SPN fic: "Don't Step On the Grass, Sam" - because I think we all need a little shiny, happy porn.
Title: Don't Step On the Grass, Sam
Author: mona1347
Word Count: 4,195
Rating: Adult for drug use and pornography ( \o/ ).
Warnings: No spoilers, pre-series. Wincest. FLUFFY, bitches, TOTALLY FLUFFY.
Summary: Dean smokes weed. Sam flails and says, "OMG, DEAN!" a lot. Then there's sex.
A/N:: The title is taken from a Steppenwolf song, lyrics here. poisontaster rocks my socks for the beta and for listening to me flail about this for so long, she forgot her own prompt.
mona1347: But I have no pr0n-fu. And it's a brand new fu so I fear losing it.
poisontaster: I don't either. Just the desire (ha!) and half formed images.
mona1347: Well shit. WHERE IS OUR PR0N-FU DAMMIT?! Wanna prompt me? I'll write you nasty pornography if you prompt me.
poisontaster: Oooo! But yes. SPN. Drug!fic. Must include the line, "wait - are those women's underwear?"
mona1347: OH YOU EVIL WHORE. You want me to write PR0N about that?!
poisontaster: You wanted a PROMPT!
mona1347: I HEART YOUR EVIL ASS.
poisontaster: :-D
mona1347: Oh drug fic. Man. Yes. Can I write Dean all bake-wasted?
poisontaster: Ohhh yes.
mona1347: b/c Dean would be really hot high. Blood-shot-ness really brings out the green, methinks.
poisontaster: Oh yes… *nods*
mona1347: Sweeeet. (LIKE PANCAKES, BITCH, LIKE PANCAKES)
poisontaster: (CRUNCHY PEANUT BUTTER, H0R!)
And so this is, in no way, my responsibility. *clears throat* Also, I know absolutely nothing about drugs in RL, okay? Especially weed. In any way. *coughs* That is all. *slinks away*
"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."
~ All Along the Watchtower
~
"SAMMY! Hey everyone, look! This is my baby brother, Sammy…"
"Oh Jesus Chr--"
"Sammy!" A few of the gauzy, beaded people sitting in a circle with Dean called out unevenly. The burble of a bong punctuated the greeting, followed immediately by one more male voice--two seconds later than the others and choked with a lungful of smoke-- "Sammy! 'Sup, dude. Dean told us all about you. Wanna hit?"
Sam paused for one very long moment, giving a What The Fuck look to the kid holding out a big purple piece of smoky plastic. There was an alien's face at the base, its long oval eyes matte black. Then Sam shook himself, grabbed Dean's arm and hauled him to his feet.
"Dude!" Sam whisper-shouted into Dean's ear. "This is where you've been? I've been looking for you all night. Dad is freaked! For Christ's sake, Dean, he is going to shoot your ass."
"Hey!" Dean shook his arm loose from Sam's grip. He spoke at his usual volume. "I am twenty-one years old, I'll have you know. I am fully legal," --a distracted cheer went up from the small crowd-- "and I can do whatever I want."
"Yeah because this is so legal, Dean. You smell like the lawn seating at a Phish concert, man. Dad is going. To shoot you. Possibly in the face."
Dean waved his hand in the air in front of him, flapping away Sam’s declaration of his imminent filicide as completely unimportant.
Dean had to give long, tipping hugs and kisses to everyone before he'd let Sam make him leave, including a twinky little guy in silver eyeliner who ripped a huge hit off the alien bong, clung to Dean's neck and stretched up on tiptoe to seal his glossy mouth over Dean's for a sustained shot-gunning.
Dean picked Twink Boy up around the waist like he was a girl Dean thought was too young and/or innocent to fuck but old enough to toy with. He twirled around in a circle before setting him down, blowing the smoke off to the side and saying, "You are a sick man, Scotty, and I dig that about you. Don't drop the soap, dude. Or, you know, do. Whichever tickles your pickle."
Dean swatted him smartly on the ass in parting and Sam just couldn't process that at all so he grabbed Dean's arm and started pulling again. "Scotty" giggled, slumped back down and clasped hands with the glittery girl sitting next to him. Sam heard whispered snips of, "soooo butch," "let him tap my ass all night long," and "hetero-flexible" before he got Dean through the door.
~
"Oh my god, Dean. How do you even know these people? We've been here for like two days! Okay, sure, we’re in Oregon and it's harder to find a sunny day than a bag of marijuana but…" Sam glanced at the space just behind and to the side of him and Dean was not occupying it. "Dude!"
"What?" Dean called, already halfway up the branches of a dogwood tree in the parking lot. "Hey, Sammy. Bro, can you smell that? God, these trees are fucking amazing. Did you know the flowers have magical properties too?" He was actually picking them in huge stick-sharp bundles that nearly put Sam's eye out as he yanked on Dean's pant leg and coaxed him out of the tree.
It was a Friday night. And Sam was coaxing his older brother out of a tree. Sam really hated his life some days. Like today.
"Dean. You are never going anywhere alone ever again."
Dean rolled his eyes and brushed the legs of his jeans off distractedly. "Yeah, and I'm super-stoked about it too, since you're just the coolest little brother of all time, you total geek." He stuck a rich pink, four-petaled flower behind Sam's ear that Sam batted away almost immediately. "Let's go kick some evil ass or something. Oh! Or get breakfast. Man, I'm starvin'."
Sam grabbed Dean's jacket by the up-turned collar and pulled him in the opposite direction. The one that led to the car.
"Yeah, so, firstly? You aren't in a state to kill anything except maybe a plate of cheese fries and secondly…"
Dean stopped dead. "Oh Sammy… Cheese fries? Do you really mean it?"
"Secondly. I am not a geek."
"You're a total geek, Geekboy," Dean snorted.
"And thirdly, it's midnight, so breakfast is…"
"Denny's, you little punk! Serves breakfast All. Night. Long." Dean whooped and shook his hips from side to side in a little Victory Dance as he said it that Sam would probably have given entire limbs to have on tape for later. Then he slapped Sam hard on the back and crowed, "Now where's my cheese fries, bitch?!"
"Cheese fries are not breakfast food, you fucking stoner!"
"It's midnight, Sammy!" Dean sang out and slid into the car. "Who cares?"
~
They were just into the liminal glass bubble between the outer and inner doors of the nearest Denny's when Sam pinched Dean’s upper arm with hard fingers. One of Dean’s hands rested on the door handle and his confused, reddened eyes were really ridiculously green. Sam felt himself get inexplicably more pissed off as he looked into them.
“What? Ow, dude.” Dean said indignantly.
“Could we have a little fucking decorum in here please? I don’t want to have to drag you off the ceiling fan or something.”
Dean just grinned, that wild, manic, absolutely terrifying grin that Sam had learned to fear more than a hundred different types of monsters. “You got it, Sammy. Decorum. Check.” Then he pulled his arm out of Sam’s pincer grasp and blew through the door.
If it were possible to die of embarrassment, Sam surely would have done so in the face of their waitress's smirk and raised eyebrow. Dean would not stop leering at her and she had to be forty-five if she was a day and oh god could they be any more obvious?
“Isn’t it a fine evening, sweetheart?” Dean said brightly and Sam tried to bury his face behind his menu.
“It sure is, sugar.” She smiled back indulgently. Dean’s effect on anything female remained completely revolting. “Now what can I get you boys tonight?”
“Breakfast.” Dean said in an obscenely excited tone. “And cheese fries.”
"Anything specific for the breakfast part or should I get creative on you?" She looked at Sam and he nearly strained something trying to keep polite and blasé eye-contact as he pointed toward the menu a few times and Dean added random things to their order ("Ooo! Yeah, one of those too.")
By the time the waitress came back with their food, Dean had constructed several jelly-packet pyramids and Sam had to stop him from adding "sand" in the form of the contents of their sugar bowl. Then Dean systematically worked his way through his own three plates and started on Sam’s without a by-your-leave.
“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be a growing teenager?” Sam snarked but Dean just rolled his eyes and wiped his greasy mouth.
“Surely you’re done growing by now, Sammy. You’re seventeen and tall as me.”
“Taller.”
“Are not.”
“Am too. Taller by at least an inch. Maybe a half-inch if I’m feeling generous. Which I'm not.”
“Whatever, dude, in your dreams. I gotta go to the john.”
Sam sighed and waved one hand.
~
Six minutes later he remembered that Dean wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone anymore.
Sam banged through the peeling, gouged bathroom door and heard a hard, huffing exhale. "Oh shit, Dean. I swear to Christ, if you’re getting laid in there, I’m gonna…"
He kicked open the stall door and Dean was sitting up on the toilet tank, t-shirt wrinkled and sweaty, jacket draped on the wall-hook swinging from a single screw, halfway through smoking a joint of improbable diameter.
"Wow, Sammy. Dramatic much?"
Sam quickly spun around and pressed the stall door closed with his back as though it provided a hermetic seal or a sound barrier and hissed at Dean like an angry goose. “Oh my god, Dean! Where did you get that? Where were you hiding that?!"
"Hello, Sam! I have a jacket with pockets and a number of other perfectly normal -- and not at all scandalous like you're making it sound -- places to hide this. It's a joint, Sammy, not the friggin' Alien Bong. And Scotty gave it to me," Dean finished, like it was just the most rational thing ever.
"Scotty wants in your ass, you know," Sam said, more bitter and insolent than he'd have liked.
Dean was nonplussed. "Dude, Scotty is a total bottom," as if that answered the question. "Now stop being The Cockblock of Fun and keep me company while I do my thing."
Sam hated this. Hated when Dean reduced him to a flailing, sputtering mess, hated that he could always, always do it, no matter that they spent eighty-five percent of their lives together and Sam should be used to it by now. Dean just did his thing. Horrible, incredible, reckless things for which Sam somehow ended up along for the ride.
They were pressed up together in the tiny stall; Sam sort of stood between Dean's spread knees. He kept half-twisting and turning and, okay fine, twitching and saying, "Oh my god, hurry up, we are so gonna get caught. A cop is going to walk in here - this is a Denny's - and we're going to get caught and that pistol in the back of your jeans is not going to go over well and…"
Dean made this choked noise. His voice was full of smoke as he said "Oh for crying out… Come here, will you?" grabbed the back of Sam's head and pressed their lips together. He ground open Sam's mouth with a hard rub and Sam's lips parted in mind-numbing shock. He tasted something green and underneath that the apple juice Dean had been guzzling with his pancakes. Then he felt his lungs inflate with Dean's breath and sticky-sweet smoke.
Dean drew back with a little cough and Sam gasped, wheezing smoke into his face while Dean lazily waved a hand in between them to clear the air.
"Now, calm the fuck down, dude. Your shrieking is going to draw more attention than my freaking weed smoke, okay?"
Sam's lips tingled and his lungs burned so that he couldn't even cough and all he said in reply was a stupid, "I don't shriek."
When Dean passed the joint to him, saying, "Now can you smoke like a civilized person or do I have to shotgun you again?" Sam took it, because he really didn't want to find out if Dean meant it.
~
Dean rummaged through the glove compartment. Twelve different fake IDs and a whole lot of crap fell into Dean's lap in pieces - the glove box was the only part of the car Dean let get completely disgusting.
"I swear there's a Snickers in here. Did you eat it, you little bastard? There's totally chocolate in here if I can just find…"
Sam settled into the driver's seat, secretly relishing the feel of the Impala's keys in his palm. He felt fine, really. Not fucked up at all. This was nothing like being drunk and Sam wasn't about to pass up the chance to Drive The Car, even if he'd never be that pathetic about it to Dean.
Dean was still bitching and rustling next to him. He had something red and kind of… satiny?...wrapped around the one hand that waved distractedly as he nattered on about chocolate and the gas station convenience store.
"Wait -- are those women's underwear?"
Dean looked at them like he hadn't really seen what he was holding. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Oh don't tell me. Scotty gave those to you, too?" Sam knew he sounded unbearably snotty. He knew it before the words even came out of his mouth but somehow he couldn't stop them. He was angry and he didn't even know why. Wasn't marijuana supposed to make you giggly and happy? Sam just felt turned around and confused as all hell and there was Dean holding a pair of women's panties like they were a stray Burger King napkin and it pissed. Sam. Off.
He peeled the Impala out of its ("it" not "her", that was just taking it Too Far, no matter what Dean said) parking space hard enough to thump Dean, pissing and moaning about his tires, against the door.
~
Sam was concentrating so hard that it took him way too long to notice Dean staring at him. “What!? Jesus, what?”
Dean just licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. It was weird. The look. It was the…pick-up look. The “I don’t know if you’ll fall to your knees and blow me or slap me in the face if I say what I’m about to say next” look.
Sam had catalogued all of Dean’s sex-looks by now. Not that he’d been watching carefully or anything. Okay, maybe a little. But just for research. Dean got laid a lot. That was perfectly normal, right?
“Shit. Sammy!”
The car tires crunched over gravel. Sam swore and jerked the wheel over, straightened them out on the deserted back road. “Fuck, Dean. Shut up, man. I can’t believe you did this to me!”
Dean’s expression snapped from "my car, dude" back to "sex" in one blink and he said, real low and rough, “Did what to you, Sammy?”
“Stop calling me ‘Sammy’!” he shot back without thinking and tried to concentrate on the road again. Dean coughed and looked pointedly at him again.
"What? I'm trying to not kill us here."
“You didn’t answer my question, Sam.” Dean unbuckled his seat belt, which was just suicidal at this point because Dean was stoned, sure, but Sam was still entirely too high and entirely too unused to it to be driving anything right now -- maybe even including his own feet. Sam blinked hard and tried to keep his focus on the road and not on Dean’s bloodshot eyes, the yellow streetlights making them flash the color of freshly mown grass at regular, mesmerizing intervals.
“My question.” Oh god, Sam could feel Dean’s breath on his neck and he absolutely would not look away from the road now because he thought Dean was inching even closer and what the fucking hell was happening?
Dean’s warm hand covered Sam’s knee, made small, firm circles just above the kneecap with his thumb.
“Dean…”
“What have I done to you, Sam?” Dean sounded serious now. Really really serious and Sam thought wildly that this was only happening because Dean hadn’t gotten punched yet and really, that was the only very loosely defined set of boundaries Dean'd ever had: “Will I get the snot beat out of me for this and is it worth it anyway?”
Sam knew he'd lost control of this situation before he ever dragged Dean out of that…that opium den. Weed den. Pot den. Whatever. Shit. But now he really felt like he’d lost control because while he was busy not answering Dean, that hand slid higher up on his leg and all Sam could do was blink rapidly and bite his lip. Try to keep breathing and squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.
“Or maybe,” Dean’s voice went into full on, sex-on-a-stick, Ima-fuck-you mode and oh Christ, is this a joke? This has gotta be a joke. “Maybe we can talk about what you’ve done to me.”
Dean didn’t sound like he was joking. Not even a little tiny bit. Sam wasn’t sure Dean’d ever sounded so fucking serious in his whole life.
“You do a lot of things to me, Sam.” Dean’s thumb. His thumb kept stroking against Sam’s leg, getting closer and closer to the crease of his thigh. Sam’s cock jumped and he was frozen, locked in a swirling thought pattern: wrong, wrong, sick, brother, big brother, sick fuck, touch me, don’t crash, don’t crash the car, wrong, wrong, don’t stop, wrong…
“You do a lot of things to me that you shouldn’t.” Dean got quiet, like he was talking to himself. “You do all sorts of things for me that you shouldn’t. Carting my stoned ass around all night. Buying me Denny’s at one in the morning and basically letting me drug you in the men’s room because I… because you need to relax, dude. Because it’s my job to take care of you and sometimes I’m stupid and you’re the one who… you… You know I’ll always take care of you, right, Sammy?”
Sam had lost Dean’s train of thought about six wild-ass turns back but oh Christ, Dean’s hand moved up. Up over Sam’s cock and (wrong sick don’t stop wrong) his fingers closed around him and Sam was hard. Like really really hard and Dean breathed out a noise that sounded like relief and surrender all at once. Sam gasped and then (ohgoddon’tcrashthecar) Dean licked a wet stripe up the side of Sam’s neck, from the crook of his shoulder to up under his ear. “Let me take care of you.”
Oh god oh god oh god oh god…
"Come on, Sammy," Dean wheedled, rubbing one callused hand against the front of Sam's pants and breathing hotly against his neck, "Let me. Come on. Let me make you feel good, baby bro. Want this. Wanted this for so fucking long. Oh god…"
This was insane.
Sam wanted this.
He closed his eyes, trying to regain…something. Sanity, sense, his breath.
"Sam, fuck. Open your eyes. Open your eyes and pull over for Christ's sake." Dean's words were hot and laughing and urgent in his ear and he just obeyed without thinking, by rote.
Sam felt his own voice rumble down deep in his chest as he jerked the wheel and screeched the car over to the side of the road. Dean lost what little balance he had to begin with and fell almost completely into Sam's lap.
Before the engine properly stopped running, Dean kissed him. It was awkward and sideways and all lips and teeth, utterly without finesse or style.
Sam gasped when they paused for air and Dean drew back a few inches. His eyes were wild and worried.
"Dean, we can't..." Dean's full, soft mouth was impossibly pink and wet, wet with Sam's spit, and Sam trailed off then said, "Shit," and dragged that mouth back to his.
Sam's mind moved too fast, always had moved just too fast and he could never shut it off, even during sex, except when it was like this. Dean was hard and fast and vicious; it felt like he'd grown eight extra hands and at least four extra mouths because Dean was just all over him in the front of the Impala and Sam had never wished harder for reclining seats.
Biting, sucking, licking kisses like red-hot brands all over Sam's neck and shoulders and into his mouth and Dean's hands pinching his nipples and rubbing hard -- once, twice, again -- over Sam's cock through his pants before they moved, torturous, squeezing his thighs and sides and up to cup Sam's face in his hands again.
Dean tasted like pot smoke and cheese fries and sin; he tugged open Sam's fly with quick desperate jerks and oh god it was so wrong. Sam never, ever wanted it to stop.
Sam whined high and tight and whispered, "Please. Please, Dean." Dean groaned like he had no idea what the fuck was going on either but he didn't stop. Thank god, he didn't stop until his hot, lush mouth was around Sam's cock and yes. It was so fucking wet, tight, yes, Dean. Oh Dean.
Sam wound his fingers through Dean's short hair and growled. Insane. He'd gone absolutely insane.
Dean moaned, actually moaned, when Sam pushed down a little on his head and ran his left hand up Sam's chest, catching in each button with the tips of his nails before slipping two fingers roughly into Sam's mouth.
He dug into Sam's thigh with the other hand and somewhere way way in the back of Sam's head he thought, "That's going to leave a bruise." It was the part of his brain that autonomically cataloged his own and his father's and his brother's injuries during a hunt. Sorting and resorting them into categories of "still useful" and "proximity to death" as they cut whatever swath through whatever evil thing they were after this time.
Dean's fingers slipped from his mouth to run down and stroke hard over Sam's flank. "Yeah. Dean. Oh god. Yes. You…you are such a fucking idiot… Dean. Oh please...don't stop. Fuck. Please, don't stop. I'll beg. I'll...ah..."
Sam didn't even know what was coming out of his mouth anymore he was so... so close.
"Please please please…" He pushed his hips up. Into Dean. Into... Oh holy sweet hell. Never stop. Dean Dean never ever stop. Always, you, always… "I… Dean."
Sam made a high shuddering noise he'd never admit to when Dean pulled up and surged half over him and Sam registered his own sideways, slutty sprawl, one knee crooked and up on the front seat, the other leg half in the passenger side wheel well.
Dean's hand wrapped around Sam's cock and squeeze-pulled, rough and quick, choking another noise from Sam that he couldn't classify even if his entire brain wasn't currently located in his dick.
"Wanna…wanna watch you. Want to watch you come. Going to....fuck, Sammy. Gonna fuck you stupid. My cock...my cock inside you. Sammy, come on. Shhh... Come on. Fuck you so slow. Slow and hard."
Sam came so fast, so hard he saw stars and moons and suns behind his eyes and, oh fuck yes, he was so glad he pulled over the car now because they'd both be dead. They'd both be... "Dean, oh."
Sam opened his eyes and lifted his head slowly, coming back to himself. "Jesus." He looked over at Dean and said again, "Jesus, Dean…" because Dean was half-propped up against the dash and half on the seat next to Sam and he had his hand wrapped around his own cock, mouth open, head back, jacking himself roughly, eyes somewhere around the lower half of Sam's face.
It was possibly the hottest thing Sam had ever seen. This was possibly the most fucked up thing that had ever happened to him.
"You…" gasp "are such…" groan "a prude, man..." Dean gritted out. "I've gotta…fuck, I need to…"
"Oh dear god..." Sam's hands went toward Dean's and sort of hovered uselessly. "Stop that, just…stop. Fuck. Let me, I'll. I can…god. Dean, just stop okay, please. You're breaking my brain. Let me. I'll get you there, okay?"
What was he saying? What the fuck was he saying? What was going on?!
God, drugs were so bad…
"Sam, please," Dean whimpered and Sam broke, knocked Dean's hand away and grabbed him by the hips, pulled Dean toward him without any idea what he was going to do next. Dean swung one leg over Sam's lap and straddled him. Sam's hand wrapped around Dean's cock like it belonged there.
Dean shivered and writhed against him, pushed back against Sam's arm wrapped around his waist and forward into his fist. Sam bit down hard on Dean's collarbone and swore that the next time -- oh god next time; his dick started to get hard again -- Sam would get to taste him. Would get to wrap his mouth around Dean's cock and…
Dean dropped his forehead onto Sam's shoulder, moaned "Sammy," and came all over Sam's chest in hot bursts and long, wracking shudders.
They sat tangled there for a few moments, relearning how to breathe, before Dean levered himself off Sam with a small, deep sound and collapsed back against the passenger side seat. Sam dragged one hand through his hair and said, kind of shakily, "Goddamn it, I am so stoned."
"Oh Christ, Sammy, please don't tell me you're gonna freak out. Because I want to do that again." Dean's eyes were closed, lashes long and shadowed against his cheeks.
Sam blinked hard just once then opened his eyes wide. He reached down to the floor and felt around for the car keys, "Oh god, let me get us home. Let's go home. Dad's out and we can…"
Dean eyes opened a little. "I thought Dad sent you to look for me."
Sam blushed and Dean opened his eyes fully, turned his head.
"I… I was bored, okay?"
Dean gave him a look that made Sam really happy Dean was too boneless and wrung out to kick his ass just then. But the glare turned into a smirk half-way through and Dean cocked up one eyebrow. "You bored now?"
A jitter of giggles burst from Sam's mouth without his permission. "No. No definitely not bored."
Dean closed his eyes again. "Just making sure."
~~~~~
mona1347: You wanna see what Sammy and Dean look like in your pot-fic?
poisontaster: Of course!
mona1347: I mean you've seen these pics before, of course, but just for the visual....
mona1347: Doesn't that shit just BRING the DIRTYBADWRONG feeling?!?! *glee*
poisontaster: Oh.
Oh yes.
mona1347: *nods*
*grins* I know, right?
They've even got the perfect EXPRESSIONS on their faces.
poisontaster: YES. Just...
mona1347: *giggles* I know.
poisontaster: higher brain function is ceased.
mona1347: yes *pets*
because the hotass
could choke a bitch
*handwave*
poisontaster: omg yes.
just...yeah.
omg.
mona1347: I know. I just keep staring
poisontaster: SO THEIR BITCH. SO SO THEIR BITCH.
mona1347: THEIR SLUTTY DIRTY FILTHY WHORE.
poisontaster: Yes. Oh the world of yes.
mona1347: *nods*
*fans* They make me wanna do such vile obscene things to them.
poisontaster: In my mind, I already have.
mona1347: *snorts juice out of nose*
poisontaster: Ha!
REVENGE IS MINE!
mona1347: *coughs, sputters*
For the record?
Revenge porn is WAY BETTER.
Author: mona1347
Word Count: 4,195
Rating: Adult for drug use and pornography ( \o/ ).
Warnings: No spoilers, pre-series. Wincest. FLUFFY, bitches, TOTALLY FLUFFY.
Summary: Dean smokes weed. Sam flails and says, "OMG, DEAN!" a lot. Then there's sex.
A/N:: The title is taken from a Steppenwolf song, lyrics here. poisontaster rocks my socks for the beta and for listening to me flail about this for so long, she forgot her own prompt.
mona1347: But I have no pr0n-fu. And it's a brand new fu so I fear losing it.
poisontaster: I don't either. Just the desire (ha!) and half formed images.
mona1347: Well shit. WHERE IS OUR PR0N-FU DAMMIT?! Wanna prompt me? I'll write you nasty pornography if you prompt me.
poisontaster: Oooo! But yes. SPN. Drug!fic. Must include the line, "wait - are those women's underwear?"
mona1347: OH YOU EVIL WHORE. You want me to write PR0N about that?!
poisontaster: You wanted a PROMPT!
mona1347: I HEART YOUR EVIL ASS.
poisontaster: :-D
mona1347: Oh drug fic. Man. Yes. Can I write Dean all bake-wasted?
poisontaster: Ohhh yes.
mona1347: b/c Dean would be really hot high. Blood-shot-ness really brings out the green, methinks.
poisontaster: Oh yes… *nods*
mona1347: Sweeeet. (LIKE PANCAKES, BITCH, LIKE PANCAKES)
poisontaster: (CRUNCHY PEANUT BUTTER, H0R!)
And so this is, in no way, my responsibility. *clears throat* Also, I know absolutely nothing about drugs in RL, okay? Especially weed. In any way. *coughs* That is all. *slinks away*
"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."
~ All Along the Watchtower
~
"SAMMY! Hey everyone, look! This is my baby brother, Sammy…"
"Oh Jesus Chr--"
"Sammy!" A few of the gauzy, beaded people sitting in a circle with Dean called out unevenly. The burble of a bong punctuated the greeting, followed immediately by one more male voice--two seconds later than the others and choked with a lungful of smoke-- "Sammy! 'Sup, dude. Dean told us all about you. Wanna hit?"
Sam paused for one very long moment, giving a What The Fuck look to the kid holding out a big purple piece of smoky plastic. There was an alien's face at the base, its long oval eyes matte black. Then Sam shook himself, grabbed Dean's arm and hauled him to his feet.
"Dude!" Sam whisper-shouted into Dean's ear. "This is where you've been? I've been looking for you all night. Dad is freaked! For Christ's sake, Dean, he is going to shoot your ass."
"Hey!" Dean shook his arm loose from Sam's grip. He spoke at his usual volume. "I am twenty-one years old, I'll have you know. I am fully legal," --a distracted cheer went up from the small crowd-- "and I can do whatever I want."
"Yeah because this is so legal, Dean. You smell like the lawn seating at a Phish concert, man. Dad is going. To shoot you. Possibly in the face."
Dean waved his hand in the air in front of him, flapping away Sam’s declaration of his imminent filicide as completely unimportant.
Dean had to give long, tipping hugs and kisses to everyone before he'd let Sam make him leave, including a twinky little guy in silver eyeliner who ripped a huge hit off the alien bong, clung to Dean's neck and stretched up on tiptoe to seal his glossy mouth over Dean's for a sustained shot-gunning.
Dean picked Twink Boy up around the waist like he was a girl Dean thought was too young and/or innocent to fuck but old enough to toy with. He twirled around in a circle before setting him down, blowing the smoke off to the side and saying, "You are a sick man, Scotty, and I dig that about you. Don't drop the soap, dude. Or, you know, do. Whichever tickles your pickle."
Dean swatted him smartly on the ass in parting and Sam just couldn't process that at all so he grabbed Dean's arm and started pulling again. "Scotty" giggled, slumped back down and clasped hands with the glittery girl sitting next to him. Sam heard whispered snips of, "soooo butch," "let him tap my ass all night long," and "hetero-flexible" before he got Dean through the door.
~
"Oh my god, Dean. How do you even know these people? We've been here for like two days! Okay, sure, we’re in Oregon and it's harder to find a sunny day than a bag of marijuana but…" Sam glanced at the space just behind and to the side of him and Dean was not occupying it. "Dude!"
"What?" Dean called, already halfway up the branches of a dogwood tree in the parking lot. "Hey, Sammy. Bro, can you smell that? God, these trees are fucking amazing. Did you know the flowers have magical properties too?" He was actually picking them in huge stick-sharp bundles that nearly put Sam's eye out as he yanked on Dean's pant leg and coaxed him out of the tree.
It was a Friday night. And Sam was coaxing his older brother out of a tree. Sam really hated his life some days. Like today.
"Dean. You are never going anywhere alone ever again."
Dean rolled his eyes and brushed the legs of his jeans off distractedly. "Yeah, and I'm super-stoked about it too, since you're just the coolest little brother of all time, you total geek." He stuck a rich pink, four-petaled flower behind Sam's ear that Sam batted away almost immediately. "Let's go kick some evil ass or something. Oh! Or get breakfast. Man, I'm starvin'."
Sam grabbed Dean's jacket by the up-turned collar and pulled him in the opposite direction. The one that led to the car.
"Yeah, so, firstly? You aren't in a state to kill anything except maybe a plate of cheese fries and secondly…"
Dean stopped dead. "Oh Sammy… Cheese fries? Do you really mean it?"
"Secondly. I am not a geek."
"You're a total geek, Geekboy," Dean snorted.
"And thirdly, it's midnight, so breakfast is…"
"Denny's, you little punk! Serves breakfast All. Night. Long." Dean whooped and shook his hips from side to side in a little Victory Dance as he said it that Sam would probably have given entire limbs to have on tape for later. Then he slapped Sam hard on the back and crowed, "Now where's my cheese fries, bitch?!"
"Cheese fries are not breakfast food, you fucking stoner!"
"It's midnight, Sammy!" Dean sang out and slid into the car. "Who cares?"
~
They were just into the liminal glass bubble between the outer and inner doors of the nearest Denny's when Sam pinched Dean’s upper arm with hard fingers. One of Dean’s hands rested on the door handle and his confused, reddened eyes were really ridiculously green. Sam felt himself get inexplicably more pissed off as he looked into them.
“What? Ow, dude.” Dean said indignantly.
“Could we have a little fucking decorum in here please? I don’t want to have to drag you off the ceiling fan or something.”
Dean just grinned, that wild, manic, absolutely terrifying grin that Sam had learned to fear more than a hundred different types of monsters. “You got it, Sammy. Decorum. Check.” Then he pulled his arm out of Sam’s pincer grasp and blew through the door.
If it were possible to die of embarrassment, Sam surely would have done so in the face of their waitress's smirk and raised eyebrow. Dean would not stop leering at her and she had to be forty-five if she was a day and oh god could they be any more obvious?
“Isn’t it a fine evening, sweetheart?” Dean said brightly and Sam tried to bury his face behind his menu.
“It sure is, sugar.” She smiled back indulgently. Dean’s effect on anything female remained completely revolting. “Now what can I get you boys tonight?”
“Breakfast.” Dean said in an obscenely excited tone. “And cheese fries.”
"Anything specific for the breakfast part or should I get creative on you?" She looked at Sam and he nearly strained something trying to keep polite and blasé eye-contact as he pointed toward the menu a few times and Dean added random things to their order ("Ooo! Yeah, one of those too.")
By the time the waitress came back with their food, Dean had constructed several jelly-packet pyramids and Sam had to stop him from adding "sand" in the form of the contents of their sugar bowl. Then Dean systematically worked his way through his own three plates and started on Sam’s without a by-your-leave.
“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be a growing teenager?” Sam snarked but Dean just rolled his eyes and wiped his greasy mouth.
“Surely you’re done growing by now, Sammy. You’re seventeen and tall as me.”
“Taller.”
“Are not.”
“Am too. Taller by at least an inch. Maybe a half-inch if I’m feeling generous. Which I'm not.”
“Whatever, dude, in your dreams. I gotta go to the john.”
Sam sighed and waved one hand.
~
Six minutes later he remembered that Dean wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone anymore.
Sam banged through the peeling, gouged bathroom door and heard a hard, huffing exhale. "Oh shit, Dean. I swear to Christ, if you’re getting laid in there, I’m gonna…"
He kicked open the stall door and Dean was sitting up on the toilet tank, t-shirt wrinkled and sweaty, jacket draped on the wall-hook swinging from a single screw, halfway through smoking a joint of improbable diameter.
"Wow, Sammy. Dramatic much?"
Sam quickly spun around and pressed the stall door closed with his back as though it provided a hermetic seal or a sound barrier and hissed at Dean like an angry goose. “Oh my god, Dean! Where did you get that? Where were you hiding that?!"
"Hello, Sam! I have a jacket with pockets and a number of other perfectly normal -- and not at all scandalous like you're making it sound -- places to hide this. It's a joint, Sammy, not the friggin' Alien Bong. And Scotty gave it to me," Dean finished, like it was just the most rational thing ever.
"Scotty wants in your ass, you know," Sam said, more bitter and insolent than he'd have liked.
Dean was nonplussed. "Dude, Scotty is a total bottom," as if that answered the question. "Now stop being The Cockblock of Fun and keep me company while I do my thing."
Sam hated this. Hated when Dean reduced him to a flailing, sputtering mess, hated that he could always, always do it, no matter that they spent eighty-five percent of their lives together and Sam should be used to it by now. Dean just did his thing. Horrible, incredible, reckless things for which Sam somehow ended up along for the ride.
They were pressed up together in the tiny stall; Sam sort of stood between Dean's spread knees. He kept half-twisting and turning and, okay fine, twitching and saying, "Oh my god, hurry up, we are so gonna get caught. A cop is going to walk in here - this is a Denny's - and we're going to get caught and that pistol in the back of your jeans is not going to go over well and…"
Dean made this choked noise. His voice was full of smoke as he said "Oh for crying out… Come here, will you?" grabbed the back of Sam's head and pressed their lips together. He ground open Sam's mouth with a hard rub and Sam's lips parted in mind-numbing shock. He tasted something green and underneath that the apple juice Dean had been guzzling with his pancakes. Then he felt his lungs inflate with Dean's breath and sticky-sweet smoke.
Dean drew back with a little cough and Sam gasped, wheezing smoke into his face while Dean lazily waved a hand in between them to clear the air.
"Now, calm the fuck down, dude. Your shrieking is going to draw more attention than my freaking weed smoke, okay?"
Sam's lips tingled and his lungs burned so that he couldn't even cough and all he said in reply was a stupid, "I don't shriek."
When Dean passed the joint to him, saying, "Now can you smoke like a civilized person or do I have to shotgun you again?" Sam took it, because he really didn't want to find out if Dean meant it.
~
Dean rummaged through the glove compartment. Twelve different fake IDs and a whole lot of crap fell into Dean's lap in pieces - the glove box was the only part of the car Dean let get completely disgusting.
"I swear there's a Snickers in here. Did you eat it, you little bastard? There's totally chocolate in here if I can just find…"
Sam settled into the driver's seat, secretly relishing the feel of the Impala's keys in his palm. He felt fine, really. Not fucked up at all. This was nothing like being drunk and Sam wasn't about to pass up the chance to Drive The Car, even if he'd never be that pathetic about it to Dean.
Dean was still bitching and rustling next to him. He had something red and kind of… satiny?...wrapped around the one hand that waved distractedly as he nattered on about chocolate and the gas station convenience store.
"Wait -- are those women's underwear?"
Dean looked at them like he hadn't really seen what he was holding. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Oh don't tell me. Scotty gave those to you, too?" Sam knew he sounded unbearably snotty. He knew it before the words even came out of his mouth but somehow he couldn't stop them. He was angry and he didn't even know why. Wasn't marijuana supposed to make you giggly and happy? Sam just felt turned around and confused as all hell and there was Dean holding a pair of women's panties like they were a stray Burger King napkin and it pissed. Sam. Off.
He peeled the Impala out of its ("it" not "her", that was just taking it Too Far, no matter what Dean said) parking space hard enough to thump Dean, pissing and moaning about his tires, against the door.
~
Sam was concentrating so hard that it took him way too long to notice Dean staring at him. “What!? Jesus, what?”
Dean just licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. It was weird. The look. It was the…pick-up look. The “I don’t know if you’ll fall to your knees and blow me or slap me in the face if I say what I’m about to say next” look.
Sam had catalogued all of Dean’s sex-looks by now. Not that he’d been watching carefully or anything. Okay, maybe a little. But just for research. Dean got laid a lot. That was perfectly normal, right?
“Shit. Sammy!”
The car tires crunched over gravel. Sam swore and jerked the wheel over, straightened them out on the deserted back road. “Fuck, Dean. Shut up, man. I can’t believe you did this to me!”
Dean’s expression snapped from "my car, dude" back to "sex" in one blink and he said, real low and rough, “Did what to you, Sammy?”
“Stop calling me ‘Sammy’!” he shot back without thinking and tried to concentrate on the road again. Dean coughed and looked pointedly at him again.
"What? I'm trying to not kill us here."
“You didn’t answer my question, Sam.” Dean unbuckled his seat belt, which was just suicidal at this point because Dean was stoned, sure, but Sam was still entirely too high and entirely too unused to it to be driving anything right now -- maybe even including his own feet. Sam blinked hard and tried to keep his focus on the road and not on Dean’s bloodshot eyes, the yellow streetlights making them flash the color of freshly mown grass at regular, mesmerizing intervals.
“My question.” Oh god, Sam could feel Dean’s breath on his neck and he absolutely would not look away from the road now because he thought Dean was inching even closer and what the fucking hell was happening?
Dean’s warm hand covered Sam’s knee, made small, firm circles just above the kneecap with his thumb.
“Dean…”
“What have I done to you, Sam?” Dean sounded serious now. Really really serious and Sam thought wildly that this was only happening because Dean hadn’t gotten punched yet and really, that was the only very loosely defined set of boundaries Dean'd ever had: “Will I get the snot beat out of me for this and is it worth it anyway?”
Sam knew he'd lost control of this situation before he ever dragged Dean out of that…that opium den. Weed den. Pot den. Whatever. Shit. But now he really felt like he’d lost control because while he was busy not answering Dean, that hand slid higher up on his leg and all Sam could do was blink rapidly and bite his lip. Try to keep breathing and squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.
“Or maybe,” Dean’s voice went into full on, sex-on-a-stick, Ima-fuck-you mode and oh Christ, is this a joke? This has gotta be a joke. “Maybe we can talk about what you’ve done to me.”
Dean didn’t sound like he was joking. Not even a little tiny bit. Sam wasn’t sure Dean’d ever sounded so fucking serious in his whole life.
“You do a lot of things to me, Sam.” Dean’s thumb. His thumb kept stroking against Sam’s leg, getting closer and closer to the crease of his thigh. Sam’s cock jumped and he was frozen, locked in a swirling thought pattern: wrong, wrong, sick, brother, big brother, sick fuck, touch me, don’t crash, don’t crash the car, wrong, wrong, don’t stop, wrong…
“You do a lot of things to me that you shouldn’t.” Dean got quiet, like he was talking to himself. “You do all sorts of things for me that you shouldn’t. Carting my stoned ass around all night. Buying me Denny’s at one in the morning and basically letting me drug you in the men’s room because I… because you need to relax, dude. Because it’s my job to take care of you and sometimes I’m stupid and you’re the one who… you… You know I’ll always take care of you, right, Sammy?”
Sam had lost Dean’s train of thought about six wild-ass turns back but oh Christ, Dean’s hand moved up. Up over Sam’s cock and (wrong sick don’t stop wrong) his fingers closed around him and Sam was hard. Like really really hard and Dean breathed out a noise that sounded like relief and surrender all at once. Sam gasped and then (ohgoddon’tcrashthecar) Dean licked a wet stripe up the side of Sam’s neck, from the crook of his shoulder to up under his ear. “Let me take care of you.”
Oh god oh god oh god oh god…
"Come on, Sammy," Dean wheedled, rubbing one callused hand against the front of Sam's pants and breathing hotly against his neck, "Let me. Come on. Let me make you feel good, baby bro. Want this. Wanted this for so fucking long. Oh god…"
This was insane.
Sam wanted this.
He closed his eyes, trying to regain…something. Sanity, sense, his breath.
"Sam, fuck. Open your eyes. Open your eyes and pull over for Christ's sake." Dean's words were hot and laughing and urgent in his ear and he just obeyed without thinking, by rote.
Sam felt his own voice rumble down deep in his chest as he jerked the wheel and screeched the car over to the side of the road. Dean lost what little balance he had to begin with and fell almost completely into Sam's lap.
Before the engine properly stopped running, Dean kissed him. It was awkward and sideways and all lips and teeth, utterly without finesse or style.
Sam gasped when they paused for air and Dean drew back a few inches. His eyes were wild and worried.
"Dean, we can't..." Dean's full, soft mouth was impossibly pink and wet, wet with Sam's spit, and Sam trailed off then said, "Shit," and dragged that mouth back to his.
Sam's mind moved too fast, always had moved just too fast and he could never shut it off, even during sex, except when it was like this. Dean was hard and fast and vicious; it felt like he'd grown eight extra hands and at least four extra mouths because Dean was just all over him in the front of the Impala and Sam had never wished harder for reclining seats.
Biting, sucking, licking kisses like red-hot brands all over Sam's neck and shoulders and into his mouth and Dean's hands pinching his nipples and rubbing hard -- once, twice, again -- over Sam's cock through his pants before they moved, torturous, squeezing his thighs and sides and up to cup Sam's face in his hands again.
Dean tasted like pot smoke and cheese fries and sin; he tugged open Sam's fly with quick desperate jerks and oh god it was so wrong. Sam never, ever wanted it to stop.
Sam whined high and tight and whispered, "Please. Please, Dean." Dean groaned like he had no idea what the fuck was going on either but he didn't stop. Thank god, he didn't stop until his hot, lush mouth was around Sam's cock and yes. It was so fucking wet, tight, yes, Dean. Oh Dean.
Sam wound his fingers through Dean's short hair and growled. Insane. He'd gone absolutely insane.
Dean moaned, actually moaned, when Sam pushed down a little on his head and ran his left hand up Sam's chest, catching in each button with the tips of his nails before slipping two fingers roughly into Sam's mouth.
He dug into Sam's thigh with the other hand and somewhere way way in the back of Sam's head he thought, "That's going to leave a bruise." It was the part of his brain that autonomically cataloged his own and his father's and his brother's injuries during a hunt. Sorting and resorting them into categories of "still useful" and "proximity to death" as they cut whatever swath through whatever evil thing they were after this time.
Dean's fingers slipped from his mouth to run down and stroke hard over Sam's flank. "Yeah. Dean. Oh god. Yes. You…you are such a fucking idiot… Dean. Oh please...don't stop. Fuck. Please, don't stop. I'll beg. I'll...ah..."
Sam didn't even know what was coming out of his mouth anymore he was so... so close.
"Please please please…" He pushed his hips up. Into Dean. Into... Oh holy sweet hell. Never stop. Dean Dean never ever stop. Always, you, always… "I… Dean."
Sam made a high shuddering noise he'd never admit to when Dean pulled up and surged half over him and Sam registered his own sideways, slutty sprawl, one knee crooked and up on the front seat, the other leg half in the passenger side wheel well.
Dean's hand wrapped around Sam's cock and squeeze-pulled, rough and quick, choking another noise from Sam that he couldn't classify even if his entire brain wasn't currently located in his dick.
"Wanna…wanna watch you. Want to watch you come. Going to....fuck, Sammy. Gonna fuck you stupid. My cock...my cock inside you. Sammy, come on. Shhh... Come on. Fuck you so slow. Slow and hard."
Sam came so fast, so hard he saw stars and moons and suns behind his eyes and, oh fuck yes, he was so glad he pulled over the car now because they'd both be dead. They'd both be... "Dean, oh."
Sam opened his eyes and lifted his head slowly, coming back to himself. "Jesus." He looked over at Dean and said again, "Jesus, Dean…" because Dean was half-propped up against the dash and half on the seat next to Sam and he had his hand wrapped around his own cock, mouth open, head back, jacking himself roughly, eyes somewhere around the lower half of Sam's face.
It was possibly the hottest thing Sam had ever seen. This was possibly the most fucked up thing that had ever happened to him.
"You…" gasp "are such…" groan "a prude, man..." Dean gritted out. "I've gotta…fuck, I need to…"
"Oh dear god..." Sam's hands went toward Dean's and sort of hovered uselessly. "Stop that, just…stop. Fuck. Let me, I'll. I can…god. Dean, just stop okay, please. You're breaking my brain. Let me. I'll get you there, okay?"
What was he saying? What the fuck was he saying? What was going on?!
God, drugs were so bad…
"Sam, please," Dean whimpered and Sam broke, knocked Dean's hand away and grabbed him by the hips, pulled Dean toward him without any idea what he was going to do next. Dean swung one leg over Sam's lap and straddled him. Sam's hand wrapped around Dean's cock like it belonged there.
Dean shivered and writhed against him, pushed back against Sam's arm wrapped around his waist and forward into his fist. Sam bit down hard on Dean's collarbone and swore that the next time -- oh god next time; his dick started to get hard again -- Sam would get to taste him. Would get to wrap his mouth around Dean's cock and…
Dean dropped his forehead onto Sam's shoulder, moaned "Sammy," and came all over Sam's chest in hot bursts and long, wracking shudders.
They sat tangled there for a few moments, relearning how to breathe, before Dean levered himself off Sam with a small, deep sound and collapsed back against the passenger side seat. Sam dragged one hand through his hair and said, kind of shakily, "Goddamn it, I am so stoned."
"Oh Christ, Sammy, please don't tell me you're gonna freak out. Because I want to do that again." Dean's eyes were closed, lashes long and shadowed against his cheeks.
Sam blinked hard just once then opened his eyes wide. He reached down to the floor and felt around for the car keys, "Oh god, let me get us home. Let's go home. Dad's out and we can…"
Dean eyes opened a little. "I thought Dad sent you to look for me."
Sam blushed and Dean opened his eyes fully, turned his head.
"I… I was bored, okay?"
Dean gave him a look that made Sam really happy Dean was too boneless and wrung out to kick his ass just then. But the glare turned into a smirk half-way through and Dean cocked up one eyebrow. "You bored now?"
A jitter of giggles burst from Sam's mouth without his permission. "No. No definitely not bored."
Dean closed his eyes again. "Just making sure."
~~~~~
mona1347: You wanna see what Sammy and Dean look like in your pot-fic?
poisontaster: Of course!
mona1347: I mean you've seen these pics before, of course, but just for the visual....
mona1347: Doesn't that shit just BRING the DIRTYBADWRONG feeling?!?! *glee*
poisontaster: Oh.
Oh yes.
mona1347: *nods*
*grins* I know, right?
They've even got the perfect EXPRESSIONS on their faces.
poisontaster: YES. Just...
mona1347: *giggles* I know.
poisontaster: higher brain function is ceased.
mona1347: yes *pets*
because the hotass
could choke a bitch
*handwave*
poisontaster: omg yes.
just...yeah.
omg.
mona1347: I know. I just keep staring
poisontaster: SO THEIR BITCH. SO SO THEIR BITCH.
mona1347: THEIR SLUTTY DIRTY FILTHY WHORE.
poisontaster: Yes. Oh the world of yes.
mona1347: *nods*
*fans* They make me wanna do such vile obscene things to them.
poisontaster: In my mind, I already have.
mona1347: *snorts juice out of nose*
poisontaster: Ha!
REVENGE IS MINE!
mona1347: *coughs, sputters*
For the record?
Revenge porn is WAY BETTER.