Christmas "Drabble" the First
So, okay, here is mooncharm's Christmas drabble. It's not so much a drabble as it is a full-blown fic. Personally, I blame A Very Supernatural Christmas for this one. It started out a cute little 100-word thingy that ballooned to somewhere near 2,700 words. Yeah. WTF? Oh SHOW, you destroy me.
Anyway, without further ado, here's Charm's fic x-mas giftee.
Title: The Perfect Gift
Author: bksncleverness
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: wee!cest, SPOILERS for SPN x-mas
Summary: Dean wants to give Sam a great gift; something to rival the gift we saw Sam give him in the episode. They're 15 and 19 in the story.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my smutty imagination.
Notes: A gift for my darling Charma. Enjoy. I'll still read you porn on your voicemail while you are away.
Christmas Fic for Charm
December 24. Dad was gone, God knows where. Dean was out, fucking God knows who. And Sam was home. All his homework was done, Christmas break stretching in front of him with nothing to do but read through the stack of tattered library books from the Centerville, Ohio Public Library.
Sam opened a copy of Catcher in the Rye and read a few lines before he heard Dean come in through the front door of the apartment. He hadn’t expected to see Dean this early. Hell, Dean had hit some sort of slut seam in this town and was hardly ever home before 2.
“Sammy!” he called out, their pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree falling down when the door slammed closed.
“In here,” Sam said, leaning back in the kitchen chair to see Dean nudging the tree back up with one booted foot.
“Merry Christmas,” Dean said, smacking a tall, slim paper bag on the table.
“Yeah, so. What’s this?”
“A little holiday cheer, Sammy, my boy,” Dean said, sliding the bottle of whiskey out of the bag.
“Dean, come on.”
“Oh Sam, you’re fifteen now. Time to live a little, huh?”
“But Dad-"
“Dad won’t be back for days, and it’s Christmas eve, so let’s just take the night off, all right?”
It took a little more cajoling on Dean’s part to get Sam to take the first drink, but finally he did, and soon, Sam’s books were pushed aside and the two brothers leaned over the kitchen table laughing, reminding each other of the disasters of Christmases past. Instead of making Sam feel bad about how abnormal their family clearly was, the alcohol made it so the more fucked up the Christmas was, the funnier it seemed.
While Sam talked about some Christmas the boys had spent alone at Bobby’s while John and Bobby hunted some demon or other, he noticed Dean fingering the amulet around his neck. The sight of those long slender fingers on that amulet made Sam swallow and try to keep from thinking thoughts that had been pushing into his head more and more recently.
“Hey Dean,” he heard himself say, voice raspy from the whiskey.
Dean looked up at him, smile still curving his beautiful mouth. “Mm?”
“You ever take that off?” Sam said, lifting his chin to indicate the amulet in Dean’s hand.
Dean dropped it on its string, ran his hand through his hair and grabbed the bottle for a quick swig. He cleared his throat, looked at Sam. The smile was gone now, and the expression on Dean’s face was one Sam couldn’t read. It was like there was fire behind his eyes, but not in the way it was when Dean got angry. This was something else. This was...smoldering. “No, I never do,” he said, voice almost a whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because it helps me pick up chicks,” Dean said, smirking, trying for casual and coming about three miles short of the mark.
Sam looked down at the table, ran his finger over a gash in the formica. He shook his head. “Figures,” he whispered, bringing his head close to the tabletop.
“Hey,” Dean said, and then mumbled something Sam couldn’t hear.
“What d’you say?”
“I said, I never take it off because you gave it to me, stupid,” he said, running his hand over it. "S'the best present I ever got," he added quietly.
Sam’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah, Sammy. Of course,” Dean said, and then he pulled the bottle closer and tipped it back for a long swallow, as if preparing himself for something. He slammed the bottle back on the table and took a deep breath. “I, uh, got you something this year. Had it for a while. Been waiting to give it to you until you were old enough.”
“No foolin'?”
“Nope.”
“What is it?”
“Can’t give it to you here. You gotta come in our room,” he said, getting up and grabbing the bottle.
They walked the fifteen feet from the kitchen area into the bedroom they shared and each sat on his bed facing the other.
“So okay, what is it?” Sam asked.
“First I gotta ask you some questions. You ever kiss a girl?”
“Duh. Of course. In Oklahoma, I dated Molly for two months. We kissed.”
“Anyone else?”
“Sure, like a couple of others,” he said, looking away, trying to hide that he was lying. He’d only ever kissed Molly and she wasn’t good at it at all and Sam had actually thought it had been pretty awful. He’d seen Dean kiss girls before and that had always looked so good, the way he tilted his head was really smooth, and you could see he wasn’t sloppy at all, and he had this way of kinda working his lips that just looked awesome, and...Sam crossed his legs, trying to hide some more.
“How far did you go with that Molly girl?”
“Jesus, Dean. You didn’t pick a girl up at a bar for me, didja?”
“Hell no, Sammy. Just answer the question.”
“We, uh,” he cleared his throat. “I felt her up twice. One time, we, like, rubbed a little against each other.”
“She never went down on you?” Dean said, and his voice boomed with disbelief.
“Shhh, Dean. God, don’t you have any shame?” Sam said, his voice now a whisper. “No she never, you know, gave me a blowjob.” He barely even said the last word, just mouthing it. There wasn’t anyone there to overhear it. The hardware store they lived over had been closed since noon.
“Well, Sammy, you are in luck. Because--,” he licked his lips, and Sam almost whimpered at the sight of that pink tongue gliding across that unbelievably pouty bottom lip, “you are getting one tonight.”
Sam shifted. He didn’t want some slut that Dean paid, to come in and get cherry red lipstick all over his... “Dean, I don’t want some drunken bar chick to-"
“Who said anything about a chick?” Dean said, smirking, shrugging off the flannel shirt he was wearing.
“You got a dude to come and, you know?” Sam said, pointing at the door. He was horrified, not so much at the idea of it, but more horrified that Dean had figured out something Sam hadn’t even admitted to himself in so many words.
“Sam, calm down. There’s no one waiting outside. It’s just you and me, okay?” he said softly. And then he took a big pull on the bottle, offering it to Sam when he was finished.
“Just you and me?” Sam repeated, feeling like the world’s biggest jackass. He took a slug of the amber liquid.
“Yeah,” Dean said, sliding to his knees in the space between the beds. “Look, it’s gonna happen for you soon enough, and I just thought that maybe you should know what you’re in for before it happens. A guy could lose his cool real quick, and then, knowing you, you’d do anything the chick said.”
Sam just stared at him, not knowing what to say, feeling a strong urge to run away from this whole conversation, but an even stronger one to stay and find out exactly what Dean was talking about.
“It’s like sparring, Sammy. We do it to practice so that if we get hit on a hunt, we know how to deal with it. We know how to react, you know?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam, green eyes wide under brown-gold eyelashes that were far too long.
Sam didn’t move for a long minute, and Dean started to fidget, pull away. “But hey,” if you don’t want it, that’s fine,” Dean said, making a move to get to his feet, walk away. “It was just an idea, you know. No big-"
Sam grabbed two fistfuls of Dean’s thermal shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Dean instinctively tilted his head the right way and Sam moaned just from watching him be so goddamned fucking smooth. Kissing Dean was nothing like kissing Molly. Dean tasted like whiskey, and he smelled like leather and fireplace smoke and that aftershave he claimed drove women insane. And Sam felt those lips work around his, that skilled tongue in his mouth, and he knew he’d never really kissed anyone, not until this very moment. He hoped he was doing it right, matching the strokes of Dean’s tongue, trying to follow his lead perfectly like he’d done a million times before when they were training. He just prayed Dean wouldn’t pull away and tease him for being terrible at it.
Instead, Dean pulled away and just said, “Sammy,” in a choked whisper that was sexier than anything Sam had ever seen or heard before. Sexier than he thought was possible.
“Dean. Yes. I mean, I want...I want you to...”
Dean just nodded, and leaned in to kiss him again, but Sam put his hands on Dean’s chest to hold him away for a second. Was he really going to say this thing, this thought that had been forming in his mind for ages, this thought he never actually put into words even in the quiet of his own mind? Was he really going to say it?
“But, not for, you know, not for practice. F-for real.”
Dean just looked at him, eyes questioning. Then he nodded slow, jaw clenched and brow knitted: his serious face. “For real,” he said.
Sam nodded, kissed him again, until Dean pushed him back. “Lie down, Sammy,” Dean whispered, and Sam debated for a half-second about not doing it because he was already so hard and Dean would certainly make fun of him, until he realized that being hard enough to pound nails was the whole point. He scooched back onto the bed, lying with his head on the pillow, his erection practically tenting his pants.
Dean pulled his shirt off over his head sat down by Sam’s legs. “Let’s take these off,” he said, reaching for the button of Sam’s pants. Sam rushed to get them off, kicking the jeans and underwear to the floor as fast as he could. Then he was wearing just a shirt which looked ridiculous so he took that off as well.
“Well, look at you, little brother,” Dean said, smirking. “Not so little anymore, huh?”
“Dean?” he asked, feeling more than just naked, feeling completely vulnerable in every way possible.
“Hey,” Dean whispered. “S’okay. I’m here.” Dean got up and turned the light in the room off, leaving the door open so they could see each other by the light from the kitchen.
“Dean,” Sam said again, not knowing how much longer he could be this way without his brother there to guide him.
“I’m right here,” Dean said, kneeling between Sam’s legs. He was wearing jeans and nothing else. Barefoot. Shirtless. The amulet resting in the center of his chest.
Dean crawled across and leaned down to kiss Sam, the amulet brushing Sam’s skin. He shivered even though the metal was warm from Dean’s body. Dean kissed him slow and deep, taking his time, and Sam knew he had been right about something all along: Dean was the best kisser in the world. No one else could ever be this good.
But soon, Dean stopped kissing his lips, and instead started to kiss his face, his neck, his chest, and slowly he worked his way down. By the time Dean got to his stomach, Sam was trembling, Dean’s amulet swinging and brushing against the shaft of Sam’s cock, against his balls. Sam blew out a breath.
Sam picked his head up to watch Dean, but nearly came watching his brother lick along the curve of his hip bone. Sam moaned, letting his head drop back down on the pillow.
“You ready, Sam?” Dean asked.
Sam pulled the thin army blanket into his fists and grunted. “Yeah, Dean. Ready.”
Dean slowly untangled Sam’s hands from the blanket, and placed them on the back of his own head. “Here,” he said. “I can take it.”
Sam didn’t know what he meant at first, but then Dean slowly took Sam’s cock into the whiskey heat of his mouth and Sam suddenly wanted to push Dean’s head down as far as it would go. He didn’t, though, trying to control himself.
Dean sucked up and down the shaft, alternating licks to the head with slow deep strokes.
Before rational thought left his mind completely, Sam had a second to wonder just how Dean got to be so damn good at this. He’d never seen him with a guy, never even suspected Dean would have done this before, but he had to have; even Dean wasn’t this good without practice. Sam didn’t have a minute to be jealous about it, though, because he could feel himself ready to come. He forced himself to keep his hips on the bed, just tilt them up a little, just a tiny bit to get the angle just a little different. And Jesus, it felt too fucking good.
He didn’t want it to end though. Dean’s mouth felt so amazing. Sam didn’t realize it, but he’d been moaning Dean’s name over and over again. He didn't know when he started, but he knew he couldn't really stop. The sound just flowed from him, almost like Dean was drawing it out of him with that mouth.
Dean eased off with a wet pop. Sam looked down at him, and pulled his hands away, feeling like he’d done something wrong.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean said, fisting Sam’s cock slowly as he spoke. “You’re not gonna hurt me. Promise. Just fuck my mouth, Sammy. Do it.”
“But I’m gonna...in like a second,” Sam said gasping, pleading for Dean to tell him what to do.
“I know, Sammy. That’s the point. I want you to come in my mouth. Wanna swallow all of it. Now come on,” he said, and waited until Sam had put his hands on the back of his head again and then he bent down. He sucked harder, up and down, amulet swinging and hitting his inner thigh, brushing against his balls. And fuck it, this was going to happen. Sam pressed down hard on Dean’s head, his hips coming up at the same time. Dean grunted, but kept sucking, working his tongue along the bottom ridge of Sam’s cock.
He thrust up twice more, hips up, back arched off the bed, and then froze there for a second, like freefalling, before his orgasm crashed over him like a wave. It felt like his life was rushing out of his cock, but it was okay because he was giving it to Dean.
Dean’s throat worked and he swallowed and moaned around Sam, licking slower and slower as Sam came down, caught his breath.
Dean rolled over, resting his head on Sam’s thigh, lying between his legs. He was warm and sweaty. Sam was happy Dean was trying to catch his breath too.
Sam still had one hand on Dean’s head so he stroked the short hair there, Dean moaning his approval.
“You hungry?” Dean said, after a while. “Think we still got some burgers in the freezer.”
“Yeah, I could go for that,” Sam said. He wanted to talk. Ask what it was they just did. Ask if it was going to happen again, but he knew Dean just didn’t work like that.
Dean got up, and Sam could tell from his silhouette in the doorway that he was still hard.
“Hey Dean?” Sam asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Yeah?” Dean answered, pulling his shirt on over his head, placing the amulet on the outside of the shirt where it always was.
“D’you want me to, you know? Because you didn’t, uh, you know,” Sam stuttered.
“Come, Sam. I didn’t come. If we’re gonna do this, you’re gonna have to actually say the words sometimes.”
If we’re gonna do this, Sam repeated in his head. He smiled. He cleared his throat. “So, yeah. You didn’t come, Dean. Do you want me to giveyouablowjob?” he asked, forcing the words out.
Dean smiled at him. “Nah, Sammy. Not tonight. You can get me later. That was your Christmas present,” Dean said, walking into the kitchen and starting dinner.
Sammy let his head fall back onto the pillow. He stared at the ceiling and whispered to himself, “Best. Christmas. Ever.”
Anyway, without further ado, here's Charm's fic x-mas giftee.
Title: The Perfect Gift
Author: bksncleverness
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: wee!cest, SPOILERS for SPN x-mas
Summary: Dean wants to give Sam a great gift; something to rival the gift we saw Sam give him in the episode. They're 15 and 19 in the story.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my smutty imagination.
Notes: A gift for my darling Charma. Enjoy. I'll still read you porn on your voicemail while you are away.
Christmas Fic for Charm
December 24. Dad was gone, God knows where. Dean was out, fucking God knows who. And Sam was home. All his homework was done, Christmas break stretching in front of him with nothing to do but read through the stack of tattered library books from the Centerville, Ohio Public Library.
Sam opened a copy of Catcher in the Rye and read a few lines before he heard Dean come in through the front door of the apartment. He hadn’t expected to see Dean this early. Hell, Dean had hit some sort of slut seam in this town and was hardly ever home before 2.
“Sammy!” he called out, their pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree falling down when the door slammed closed.
“In here,” Sam said, leaning back in the kitchen chair to see Dean nudging the tree back up with one booted foot.
“Merry Christmas,” Dean said, smacking a tall, slim paper bag on the table.
“Yeah, so. What’s this?”
“A little holiday cheer, Sammy, my boy,” Dean said, sliding the bottle of whiskey out of the bag.
“Dean, come on.”
“Oh Sam, you’re fifteen now. Time to live a little, huh?”
“But Dad-"
“Dad won’t be back for days, and it’s Christmas eve, so let’s just take the night off, all right?”
It took a little more cajoling on Dean’s part to get Sam to take the first drink, but finally he did, and soon, Sam’s books were pushed aside and the two brothers leaned over the kitchen table laughing, reminding each other of the disasters of Christmases past. Instead of making Sam feel bad about how abnormal their family clearly was, the alcohol made it so the more fucked up the Christmas was, the funnier it seemed.
While Sam talked about some Christmas the boys had spent alone at Bobby’s while John and Bobby hunted some demon or other, he noticed Dean fingering the amulet around his neck. The sight of those long slender fingers on that amulet made Sam swallow and try to keep from thinking thoughts that had been pushing into his head more and more recently.
“Hey Dean,” he heard himself say, voice raspy from the whiskey.
Dean looked up at him, smile still curving his beautiful mouth. “Mm?”
“You ever take that off?” Sam said, lifting his chin to indicate the amulet in Dean’s hand.
Dean dropped it on its string, ran his hand through his hair and grabbed the bottle for a quick swig. He cleared his throat, looked at Sam. The smile was gone now, and the expression on Dean’s face was one Sam couldn’t read. It was like there was fire behind his eyes, but not in the way it was when Dean got angry. This was something else. This was...smoldering. “No, I never do,” he said, voice almost a whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because it helps me pick up chicks,” Dean said, smirking, trying for casual and coming about three miles short of the mark.
Sam looked down at the table, ran his finger over a gash in the formica. He shook his head. “Figures,” he whispered, bringing his head close to the tabletop.
“Hey,” Dean said, and then mumbled something Sam couldn’t hear.
“What d’you say?”
“I said, I never take it off because you gave it to me, stupid,” he said, running his hand over it. "S'the best present I ever got," he added quietly.
Sam’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah, Sammy. Of course,” Dean said, and then he pulled the bottle closer and tipped it back for a long swallow, as if preparing himself for something. He slammed the bottle back on the table and took a deep breath. “I, uh, got you something this year. Had it for a while. Been waiting to give it to you until you were old enough.”
“No foolin'?”
“Nope.”
“What is it?”
“Can’t give it to you here. You gotta come in our room,” he said, getting up and grabbing the bottle.
They walked the fifteen feet from the kitchen area into the bedroom they shared and each sat on his bed facing the other.
“So okay, what is it?” Sam asked.
“First I gotta ask you some questions. You ever kiss a girl?”
“Duh. Of course. In Oklahoma, I dated Molly for two months. We kissed.”
“Anyone else?”
“Sure, like a couple of others,” he said, looking away, trying to hide that he was lying. He’d only ever kissed Molly and she wasn’t good at it at all and Sam had actually thought it had been pretty awful. He’d seen Dean kiss girls before and that had always looked so good, the way he tilted his head was really smooth, and you could see he wasn’t sloppy at all, and he had this way of kinda working his lips that just looked awesome, and...Sam crossed his legs, trying to hide some more.
“How far did you go with that Molly girl?”
“Jesus, Dean. You didn’t pick a girl up at a bar for me, didja?”
“Hell no, Sammy. Just answer the question.”
“We, uh,” he cleared his throat. “I felt her up twice. One time, we, like, rubbed a little against each other.”
“She never went down on you?” Dean said, and his voice boomed with disbelief.
“Shhh, Dean. God, don’t you have any shame?” Sam said, his voice now a whisper. “No she never, you know, gave me a blowjob.” He barely even said the last word, just mouthing it. There wasn’t anyone there to overhear it. The hardware store they lived over had been closed since noon.
“Well, Sammy, you are in luck. Because--,” he licked his lips, and Sam almost whimpered at the sight of that pink tongue gliding across that unbelievably pouty bottom lip, “you are getting one tonight.”
Sam shifted. He didn’t want some slut that Dean paid, to come in and get cherry red lipstick all over his... “Dean, I don’t want some drunken bar chick to-"
“Who said anything about a chick?” Dean said, smirking, shrugging off the flannel shirt he was wearing.
“You got a dude to come and, you know?” Sam said, pointing at the door. He was horrified, not so much at the idea of it, but more horrified that Dean had figured out something Sam hadn’t even admitted to himself in so many words.
“Sam, calm down. There’s no one waiting outside. It’s just you and me, okay?” he said softly. And then he took a big pull on the bottle, offering it to Sam when he was finished.
“Just you and me?” Sam repeated, feeling like the world’s biggest jackass. He took a slug of the amber liquid.
“Yeah,” Dean said, sliding to his knees in the space between the beds. “Look, it’s gonna happen for you soon enough, and I just thought that maybe you should know what you’re in for before it happens. A guy could lose his cool real quick, and then, knowing you, you’d do anything the chick said.”
Sam just stared at him, not knowing what to say, feeling a strong urge to run away from this whole conversation, but an even stronger one to stay and find out exactly what Dean was talking about.
“It’s like sparring, Sammy. We do it to practice so that if we get hit on a hunt, we know how to deal with it. We know how to react, you know?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam, green eyes wide under brown-gold eyelashes that were far too long.
Sam didn’t move for a long minute, and Dean started to fidget, pull away. “But hey,” if you don’t want it, that’s fine,” Dean said, making a move to get to his feet, walk away. “It was just an idea, you know. No big-"
Sam grabbed two fistfuls of Dean’s thermal shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Dean instinctively tilted his head the right way and Sam moaned just from watching him be so goddamned fucking smooth. Kissing Dean was nothing like kissing Molly. Dean tasted like whiskey, and he smelled like leather and fireplace smoke and that aftershave he claimed drove women insane. And Sam felt those lips work around his, that skilled tongue in his mouth, and he knew he’d never really kissed anyone, not until this very moment. He hoped he was doing it right, matching the strokes of Dean’s tongue, trying to follow his lead perfectly like he’d done a million times before when they were training. He just prayed Dean wouldn’t pull away and tease him for being terrible at it.
Instead, Dean pulled away and just said, “Sammy,” in a choked whisper that was sexier than anything Sam had ever seen or heard before. Sexier than he thought was possible.
“Dean. Yes. I mean, I want...I want you to...”
Dean just nodded, and leaned in to kiss him again, but Sam put his hands on Dean’s chest to hold him away for a second. Was he really going to say this thing, this thought that had been forming in his mind for ages, this thought he never actually put into words even in the quiet of his own mind? Was he really going to say it?
“But, not for, you know, not for practice. F-for real.”
Dean just looked at him, eyes questioning. Then he nodded slow, jaw clenched and brow knitted: his serious face. “For real,” he said.
Sam nodded, kissed him again, until Dean pushed him back. “Lie down, Sammy,” Dean whispered, and Sam debated for a half-second about not doing it because he was already so hard and Dean would certainly make fun of him, until he realized that being hard enough to pound nails was the whole point. He scooched back onto the bed, lying with his head on the pillow, his erection practically tenting his pants.
Dean pulled his shirt off over his head sat down by Sam’s legs. “Let’s take these off,” he said, reaching for the button of Sam’s pants. Sam rushed to get them off, kicking the jeans and underwear to the floor as fast as he could. Then he was wearing just a shirt which looked ridiculous so he took that off as well.
“Well, look at you, little brother,” Dean said, smirking. “Not so little anymore, huh?”
“Dean?” he asked, feeling more than just naked, feeling completely vulnerable in every way possible.
“Hey,” Dean whispered. “S’okay. I’m here.” Dean got up and turned the light in the room off, leaving the door open so they could see each other by the light from the kitchen.
“Dean,” Sam said again, not knowing how much longer he could be this way without his brother there to guide him.
“I’m right here,” Dean said, kneeling between Sam’s legs. He was wearing jeans and nothing else. Barefoot. Shirtless. The amulet resting in the center of his chest.
Dean crawled across and leaned down to kiss Sam, the amulet brushing Sam’s skin. He shivered even though the metal was warm from Dean’s body. Dean kissed him slow and deep, taking his time, and Sam knew he had been right about something all along: Dean was the best kisser in the world. No one else could ever be this good.
But soon, Dean stopped kissing his lips, and instead started to kiss his face, his neck, his chest, and slowly he worked his way down. By the time Dean got to his stomach, Sam was trembling, Dean’s amulet swinging and brushing against the shaft of Sam’s cock, against his balls. Sam blew out a breath.
Sam picked his head up to watch Dean, but nearly came watching his brother lick along the curve of his hip bone. Sam moaned, letting his head drop back down on the pillow.
“You ready, Sam?” Dean asked.
Sam pulled the thin army blanket into his fists and grunted. “Yeah, Dean. Ready.”
Dean slowly untangled Sam’s hands from the blanket, and placed them on the back of his own head. “Here,” he said. “I can take it.”
Sam didn’t know what he meant at first, but then Dean slowly took Sam’s cock into the whiskey heat of his mouth and Sam suddenly wanted to push Dean’s head down as far as it would go. He didn’t, though, trying to control himself.
Dean sucked up and down the shaft, alternating licks to the head with slow deep strokes.
Before rational thought left his mind completely, Sam had a second to wonder just how Dean got to be so damn good at this. He’d never seen him with a guy, never even suspected Dean would have done this before, but he had to have; even Dean wasn’t this good without practice. Sam didn’t have a minute to be jealous about it, though, because he could feel himself ready to come. He forced himself to keep his hips on the bed, just tilt them up a little, just a tiny bit to get the angle just a little different. And Jesus, it felt too fucking good.
He didn’t want it to end though. Dean’s mouth felt so amazing. Sam didn’t realize it, but he’d been moaning Dean’s name over and over again. He didn't know when he started, but he knew he couldn't really stop. The sound just flowed from him, almost like Dean was drawing it out of him with that mouth.
Dean eased off with a wet pop. Sam looked down at him, and pulled his hands away, feeling like he’d done something wrong.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean said, fisting Sam’s cock slowly as he spoke. “You’re not gonna hurt me. Promise. Just fuck my mouth, Sammy. Do it.”
“But I’m gonna...in like a second,” Sam said gasping, pleading for Dean to tell him what to do.
“I know, Sammy. That’s the point. I want you to come in my mouth. Wanna swallow all of it. Now come on,” he said, and waited until Sam had put his hands on the back of his head again and then he bent down. He sucked harder, up and down, amulet swinging and hitting his inner thigh, brushing against his balls. And fuck it, this was going to happen. Sam pressed down hard on Dean’s head, his hips coming up at the same time. Dean grunted, but kept sucking, working his tongue along the bottom ridge of Sam’s cock.
He thrust up twice more, hips up, back arched off the bed, and then froze there for a second, like freefalling, before his orgasm crashed over him like a wave. It felt like his life was rushing out of his cock, but it was okay because he was giving it to Dean.
Dean’s throat worked and he swallowed and moaned around Sam, licking slower and slower as Sam came down, caught his breath.
Dean rolled over, resting his head on Sam’s thigh, lying between his legs. He was warm and sweaty. Sam was happy Dean was trying to catch his breath too.
Sam still had one hand on Dean’s head so he stroked the short hair there, Dean moaning his approval.
“You hungry?” Dean said, after a while. “Think we still got some burgers in the freezer.”
“Yeah, I could go for that,” Sam said. He wanted to talk. Ask what it was they just did. Ask if it was going to happen again, but he knew Dean just didn’t work like that.
Dean got up, and Sam could tell from his silhouette in the doorway that he was still hard.
“Hey Dean?” Sam asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Yeah?” Dean answered, pulling his shirt on over his head, placing the amulet on the outside of the shirt where it always was.
“D’you want me to, you know? Because you didn’t, uh, you know,” Sam stuttered.
“Come, Sam. I didn’t come. If we’re gonna do this, you’re gonna have to actually say the words sometimes.”
If we’re gonna do this, Sam repeated in his head. He smiled. He cleared his throat. “So, yeah. You didn’t come, Dean. Do you want me to giveyouablowjob?” he asked, forcing the words out.
Dean smiled at him. “Nah, Sammy. Not tonight. You can get me later. That was your Christmas present,” Dean said, walking into the kitchen and starting dinner.
Sammy let his head fall back onto the pillow. He stared at the ceiling and whispered to himself, “Best. Christmas. Ever.”