Helping Hands (Sam/Dean)
Title: Helping Hands
Author: xephwrites
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC 17 to be safe
Word Count: 1789
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of its characters. Just playing with toys that are not mine. I promise to return them (mostly) undamaged!
Spoilers: none, really
Summary: Dean helps Sam in a brotherly way. But that thing between them is coming close to a breaking point.
Warnings: incest, UST, masturbation
Notes: Set in the Not So Awkward verse in the aftermath of Sam's birthday. I churned this out pretty quickly, mostly from memory since my beloved USB key died a horrible, tragic death. :( I think this version is much better....
~*~*~*~*~
Dean would probably be laughing if Sam didn’t look so damned pathetic. His dumb yeti of a brother tripped in a mausoleum, and broke his fall with his hands. They weren’t broken, but both were wrapped in half casts.
He can still hit the keys on his laptop, eat and change. But that’s about it.
Sam whined and rubbed his cheek on his shoulder. Then he switched to the other side.
“Got a problem there, Grizzly Adams?” Dean asked from the other side of the table, over his own laptop.
“I can’t shave, and it fucking itches,” Sam grumbled, rubbing his cheeks on his shoulders again. He looked over the top of both computers and stared at Dean. Yeah, he looked too damned pathetic to laugh at.
“You are probably one of the few men on this earth that can’t go two days without shaving,” Dean said, closing his laptop.
Sam continued to rub his cheeks on his shoulders. Dean gave up after three minutes of it.
“Bathroom,” he said, pointing towards it. Sam gave him a strange look. “This offer expires in thirty seconds. Want a shave or not?”
Sam closed his laptop with his elbow and walked to the bathroom, head down. Dean patted him on the shoulder as he entered the bathroom.
Sam nudged the lid of the toilet down and sat on it. Dean opened Sam’s toiletries case. He eyed the can of sensitive skin gel and chuckled. He dug around for his razor.
“You fucking owe me, bro,” Dean said as he sprayed the gel onto his palm. Dean smoothed the lather over his brother’s face, carefully covering all the stubble. Dean washed his hands and left the hot water running. He wet Sam’s razor under the water and faced his brother.
“Hey, Sammy, what was that movie we watched last week?” Dean asked with a grin.
“Sweeney Todd,” Sam groaned. Dean laughed.
“Don’t worry, won’t slit your throat. At least not on purpose,” Dean said as he leaned over Sam. He tilted Sam’s head to the side and back a bit. Dean ran the blade carefully up Sam’s cheek.
“Can I give you a douche bag moustache?” Dean said as he ran the blade under the water.
“No, jerk,” Sam grumbled.
“Careful, bitch, I’m the one shaving you,” Dean smirked as he took another swipe on Sam’s face.
Sam looked up at Dean and gave a weak smile.
“Thank you, Dean,” he said softly. Dean nodded and smiled back.
Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he was enjoying shaving Sam. He took a deep breath and shoved away the thoughts of holding his brother’s head in another position.
Sam looked up at Dean, and Dean swore he saw something other than gratefulness in those slanted hazel eyes. Dean cleared his throat and tilted Sam’s head to the other side.
What Dean has been trying to ignore since Sam’s birthday is stuck between them now, like a wall. That strange intimacy they had shared now teetering on an edge. They shouldn’t take it further, but they both know it just might.
Dean wet a cloth and wiped away the leftover shaving cream. He didn’t miss how Sam leaned in to each swipe of the cloth.
“All done,” Dean said softly. Sam was still giving him that same look. Dean’s hand came up and brushed Sam’s cheek. Sam’s eyes fluttered shut as he pressed into the touch. “Anything else?” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest. Judging by the flush that spread up his neck, Sam was feeling the same way.
Dean pulled away quickly and began walking out of the bathroom, leaving Sam sitting on the toilet, dumbfounded. He closed the laptop and grabbed the car keys from the table.
“Going for a drive,” he said as he shut the motel room door. He leaned up against it, forcing his eyes shut. This is not good. This is so not good. They need to face this. But Dean doesn’t want to have to be the one to do it first.
“Fuck this.” Dean muttered and turned around. He went back into the motel room, seeing Sam sitting on his bed.
“Dean,” Sam said with a pained look on his face. Dean held his hand up.
“There’s……something happening here.” He waved his hand between the two of them. “I don’t know, but…..Goddammit, Sammy. How did this happen?”
Sam just shrugged and avoided meeting Dean’s eyes.
“We can’t let it happen.” Dean said slowly. Sam nodded solemnly.
Things went back to mostly normal for the rest of the day, except they didn’t talk much, and only looked at each other when necessary. The tension weighed on Dean’s chest like a brick.
Dean helped undo the bandages that held the half casts on so Sam could shower. The wrists looked like they were healing up well. Dean’s thumb rubbed one of the bruises a little longer than he should have. He expected Sam to pull away, but he didn’t.
“Flex,” Dean said. Sam slowly balled his fists. They both nodded, it won’t be long until they’re healed enough. Sam dropped his hands from Dean’s grip reluctantly and headed to the bathroom. He didn’t close the door all the way as he started to undress. Dean caught a glimpse of Sam’s rear, well-muscled and pale. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to concentrate on something that wasn’t Sam. He heard Sam enter the shower. Dean picked through the newspaper, not thinking about his brother naked in the shower.
It worked for a few minutes until he heard Sam swear. Dean tried to concentrate on the ads for puppies and antique furniture no one wanted listed in the classified ads. His dick, on the other hand, wanted to think about Sam. Sam with a matching tattoo, hard muscles and he’s seen the size of that dick. Memories of seeing him jerk off and fucking him with the vibrator, making him come and scream his name.
He was snapped out of his memories when Sam stomped out of the bathroom, looking grumpier than normal. He flopped face down on his bed and buried his head under one of the pillows.
“Lights out, I guess.” Dean muttered, getting up to turn off the few lights that were on in the room. Dean stripped down to his boxers and slid into his bed.
His hand found its way under the waistband of his boxers, lazily stroking himself to full hardness. He tried not to think about Sam. Tried and failed. He kept his movement slow, his breathing even so Sam wouldn’t hear him.
“Stop being an asshole.” Sam hissed from his bed. Dean’s hand immediately withdrew and he turned to look at Sam. He was still face down on the bed, with his hips rocking into the mattress.
“And how am I being an asshole this time?” Dean asked. Sam mumbled something that only the pillow heard. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I can’t get myself off, okay!” Sam shouted.
Right, the sprained wrist thing. That’s got to suck.
“How is that my fault?” Dean asked, not sure whether to be offended or proud.
“Forget it.” Sam huffed. Dean rolled his eyes. And everyone thought Dean was the difficult one. He lay in the bed, thinking about the predicament they are in. If he doesn’t help out Sam, he’s a dick. But if he does help him out, they’d be stepping into dangerous areas.
He stared at the ceiling, listening to Sam trying to hump the bed and groaning in frustration.
To hell with this, Dean decided. He flung the covers back from his bed and slipped into Sam’s.
“The hell you doing?” Sam squawked.
“Helping you out. Again,” Dean said. He rolled Sam over onto his back. Sam was breathing heavy, staring at Dean. His mouth opened and closed, as if he was searching for words. With a shaking hand, Dean reached forward and brushed the surprisingly soft skin just below Sam’s belly button. Sam jumped at the contact. His hand inched lower and brushed the head of Sam’s dick. Sam whined a bit and bucked his hips. The leaking head nudged Dean’s palm. He carefully closed his fist and gave a small tug.
“This okay, Sammy?” Dean whispered, not sure if he should even be asking. Sam made another small noise and rolled his hips. Dean moved down the whole shaft and back up.
“Faster.” Sam panted. Dean tightened his grip a bit more and stroked again, more sure of himself.
The invisible line they’ve been dancing around for months is far behind them now.
Dean stroked Sam the way he enjoyed it. A bit of a squeeze at the base, a quick flutter on the underside and covering the head, same in reverse. Sam’s hips rocked, making it faster. Dean’s own dick twitched, leaking a bit, not wanting to be ignored any longer. Dean took his hand off Sam, making him whine. Dean pulled his own boxers down to his knees and rolled on his side. He nudged Sam’s hip.
“Roll over.” Sam rolled. Dean slotted his hips as close as he could to Sam’s. He wrapped his hand around both of their dicks and gave them a stroke. They shared a moan, faces inches from each other.
Their eyes were open, panting together, their hips moving in unison. Dean gave a quick twist of his wrist, making them buck forward. Nose to nose, sharing breaths, Dean’s hand kept moving but his brain stopped working.
Sam’s arm came up and wrapped around Dean’s neck and pulled him closer. Their lips paused, a hair’s breadth apart.
“This is not good.” Sam breathed.
“I know.” Dean panted. “I know.”
“Do you care?” Sam whispered.
“No.” Dean said, closing the distance between them. The kiss was easy, like they have been doing this for years. They moaned at the same time, swallowing each other’s sounds. Their hips moved faster, their bodies both searching for release.
Sam’s body went taut, his eyes squeezing shut. The first pulse landed on Dean’s hand, warm and sticky. Dean’s hips stuttered forward, his own orgasm starting.
They didn’t move, coming down, and panting into each other’s mouths again. Without talking, Dean grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and wiped them up. Tossing them into the garbage can, he wondered briefly what he should do now. Does he sleep here with Sam or go back to his own bed?
Sam looked at him with pleading eyes. Dean got back under the covers. Sam wrapped himself around Dean, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Dean.” He whispered into the darkness.
“Anytime, Sammy,” Dean whispered back.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Comments give me life!!
Author: xephwrites
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC 17 to be safe
Word Count: 1789
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of its characters. Just playing with toys that are not mine. I promise to return them (mostly) undamaged!
Spoilers: none, really
Summary: Dean helps Sam in a brotherly way. But that thing between them is coming close to a breaking point.
Warnings: incest, UST, masturbation
Notes: Set in the Not So Awkward verse in the aftermath of Sam's birthday. I churned this out pretty quickly, mostly from memory since my beloved USB key died a horrible, tragic death. :( I think this version is much better....
~*~*~*~*~
Dean would probably be laughing if Sam didn’t look so damned pathetic. His dumb yeti of a brother tripped in a mausoleum, and broke his fall with his hands. They weren’t broken, but both were wrapped in half casts.
He can still hit the keys on his laptop, eat and change. But that’s about it.
Sam whined and rubbed his cheek on his shoulder. Then he switched to the other side.
“Got a problem there, Grizzly Adams?” Dean asked from the other side of the table, over his own laptop.
“I can’t shave, and it fucking itches,” Sam grumbled, rubbing his cheeks on his shoulders again. He looked over the top of both computers and stared at Dean. Yeah, he looked too damned pathetic to laugh at.
“You are probably one of the few men on this earth that can’t go two days without shaving,” Dean said, closing his laptop.
Sam continued to rub his cheeks on his shoulders. Dean gave up after three minutes of it.
“Bathroom,” he said, pointing towards it. Sam gave him a strange look. “This offer expires in thirty seconds. Want a shave or not?”
Sam closed his laptop with his elbow and walked to the bathroom, head down. Dean patted him on the shoulder as he entered the bathroom.
Sam nudged the lid of the toilet down and sat on it. Dean opened Sam’s toiletries case. He eyed the can of sensitive skin gel and chuckled. He dug around for his razor.
“You fucking owe me, bro,” Dean said as he sprayed the gel onto his palm. Dean smoothed the lather over his brother’s face, carefully covering all the stubble. Dean washed his hands and left the hot water running. He wet Sam’s razor under the water and faced his brother.
“Hey, Sammy, what was that movie we watched last week?” Dean asked with a grin.
“Sweeney Todd,” Sam groaned. Dean laughed.
“Don’t worry, won’t slit your throat. At least not on purpose,” Dean said as he leaned over Sam. He tilted Sam’s head to the side and back a bit. Dean ran the blade carefully up Sam’s cheek.
“Can I give you a douche bag moustache?” Dean said as he ran the blade under the water.
“No, jerk,” Sam grumbled.
“Careful, bitch, I’m the one shaving you,” Dean smirked as he took another swipe on Sam’s face.
Sam looked up at Dean and gave a weak smile.
“Thank you, Dean,” he said softly. Dean nodded and smiled back.
Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he was enjoying shaving Sam. He took a deep breath and shoved away the thoughts of holding his brother’s head in another position.
Sam looked up at Dean, and Dean swore he saw something other than gratefulness in those slanted hazel eyes. Dean cleared his throat and tilted Sam’s head to the other side.
What Dean has been trying to ignore since Sam’s birthday is stuck between them now, like a wall. That strange intimacy they had shared now teetering on an edge. They shouldn’t take it further, but they both know it just might.
Dean wet a cloth and wiped away the leftover shaving cream. He didn’t miss how Sam leaned in to each swipe of the cloth.
“All done,” Dean said softly. Sam was still giving him that same look. Dean’s hand came up and brushed Sam’s cheek. Sam’s eyes fluttered shut as he pressed into the touch. “Anything else?” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest. Judging by the flush that spread up his neck, Sam was feeling the same way.
Dean pulled away quickly and began walking out of the bathroom, leaving Sam sitting on the toilet, dumbfounded. He closed the laptop and grabbed the car keys from the table.
“Going for a drive,” he said as he shut the motel room door. He leaned up against it, forcing his eyes shut. This is not good. This is so not good. They need to face this. But Dean doesn’t want to have to be the one to do it first.
“Fuck this.” Dean muttered and turned around. He went back into the motel room, seeing Sam sitting on his bed.
“Dean,” Sam said with a pained look on his face. Dean held his hand up.
“There’s……something happening here.” He waved his hand between the two of them. “I don’t know, but…..Goddammit, Sammy. How did this happen?”
Sam just shrugged and avoided meeting Dean’s eyes.
“We can’t let it happen.” Dean said slowly. Sam nodded solemnly.
Things went back to mostly normal for the rest of the day, except they didn’t talk much, and only looked at each other when necessary. The tension weighed on Dean’s chest like a brick.
Dean helped undo the bandages that held the half casts on so Sam could shower. The wrists looked like they were healing up well. Dean’s thumb rubbed one of the bruises a little longer than he should have. He expected Sam to pull away, but he didn’t.
“Flex,” Dean said. Sam slowly balled his fists. They both nodded, it won’t be long until they’re healed enough. Sam dropped his hands from Dean’s grip reluctantly and headed to the bathroom. He didn’t close the door all the way as he started to undress. Dean caught a glimpse of Sam’s rear, well-muscled and pale. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to concentrate on something that wasn’t Sam. He heard Sam enter the shower. Dean picked through the newspaper, not thinking about his brother naked in the shower.
It worked for a few minutes until he heard Sam swear. Dean tried to concentrate on the ads for puppies and antique furniture no one wanted listed in the classified ads. His dick, on the other hand, wanted to think about Sam. Sam with a matching tattoo, hard muscles and he’s seen the size of that dick. Memories of seeing him jerk off and fucking him with the vibrator, making him come and scream his name.
He was snapped out of his memories when Sam stomped out of the bathroom, looking grumpier than normal. He flopped face down on his bed and buried his head under one of the pillows.
“Lights out, I guess.” Dean muttered, getting up to turn off the few lights that were on in the room. Dean stripped down to his boxers and slid into his bed.
His hand found its way under the waistband of his boxers, lazily stroking himself to full hardness. He tried not to think about Sam. Tried and failed. He kept his movement slow, his breathing even so Sam wouldn’t hear him.
“Stop being an asshole.” Sam hissed from his bed. Dean’s hand immediately withdrew and he turned to look at Sam. He was still face down on the bed, with his hips rocking into the mattress.
“And how am I being an asshole this time?” Dean asked. Sam mumbled something that only the pillow heard. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I can’t get myself off, okay!” Sam shouted.
Right, the sprained wrist thing. That’s got to suck.
“How is that my fault?” Dean asked, not sure whether to be offended or proud.
“Forget it.” Sam huffed. Dean rolled his eyes. And everyone thought Dean was the difficult one. He lay in the bed, thinking about the predicament they are in. If he doesn’t help out Sam, he’s a dick. But if he does help him out, they’d be stepping into dangerous areas.
He stared at the ceiling, listening to Sam trying to hump the bed and groaning in frustration.
To hell with this, Dean decided. He flung the covers back from his bed and slipped into Sam’s.
“The hell you doing?” Sam squawked.
“Helping you out. Again,” Dean said. He rolled Sam over onto his back. Sam was breathing heavy, staring at Dean. His mouth opened and closed, as if he was searching for words. With a shaking hand, Dean reached forward and brushed the surprisingly soft skin just below Sam’s belly button. Sam jumped at the contact. His hand inched lower and brushed the head of Sam’s dick. Sam whined a bit and bucked his hips. The leaking head nudged Dean’s palm. He carefully closed his fist and gave a small tug.
“This okay, Sammy?” Dean whispered, not sure if he should even be asking. Sam made another small noise and rolled his hips. Dean moved down the whole shaft and back up.
“Faster.” Sam panted. Dean tightened his grip a bit more and stroked again, more sure of himself.
The invisible line they’ve been dancing around for months is far behind them now.
Dean stroked Sam the way he enjoyed it. A bit of a squeeze at the base, a quick flutter on the underside and covering the head, same in reverse. Sam’s hips rocked, making it faster. Dean’s own dick twitched, leaking a bit, not wanting to be ignored any longer. Dean took his hand off Sam, making him whine. Dean pulled his own boxers down to his knees and rolled on his side. He nudged Sam’s hip.
“Roll over.” Sam rolled. Dean slotted his hips as close as he could to Sam’s. He wrapped his hand around both of their dicks and gave them a stroke. They shared a moan, faces inches from each other.
Their eyes were open, panting together, their hips moving in unison. Dean gave a quick twist of his wrist, making them buck forward. Nose to nose, sharing breaths, Dean’s hand kept moving but his brain stopped working.
Sam’s arm came up and wrapped around Dean’s neck and pulled him closer. Their lips paused, a hair’s breadth apart.
“This is not good.” Sam breathed.
“I know.” Dean panted. “I know.”
“Do you care?” Sam whispered.
“No.” Dean said, closing the distance between them. The kiss was easy, like they have been doing this for years. They moaned at the same time, swallowing each other’s sounds. Their hips moved faster, their bodies both searching for release.
Sam’s body went taut, his eyes squeezing shut. The first pulse landed on Dean’s hand, warm and sticky. Dean’s hips stuttered forward, his own orgasm starting.
They didn’t move, coming down, and panting into each other’s mouths again. Without talking, Dean grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and wiped them up. Tossing them into the garbage can, he wondered briefly what he should do now. Does he sleep here with Sam or go back to his own bed?
Sam looked at him with pleading eyes. Dean got back under the covers. Sam wrapped himself around Dean, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Dean.” He whispered into the darkness.
“Anytime, Sammy,” Dean whispered back.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Comments give me life!!