PORN WAR PT 2
Title: Almost
Author: hansbekhart
Rating: NC-17 for gratuitous, graphic sex. (Dean/Sam)
Summary: To look at Sam, you’d think that fucking him would be tender and slow, kisses and smiles and Dean knows better than anybody that sometimes that’s what it is. Other times it’s this, up against a filthy wall in a nowhere bar.
Notes: fatale pointed out that my last strike in our porn war was far too artsy and more like porn lite, so I've tried to do better. For anybody who is interested, this is likely to be an ongoing thing, so keep an eye out for it. I will totally spank her with the awesomeness of my porn.
Dean is almost -- almost -- surprised when Sam grabs his shoulder and shoves him hard against the bathroom wall, one hand pinning him in place and the other wrapped around his chin, forcing it up. Sam growls at him, the muscles in his upper lip twitching like an angry puppy’s and Dean almost laughs before Sam darts under the crushing pressure of his hand and bites him. Dean’s entire body jerks against Sam’s, braced and supported by Sam’s fist in his shirt until it drops and yanks Dean’s belt open.
He’s drunk enough to be loose, limbs pliable, his entire body only reacting to Sam’s tongue pushing into his mouth, biting at his lips. His entire body vibrates with the jukebox in the other room, bass pulsing and overwhelming. Sam is everywhere, more hands than is legal or right, finding hot skin under Dean’s shirt, pushing down the back of his jeans and curving around his ass and Dean could almost wonder if this was some sort of psychic shit. Move heavy furniture with your mind when your brother is about to die, make your brother forget he even has an upstairs brain when you’re horny as hell.
To look at Sam, you’d think that fucking him would be tender and slow, kisses and smiles and Dean knows better than anybody that sometimes that’s what it is. Other times it’s this, up against a filthy wall in a nowhere bar, Sam’s hands roughly jerking him off and Sam’s teeth in his neck and neither of them even flinching when the toilet flushes and some local steps out of the stall and then flees at the sight of them.
“Dean,” Sam says, whines it as though Dean is keeping something back from him, as though he’s hurting and Dean opens his eyes. It’s an effort and it’s worth it; Sam is flushed, mouth open and Dean didn’t realize that he had been biting back until he sees the blood on Sammy’s mouth. He watches Sam’s tongue drag across his lower lip, testing, and it’s almost too much. Even breathing is almost too much to bear when it’s sour bathroom air and not Sam that he’s sucking in.
He wants Sam’s cock in his mouth so badly that he can taste it, feel the weight of it in his mouth and the choking pressure of it against the back of his throat. He wants to spin Sam around, press him to the wall and swallow him deep, work a slick finger inside his ass, just the way he knows his brother likes it. His body is heavy and languid in all the best ways and it’s all he can do to fist his hand around Sam’s waistband and yank him close.
Sam laughs at him and if Dean were sober, Sam would pay for that.
Sam goes to his knees and Dean loves it, loves it almost as much as he loves fucking Sam in the back seat of the Impala, loves fucking him up against motel walls, loves being fucked by him, bent over and guided into place by Sam’s monstrously large hands, Sam’s cock so deep inside of him that he can almost believe that Sam will never leave him. Sam’s tongue traces the vein on the underside of his cock, nips teasingly around the head, swallows him and then draws back to just a flicker of tongue and the rough calloused kiss of the back of his knuckles against Dean’s cock.
“Fuck Sammy don’t tease,” Dean says, words running slipshod together and Sam grins up at him, the sober bastard. But he quits teasing and fuck, all that Dean can do is hold on to the world and try not to fall off. He’s got one hand wrapped around the back of Sam’s neck, clenching, the other fisted against the wall and there is probably water soaking into the knees of Sam’s jeans, but bacteria is something that Dean has never really worried about. His thighs are shaking and there’s sweat on his forehead and that world he’s trying so hard to hold on to has shrunk to the wet burn of Sam’s mouth and tongue and the circle of his fingers keeping rhythm with his lips.
He bangs his head against the wall when he comes and actually blacks out for a moment, the muscles in his thighs giving out and Sam’s fingers crushing his hips the only thing that keeps him from sliding down the wall like an idiot. It’s almost all he can do to stand there and breathe. Sam stands and puts an arm around his shoulders, laughing little brother glee into Dean’s shoulder.
Dean pushes him away when he feels like he can see straight again. “Get off, Sam,” he says, as irritably as he could possible manage, which is not much. His head is clearer now and the desperate push of Sam’s cock against his hip clears the cobwebs just that little bit more. Sam holds his eyes as he reaches slowly, unbearably slowly, and locks the bathroom door. It’s Dean’s turn to laugh and dart forward for his brother’s mouth, one hand going to squeeze Sam through his jeans.
“You’ve been messing with me all night,” Sam growls, and if Dean has ever thought of his little brother as an angry puppy, he forgets it now. Forgets that he’s the one that’s usually in charge, on point, protecting, because if there’s any part of their relationship that Dean is willing to cede power over it would be this one, if only to see the look on Sammy’s face that he has now, his thigh between Dean’s legs, backing him up against the bank of sinks.
“What are you going to do about it, Sammy?” Dean says, low and throaty and Sam’s eyes flicker shut as though his ears are connected to his cock. Teasing Sam is even more fun when there’s this thing between them and Sam’s lips are still swollen from being around Dean's cock. His hands are insistent on Dean’s hip and neck to turn him over and bend him over the sinks, guiding his hands to bracket a faucet and if there was ever a rule book on fucking your own brother, Dean thinks that it would say that older brothers should never take it. He can put it out of his mind easily enough when he’s looking up into the mirror and seeing Sam behind him, his brow furrowed with concentration as he shoves Dean’s trousers off his hips and unbuckles his own. He looks up to see Dean staring at him and he smiles wickedly, the same way he used to smile when he was twelve, just before he sprang some stupid prank on Dean, and shifts himself to the side so that Dean can watch him slide his jeans and boxers down his hips and take his own cock into his hand.
Dean isn’t hard, couldn’t possibly be hard because he thinks Sam might have actually sucked his soul out through his dick, but it twitches hard at the sight of Sam’s fingers curled around his own cock and Dean groans.
“You wipe that fucking look off your face and just come on, Sammy,” he growls and god dammit if Sam doesn’t fucking laugh again. He’ll be paying for that later, after Dean has made sure Sam’s going to fuck him stupid.
Sam almost reaches for the soap before Dean arcs a hand out to bat that impulse away. “Don’t you even think about it, bitch,” because is Sam really that clueless? He’s drunk enough and he came hard enough that he can manage Sam on just a bit of spit and precome.
He’s almost wrong; it’s almost too much; it almost hurts but Sam eases it as best as he can since he’s obviously about two strokes away from not being able to hold himself back any longer. He rubs the base of Dean’s spine and is so annoyingly tall that he can stretch all the way forward to place a burning, sloppy kiss below Dean’s ear. It does hurt then, when Sam leans back up and his hips snap forward deliberately. Dean watches himself being fucked in the mirror, watches Sam’s flush spread down his throat and across his chest until the mirror is fogged from his panting and all he can do is take it.
It doesn’t take Sam long to stutter in his rhythm and come gasping, his head thrown back and eyes shut tight to block out all else. He thrusts once, twice with aftershocks and then drops his head slowly onto Dean’s back. Dean can feel the sweat on his brother’s forehead. He lets his chin rest on the edge of the sink as Sam pulls out and grabs some paper to clean them up with. He grabs the paper out of Sam’s hands when Sam makes a motion towards him -- he can wipe his own ass, thank you very much -- but lets Sam grab him and kiss him, smiling all the while. Sam, well fucked, is back to being a girl.
“I wanna do some more research on that poltergeist when we get back to the room,” Sam says as Dean is fastening his buckle. He doesn’t look up or bother to hide his grin.
“All right, geek boy,” he says, and slings an arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him down so he’s not being loomed over. “Let’s get out of here.”
Sam’s grin is brilliant, and it almost makes up for the fact that Dean practically has to hobble out of the bar.
Author: hansbekhart
Rating: NC-17 for gratuitous, graphic sex. (Dean/Sam)
Summary: To look at Sam, you’d think that fucking him would be tender and slow, kisses and smiles and Dean knows better than anybody that sometimes that’s what it is. Other times it’s this, up against a filthy wall in a nowhere bar.
Notes: fatale pointed out that my last strike in our porn war was far too artsy and more like porn lite, so I've tried to do better. For anybody who is interested, this is likely to be an ongoing thing, so keep an eye out for it. I will totally spank her with the awesomeness of my porn.
Dean is almost -- almost -- surprised when Sam grabs his shoulder and shoves him hard against the bathroom wall, one hand pinning him in place and the other wrapped around his chin, forcing it up. Sam growls at him, the muscles in his upper lip twitching like an angry puppy’s and Dean almost laughs before Sam darts under the crushing pressure of his hand and bites him. Dean’s entire body jerks against Sam’s, braced and supported by Sam’s fist in his shirt until it drops and yanks Dean’s belt open.
He’s drunk enough to be loose, limbs pliable, his entire body only reacting to Sam’s tongue pushing into his mouth, biting at his lips. His entire body vibrates with the jukebox in the other room, bass pulsing and overwhelming. Sam is everywhere, more hands than is legal or right, finding hot skin under Dean’s shirt, pushing down the back of his jeans and curving around his ass and Dean could almost wonder if this was some sort of psychic shit. Move heavy furniture with your mind when your brother is about to die, make your brother forget he even has an upstairs brain when you’re horny as hell.
To look at Sam, you’d think that fucking him would be tender and slow, kisses and smiles and Dean knows better than anybody that sometimes that’s what it is. Other times it’s this, up against a filthy wall in a nowhere bar, Sam’s hands roughly jerking him off and Sam’s teeth in his neck and neither of them even flinching when the toilet flushes and some local steps out of the stall and then flees at the sight of them.
“Dean,” Sam says, whines it as though Dean is keeping something back from him, as though he’s hurting and Dean opens his eyes. It’s an effort and it’s worth it; Sam is flushed, mouth open and Dean didn’t realize that he had been biting back until he sees the blood on Sammy’s mouth. He watches Sam’s tongue drag across his lower lip, testing, and it’s almost too much. Even breathing is almost too much to bear when it’s sour bathroom air and not Sam that he’s sucking in.
He wants Sam’s cock in his mouth so badly that he can taste it, feel the weight of it in his mouth and the choking pressure of it against the back of his throat. He wants to spin Sam around, press him to the wall and swallow him deep, work a slick finger inside his ass, just the way he knows his brother likes it. His body is heavy and languid in all the best ways and it’s all he can do to fist his hand around Sam’s waistband and yank him close.
Sam laughs at him and if Dean were sober, Sam would pay for that.
Sam goes to his knees and Dean loves it, loves it almost as much as he loves fucking Sam in the back seat of the Impala, loves fucking him up against motel walls, loves being fucked by him, bent over and guided into place by Sam’s monstrously large hands, Sam’s cock so deep inside of him that he can almost believe that Sam will never leave him. Sam’s tongue traces the vein on the underside of his cock, nips teasingly around the head, swallows him and then draws back to just a flicker of tongue and the rough calloused kiss of the back of his knuckles against Dean’s cock.
“Fuck Sammy don’t tease,” Dean says, words running slipshod together and Sam grins up at him, the sober bastard. But he quits teasing and fuck, all that Dean can do is hold on to the world and try not to fall off. He’s got one hand wrapped around the back of Sam’s neck, clenching, the other fisted against the wall and there is probably water soaking into the knees of Sam’s jeans, but bacteria is something that Dean has never really worried about. His thighs are shaking and there’s sweat on his forehead and that world he’s trying so hard to hold on to has shrunk to the wet burn of Sam’s mouth and tongue and the circle of his fingers keeping rhythm with his lips.
He bangs his head against the wall when he comes and actually blacks out for a moment, the muscles in his thighs giving out and Sam’s fingers crushing his hips the only thing that keeps him from sliding down the wall like an idiot. It’s almost all he can do to stand there and breathe. Sam stands and puts an arm around his shoulders, laughing little brother glee into Dean’s shoulder.
Dean pushes him away when he feels like he can see straight again. “Get off, Sam,” he says, as irritably as he could possible manage, which is not much. His head is clearer now and the desperate push of Sam’s cock against his hip clears the cobwebs just that little bit more. Sam holds his eyes as he reaches slowly, unbearably slowly, and locks the bathroom door. It’s Dean’s turn to laugh and dart forward for his brother’s mouth, one hand going to squeeze Sam through his jeans.
“You’ve been messing with me all night,” Sam growls, and if Dean has ever thought of his little brother as an angry puppy, he forgets it now. Forgets that he’s the one that’s usually in charge, on point, protecting, because if there’s any part of their relationship that Dean is willing to cede power over it would be this one, if only to see the look on Sammy’s face that he has now, his thigh between Dean’s legs, backing him up against the bank of sinks.
“What are you going to do about it, Sammy?” Dean says, low and throaty and Sam’s eyes flicker shut as though his ears are connected to his cock. Teasing Sam is even more fun when there’s this thing between them and Sam’s lips are still swollen from being around Dean's cock. His hands are insistent on Dean’s hip and neck to turn him over and bend him over the sinks, guiding his hands to bracket a faucet and if there was ever a rule book on fucking your own brother, Dean thinks that it would say that older brothers should never take it. He can put it out of his mind easily enough when he’s looking up into the mirror and seeing Sam behind him, his brow furrowed with concentration as he shoves Dean’s trousers off his hips and unbuckles his own. He looks up to see Dean staring at him and he smiles wickedly, the same way he used to smile when he was twelve, just before he sprang some stupid prank on Dean, and shifts himself to the side so that Dean can watch him slide his jeans and boxers down his hips and take his own cock into his hand.
Dean isn’t hard, couldn’t possibly be hard because he thinks Sam might have actually sucked his soul out through his dick, but it twitches hard at the sight of Sam’s fingers curled around his own cock and Dean groans.
“You wipe that fucking look off your face and just come on, Sammy,” he growls and god dammit if Sam doesn’t fucking laugh again. He’ll be paying for that later, after Dean has made sure Sam’s going to fuck him stupid.
Sam almost reaches for the soap before Dean arcs a hand out to bat that impulse away. “Don’t you even think about it, bitch,” because is Sam really that clueless? He’s drunk enough and he came hard enough that he can manage Sam on just a bit of spit and precome.
He’s almost wrong; it’s almost too much; it almost hurts but Sam eases it as best as he can since he’s obviously about two strokes away from not being able to hold himself back any longer. He rubs the base of Dean’s spine and is so annoyingly tall that he can stretch all the way forward to place a burning, sloppy kiss below Dean’s ear. It does hurt then, when Sam leans back up and his hips snap forward deliberately. Dean watches himself being fucked in the mirror, watches Sam’s flush spread down his throat and across his chest until the mirror is fogged from his panting and all he can do is take it.
It doesn’t take Sam long to stutter in his rhythm and come gasping, his head thrown back and eyes shut tight to block out all else. He thrusts once, twice with aftershocks and then drops his head slowly onto Dean’s back. Dean can feel the sweat on his brother’s forehead. He lets his chin rest on the edge of the sink as Sam pulls out and grabs some paper to clean them up with. He grabs the paper out of Sam’s hands when Sam makes a motion towards him -- he can wipe his own ass, thank you very much -- but lets Sam grab him and kiss him, smiling all the while. Sam, well fucked, is back to being a girl.
“I wanna do some more research on that poltergeist when we get back to the room,” Sam says as Dean is fastening his buckle. He doesn’t look up or bother to hide his grin.
“All right, geek boy,” he says, and slings an arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him down so he’s not being loomed over. “Let’s get out of here.”
Sam’s grin is brilliant, and it almost makes up for the fact that Dean practically has to hobble out of the bar.