Fic: Locks of Love
Dean pulls the stool up to the sink. He arranges a couple of towels on the counter, along with Sam's favorite juniper shampoo and conditioner. He'd bought it special--when Sam was injured, Dean liked to pamper him a little. It wasn't much, but having his hair washed with his favorite products was something Dean could offer easily enough.
"Sam, ready for ya," he says as he pokes his head out of the bathroom.
Sam's sitting on the bed, leaning back against a couple of pillows. Dean had already managed to get his filthy jeans off, and the T-shirt had been cut off with scissors--a sacrifice to Sam's comfort. The bullet graze is across his ribs; it isn't life-threatening or anything, but it does make movement slow and painful. There's mud and dirt in his hair from his diving away from the bear (and a regular old bear at that, not even a were-bear or anything), and Dean figures he could at least wash the gunk out and make Sam clean and comfortable.
"Need a hand getting up, bro?" Dean helps Sam get up from the bed; he knows how difficult standing up can be when your ribs are injured.
"Thanks. Feel stupid getting in the way of your shot."
"Hey, not to worry. Can't help it when you're dodging a claw. Besides, you're fine, gonna heal right up in a couple of days. We'll lay low, take a little rest--we need it anyway. In the meantime, let's get you all cleaned up so's you can relax, okay?"
Sam sits down gingerly on the stool. "Easier to lean forward or back?" Dean asks.
"Um...back. Forward scrunches everything up," Sam replies. He turns around and slowly leans back, Dean putting a hand under his shoulders to help support him. He quickly folds a towel and puts it under Sam's neck to pad the cold edge of the sink.
"Okay, let me know if this is too hot, all right?" Dean pours a cup of water over Sam's hair. It's matted with mud and dirt, with little bits of grass and leaves stuck in it. Dean bites his lip is dismay. He'd never admit it, but he loves Sammy's hair--the silkiness of it, the rich color, the waves and the little curls at the ends. He hates seeing it all gunked up like this.
"Yup, get you fixed right up," he murmurs. He pops the cap of the shampoo bottle open and squeezes a generous puddle into his hand. Sam chuckles.
"What's so funny?" Dean asks, rubbing his hands together to start it lathering. He sinks his hands into the dirty hair.
"Sounds like the lube cap," Sam says softly.
Dean chuckles himself. It did, at that.
Shit, now he's thinking about sex with Sam, and his cock is waking up.
Down, boy, down. Sam's on the injured list.
His fingers work hard now, saturating Sam's hair with the shampoo, gently picking out the bits of matter and easing out the mud clods. Sam's eyes close, and Dean smiles. Sam loves having his head massaged, loves Dean's hands moving in his hair.
The clean smell of juniper wafts through the little room. Dean rinses the first round of shampoo from Sam's hair. The water is dark and gritty, leaving an ugly ring in the sink, and Dean prepares a second round of shampoo. This time, he can feels Sammy's hair itself, without the dirt clogging it up so badly. Sam sighs as Dean rubs into his scalp. Dean gets a little harder in his jeans.
He rinses again, the warm water pouring over Sam's head and washing the suds away. There, now Dean can see the rich chestnut color that he loves, with darker brown underneath and gold-red strands on top. He studies Sam's profile; the sweeping forehead, the deep-set eyes, the dark fan of eyelashes on his cheeks, the pointed nose and strong chin. No dimples show right now, but his cheeks bear the faint impression of the hollows they create.
Sammy.
Dean's heart softens as his dick hardens more. Christ, his brother is injured, and he's thinking about getting off. He kicks himself mentally.
"Dean? Is it clean now?"
Dean realizes he's no longer rinsing, but merely stroking Sam's hair. "Oh, yeah, yeah, all set. Let me wrap a towel around it so you don't drip all over yourself, and you can sit up." He does just that, making sure no drops run down Sam's long, strong neck. Fucking lickable, he thinks before helping Sam sit up. "Hey," he says, "there's a blow dryer. Want me to dry it before you lie down?"
"God, that would be great," Sam replies with a smile. This is a treat; most motels they stay at don't offer such amenities. This place not only has a blow dryer in the bathroom, it has a little coffee machine and coffee packets. Downright luxurious.
Dean uses one hand to comb Sam's hair out as the other wields the dryer. Sam sits with eyes closed, and Dean swears he's purring. His hair fluffs as it dries, the strands clinging to Dean's fingers as they float around. The gold highlights stand out more, and the conditioner has made it super-silky.
Dean is totally hard now. He bites his lip, trying to think of gross stuff to make it go down.
It's not working.
"Hey, Dean? Thank you for doing this. I feel a lot better, getting all that crap out of my hair," Sam says, eyes still closed.
"I was happy to do it, Sam. What are big brothers for?" Dean smiles, pressing on his crotch while Sam's eyes are still closed.
"Oh, you know what else?" Sam asks casually.
"What?" Dean grimaces--this is starting to be painful.
"I may not see you, but I can smell you. You've got a hard-on the size of Mount Everest going on, because I can smell your pre-come."
Dean stifles a groan--Sam ain't lying. Dean's got a wet spot in his boxers, and it's only getting bigger. He looks down and realizes he's standing groin-level with Sam's face. Idiot! Sam's eyes open and he smiles wickedly at Dean.
He starts to move back, but Sam's hand grabs his belt loop lightning fast. "I oughta thank you for taking such good care of me, don't you think? This was definitely special duty." Nimble fingers undo his zipper, and he can feel each tooth rachet as Sam slowly pulls it down.
"Mmm, that looks serious, Dean. I think you need some help there." Sam trails a finger down Dean's length over the threadbare cotton of his boxers. Dean feels his dick jump eagerly at the attention, and Sam chuckles. He bends forward just a little--Dean is righthere--and starts mouthing at the head as it pokes out of Dean's waistband.
Dean grabs the sink for support. Sam's lips are warm and soft as they kiss his cockhead, then his tongue slips out and licks the pre-come leaking out. He closes his eyes and fucking savors it. Dean thinks he's gonna die now.
"C'mere..." Sam tugs him forward an inch or so--any closer, Dean's going to be sitting in Sam's lap. As it is, he spreads his legs to straddle Sam's gigantor limbs.
Sam runs his hand up and down Dean's cock, squeezing and running his thumb over the slit, smearing the pre-come around. Sam pulls the skimpy boxers halfway down Dean's thighs, then takes hold of his dick and strokes it firmly in one big hand. He kisses the tip again, licks all around the head and down the length, with one big lick all the way back up before he sucks the head into his sweet pink mouth.
Dean closes his eyes and thinks he'll never be able to smell juniper again without getting hard. The air in the small bathroom is redolent with it. His hand leaves the sink and plants itself in Sam's hair, anchoring there. His fingers curl in that silky mop, tugging gently, and fuck if Sam really isn't purring. Dean tugs a little harder, and Sam responds by sucking Dean all the way in, making him groan loudly.
He realizes that he's holding Sam's hair really tightly and releases it, breathing an apology. Sam shakes his head and lets go of Dean's cock. "I think you better hang on...this could be a rough ride." He waits until Dean's hand is gripping his hair again, then swallows Dean right now.
Dean yelps, so much hotwetdeep surrounding his dick. His fingers tighten reflexively, and Sam fucking swallows around his cock. Dean can feel Sam's saliva running down into his balls; it's a light, tickley feeling. Well, it is until Sam's fingers start spreading the saliva and pre-come all over his balls and fondling them. Then it just makes Dean ready to pound nails.
He lets go of Sam's hair, convinced he's going to rip it out of his brother's scalp. Instead, he starts petting it, running his fingers over and over the thick, soft mass, letting just his fingertips sink in past the surface layer. Sam matches his rhythm, bobbing his head at the same speed Dean strokes his hair. They're totally in sync. Dean speeds up the petting; Sam speeds up the bobbing. Dean slows down; Sam slows down. It's funny as hell, but Dean is too fucking turned on to actually laugh.
Then he feels it--a finger tapping on his hole. It rolls around in the sloppy mess Sam was using to play with Dean's balls, then returns to his hole and starts to slip inside.
Fuck if Sam isn't using the same rhythm there too.
They build to a crescendo together, Sam sucking and fingering Dean, Dean fucking gently into Sam's mouth, hips rocking as his hand moves through Sam's luxurious hair. Dean feels his orgasm building; his hips rock faster. He stops petting Sam and grips his hair again, holding him still as Dean fucks Sam's mouth harder. Sam urges him on, fucking into his hole with one, then two fingers, driving the rhythm faster. Dean pants, lost in the pleasure of Sam's mouth and fingers, rocking on a wave of arousal that threatens to break any moment.
A third finger slips into Dean's hole, thrusting in deep withthe others to press hard on Dean's prostate. The soft tip of Sam's tongue stabs his slit, and fuck, he is done. He pulls Sam's hair hard as he shoots, forcing his brother to sit there and take it, swallow all that Dean gives him. His balls are practically in his belly, they're so drawn up tight. He grunts and groans as he releases, legs locked and mouth deperately sucking in air.
As his climax begins to ebb, he realizes how tightly he's holding on to Sam's hair, and lets go with a gasp. He starts to apologize, but then he looks down at Sam's lap. The waistband of Sam's boxers is stuffed under his balls; his cock is shiny with come, and his hand and lap are splattered with white. Sam gives him a sheepish look.
Instead of an apology, Dean smirks. "Guess you liked that."
Sam grins back. "Guess I did."
"Sam, ready for ya," he says as he pokes his head out of the bathroom.
Sam's sitting on the bed, leaning back against a couple of pillows. Dean had already managed to get his filthy jeans off, and the T-shirt had been cut off with scissors--a sacrifice to Sam's comfort. The bullet graze is across his ribs; it isn't life-threatening or anything, but it does make movement slow and painful. There's mud and dirt in his hair from his diving away from the bear (and a regular old bear at that, not even a were-bear or anything), and Dean figures he could at least wash the gunk out and make Sam clean and comfortable.
"Need a hand getting up, bro?" Dean helps Sam get up from the bed; he knows how difficult standing up can be when your ribs are injured.
"Thanks. Feel stupid getting in the way of your shot."
"Hey, not to worry. Can't help it when you're dodging a claw. Besides, you're fine, gonna heal right up in a couple of days. We'll lay low, take a little rest--we need it anyway. In the meantime, let's get you all cleaned up so's you can relax, okay?"
Sam sits down gingerly on the stool. "Easier to lean forward or back?" Dean asks.
"Um...back. Forward scrunches everything up," Sam replies. He turns around and slowly leans back, Dean putting a hand under his shoulders to help support him. He quickly folds a towel and puts it under Sam's neck to pad the cold edge of the sink.
"Okay, let me know if this is too hot, all right?" Dean pours a cup of water over Sam's hair. It's matted with mud and dirt, with little bits of grass and leaves stuck in it. Dean bites his lip is dismay. He'd never admit it, but he loves Sammy's hair--the silkiness of it, the rich color, the waves and the little curls at the ends. He hates seeing it all gunked up like this.
"Yup, get you fixed right up," he murmurs. He pops the cap of the shampoo bottle open and squeezes a generous puddle into his hand. Sam chuckles.
"What's so funny?" Dean asks, rubbing his hands together to start it lathering. He sinks his hands into the dirty hair.
"Sounds like the lube cap," Sam says softly.
Dean chuckles himself. It did, at that.
Shit, now he's thinking about sex with Sam, and his cock is waking up.
Down, boy, down. Sam's on the injured list.
His fingers work hard now, saturating Sam's hair with the shampoo, gently picking out the bits of matter and easing out the mud clods. Sam's eyes close, and Dean smiles. Sam loves having his head massaged, loves Dean's hands moving in his hair.
The clean smell of juniper wafts through the little room. Dean rinses the first round of shampoo from Sam's hair. The water is dark and gritty, leaving an ugly ring in the sink, and Dean prepares a second round of shampoo. This time, he can feels Sammy's hair itself, without the dirt clogging it up so badly. Sam sighs as Dean rubs into his scalp. Dean gets a little harder in his jeans.
He rinses again, the warm water pouring over Sam's head and washing the suds away. There, now Dean can see the rich chestnut color that he loves, with darker brown underneath and gold-red strands on top. He studies Sam's profile; the sweeping forehead, the deep-set eyes, the dark fan of eyelashes on his cheeks, the pointed nose and strong chin. No dimples show right now, but his cheeks bear the faint impression of the hollows they create.
Sammy.
Dean's heart softens as his dick hardens more. Christ, his brother is injured, and he's thinking about getting off. He kicks himself mentally.
"Dean? Is it clean now?"
Dean realizes he's no longer rinsing, but merely stroking Sam's hair. "Oh, yeah, yeah, all set. Let me wrap a towel around it so you don't drip all over yourself, and you can sit up." He does just that, making sure no drops run down Sam's long, strong neck. Fucking lickable, he thinks before helping Sam sit up. "Hey," he says, "there's a blow dryer. Want me to dry it before you lie down?"
"God, that would be great," Sam replies with a smile. This is a treat; most motels they stay at don't offer such amenities. This place not only has a blow dryer in the bathroom, it has a little coffee machine and coffee packets. Downright luxurious.
Dean uses one hand to comb Sam's hair out as the other wields the dryer. Sam sits with eyes closed, and Dean swears he's purring. His hair fluffs as it dries, the strands clinging to Dean's fingers as they float around. The gold highlights stand out more, and the conditioner has made it super-silky.
Dean is totally hard now. He bites his lip, trying to think of gross stuff to make it go down.
It's not working.
"Hey, Dean? Thank you for doing this. I feel a lot better, getting all that crap out of my hair," Sam says, eyes still closed.
"I was happy to do it, Sam. What are big brothers for?" Dean smiles, pressing on his crotch while Sam's eyes are still closed.
"Oh, you know what else?" Sam asks casually.
"What?" Dean grimaces--this is starting to be painful.
"I may not see you, but I can smell you. You've got a hard-on the size of Mount Everest going on, because I can smell your pre-come."
Dean stifles a groan--Sam ain't lying. Dean's got a wet spot in his boxers, and it's only getting bigger. He looks down and realizes he's standing groin-level with Sam's face. Idiot! Sam's eyes open and he smiles wickedly at Dean.
He starts to move back, but Sam's hand grabs his belt loop lightning fast. "I oughta thank you for taking such good care of me, don't you think? This was definitely special duty." Nimble fingers undo his zipper, and he can feel each tooth rachet as Sam slowly pulls it down.
"Mmm, that looks serious, Dean. I think you need some help there." Sam trails a finger down Dean's length over the threadbare cotton of his boxers. Dean feels his dick jump eagerly at the attention, and Sam chuckles. He bends forward just a little--Dean is righthere--and starts mouthing at the head as it pokes out of Dean's waistband.
Dean grabs the sink for support. Sam's lips are warm and soft as they kiss his cockhead, then his tongue slips out and licks the pre-come leaking out. He closes his eyes and fucking savors it. Dean thinks he's gonna die now.
"C'mere..." Sam tugs him forward an inch or so--any closer, Dean's going to be sitting in Sam's lap. As it is, he spreads his legs to straddle Sam's gigantor limbs.
Sam runs his hand up and down Dean's cock, squeezing and running his thumb over the slit, smearing the pre-come around. Sam pulls the skimpy boxers halfway down Dean's thighs, then takes hold of his dick and strokes it firmly in one big hand. He kisses the tip again, licks all around the head and down the length, with one big lick all the way back up before he sucks the head into his sweet pink mouth.
Dean closes his eyes and thinks he'll never be able to smell juniper again without getting hard. The air in the small bathroom is redolent with it. His hand leaves the sink and plants itself in Sam's hair, anchoring there. His fingers curl in that silky mop, tugging gently, and fuck if Sam really isn't purring. Dean tugs a little harder, and Sam responds by sucking Dean all the way in, making him groan loudly.
He realizes that he's holding Sam's hair really tightly and releases it, breathing an apology. Sam shakes his head and lets go of Dean's cock. "I think you better hang on...this could be a rough ride." He waits until Dean's hand is gripping his hair again, then swallows Dean right now.
Dean yelps, so much hotwetdeep surrounding his dick. His fingers tighten reflexively, and Sam fucking swallows around his cock. Dean can feel Sam's saliva running down into his balls; it's a light, tickley feeling. Well, it is until Sam's fingers start spreading the saliva and pre-come all over his balls and fondling them. Then it just makes Dean ready to pound nails.
He lets go of Sam's hair, convinced he's going to rip it out of his brother's scalp. Instead, he starts petting it, running his fingers over and over the thick, soft mass, letting just his fingertips sink in past the surface layer. Sam matches his rhythm, bobbing his head at the same speed Dean strokes his hair. They're totally in sync. Dean speeds up the petting; Sam speeds up the bobbing. Dean slows down; Sam slows down. It's funny as hell, but Dean is too fucking turned on to actually laugh.
Then he feels it--a finger tapping on his hole. It rolls around in the sloppy mess Sam was using to play with Dean's balls, then returns to his hole and starts to slip inside.
Fuck if Sam isn't using the same rhythm there too.
They build to a crescendo together, Sam sucking and fingering Dean, Dean fucking gently into Sam's mouth, hips rocking as his hand moves through Sam's luxurious hair. Dean feels his orgasm building; his hips rock faster. He stops petting Sam and grips his hair again, holding him still as Dean fucks Sam's mouth harder. Sam urges him on, fucking into his hole with one, then two fingers, driving the rhythm faster. Dean pants, lost in the pleasure of Sam's mouth and fingers, rocking on a wave of arousal that threatens to break any moment.
A third finger slips into Dean's hole, thrusting in deep withthe others to press hard on Dean's prostate. The soft tip of Sam's tongue stabs his slit, and fuck, he is done. He pulls Sam's hair hard as he shoots, forcing his brother to sit there and take it, swallow all that Dean gives him. His balls are practically in his belly, they're so drawn up tight. He grunts and groans as he releases, legs locked and mouth deperately sucking in air.
As his climax begins to ebb, he realizes how tightly he's holding on to Sam's hair, and lets go with a gasp. He starts to apologize, but then he looks down at Sam's lap. The waistband of Sam's boxers is stuffed under his balls; his cock is shiny with come, and his hand and lap are splattered with white. Sam gives him a sheepish look.
Instead of an apology, Dean smirks. "Guess you liked that."
Sam grins back. "Guess I did."