Supernatural fic: Mojave (Sam/Dean, NC-17)
Title: Mojave
Author: hansbekhart
Rating: NC-17 (explicit sexual content, language)
Summary: He can't tell what Dean's thinking but he knows what he wants, can see it in the whiteness of Dean's bottom lip where he's biting it.
Notes: So we were headed back from winchestercon last weekend and were diverted from I-5 into the middle of the Mojave desert, onto a highway that was so straight that my first thought, naturally, was that it would be an awesome road to get a blowjob on. Yep. My eternal gratitude to girlguidejones, unperfectwolf (who beta'd) and essenceofmeanin, who let me whine at them about porn. You guys ROCK. Also, I'm um, leaving for Africa on Monday morning, so I'm going to try and answer as many comments as I can but if I can't - I will absolutely answer as soon as I can.
He's awake for a long time before he opens his eyes. His whole body feels huge and hot, sprawled uncomfortably and tucked into every corner of the passenger seat. The wind blows his hair across sticky skin, the backs of his hands and down the collar of his shirt. The air’s muggy but it feels good enough that he turns his face towards the open window.
"Wakey wakey," Dean says, hoarse.
Sam opens his eyes. It's not an endless desert. There are mountains and ropey telephone lines and tumbleweed fetched up against the bases of stunted trees covered in thick spines. Joshua trees, his brain calls up, empty and disconnected. His lips are so dry that they crack when he opens his mouth to lick them.
"We got any water left?"
Dean passes a bottle over without even looking at Sam. He's pale in the sun, red cheeks and forehead, sweat beading in the hollow of his collarbone. He's doing 85 but he's barefoot and stripped down to a wife-beater. Must've done it while Sam was sleeping. He looks half-asleep himself, one knee pulled up against the door to stretch the muscle, one hand on the steering wheel and the other balanced on his kneecap. The highway’s straight as far as the eye can see. Daytime lights of a semi as far away as that imaginary road slick.
"I am so fucking bored," Dean tells Sam. "We've been on this road for " - he glances down - "fifty-three miles and not one friggin' turn. Just all this Dr. Seuss scenery."
"Better than 5 was," Sam says. He passes a hand over his crotch without really thinking about it, palming his cock. He needs to piss, not urgently, not bad enough to tell Dean to pull over. Just enough that it feels good to press a little bit. He drains the water bottle in three swallows and throws it over his shoulder, and that's when he notices Dean watching him.
He's gotta smile when he sees it; Dean's eyes too wide, face too open. "You okay, big brother?" he asks. Has to. Dean glares at him, looks back at the road and glares at that. Sam's missed something, somewhere; lost it somewhere between the Joshua trees and the edges of sleep. He can't tell what Dean's thinking but he knows what he wants, can see it in the whiteness of Dean's bottom lip where he's biting it.
And it feels good to slide his belt out of the loops, pop the button of his jeans, snake his zipper down, hear Dean exhale long and low. He thinks maybe, if Dean asks, he can blame it on the heat - on not knowing exactly what he was doing. It makes sense to pull his cock out, in that half-asleep logic: it turns Dean on to watch Sam and that turns Sam on and that means it's what he should do.
He lets his head fall back against the seat, eyes open and staring, just barely seeing the flex of Dean's hips up off the seat. He's only seen Dean get that way a couple times, mostly when this thing between them was new and terrifying. Fucking all the time because it was all they could think about, staring at the back of Dean's neck when they were out, the way his jeans hung low on his waist; getting thrown against the door when they got back to the room because it was just too fucking much to take.
He used to ask Jess to do this for him. Spread herself open and let him watch her. Her whole body would flush, her face and between her tits and spreading down her stomach and he’d hurt by the time she’d finally slip her fingers all the way in. Dean can’t reach for him, the way Sam reached for her. Can’t follow those fingers with his mouth, both his hands clenched white around the steering wheel. Dean’s eyes flicker back and forth between the road and Sam’s hand around his own dick, fucking dry into his fist. He can hear Dean swearing under his breath - “Jesus fuck, Sammy, god, don’t do this to me, please -”
Sam groans, lets the sound drag itself out of his throat. Dean’s hips jerk and he wrenches a hand off the steering wheel, but Sam’s faster, knocking Dean’s hand away from himself and that’s it, it’s all he can take; he’s barely brushed Dean’s knuckles before he’s gotta yank his hand back, before he’s coming into his cupped palm.
He moves before he wants to, his whole body loose and limber. Dean stiffens when Sam slides across the seat, leather squeaking under his ass. Sending wide-eyed glances at Sam. He stills when Sam slides a hand around his hip, holds him down against the seat.
“Dean,” he says. “Dean.”
“Fuck,” Dean says. He opens his mouth for Sam’s fingers, licking the come off them, as hungry for it as Sam’s ever seen and it twists low and hard in Sam’s stomach. The sun’s on Dean’s side of the car and the leather is blistering under his other hand. Dean’s skin burns his fingers.
Dean got the top button popped before Sam swatted his hand away, and Sam undoes the zipper with his teeth, holding Dean’s fly straight with one hand, steadying himself with the other. He’s too tall to do this and if Dean fucks up into Sam’s mouth it’s gonna brain him against the steering wheel, but it’ll be worth it. Fuck, it’s gonna be worth it.
No underwear to get out of the way. Just the brush of his fingertips makes Dean choke. Tough to pull Dean’s cock out, trapped against his thigh and the stretch of his jeans. His pubic hair is damp with sweat and he smells like hours in a hot car, days past his last shower. Didn’t get clean then anyway, Dean bent in half while Sam fucked him from behind, the water hot against his back.
Sam gags a little. It’s still hard for him to do this, breathe through the first terrifying seconds. Thought he’d bite Dean’s dick off, the first time - that there wasn’t any way he’d get his whole mouth around his brother’s cock, no fucking way. He still takes it slow - swirls his tongue around the head, works his way down slowly, licking up and down the shaft so when he finally does it, when he slides Dean’s dick down his throat it’s easier and safer, but. He can’t wait. So he gags on Dean’s cock, the angle all wrong and Dean’s scent overpowering but it’s all worth it, like he knew it’d be.
He backs off a little, curls his fingers tight around the base, almost enough to hurt. There’s no room for Sam to maneuver, to pull Dean’s cock aside and lick Dean’s balls into his mouth, no way he can slip a wet finger into Dean’s asshole. He could work Dean open on his fingers and fuck him on the side of the road, right out for any trucker, any passer-by to see. They’ve done it before, in the backseat and the front seat and once stretched out over the hood but Sam’s never made Dean come while he’s driving. The needle’s dropped but they’re still topping 75 and Dean’s gonna come whenever Sam lets him.
He locks eyes with Dean and they both scramble for the wheel. Sam holds it steady, jacks Dean with his other hand and doesn’t let go with either until he’s swallowed and Dean lets go of his hair. His neck is stiff already and he rubs it when he’s back on his own side of the seat, dropping his head down.
“Hey,” Sam says, “Pull over? I gotta pee.”
Dean leaves the engine running. Sam pisses on somebody’s fencepost, tipping his face back into the sky. He can feel the wind as soon as he’s out of the car, see it pushing tumbleweeds across the desert. Dean’s footsteps are quiet as he makes his way over to Sam, stepping gingerly over the gravel. He’s still barefoot. He stands by Sam’s side with his hands in his pockets, waiting for Sam to shake off and tuck in. He steers him close when Sam makes to walk away, wraps both hands around the back of Sam’s neck and hauls him closes. Kisses him soft, humid. Sam can taste himself on Dean’s tongue.
“Don’t you do that again, you fuckin’ jackass,” he tells Sam, when they finally step back. “I coulda killed us.”
“Totally worth it,” Sam says, and Dean smacks him upside the head, grinning.
“Back in the car, bitch,” he says. “We got a lot of road ahead.”
“I dunno,” Sam says. “Looks like it’ll be dark soon. Maybe we should find some place to hole up for a while.”
Dean glances up at the sky, the sun almost perfectly overhead. It takes a while, but his grin cracks wide across his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”
Author: hansbekhart
Rating: NC-17 (explicit sexual content, language)
Summary: He can't tell what Dean's thinking but he knows what he wants, can see it in the whiteness of Dean's bottom lip where he's biting it.
Notes: So we were headed back from winchestercon last weekend and were diverted from I-5 into the middle of the Mojave desert, onto a highway that was so straight that my first thought, naturally, was that it would be an awesome road to get a blowjob on. Yep. My eternal gratitude to girlguidejones, unperfectwolf (who beta'd) and essenceofmeanin, who let me whine at them about porn. You guys ROCK. Also, I'm um, leaving for Africa on Monday morning, so I'm going to try and answer as many comments as I can but if I can't - I will absolutely answer as soon as I can.
He's awake for a long time before he opens his eyes. His whole body feels huge and hot, sprawled uncomfortably and tucked into every corner of the passenger seat. The wind blows his hair across sticky skin, the backs of his hands and down the collar of his shirt. The air’s muggy but it feels good enough that he turns his face towards the open window.
"Wakey wakey," Dean says, hoarse.
Sam opens his eyes. It's not an endless desert. There are mountains and ropey telephone lines and tumbleweed fetched up against the bases of stunted trees covered in thick spines. Joshua trees, his brain calls up, empty and disconnected. His lips are so dry that they crack when he opens his mouth to lick them.
"We got any water left?"
Dean passes a bottle over without even looking at Sam. He's pale in the sun, red cheeks and forehead, sweat beading in the hollow of his collarbone. He's doing 85 but he's barefoot and stripped down to a wife-beater. Must've done it while Sam was sleeping. He looks half-asleep himself, one knee pulled up against the door to stretch the muscle, one hand on the steering wheel and the other balanced on his kneecap. The highway’s straight as far as the eye can see. Daytime lights of a semi as far away as that imaginary road slick.
"I am so fucking bored," Dean tells Sam. "We've been on this road for " - he glances down - "fifty-three miles and not one friggin' turn. Just all this Dr. Seuss scenery."
"Better than 5 was," Sam says. He passes a hand over his crotch without really thinking about it, palming his cock. He needs to piss, not urgently, not bad enough to tell Dean to pull over. Just enough that it feels good to press a little bit. He drains the water bottle in three swallows and throws it over his shoulder, and that's when he notices Dean watching him.
He's gotta smile when he sees it; Dean's eyes too wide, face too open. "You okay, big brother?" he asks. Has to. Dean glares at him, looks back at the road and glares at that. Sam's missed something, somewhere; lost it somewhere between the Joshua trees and the edges of sleep. He can't tell what Dean's thinking but he knows what he wants, can see it in the whiteness of Dean's bottom lip where he's biting it.
And it feels good to slide his belt out of the loops, pop the button of his jeans, snake his zipper down, hear Dean exhale long and low. He thinks maybe, if Dean asks, he can blame it on the heat - on not knowing exactly what he was doing. It makes sense to pull his cock out, in that half-asleep logic: it turns Dean on to watch Sam and that turns Sam on and that means it's what he should do.
He lets his head fall back against the seat, eyes open and staring, just barely seeing the flex of Dean's hips up off the seat. He's only seen Dean get that way a couple times, mostly when this thing between them was new and terrifying. Fucking all the time because it was all they could think about, staring at the back of Dean's neck when they were out, the way his jeans hung low on his waist; getting thrown against the door when they got back to the room because it was just too fucking much to take.
He used to ask Jess to do this for him. Spread herself open and let him watch her. Her whole body would flush, her face and between her tits and spreading down her stomach and he’d hurt by the time she’d finally slip her fingers all the way in. Dean can’t reach for him, the way Sam reached for her. Can’t follow those fingers with his mouth, both his hands clenched white around the steering wheel. Dean’s eyes flicker back and forth between the road and Sam’s hand around his own dick, fucking dry into his fist. He can hear Dean swearing under his breath - “Jesus fuck, Sammy, god, don’t do this to me, please -”
Sam groans, lets the sound drag itself out of his throat. Dean’s hips jerk and he wrenches a hand off the steering wheel, but Sam’s faster, knocking Dean’s hand away from himself and that’s it, it’s all he can take; he’s barely brushed Dean’s knuckles before he’s gotta yank his hand back, before he’s coming into his cupped palm.
He moves before he wants to, his whole body loose and limber. Dean stiffens when Sam slides across the seat, leather squeaking under his ass. Sending wide-eyed glances at Sam. He stills when Sam slides a hand around his hip, holds him down against the seat.
“Dean,” he says. “Dean.”
“Fuck,” Dean says. He opens his mouth for Sam’s fingers, licking the come off them, as hungry for it as Sam’s ever seen and it twists low and hard in Sam’s stomach. The sun’s on Dean’s side of the car and the leather is blistering under his other hand. Dean’s skin burns his fingers.
Dean got the top button popped before Sam swatted his hand away, and Sam undoes the zipper with his teeth, holding Dean’s fly straight with one hand, steadying himself with the other. He’s too tall to do this and if Dean fucks up into Sam’s mouth it’s gonna brain him against the steering wheel, but it’ll be worth it. Fuck, it’s gonna be worth it.
No underwear to get out of the way. Just the brush of his fingertips makes Dean choke. Tough to pull Dean’s cock out, trapped against his thigh and the stretch of his jeans. His pubic hair is damp with sweat and he smells like hours in a hot car, days past his last shower. Didn’t get clean then anyway, Dean bent in half while Sam fucked him from behind, the water hot against his back.
Sam gags a little. It’s still hard for him to do this, breathe through the first terrifying seconds. Thought he’d bite Dean’s dick off, the first time - that there wasn’t any way he’d get his whole mouth around his brother’s cock, no fucking way. He still takes it slow - swirls his tongue around the head, works his way down slowly, licking up and down the shaft so when he finally does it, when he slides Dean’s dick down his throat it’s easier and safer, but. He can’t wait. So he gags on Dean’s cock, the angle all wrong and Dean’s scent overpowering but it’s all worth it, like he knew it’d be.
He backs off a little, curls his fingers tight around the base, almost enough to hurt. There’s no room for Sam to maneuver, to pull Dean’s cock aside and lick Dean’s balls into his mouth, no way he can slip a wet finger into Dean’s asshole. He could work Dean open on his fingers and fuck him on the side of the road, right out for any trucker, any passer-by to see. They’ve done it before, in the backseat and the front seat and once stretched out over the hood but Sam’s never made Dean come while he’s driving. The needle’s dropped but they’re still topping 75 and Dean’s gonna come whenever Sam lets him.
He locks eyes with Dean and they both scramble for the wheel. Sam holds it steady, jacks Dean with his other hand and doesn’t let go with either until he’s swallowed and Dean lets go of his hair. His neck is stiff already and he rubs it when he’s back on his own side of the seat, dropping his head down.
“Hey,” Sam says, “Pull over? I gotta pee.”
Dean leaves the engine running. Sam pisses on somebody’s fencepost, tipping his face back into the sky. He can feel the wind as soon as he’s out of the car, see it pushing tumbleweeds across the desert. Dean’s footsteps are quiet as he makes his way over to Sam, stepping gingerly over the gravel. He’s still barefoot. He stands by Sam’s side with his hands in his pockets, waiting for Sam to shake off and tuck in. He steers him close when Sam makes to walk away, wraps both hands around the back of Sam’s neck and hauls him closes. Kisses him soft, humid. Sam can taste himself on Dean’s tongue.
“Don’t you do that again, you fuckin’ jackass,” he tells Sam, when they finally step back. “I coulda killed us.”
“Totally worth it,” Sam says, and Dean smacks him upside the head, grinning.
“Back in the car, bitch,” he says. “We got a lot of road ahead.”
“I dunno,” Sam says. “Looks like it’ll be dark soon. Maybe we should find some place to hole up for a while.”
Dean glances up at the sky, the sun almost perfectly overhead. It takes a while, but his grin cracks wide across his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”