SPN fic: Alabama Motel Room
Title: Alabama Motel Room
Author: D. (namegoeshere)
Rating: NC17.
Genre: Such PWP.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Wordcount: 615.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: They stumble into the motel at five in the morning, still high on adrenaline from a hunt gone quick and easy.
A/N: Wrote this on the plane from Minneapolis to Indianapolis for clex_monkie89, who more than deserved this little bit of a pick-me-up. So here's your porn, honey. Which you've already seen, but now everyone else can see what things you inspire. Also, an extra little thank you to arderei who told me this was postable. Title comes from a Matthew Good song, which has absolutely nothing to do with this fic, other than that they both mention motel rooms. But I guess this could take place in Alabama. ;)
†
They stumble into the motel at five in the morning, still high on adrenaline from a hunt gone quick and easy. Dean's hard and aching almost the minute they get in the door, shoves Sam up against the nearest wall. Their mouths slide together, all teeth and laughter, relief. Sam tastes like spit, and blood from Dean's split lip; it's the only injury between them.
It stings when Sam's tongue slides over his lip, teeth tugging at the swollen flesh. Dean doesn't care, just presses his hips against Sam's and mutters something about fucking his brains out. Even Dean's not exactly sure what he just said.
They stumble out of their clothes, clinging to each other in the brief seconds between fumbling with Dean's belt or trying to unbutton Sam's jeans. Dean actually laughs when Sam drops to his knees in front of him, and hauls his brother up by the armpits before shoving him towards the bed. "Later," he says breathlessly. "I said I was gonna fuck you."
His cock aches as he follows Sam onto the too-soft mattress of yet another cheap motel. His brother's already on his stomach, fingers twisted in the pillow as Dean clambers on top of him, trailing wet kisses over his shoulders, hand snaking under him to find his dick. Sam's hard, groaning as Dean holds him, murmuring, "C'mon, Dean, please," in that throaty, desperate voice. No time for foreplay.
There's almost no preparation. Nothing but a little lube and a lot of prayer, Sam gasping, "Oh, god, Dean. Jesus, fuck," as Dean spreads him wide, wide open and thrusts in. He's tight, unbelievably fucking tight, and Dean goes slow, groaning low against Sam's ear, muttering promises against the back of his brother's neck. It's intense, so much skin he doesn't know what to do with it all, dimly realising the box of condoms is unopened on the bedside table. He doesn't even really care, just shuts his eyes and presses his teeth into Sam's shoulder, feeling his little brother quake beneath him as he slides all the way in.
"Sammy," Dean whispers into the soft, smooth skin beneath his ear. He nuzzles his nose against the back of Sam's head, through his damp hair, breathing in deep. Sam's sweating again, and his skin still smells like smoke and ash. His hips rock beneath Dean, rubbing his cock against the sheets as his older brother thrusts in deep. Sam's panting and moaning something that sounds vaguely like Dean's name, and he turns his head to meet for a glancing, awkward kiss.
Dean doesn't last long. He never does, this soon after a hunt. There's a few more deep, hard thrusts, Sam crying out with each one, and then he loses it. There's a second of bright, bright darkness as he comes, gasping Sam's name before going limp. Sam's whisper of "Please, Dean, oh, god, please," lets him know that he's not done, not yet, but so, so close.
Dean pulls out of him, then rolls his brother over, wraps a still trembling hand around his cock. One sharp tug, then another, and Sam comes, body arching off the bed. "Dean," he pants, spilling wet and sticky over his thighs and Dean's knuckles, and Dean laughs hoarsely before pressing a sloppy kiss against his throat.
When Sam presses close against him, nuzzling at his neck, he doesn't pull away. He just chuckles low and deep, tired, sighs against Sam's hair. He tastes a little bit of blood in his mouth and mutters, "Good sex."
He feels Sam laugh against him, then kiss his chest. "Good hunt."
"That too."
He falls asleep listening to Sam's deep and even breaths.
Author: D. (namegoeshere)
Rating: NC17.
Genre: Such PWP.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Wordcount: 615.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: They stumble into the motel at five in the morning, still high on adrenaline from a hunt gone quick and easy.
A/N: Wrote this on the plane from Minneapolis to Indianapolis for clex_monkie89, who more than deserved this little bit of a pick-me-up. So here's your porn, honey. Which you've already seen, but now everyone else can see what things you inspire. Also, an extra little thank you to arderei who told me this was postable. Title comes from a Matthew Good song, which has absolutely nothing to do with this fic, other than that they both mention motel rooms. But I guess this could take place in Alabama. ;)
†
They stumble into the motel at five in the morning, still high on adrenaline from a hunt gone quick and easy. Dean's hard and aching almost the minute they get in the door, shoves Sam up against the nearest wall. Their mouths slide together, all teeth and laughter, relief. Sam tastes like spit, and blood from Dean's split lip; it's the only injury between them.
It stings when Sam's tongue slides over his lip, teeth tugging at the swollen flesh. Dean doesn't care, just presses his hips against Sam's and mutters something about fucking his brains out. Even Dean's not exactly sure what he just said.
They stumble out of their clothes, clinging to each other in the brief seconds between fumbling with Dean's belt or trying to unbutton Sam's jeans. Dean actually laughs when Sam drops to his knees in front of him, and hauls his brother up by the armpits before shoving him towards the bed. "Later," he says breathlessly. "I said I was gonna fuck you."
His cock aches as he follows Sam onto the too-soft mattress of yet another cheap motel. His brother's already on his stomach, fingers twisted in the pillow as Dean clambers on top of him, trailing wet kisses over his shoulders, hand snaking under him to find his dick. Sam's hard, groaning as Dean holds him, murmuring, "C'mon, Dean, please," in that throaty, desperate voice. No time for foreplay.
There's almost no preparation. Nothing but a little lube and a lot of prayer, Sam gasping, "Oh, god, Dean. Jesus, fuck," as Dean spreads him wide, wide open and thrusts in. He's tight, unbelievably fucking tight, and Dean goes slow, groaning low against Sam's ear, muttering promises against the back of his brother's neck. It's intense, so much skin he doesn't know what to do with it all, dimly realising the box of condoms is unopened on the bedside table. He doesn't even really care, just shuts his eyes and presses his teeth into Sam's shoulder, feeling his little brother quake beneath him as he slides all the way in.
"Sammy," Dean whispers into the soft, smooth skin beneath his ear. He nuzzles his nose against the back of Sam's head, through his damp hair, breathing in deep. Sam's sweating again, and his skin still smells like smoke and ash. His hips rock beneath Dean, rubbing his cock against the sheets as his older brother thrusts in deep. Sam's panting and moaning something that sounds vaguely like Dean's name, and he turns his head to meet for a glancing, awkward kiss.
Dean doesn't last long. He never does, this soon after a hunt. There's a few more deep, hard thrusts, Sam crying out with each one, and then he loses it. There's a second of bright, bright darkness as he comes, gasping Sam's name before going limp. Sam's whisper of "Please, Dean, oh, god, please," lets him know that he's not done, not yet, but so, so close.
Dean pulls out of him, then rolls his brother over, wraps a still trembling hand around his cock. One sharp tug, then another, and Sam comes, body arching off the bed. "Dean," he pants, spilling wet and sticky over his thighs and Dean's knuckles, and Dean laughs hoarsely before pressing a sloppy kiss against his throat.
When Sam presses close against him, nuzzling at his neck, he doesn't pull away. He just chuckles low and deep, tired, sighs against Sam's hair. He tastes a little bit of blood in his mouth and mutters, "Good sex."
He feels Sam laugh against him, then kiss his chest. "Good hunt."
"That too."
He falls asleep listening to Sam's deep and even breaths.