Supernatural Slash Fiction: Trick Or Treat
Title: Trick Or Treat
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean engage in their own dirty version of Trick or Treat…
Warnings: Some mild kink, but nothing offensive.
Author's Notes: My spn_halloween story for the prompt that matches the summary. Also for my spn_25 table, this is "Temptation." Mwah-ha-ha…
x-x-x-x-x
The pumpkins are the first clue-all over the freakin' menu, pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin latte even though it's a diner in Podunk Illinois.
The pumpkins on the windows started weeks ago, and freaky shit in stores that Dean's tempted to buy just for fun-zombie that, motherfucker! But today has taken it to a whole new level.
There are pumpkins on the table now, tiny mutant pumpkins next to the salt shaker. And the waitress is dressed like a witch.
"It's Halloween today, isn't it?" Dean asks glumly.
Sam looks at him like he's dumb-on-a-stick. "I was actually thinking Christmas."
Asshole. "Shut up..."
Dean's breakfast is done up cute, and that's just wrong. Eggs sunnyside-up, with the yolks in eyeball position while the whites mix together and drain down like the bottom of a really short ghost. The ghost has arms, but so does Dean- he stabs its eyeballs with his fork.
"Ooh, trick or treat," Sam says suddenly.
"What?"
"Your bacon." Sam smiles at it meaningfully.
"Hell no. Get your own bacon!"
"Too late. I want some of yours." Sam reaches for it in challenge, and Dean smacks his hand away and stuffs the bacon into his own mouth.
"Nothing doing," he mumbles around the wad in his cheeks.
Sam just eyes him like Dean's living down to all his expectations. There's a scuffing sound under the table, and then Sam's foot is right up between Dean's legs rubbing his crotch and Holy shit! Dean's eyes cross in surprise and he nearly chokes. "What-"
Sam grins at him evilly. "You picked trick."
So that's how it is.
Dean reaches down and grab's Sam's foot, aggressively tickling the underside of the arch before Sam can pull his foot away. He is rewarded by the sound of Sam's knee slamming into the bottom of the table.
"Ow!"
Exactly.
The rest of breakfast is spent watching each other warily, both of them back in their respective corners waiting until the bell sounds the beginning of the next round…
At the motel, Dean digs through the trunk for a couple of maps, and when he's finished he finds that Sam has locked the room door. "Sammy-" he says sternly.
"Say the magic words," Sam calls through the door.
"What, like, Open up or you're going to get it?"
"The ones from before. Think back to the diner."
Crap.
"Trick. Or. Treat," Dean mutters tonelessly.
"Louder."
"Trick or treat!" Now he feels like an idiot.
The door swings open and Sam clamps a giant paw on Dean's belt and drags him inside the room. Then it's all slick-sliding lips and teasing hands and Dean nearly drowns in the way Sam tastes like syrup.
I guess this is 'treat'…
~*~
An hour later they're on the way to check out the local cemetery after a quick stop at a drive-through. Now, the car should be neutral territory by all rights, or weighted in Dean's favor since it's his car after all. But instead, Dean's barely gotten the straw in his milkshake before Sam starts up again.
"Trick or treat."
"Now what?"
"Your milkshake." Sam smiles at him hopefully.
"You've got one of your own!"
"This is strawberry. Yours is chocolate," Sam insists.
Oh for crying out loud… "All right," Dean says grudgingly, and hands it over. "But not too much."
Sam takes several longs sips, eyes closed in pure enjoyment. "Pull over," he murmurs after the last one.
"Why?" Dean asks, even as he's doing it. But then Sam's mouth is on his, hungry kisses with a hint of chocolate, and Dean forgets to even let go of the keys while he wonders how the touch of cool lips and tongue can make every part of the rest of him feel like he's burning up…
At the cemetery, there's a secluded spot beneath a stand of oaks that catches Dean's eye immediately. "Trick or treat," he says, rubbing up against Sam with his shoulder and nodding in the direction of the trees.
"Jesus Christ, Dean, not in the cemetery!" Sam sputters.
Now why the fuck does Sam get to make up all the rules?
This just makes Dean even more determined to claim his turn at Sam's little game. He drops Sam back at the motel when they're done, and makes a couple of important stops before he's ready to take Sam on.
When he unlocks the door, Sam's right where he expects-sprawled out on the bed watching TV, the laptop abandoned on the table along with the remnants of an apple.
"What's in the bag?" Sam asks.
"Stuff," Dean deadpans. It's worth it for the way Sam rolls his eyes.
Dean sets the bag down next to the bed, then turns the television off and gazes down cockily at Sam. "Trick or treat."
"Treat," Sam says happily, settling back on his elbows and waiting for Dean to make his move.
"About damn time." Dean swings a leg over Sam's lap and straddles him, kissing his way to the point where Sam is twisting underneath him, hard and breathless and needy.
Dean pulls Sam's shirt up, sliding both hands over Sam's sides and chest. The skin is soft and warm there, and he can't resist leaning down to kiss and caress it with his mouth, tasting salt and a certain sweetness that brings him to lap and suck at it with his tongue while Sam writhes and groans.
"Dean-"
"Wait."
Easing Sam's belt open, Dean pops the buttons on Sam's fly and nuzzles through the cotton of Sam's boxers at the hardness underneath. The scent of arousal there makes Dean strain against his Levis, and he reaches down to release himself from confinement, bucking as his hand brushes his erection unexpectedly. Gotta hold off, he reminds himself, and he sets to work opening the front of Sam's boxers with his teeth, smacking Sam's hip when his brother grinds into him mid-process in frustration. "I said wait."
Dean maneuvers the boxer-cloth with his mouth until Sam's cock edges out of the opening, flushed and leaking. One lick to the underside with the flat of his tongue, and then Dean rolls his mouth across the tip again and again, tasting Sam greedily and letting himself get lost in the flavor and the sounds Sam makes in response.
As Sam's breathing gets fractured and shallow, Dean eases off suddenly. This is not where he intended to end things, and they've got awhile still to go before he's done. He licks more gently, sweeping and swirling in slow paths that keep Sam on edge without quite giving him enough. Dean brushes Sam's opening lightly through the boxers, teasing circles that make Sam gasp and shake. Time to get the clothes out of the picture...
Dean pulls Sam's boxers down and off, along with his pants, and pushes his own jeans down far enough to be out of the way. Back he goes to the task at hand, slow temptation driving Sam to clutch Dean's shoulders and slide a hand around the back of Dean's head to hold it still. Here we go, Dean thinks.
Leaning down over the side of the bed, Dean opens the bag and pulls out item number one. He jams the horrific clown mask over his face and sits back up where Sam can see him: "Hey, baby."
"Jesus, way to ruin the mood!" Sam slaps him on the leg.
"Well, in that case-" Dean throws the mask across the room where it bounces off the television, "I guess you've decided to go for 'trick' instead."
The second thing in the bag is a black bandana. Dean flips it over and over until it's all wound up, then wraps it around the base of Sam's cock and ties it in a nice, tight bow.
"You're kidding."
Dean licks over the tip of Sam's cock, now slightly purple. "The hell I am," he mutters against the spit-slick skin under his lips. He lubes up his fingers and begins easing Sam open for him while he nibbles and teases Sam into flow-blown arousal again. Oh, yeah…
"Dean," Sam gasps out, reaching for the bandana in desperation.
"No." Dean swats those hands away again, then centers himself between Sam's legs and pushes his way in, wet heat surrounding him. "God, you feel so good."
"So let me join the party."
"Nope, not yet."
Dean moves slowly at first while Sam gets used to him, then dials up the pace. He thrusts in deep, one hand jacking Sam erratically-that swollen column filling his hand, bigger than he remembers it ever being before.
"Dean…" Sam moans out helplessly. Dean swallows the sound with his mouth.
With hard, fast upstrokes Dean fucks into Sam, cock below and tongue above as Sam shakes and whimpers with the frustrated need for release. A flick of Dean's thumb over Sam's erection brings an unexpected yelp, which just encourages Dean to repeat the action. He's wholly unprepared for Sam's fingers sliding around behind him and stroking over his anus, and he comes just seconds later, filling Sam deep as a yell works its way out of his throat: "Fuuuuck!"
Warm hands rub over him as he lies with his head against Sam's neck, and he kisses the skin beneath him in return. Man, that was intense…
When Sam tries to work his hand between them, Dean remembers what he's left unfinished. He sits up, crouching between Sam's legs as he strokes skillfully for a few moments, and then pulls the bow on the bandana and yanks it off with one hand while the other keeps going. Sam comes so fast and hard that Dean nearly gets an eyeful, a splash landing on his cheek and the rest in irregular stripes on the sheets and Sam's stomach in a climax that seems to go on forever.
"Holy crap," Sam finally pants, his arm flung over his eyes. "I think you nearly killed me…"
"Worth it?"
"Fuck, yeah, Sam groans. "But next time it's your turn..."
I think I could sign up for that.
Sam falls asleep almost immediately afterwards-before dinner, which is so unlike him that he's clearly worn out. Dean's pretty proud of that for about two minutes, until he realizes this could be it for the evening-Sam asleep, and him stuck here listening to the snoring.
Yeah, that'll totally be fun.
It's still Halloween, though, and Dean is not without resources. In fact, he's got a Sharpie in the duffel bag across the room…
He waits until Sam's out good before slipping off the bed to dig out the pen. Then he settles in happily and gets to work, not feeling the slightest bit of remorse as he carefully turns his brother's cock into a diamondback snake, complete with fangs.
Heh. Gotcha, Sammy.
-------- fin --------
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean engage in their own dirty version of Trick or Treat…
Warnings: Some mild kink, but nothing offensive.
Author's Notes: My spn_halloween story for the prompt that matches the summary. Also for my spn_25 table, this is "Temptation." Mwah-ha-ha…
x-x-x-x-x
The pumpkins are the first clue-all over the freakin' menu, pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin latte even though it's a diner in Podunk Illinois.
The pumpkins on the windows started weeks ago, and freaky shit in stores that Dean's tempted to buy just for fun-zombie that, motherfucker! But today has taken it to a whole new level.
There are pumpkins on the table now, tiny mutant pumpkins next to the salt shaker. And the waitress is dressed like a witch.
"It's Halloween today, isn't it?" Dean asks glumly.
Sam looks at him like he's dumb-on-a-stick. "I was actually thinking Christmas."
Asshole. "Shut up..."
Dean's breakfast is done up cute, and that's just wrong. Eggs sunnyside-up, with the yolks in eyeball position while the whites mix together and drain down like the bottom of a really short ghost. The ghost has arms, but so does Dean- he stabs its eyeballs with his fork.
"Ooh, trick or treat," Sam says suddenly.
"What?"
"Your bacon." Sam smiles at it meaningfully.
"Hell no. Get your own bacon!"
"Too late. I want some of yours." Sam reaches for it in challenge, and Dean smacks his hand away and stuffs the bacon into his own mouth.
"Nothing doing," he mumbles around the wad in his cheeks.
Sam just eyes him like Dean's living down to all his expectations. There's a scuffing sound under the table, and then Sam's foot is right up between Dean's legs rubbing his crotch and Holy shit! Dean's eyes cross in surprise and he nearly chokes. "What-"
Sam grins at him evilly. "You picked trick."
So that's how it is.
Dean reaches down and grab's Sam's foot, aggressively tickling the underside of the arch before Sam can pull his foot away. He is rewarded by the sound of Sam's knee slamming into the bottom of the table.
"Ow!"
Exactly.
The rest of breakfast is spent watching each other warily, both of them back in their respective corners waiting until the bell sounds the beginning of the next round…
At the motel, Dean digs through the trunk for a couple of maps, and when he's finished he finds that Sam has locked the room door. "Sammy-" he says sternly.
"Say the magic words," Sam calls through the door.
"What, like, Open up or you're going to get it?"
"The ones from before. Think back to the diner."
Crap.
"Trick. Or. Treat," Dean mutters tonelessly.
"Louder."
"Trick or treat!" Now he feels like an idiot.
The door swings open and Sam clamps a giant paw on Dean's belt and drags him inside the room. Then it's all slick-sliding lips and teasing hands and Dean nearly drowns in the way Sam tastes like syrup.
I guess this is 'treat'…
~*~
An hour later they're on the way to check out the local cemetery after a quick stop at a drive-through. Now, the car should be neutral territory by all rights, or weighted in Dean's favor since it's his car after all. But instead, Dean's barely gotten the straw in his milkshake before Sam starts up again.
"Trick or treat."
"Now what?"
"Your milkshake." Sam smiles at him hopefully.
"You've got one of your own!"
"This is strawberry. Yours is chocolate," Sam insists.
Oh for crying out loud… "All right," Dean says grudgingly, and hands it over. "But not too much."
Sam takes several longs sips, eyes closed in pure enjoyment. "Pull over," he murmurs after the last one.
"Why?" Dean asks, even as he's doing it. But then Sam's mouth is on his, hungry kisses with a hint of chocolate, and Dean forgets to even let go of the keys while he wonders how the touch of cool lips and tongue can make every part of the rest of him feel like he's burning up…
At the cemetery, there's a secluded spot beneath a stand of oaks that catches Dean's eye immediately. "Trick or treat," he says, rubbing up against Sam with his shoulder and nodding in the direction of the trees.
"Jesus Christ, Dean, not in the cemetery!" Sam sputters.
Now why the fuck does Sam get to make up all the rules?
This just makes Dean even more determined to claim his turn at Sam's little game. He drops Sam back at the motel when they're done, and makes a couple of important stops before he's ready to take Sam on.
When he unlocks the door, Sam's right where he expects-sprawled out on the bed watching TV, the laptop abandoned on the table along with the remnants of an apple.
"What's in the bag?" Sam asks.
"Stuff," Dean deadpans. It's worth it for the way Sam rolls his eyes.
Dean sets the bag down next to the bed, then turns the television off and gazes down cockily at Sam. "Trick or treat."
"Treat," Sam says happily, settling back on his elbows and waiting for Dean to make his move.
"About damn time." Dean swings a leg over Sam's lap and straddles him, kissing his way to the point where Sam is twisting underneath him, hard and breathless and needy.
Dean pulls Sam's shirt up, sliding both hands over Sam's sides and chest. The skin is soft and warm there, and he can't resist leaning down to kiss and caress it with his mouth, tasting salt and a certain sweetness that brings him to lap and suck at it with his tongue while Sam writhes and groans.
"Dean-"
"Wait."
Easing Sam's belt open, Dean pops the buttons on Sam's fly and nuzzles through the cotton of Sam's boxers at the hardness underneath. The scent of arousal there makes Dean strain against his Levis, and he reaches down to release himself from confinement, bucking as his hand brushes his erection unexpectedly. Gotta hold off, he reminds himself, and he sets to work opening the front of Sam's boxers with his teeth, smacking Sam's hip when his brother grinds into him mid-process in frustration. "I said wait."
Dean maneuvers the boxer-cloth with his mouth until Sam's cock edges out of the opening, flushed and leaking. One lick to the underside with the flat of his tongue, and then Dean rolls his mouth across the tip again and again, tasting Sam greedily and letting himself get lost in the flavor and the sounds Sam makes in response.
As Sam's breathing gets fractured and shallow, Dean eases off suddenly. This is not where he intended to end things, and they've got awhile still to go before he's done. He licks more gently, sweeping and swirling in slow paths that keep Sam on edge without quite giving him enough. Dean brushes Sam's opening lightly through the boxers, teasing circles that make Sam gasp and shake. Time to get the clothes out of the picture...
Dean pulls Sam's boxers down and off, along with his pants, and pushes his own jeans down far enough to be out of the way. Back he goes to the task at hand, slow temptation driving Sam to clutch Dean's shoulders and slide a hand around the back of Dean's head to hold it still. Here we go, Dean thinks.
Leaning down over the side of the bed, Dean opens the bag and pulls out item number one. He jams the horrific clown mask over his face and sits back up where Sam can see him: "Hey, baby."
"Jesus, way to ruin the mood!" Sam slaps him on the leg.
"Well, in that case-" Dean throws the mask across the room where it bounces off the television, "I guess you've decided to go for 'trick' instead."
The second thing in the bag is a black bandana. Dean flips it over and over until it's all wound up, then wraps it around the base of Sam's cock and ties it in a nice, tight bow.
"You're kidding."
Dean licks over the tip of Sam's cock, now slightly purple. "The hell I am," he mutters against the spit-slick skin under his lips. He lubes up his fingers and begins easing Sam open for him while he nibbles and teases Sam into flow-blown arousal again. Oh, yeah…
"Dean," Sam gasps out, reaching for the bandana in desperation.
"No." Dean swats those hands away again, then centers himself between Sam's legs and pushes his way in, wet heat surrounding him. "God, you feel so good."
"So let me join the party."
"Nope, not yet."
Dean moves slowly at first while Sam gets used to him, then dials up the pace. He thrusts in deep, one hand jacking Sam erratically-that swollen column filling his hand, bigger than he remembers it ever being before.
"Dean…" Sam moans out helplessly. Dean swallows the sound with his mouth.
With hard, fast upstrokes Dean fucks into Sam, cock below and tongue above as Sam shakes and whimpers with the frustrated need for release. A flick of Dean's thumb over Sam's erection brings an unexpected yelp, which just encourages Dean to repeat the action. He's wholly unprepared for Sam's fingers sliding around behind him and stroking over his anus, and he comes just seconds later, filling Sam deep as a yell works its way out of his throat: "Fuuuuck!"
Warm hands rub over him as he lies with his head against Sam's neck, and he kisses the skin beneath him in return. Man, that was intense…
When Sam tries to work his hand between them, Dean remembers what he's left unfinished. He sits up, crouching between Sam's legs as he strokes skillfully for a few moments, and then pulls the bow on the bandana and yanks it off with one hand while the other keeps going. Sam comes so fast and hard that Dean nearly gets an eyeful, a splash landing on his cheek and the rest in irregular stripes on the sheets and Sam's stomach in a climax that seems to go on forever.
"Holy crap," Sam finally pants, his arm flung over his eyes. "I think you nearly killed me…"
"Worth it?"
"Fuck, yeah, Sam groans. "But next time it's your turn..."
I think I could sign up for that.
Sam falls asleep almost immediately afterwards-before dinner, which is so unlike him that he's clearly worn out. Dean's pretty proud of that for about two minutes, until he realizes this could be it for the evening-Sam asleep, and him stuck here listening to the snoring.
Yeah, that'll totally be fun.
It's still Halloween, though, and Dean is not without resources. In fact, he's got a Sharpie in the duffel bag across the room…
He waits until Sam's out good before slipping off the bed to dig out the pen. Then he settles in happily and gets to work, not feeling the slightest bit of remorse as he carefully turns his brother's cock into a diamondback snake, complete with fangs.
Heh. Gotcha, Sammy.
-------- fin --------