FIC - Road Trip
title: Road Trip
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating:NC-17
summary: There is work to be done. And work to be done.
“Now?”, asked Sam, for the 4,739th time. It was most certainly not a whine and he very most certainly did not have anything resembling a pout on his face. It was just a question. Sam was a curious type, and he liked asking questions and getting answers and learning things. So, you know, it was just…a question.
Dean grit his teeth, for the 4,739th time. “Nope. Not now.” He tried for annoyed and impatient, he was really good at projecting those particular emotions. Because really, he was annoyed and impatient with his brother’s constant asking of the same question over and over again. He was definitely not faking his annoyance or impatience. And he was absolutely, irrefutably, and in no way getting off on making Sam wait.
They were on yet another two-day-long drive ( Damn him for loving this stupid fucking car so much and being too chickenshit to get on an airplane , Sam did not think uncharitably toward Dean) to track down what was going on with ruined crops, missing people and wacky animal behavior in some BFE Midwestern town. They both already figured it was the kind of place where the diner waitresses were all over the age of fifty, there were no places for Sam to get his girly-ass caramel frappuccino and people were so fucking intolerant, no understanding whatsoever about a little gay incest action.
But there were missing people. People with families and friends who loved them, and this was the job. Sam could have cut out years ago, hell, Dean could have cut out years ago, but then they’d have to spend the rest of whatever they made of their lives thinking about the ones they hadn’t tried to save. And so, of course, they headed in the direction of this little town to see what they could find and maybe help some people while they committed credit card fraud, stole, lied, impersonated law enforcement officials and broke every Biblical law about lust, sodomy, seed-spilling…oh, the who the hell knows what else. Not at the same time, of course. Job first, then massive epic sinning.
Except that this time it was going to take a long time to get to the hunt. Sam had expressed his displeasure at the length of the trip in a mature and rational way. Dean had voiced his understanding of his brother’s feelings by way of sitting down to talk to him about why this was important and how it would all be worth it if they could help some poor souls who didn’t have any idea the danger they were facing.
Translation: Sam bitched and moaned and rolled his eyes and made snarky comments for half an hour, and Dean finally pushed him into the passenger seat of the Impala while promising Sam that if he’d just quit whining like a little bitch, Princess , he’d give him a blow job on the side of the road twice a day until they got there.
It was not a giant shocker that Sam’s asking about when this was going to happen began approximately 24 minutes down the highway, before they’d even gotten through one side of the Back in Black cassette. Dean knew only too well that his brother would do almost anything in the world to have his cock sucked in only the way that Dean could do it, and Sam knew that Dean would make him wait. (Not because Dean was an asshole, or liked making Sam have to shift around uncomfortably in his seat because of his raging hard-on, Sam would never ever think anything so negative about his wonderful older brother who did everything in the world for him)
When Dean finally did relent, it was not because Sam had asked if it was time, because there was no fucking way on earth he was going to give Sam a “yes” in response to any of his whiny-assed “now?”s. Four hours and thirty seven minutes into the trip, Dean just pulled over onto the side of the two-lane road where there was a spot with a little shade, and asked Sam if would be agreeable to receiving oral sex at that specific point in time.
Translation: If Sam thought he’d been patient, he had no idea how badly Dean had wanted to get that cock in his mouth ever since he had said the words before they left. So he pulled off the road and said “Pants off, baby boy.”
There was no foreplay, there was no kissing, there was only the whirlwind of Sam desperately ridding himself of his jeans and his boxers at a pace that could possibly have competed for the speed of sound. And even faster than that, Dean was holding Sam down with one hand on his right hip and the other fisting the base of his cock while he got to work. Gone were the familiar lazy strokes of the tongue across Sam’s slit, along the underside of his shaft, the soft caress of Dean’s hands over his balls. In one fluid motion, Dean’s head was down and swallowing Sam’s dick inch by inch until every last bit of him was inside, pushing past the gag reflex Dean had learned to ignore years ago. Dean hummed and hollowed his cheeks and honest to Chuck sucked with everything he had.
Sam barely registered the fact that the back of his head had hit the car window hard enough that there would be a knot there later. (He would not bitch, anyway, about having a bruise on the back of his head, that would just be ridiculous) He whispered romantic little nothings to Dean so he could convey how good it made him feel to be on the receiving end of such a loving and pleasurable act.
Translation: The only words he seemed able to form in his brain or make come out of his mouth were nonsensical things like FUCK and DEAN and MORE and then FUCK again, and maybe some kind of incoherent sounds like UHHHHHHHH or kind of a growly noise.
Not surprisingly, it took only about seven minutes and 36 seconds before Sam was feeling the calm afterglow of being sexually sated, having reached orgasm in a thoroughly dignified manner.
Translation: Sam lasted barely more than five minutes before his hips were bucking up wildly against the hand Dean still laid heavily on his hip to keep him still, and he screamed his brother’s name as he shot his cum all the way down Dean’s throat.
Dean swallowed every last drop, and asked “Happy now, Samantha ? Gonna quit your bitchin’?”
Translation: I love you more than anything in the world, Sammy, and if I could suck your cock every second of the day forever I would totally do it, my beautiful baby boy.
“Yeah, I guess, how much farther do we have to drive today, jerk?”, Sam replied, as he got his jeans and underwear situated again.
Translation: I am as happy as any human being on the earth in the entire history of the fucking world has ever been and I love you with everything I have and I will never ever ever leave you EVER.
Dean pulled back onto the road, not thinking anything about how good it felt to have his throat coated with his brother’s spent cock, and Sam settled back comfortably into the passenger seat, not thinking anything about how he was getting three more blow jobs before they got to Montana.
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating:NC-17
summary: There is work to be done. And work to be done.
“Now?”, asked Sam, for the 4,739th time. It was most certainly not a whine and he very most certainly did not have anything resembling a pout on his face. It was just a question. Sam was a curious type, and he liked asking questions and getting answers and learning things. So, you know, it was just…a question.
Dean grit his teeth, for the 4,739th time. “Nope. Not now.” He tried for annoyed and impatient, he was really good at projecting those particular emotions. Because really, he was annoyed and impatient with his brother’s constant asking of the same question over and over again. He was definitely not faking his annoyance or impatience. And he was absolutely, irrefutably, and in no way getting off on making Sam wait.
They were on yet another two-day-long drive ( Damn him for loving this stupid fucking car so much and being too chickenshit to get on an airplane , Sam did not think uncharitably toward Dean) to track down what was going on with ruined crops, missing people and wacky animal behavior in some BFE Midwestern town. They both already figured it was the kind of place where the diner waitresses were all over the age of fifty, there were no places for Sam to get his girly-ass caramel frappuccino and people were so fucking intolerant, no understanding whatsoever about a little gay incest action.
But there were missing people. People with families and friends who loved them, and this was the job. Sam could have cut out years ago, hell, Dean could have cut out years ago, but then they’d have to spend the rest of whatever they made of their lives thinking about the ones they hadn’t tried to save. And so, of course, they headed in the direction of this little town to see what they could find and maybe help some people while they committed credit card fraud, stole, lied, impersonated law enforcement officials and broke every Biblical law about lust, sodomy, seed-spilling…oh, the who the hell knows what else. Not at the same time, of course. Job first, then massive epic sinning.
Except that this time it was going to take a long time to get to the hunt. Sam had expressed his displeasure at the length of the trip in a mature and rational way. Dean had voiced his understanding of his brother’s feelings by way of sitting down to talk to him about why this was important and how it would all be worth it if they could help some poor souls who didn’t have any idea the danger they were facing.
Translation: Sam bitched and moaned and rolled his eyes and made snarky comments for half an hour, and Dean finally pushed him into the passenger seat of the Impala while promising Sam that if he’d just quit whining like a little bitch, Princess , he’d give him a blow job on the side of the road twice a day until they got there.
It was not a giant shocker that Sam’s asking about when this was going to happen began approximately 24 minutes down the highway, before they’d even gotten through one side of the Back in Black cassette. Dean knew only too well that his brother would do almost anything in the world to have his cock sucked in only the way that Dean could do it, and Sam knew that Dean would make him wait. (Not because Dean was an asshole, or liked making Sam have to shift around uncomfortably in his seat because of his raging hard-on, Sam would never ever think anything so negative about his wonderful older brother who did everything in the world for him)
When Dean finally did relent, it was not because Sam had asked if it was time, because there was no fucking way on earth he was going to give Sam a “yes” in response to any of his whiny-assed “now?”s. Four hours and thirty seven minutes into the trip, Dean just pulled over onto the side of the two-lane road where there was a spot with a little shade, and asked Sam if would be agreeable to receiving oral sex at that specific point in time.
Translation: If Sam thought he’d been patient, he had no idea how badly Dean had wanted to get that cock in his mouth ever since he had said the words before they left. So he pulled off the road and said “Pants off, baby boy.”
There was no foreplay, there was no kissing, there was only the whirlwind of Sam desperately ridding himself of his jeans and his boxers at a pace that could possibly have competed for the speed of sound. And even faster than that, Dean was holding Sam down with one hand on his right hip and the other fisting the base of his cock while he got to work. Gone were the familiar lazy strokes of the tongue across Sam’s slit, along the underside of his shaft, the soft caress of Dean’s hands over his balls. In one fluid motion, Dean’s head was down and swallowing Sam’s dick inch by inch until every last bit of him was inside, pushing past the gag reflex Dean had learned to ignore years ago. Dean hummed and hollowed his cheeks and honest to Chuck sucked with everything he had.
Sam barely registered the fact that the back of his head had hit the car window hard enough that there would be a knot there later. (He would not bitch, anyway, about having a bruise on the back of his head, that would just be ridiculous) He whispered romantic little nothings to Dean so he could convey how good it made him feel to be on the receiving end of such a loving and pleasurable act.
Translation: The only words he seemed able to form in his brain or make come out of his mouth were nonsensical things like FUCK and DEAN and MORE and then FUCK again, and maybe some kind of incoherent sounds like UHHHHHHHH or kind of a growly noise.
Not surprisingly, it took only about seven minutes and 36 seconds before Sam was feeling the calm afterglow of being sexually sated, having reached orgasm in a thoroughly dignified manner.
Translation: Sam lasted barely more than five minutes before his hips were bucking up wildly against the hand Dean still laid heavily on his hip to keep him still, and he screamed his brother’s name as he shot his cum all the way down Dean’s throat.
Dean swallowed every last drop, and asked “Happy now, Samantha ? Gonna quit your bitchin’?”
Translation: I love you more than anything in the world, Sammy, and if I could suck your cock every second of the day forever I would totally do it, my beautiful baby boy.
“Yeah, I guess, how much farther do we have to drive today, jerk?”, Sam replied, as he got his jeans and underwear situated again.
Translation: I am as happy as any human being on the earth in the entire history of the fucking world has ever been and I love you with everything I have and I will never ever ever leave you EVER.
Dean pulled back onto the road, not thinking anything about how good it felt to have his throat coated with his brother’s spent cock, and Sam settled back comfortably into the passenger seat, not thinking anything about how he was getting three more blow jobs before they got to Montana.