Sweet Surrender
Author's Note: ~2000 words. NC-17.
Sweet Surrender
The dive is busy this time of night. People stream in and out through the heavy doors, throwing their heads back, laughing and joking. The doors swing open and shut every now and then and offer a glimpse into the crowded parking lot illuminated by the moon and flickering streetlights.
Dean sits at the bar next to Sam and leans forward on his elbows. His gray t-shirt pulls tight against his shoulders, accompanying the movement. Sam’s hand presses low and warm on Dean’s back.
Dean grins as he watches his brother, who’s beaming too, and throwing back glasses of whiskey. Sam had said he would keep his drinking to a minimum since he was going to be driving them back to the motel, but he hasn’t been keeping his promise. He’s not much far behind Dean now. They’ve both had too much.
Dean wraps his fingers around the glass in front of him and lifts up. Swallows it all and slams it back down, throat working to yield to the burning, searing liquid. He motions to the bartender for a refill as a pleasurable buzz sweeps through his head.
“Dean,” Sam’s laughing. “You remember that that guy in Ohio? The one with the hair?”
“Yeah,” Dean slurs, head feeling slightly foggy. Because he does remember. “All five million of them.”
“No, no,” Sam argues, gaze intense, but smiling regardless. He makes drunken gestures with the hand that isn’t resting on Dean’s back. “That guy. The one with the hair.”
Dean has no idea what Sam’s talking about. He opens his mouth to speak, and instead finds himself pausing, mesmerized by a droplet of sweat forming just above the neck of Sam’s navy tee.
“Dean, look at me,” Sam says urgently. “This is really important, Dean.” He’s still grinning stupidly.
Dean looks up, eyes wide. He spins on the stool so he’s facing Sam. “It is? But where’s your Serious Sammy face?” he asks, genuinely confused.
Sam freezes, eyes flickering green, gold and then blue. His face becomes exaggeratedly solemn. Brooding forehead and grave eyes. Mouth turned down in a frown. “It’s here, Dean. Here is my Serious Sammy face,” he says grimly.
Dean stares, amazed. Wow, he thinks. This really must be really serious. He decides to put on a serious face as well, to go along with the somber nature of the situation.
And then Sam bursts out laughing, dimples flashing and his free hand slamming down on the counter.
Dean has no idea what’s so funny, but Sam’s laughter is contagious, and he can’t keep his own smile off of his face.
Sam throws an arm around Dean’s shoulders, and Dean pushes his face into the side of his brother’s throat, breathing in deep and still smiling. He won’t tell Sam this, ‘cause it’s not manly, but he’s really missed doing this. Just the two of them, drinking and laughing together. It’s really been too long since they could sit worry-free and enjoy each other’s company. Seeing Sam so happy must mean that he’s doing something right.
“Dean,” Sam says suddenly. He’s not laughing anymore. Dean looks up, dazed. When did he turn so his back was to the bar? And when did Sam get up to stand in front of him?
Big, Dean thinks as he stares up at Sam’s frame in awe. Really big.
Sam’s hand is spread on Dean’s chest, pushing Dean back insistently against the countertop.
“Sam, what are you--” Dean says as he hits the counter. He looks up at Sam waiting for an explanation. Sam presses his body against Dean’s and Dean doesn’t resist, mainly due to confusion.
And then Sam’s lips are pressed to his, soft and warm and stealing Dean’s breath away. Sam’s hands slide under Dean’s shirt, hot against his stomach.
Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Sam takes it as an invitation to thrust his tongue inside. He licks at the inside of Dean’s mouth, moaning. His hands stroke Dean’s sides and thighs and slip under Dean’s shirt again. Sam’s tongue moves and sweeps through his mouth, and he moans against Dean’s lips as Dean clings to the bar in drunken oblivion.
“God,” Sam breathes. He pulls away from Dean’s mouth but leaves his hands on Dean.
Dean looks up at Sam, shocked. With unsteady hands, he tries to push Sam away. “Sam? W-what was...?”
Sam looks at Dean’s expression and realization floods into his eyes. “Fuck, Dean. Fuck, I’m sorry.” And just like that, Sam’s snatching up his jacket and spinning around to leave.
Dean grabs for Sam’s arm. It takes a couple tries, what with being under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol and all. His words come out slurred when he speaks. “Hey, wait..w-where ya goin’?”
Sam looks down at the ground, face flushed. “Uh...just...I-I don’t know,” he stutters. Then he looks up, eyes wild and bright, as if he’s just figured something out. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says brilliantly.
Dean blinks.
But it felt good, he thinks. Really good. He can’t think of any reason why Sam shouldn’t have. Or why he was so shocked a minute ago. He tugs at the hem of Sam’s shirt. “C’mere.”
Sam looks at him warily, but steps forward, shoving his hands in his pockets. Dean pulls again, until Sam’s standing between his thighs.
“Do it again,” Dean demands. Sam looks shocked, his eyes wide, as if Dean’s just suggested they blow up the Impala or something equally as outrageous. As if Sam hadn’t just done it a minute ago. Dean brings his hands up to Sam’s jaw and slips them into Sam’s hair. “Please, Sammy.”
Sam leans forward hesitantly, lips just brushing Dean’s. Slowly, he presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. And then another, still unsure.
“More,” Dean whispers, tangling his fingers into Sam’s hair. He parts his lips under Sam’s, willing and pliant, and it’s as if the dam has broken.
Sam shoves him against the bar again, his hands roving Dean’s body. He thrusts his tongue inside Dean’s mouth and Dean licks at it eagerly, sucking on it and moaning. Sam presses against Dean and applies friction right there, pressure building and heat pooling low in their bellies.
They push and press against each other, hands everywhere, lips wet, tongues licking and teeth biting. Unmistakable bulges swell at the front of their pants, aching and chafing against rough fabric. After a moment, Sam gasps and pulls away.
“Outside,” he pants, and Dean nods in agreement.
They stumble out of the bar, kissing and breathing fast and hard. Sam pushes Dean into the alleyway and seizes Dean’s slender hips, slamming him up against the brick wall.
“Dean, Dean,” Sam murmurs between kisses. “God, you have no idea how long, Dean-”
His sentence is cut off when Dean presses his palm over Sam’s swollen cock and squeezes.
“Christ,” Sam gasps. He thrusts his tongue into Dean’s mouth relentlessly and grinds down onto Dean’s hand. He fumbles at Dean’s zipper and plunges his hand in once it’s open and begins stroking Dean’s shaft. His thumb slides over the head every other stroke.
Dean chokes on a groan and pulls away from Sam’s mouth to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder. Sam’s mouth finds Dean’s throat, licking and sucking. Sam mouths over the thin layer of skin over Dean’s Adam’s apple and pauses, contemplating. Dean’s breathing hitches.
Sam sinks his teeth down.
Dean cries out, limbs thrashing. Sam shoves him harder against the wall.
Sam’s fingers wrap tighter around Dean’s cock and strokes with firm, unyielding pressure. Sam sinks his teeth into the delicate skin over Dean’s pulse point. One, two, three strokes, and Dean’s coming so hard he almost blacks out.
“Sammy,” Dean gasps, body trembling with pleasure under Sam’s hands. The rough denim and fabric of his briefs chafes against his sensitive flesh while Sam works him through the aftershocks. Sam’s hands are on his shoulders now, pushing down, gentle but insistent. Dean’s legs collapse under him and he falls to his knees. He closes his eyes, coal-dark lashes becoming sooty smudges over his cheekbones. He listens to Sam unzipping himself and inhales the heavy musk when Sam pulls his cock out. Sam’s fingers rub at Dean’s neck, pushing him forward slowly.
Dean opens his eyes, intoxicated by Sam’s scent and dizzied from the alcohol.
He realizes that he should be resisting this. Stopping it. Something’s tingling at the back of his head, telling him this is wrong. Thing is, he can’t, for the love of God figure out why.
And now Sam--God, Sam--is standing over him, saying Dean, please, come on, Dean. He breathes in again, the sight of Sam heavy and flushed before him almost mind-numbing.
Sam’s hand on Dean’s neck pushes him forward those final few inches and Dean’s lips brush the tip of Sam’s cock. Dean follows instinct and wraps his lips around the head and sucks hard.
Sam gasps above him and curses, leaning his forearm against the brick wall in front of him and resting his head on it.
Dean wraps his fingers around the shaft and begins stroking slowly. Sam moans out Dean’s name. Dean moans, too, the hot, satiny weight of Sam filling Dean’s mouth. Dean uses his other hand to squeeze and caress Sam’s sac. Bitter drops of pre-cum burst on his tongue. He licks at them earnestly and sucks as much of Sam’s length as he can into his mouth. His hands and tongue form a rhythm, stroking, sucking, licking and swallowing. Sam groans and thrusts further into Dean’s mouth.
“Fuck, Dean, faster,” Sam hisses, tugging at Dean’s hair, and Dean obeys. Dean licks along the underside of the shaft and squeezes and kisses and strokes. He shoves his tongue into the slit.
“Your goddamn mouth,” Sam moans, and Dean knows Sam’s close.
Unable to restrain himself anymore, Sam shoves Dean’s head against the wall and pounds into Dean’s throat relentlessly. Dean’s eyes water and throat begins to burn, but he takes it, and keeps stroking and touching Sam with his hands. Sam cries out and scorching, bitter liquid begins to flow down Dean’s throat. Dean swallows it all, tears leaking and eyelashes clumping together wetly. His thighs tremble and quaver where he’s kneeling before Sam.
Sam pulls him up then. He kisses Dean’s soft, dark, bruised lips and buries his face in Dean’s neck. He’s saying something, lips brushing against Dean’s throat, but Dean can only catch fragments of it. Just bits of Dean......Jesus...you don’t even know...wanted this so long...Dean.
Dean doesn’t say anything back; he’s too worn out. He stands there, leaning back against the wall, enveloped in Sam’s arms as sweet nothings are whispered into his neck and closes his eyes. The combination of alcohol and his climax have left him utterly exhausted and his throat stings where Sam had pounded into him.
He feels Sam pull away after a moment and then wrap one arm around Dean, pressing kisses into his hair, guiding him along, ushering him...somewhere. Too tired to figure out where, he tucks his face into Sam’s chest and lets Sam steer him.
A couple minutes later, he feels the warm leather seats of the Impala under him and hears the car door shut as Sam gets in behind the wheel. He curls up against the soft, inviting leather and lets Sam slip a sturdy hand around to cup the back of Dean’s neck.
The car’s engine rumbles to life and Dean finds himself dozing off, the rocking motion of the car and the dancing of the streetlights reflecting on the black varnish of the car putting him in a surreal, almost dreamlike state.
At the last moment, the slight tingling at the back of his head starts up again.
He’s almost got his finger on it, almost figured out what was bothering him before, but Sam’s thumb starts up a rhythm over his pulse point and all coherent thought vanishes.
Dean lets himself be lulled to sleep.