FIC: Wild, Sweet and Cool (Sam/Dean, PG-13)
Title: Wild, Sweet and Cool
Author: smallcaps
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sammy likes candy and Dean. He's kind of insistent sometimes.
More teen antichrist 'verse. Previous stories are A Little Horny and 40 Days and 40 Nights.
If there was one thing worse than having the Antichrist for a little brother, it was having the Antichrist get all hyped up on sugar. Sammy had already been down to the corner store twice for extra fuel, tail extended out for more balance on his skateboard as he weaved through pedestrians like Bart Simpson in the opening credits.
Now, Sammy was dancing in the lounge, long arms and tail getting in the way of the TV, waving his stupid stolen hammer around. "Na na na na. Da! Da! Can't touch this!"
"I'm trying to watch South Park, dorkface," Dean snapped. "Can't you go embarrass yourself in the yard instead?"
"Daaad told me to stay inside," Sammy said, singsong, smirking at him with eyes gleaming black and mischievous.
"And somehow that didn't stop you from going out to buy more candy."
"Aww, sorry, Dean, did you want some?" The way Sammy groped around in his pocket for a bag of M&Ms was just...freaking wrong, and then he slid onto Dean's lap, lithe and dangerous, and that was even better. Worse. Sammy held up the candy in offering, mouth stained from the sugary colours.
"Dude, I don't--"
"Stop." Sammy gave a slow grin, showing his fangs. "Sammytime."
Ridiculous, dirty-fighting dork. Dean shook his head, trying not to smile. "You're too old to sit on people's laps."
"Yeah. I am." His brother's voice was loaded with meaning; Sammy pressed a blue M&M to Dean's lips, thumb against his mouth, broad and warm. Old enough.
Dean almost let it in. He shoved Sammy backwards instead, ass onto the floor. The candy spilled. He tried to look sternly down at his brother while his mouth still watered at the almost taste of sugared and salted skin. "Not that old."
"But, Dean," Sammy cocked his head, black eyes narrowed, smiling with his sharp, tiny fangs. "I'm bored."
"Oh, well, in that case--" Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you nuts? No!"
"I've got too much energy." Sammy got to his knees; slowly pushed up, hands on either side of Dean on the sofa, pressing his face close to Dean's. "Imagine all the ways we could burn it off."
Dean pulled a sarcastic face at him. "Sorry, no, I'm just not the creative sort."
"Oh, I think you are." Sammy leaned in closer to whisper against Dean's jaw. "I bet you could think of ten different ways to fuck me, right now, off the top of your head."
Oh, fuck this. Dean grabbed Sammy by the wrists and twisted the pair of them, shoving Sammy down on his back on the sofa cushions. "Ten?" he repeated in a low voice. Sammy's eyes were wide and pitch-black, mouth parted, body leaning up under Dean's, hard. "Beelzebrother, you couldn't even handle the first two."
"Try me," Sammy breathed, eager and hoarse.
Christ, but it sounded like such a freaking awesome idea. Dean took a breath, grip tight on Sammy's wrists. Not gonna happen. He was the big brother, it was his responsibility to keep this from getting out of hand.
"Dare you," Sammy said hungrily, and Dean rocked forward without meaning to, pushing his hips against Sammy's. His skin ached, muscles tight with holding back.
Carefully, Dean let go and crawled backwards; got to his feet. Before he couldn't anymore. "Lay off the sugar, Sammy," he said quietly. "It makes you nuts."
Sammy's face twisted in disappointment that was knife-sharp. "Fucking hate you sometimes," he muttered.
"I know." Dean didn't move, didn't dare let himself. He waited for Sammy to get up and leave the room; the door closed heavier than usual, not quite a slam.
Dean let out his breath in relief and regret. He shouted at the closed door, because it made him feel better, "You made me miss South Park, you bitch!"
Author: smallcaps
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sammy likes candy and Dean. He's kind of insistent sometimes.
More teen antichrist 'verse. Previous stories are A Little Horny and 40 Days and 40 Nights.
If there was one thing worse than having the Antichrist for a little brother, it was having the Antichrist get all hyped up on sugar. Sammy had already been down to the corner store twice for extra fuel, tail extended out for more balance on his skateboard as he weaved through pedestrians like Bart Simpson in the opening credits.
Now, Sammy was dancing in the lounge, long arms and tail getting in the way of the TV, waving his stupid stolen hammer around. "Na na na na. Da! Da! Can't touch this!"
"I'm trying to watch South Park, dorkface," Dean snapped. "Can't you go embarrass yourself in the yard instead?"
"Daaad told me to stay inside," Sammy said, singsong, smirking at him with eyes gleaming black and mischievous.
"And somehow that didn't stop you from going out to buy more candy."
"Aww, sorry, Dean, did you want some?" The way Sammy groped around in his pocket for a bag of M&Ms was just...freaking wrong, and then he slid onto Dean's lap, lithe and dangerous, and that was even better. Worse. Sammy held up the candy in offering, mouth stained from the sugary colours.
"Dude, I don't--"
"Stop." Sammy gave a slow grin, showing his fangs. "Sammytime."
Ridiculous, dirty-fighting dork. Dean shook his head, trying not to smile. "You're too old to sit on people's laps."
"Yeah. I am." His brother's voice was loaded with meaning; Sammy pressed a blue M&M to Dean's lips, thumb against his mouth, broad and warm. Old enough.
Dean almost let it in. He shoved Sammy backwards instead, ass onto the floor. The candy spilled. He tried to look sternly down at his brother while his mouth still watered at the almost taste of sugared and salted skin. "Not that old."
"But, Dean," Sammy cocked his head, black eyes narrowed, smiling with his sharp, tiny fangs. "I'm bored."
"Oh, well, in that case--" Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you nuts? No!"
"I've got too much energy." Sammy got to his knees; slowly pushed up, hands on either side of Dean on the sofa, pressing his face close to Dean's. "Imagine all the ways we could burn it off."
Dean pulled a sarcastic face at him. "Sorry, no, I'm just not the creative sort."
"Oh, I think you are." Sammy leaned in closer to whisper against Dean's jaw. "I bet you could think of ten different ways to fuck me, right now, off the top of your head."
Oh, fuck this. Dean grabbed Sammy by the wrists and twisted the pair of them, shoving Sammy down on his back on the sofa cushions. "Ten?" he repeated in a low voice. Sammy's eyes were wide and pitch-black, mouth parted, body leaning up under Dean's, hard. "Beelzebrother, you couldn't even handle the first two."
"Try me," Sammy breathed, eager and hoarse.
Christ, but it sounded like such a freaking awesome idea. Dean took a breath, grip tight on Sammy's wrists. Not gonna happen. He was the big brother, it was his responsibility to keep this from getting out of hand.
"Dare you," Sammy said hungrily, and Dean rocked forward without meaning to, pushing his hips against Sammy's. His skin ached, muscles tight with holding back.
Carefully, Dean let go and crawled backwards; got to his feet. Before he couldn't anymore. "Lay off the sugar, Sammy," he said quietly. "It makes you nuts."
Sammy's face twisted in disappointment that was knife-sharp. "Fucking hate you sometimes," he muttered.
"I know." Dean didn't move, didn't dare let himself. He waited for Sammy to get up and leave the room; the door closed heavier than usual, not quite a slam.
Dean let out his breath in relief and regret. He shouted at the closed door, because it made him feel better, "You made me miss South Park, you bitch!"