…the party penetrating, hereafter referred to as the top’…Sam, what the fuck is this?”
“Basically, it says that we alternate based on day of the week. You top on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I get Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”
Dean’s almost afraid to ask, but, “And Sunday?”
“We stick to blow jobs. Or hand jobs.”
“Of course we do.”
“Now, I’ve already signed, so I just need your initials here, here, and here, and your signature there.” Sam flips through the pages and points to spots.
“You wrote up a legal contract about fucking.”
Sam nods. “I figured it was the only way to keep things fair and finally stop arguing-”
“A legal contract. About fucking.”
“Yeah. Just sign and we can get going,” he says slowly, like he thinks Dean is special ed or something.
Dean stares at Sam. His brother actually thinks…a fucking contract…a fucking contract. Oh hell, no, this is so wrong. All the wrong in the world, right here. Dean is never going to recover. “I give up.” He tosses the papers on the floor.
“Hey…”
He kicks the blankets off and says, “Just get over here and fuck me.”
Sam blinks. “What?”
“You go deaf? I said fuck me.”
“So all of a sudden you don’t mind bottoming.”
“Dude, I never minded.”
“So you were just being annoying the entire time.” Sam doesn’t really sound surprised.
“’S in the job description.” Comes right after watching out for Sam, saving people, and hunting evil. “Can’t let you think I’d just take it lying down.”
“You’re a pain in the ass-” Dean snorts and Sam rolls his eyes. “I don’t mean that, you jerk.”
Dean doesn’t disagree, he just points at the contract on the floor. “It ain’t worth this shit though. So get rid of the clothes and get down here.”
For a minute, Sam looks like he’s gearing up for a really good argument, but then his shirt is meeting the floor. “I hate you.”
“I am the best brother in history.”
“You’re impossible to live with.” He kneels on the bed and lowers himself on top of Dean.
“You cry at night because you love me so much, you big girl.”
“You need to shut up.” Almost there; Dean can feel Sam’s breath, can smell toothpaste and cheap coffee.
“Make me.”
*
Not too much later, when they’re covered in some really nasty fluids, still breathing hard, Dean asks, “You wrote that thing just to piss me off, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“You know I’m gonna get you back.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“You should be running for your life right about now.”
“Nah.” Sam smiles. “I’m ready for it.”
There's another little thing coming in a minute. Sorry to my flist for the spam.
Title: The Art of Compromise (Five Tries)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: incest
Contains: mild sexuality
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1728
Summary: Dean and Sam argue over who bottoms.
A/N: Thanks to lunachickk and ranereins.
“No.”
“Dean-”
“No. No way. I’m the oldest.”
“That’s not a good reason!” Sam’s look clearly says you’re being a moron, which Dean calls a job well done; point for him, and the score stands at Dean: 1, Book Boy: 0.
But as fun as it is to get Sam to make that face, this conversation isn’t doing anything to help Dean’s hard on. “It’s in the rule book somewhere. Older brother doesn’t have to take it.”
“Yeah? And where the hell did you find a rule book on…screwing around with your brother?”
“Right next to Dean Winchester’s Guide to Picking up Chicks. C’mon now, roll over.” He shoves Sam’s shoulder a little, but the stubborn shit doesn’t move.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to be my bitch; I’m just saying there’s no reason I shouldn’t get to top. Unless…what, do you not trust me or something?” And then Sam’s face falls, and he looks just like he did when he was nine and kids teased him about his hand-me-downs and ew, Dean really doesn’t want to be thinking about Sam as a kid right now what with the bed and the naked and the lube on the nightstand.
Now, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that Sam turned into a girl in the past five minutes (that’s one - or maybe three - incidents they never, ever speak of), but a quick look down kills that theory. Which means that Sam is playing him. Pretty much like a fiddle, since Dean’s been a sucker for that pleading little face ever since…oh, forever. It’s a low blow, man, a low blow. And not ‘blow’ in the fun sense.
“Trust you? Yes, no, I mean… whatever. Anyway, you’re gayer, you should be on bottom.”
“I’m gayer? You’re the one who was bragging about his cock sucking skills before we even started having sex.” Touché. But really, Dean does give great head; he’s had tons of practice.
Which isn’t the point, because Sam is still gayer and Dean can prove it. “You had a boyfriend.”
“I went out with Chris for three weeks freshman year. We didn’t get this far.”
“Yeah, well…” Aw, screw it. None of this is gonna get him laid.
Dean slides down the bed as he wraps his hand around Sam Junior, stroking a little to get him back in the mood. Sam rises up on his elbows, looks down, and asks, “What are you doing?”
“Do I need to give you the birds and bees talk again? What does it look like I’m doing?”
“I thought we were supposed to be fuck-” Sam makes this girly squeaky noise when Dean licks up the side of his cock. Dean would laugh, but his mouth is about to be full. “Fuck. You can’t distract me with a blow job.”
“Are you complaining? ’Cause I can stop.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not arguing. Just keep doing that.”
Dean grins and goes back down.
Score.
*
“No. No way. There is no way I’d trust you.”
“Dude, look, it’s a normal quarter.” Dean holds it up, showing both sides. “How’m I supposed to rig it?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “You’d find a way.”
“All right then, you flip the goddamned coin.” He throws it straight at Sam’s nose, a perfect bull’s-eye. Super.
“Hey!” Sam’s nose scrunches up a little bit as he glares, and if Dean were a total pussy, he’d think it was cute. Sam digs his hand into his jeans pocked, pulling out another quarter. “Okay, but I’m using my own.”
“Whatever, princess, just hurry it up so we can get to burying the bone in the backyard.”
“Could you be anymore crude? No, wait, don’t answer that. Just call it.”
“Heads,” Dean says as Sam tosses the coin into the air.
Catch, flip, and Sam grins. “It’s tails. Better luck next time.”
Screw that. “I got fucked last time, damn it!”
Sam, the pain in the ass that he is, smirks. “Hey, you’re the one that suggested a coin flip. Gotta play by your own rules, man. Don’t be a sore loser.”
Dean thinks about arguing for it, but all that does is get Sam pissy. He’ll just have to up his game for the next round. Sam can gloat now, but later, oh, he won’t know what’s hit him.
*
With a totally deserved, “Hell yeah,” Dean smacks his open palm against Sam’s fist. “Paper beats rock, bitch!”
“What the hell?” Heh. That confused look is awesome. “I can’t believe you…you didn’t throw scissors.”
“Do you know how long I’ve been savin’ that? Years, Sammy, years. Been waiting for something good to use it on. You shouldn’t’ve let yourself get lulled into a false sense of security.”
“Two outta three.”
“Hey, you wouldn’t gimme two outta three if you’d won.”
“Because I don’t cheat.”
“Dude, how do you cheat at rock, paper, scissors? ’Cause if there were a way, I’da been using it all this time.”
“Whatever. You got it tonight, but we’re coming up with a better way to divide this up.”
“Whatever you say, Samantha. Just get on the bed. I want you on your back this time.”
*
Dean’s lying back on another motel bed, watching Sam squirting some lube onto his fingers, when he interrupts, “Whoa, hey, it’s my turn now.”
Sam looks up from what he’s doing, and yeah, he’s just getting ready to pull out the I hate my asshole brother glare. “No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“It isn’t.”
“Is!”
“God, stop already. You are such a five year old,” Sam says like he’s the model of maturity. Yeah, right, Mr. Superglue. “And I got fucked last time.”
“You forget about this morning already?” Dean takes a moment to really appreciate that memory. Okay, moment over.
“That was not fucking; that was fingering during a blow job. That doesn’t count.”
Dean crosses his arms and tries to look serious, like that ever works. “It was something of yours up my ass. It totally counts.”
“Dean-”
“Does too.”
“Dean, just shut up. I’m not doing that again. We said we’d take turns topping, and you went last.”
“Hey, you had me all lubed up this morning. Not my fault you didn’t follow through.”
“I’d just come like five minutes ago. There was no way I was getting it up again.”
“Sammy, Sammy, they make pills for that now, you know.”
“You know, we don't have to fuck tonight.” He rolls off the bed and up on his feet.
Dean points to his erection. “Hey, you can’t leave me like this.”
“You’ve got hands.” Sam makes for the bathroom, grabbing his jeans on the way there, and shuts the door behind him.
Fuck.
Or not, really.
*
Can’t be more than seven in the morning when Dean wakes up to Sam being all creepy and standing over him, staring. “Jesus fuck! Don’t do that!” No, Dean doesn’t flail around like a girl, even if Sam’s face right in front of him first thing is scary as all hell. Even more so when he drops a pile of papers right on Dean’s stomach.
“Huh?” Dean eyes the top page. “This looks suspiciously like legal mumbo-jumbo…”
Sam waves at the papers. “Go on, read.”
“It’s morning…”
“Dean. Read it.”
“I’m allergic to reading.”
“Dean!”
“All right! Jeeze. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Dean sits up and clears his throat. “Ahem. ‘The party of the first part’…blah, blah, blah…‘anal sex, defined as the penetration of one party’s’…yadda…excluding penetration by fingers or tongue, but including that by sexual aids such as dildos (see Appendix B for complete list)…the party penetrating, hereafter referred to as the top’…Sam, what the fuck is this?”
“Basically, it says that we alternate based on day of the week. You top on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I get Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”
Dean’s almost afraid to ask, but, “And Sunday?”
“We stick to blow jobs. Or hand jobs.”
“Of course we do.”
“Now, I’ve already signed, so I just need your initials here, here, and here, and your signature there.” Sam flips through the pages and points to spots.
“You wrote up a legal contract about fucking.”
Sam nods. “I figured it was the only way to keep things fair and finally stop arguing-”
“A legal contract. About fucking.”
“Yeah. Just sign and we can get going,” he says slowly, like he thinks Dean is special ed or something.
Dean stares at Sam. His brother actually thinks…a fucking contract…a fucking contract. Oh hell, no, this is so wrong. All the wrong in the world, right here. Dean is never going to recover. “I give up.” He tosses the papers on the floor.
“Hey…”
He kicks the blankets off and says, “Just get over here and fuck me.”
Sam blinks. “What?”
“You go deaf? I said fuck me.”
“So all of a sudden you don’t mind bottoming.”
“Dude, I never minded.”
“So you were just being annoying the entire time.” Sam doesn’t really sound surprised.
“’S in the job description.” Comes right after watching out for Sam, saving people, and hunting evil. “Can’t let you think I’d just take it lying down.”
“You’re a pain in the ass-” Dean snorts and Sam rolls his eyes. “I don’t mean that, you jerk.”
Dean doesn’t disagree, he just points at the contract on the floor. “It ain’t worth this shit though. So get rid of the clothes and get down here.”
For a minute, Sam looks like he’s gearing up for a really good argument, but then his shirt is meeting the floor. “I hate you.”
“I am the best brother in history.”
“You’re impossible to live with.” He kneels on the bed and lowers himself on top of Dean.
“You cry at night because you love me so much, you big girl.”
“You need to shut up.” Almost there; Dean can feel Sam’s breath, can smell toothpaste and cheap coffee.
“Make me.”
*
Not too much later, when they’re covered in some really nasty fluids, still breathing hard, Dean asks, “You wrote that thing just to piss me off, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“You know I’m gonna get you back.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“You should be running for your life right about now.”
“Nah.” Sam smiles. “I’m ready for it.”