Fic: Sammy is a sly dog (SPN: Sam/Dean: NC17)
Title: 'Sammy is a sly dog'
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC17
Genre: Not a whole lotta plot here.
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: All the property of people not me.
Beta: parenthetical has been amazing, as always! She manages to focus on commas and repeated words and such, even when the images they are attached to are somewhat... ahem... distracting. Thank you, my love!
Summary: Written for the spn_rimmathon challenge, using the prompt Dean's never been rimmed before and Sam cannot let this situation continue any longer!. As is usual with our boys, events got in the way a little, so it isn't quite as immediate as the prompt implies.
Author's notes: This is far and away the most explicit thing I've ever written, let alone posted, so... be gentle with me! This fandom: special hell, I tell you!
ETA This fic inspired the awesome parenthetical, beta extraordinaire, to write the panicky sex referred to in passing. Her fic is HOT BEYOND BELIEF: Rush Job.
Sammy is a sly dog
The first time the subject comes up, Sam's flat on his back waiting for Dean to stitch up a nasty gash on his leg, and cursing the crazy person who decided the cemetery needed a razor-wire fence. He's biting his lip against the pinch-pull of the stitches going in, looking forward to the moment he can get up and go wash off the mess of blood and dust and grave-mould, so he's not too impressed when Dean pauses, thread still pulled taut.
'Dude, gross,' Dean mutters, and Sam rolls his eyes.
'Yeah, gross,' he says. 'Now get the hell on with it and finish patching me up so I can go shower.'
'Not you, freak.' Dean bends back down and jabs the needle into Sam's leg again. 'That.' He jerks his head at the TV, and Sam lifts his head to see, gasping a bit at the effort. The screen swims into focus, and at first all he can see is a glossy, overly made-up presenter talking manically, although he can't hear the words over the clank of the air-conditioning. Then the shot cuts to a bedroom scene, where a scrawny-looking guy has his head between some chick's thighs. It's the kind of thing Sam's seen a million times before, except - oh.
'Rimming? That's not that gross.' He lets his head flop back down, 'cause he's way too beat up to feel like making an effort to watch some cheesy 'joy of sex' show.
'Licking someone's ass?' Dean says. 'Sam, man, that's gross.'
'You put your dick up my ass,' Sam argues.
Dean flushes slightly, suddenly very intent on getting the stitches even. 'Yeah, well, that's different.'
Sam doesn't really see the difference, but just then the Vicodin Dean gave him to dull the pain really kicks in and he's too woozy to argue any more. He closes his eyes instead and thinks about how good the hot water's going to feel when he finally gets under that shower.
Another month, another shitty motel room, and this time it's Dean who's laid out on the bed while Sam plays doctor. They've been checking out a series of demonic possessions, and the last of the victims managed to stab Dean in the back while he was trying to tie her up. It's not really a bad cut - the only reason it even needs stitches is because the blade sliced across a spot which gets pulled at every time Dean moves - so Sam's kind of relaxed. He's humming under his breath and admiring the curve of Dean's ass just below the wound when the situation reminds him of their unfinished argument.
'Rimming is not gross,' he says suddenly.
Dean twists round to look at him, wincing a bit as the movement pulls at the cut. 'The fuck, Sam?'
'You said before that rimming's gross. Man, you are so wrong.' Sam leers a bit, although he's never managed to perfect the expression the way Dean has.
'It totally is gross,' Dean argues, and Sam thinks he looks a tiny bit embarrassed, although it's hard to tell, since his colour's up anyway in the time-honoured 'little brothers can never be allowed to win an argument' battle flush.
'You would not be saying that, big brother, if you'd ever actually tried it.' Sam is gleeful, because it's not often he gets one up on Dean when it comes to sexual experience. Normally it's Dean boasting about how he once got some hot desk clerk to go down on him behind the counter, or how this waitress could do amazing things with her tongue.
'No, Sam, I've never tried it,' Dean says with exaggerated patience. 'Because it's gross.' Then realisation dawns on his face. 'You're telling me you have?'
'I truly have.' Sam smirks. 'And Dean, I'm telling you, you're missing out.' He licks his lips and looks lasciviously at Dean's ass.
Dean snorts, unimpressed. 'Whatever, sicko. I'm kind of bleeding here, so I'd appreciate it if you kept your mind on the job.'
Sam sticks his tongue out, but Dean really is bleeding again, and suturing requires slightly more concentration than Sam can manage when he's thinking about getting said tongue in Dean's ass. He sighs and gets on with closing up the cut, resolving to revisit this conversation some other time, however much Dean tries to avoid it.
The next time the subject comes up, they're in another shitty motel room, but this time neither of them's been wounded. They've had a good couple of days' work, hunted down a chupacabra and killed it cleanly, no problems, and they're kicking back with a few beers and some TV time. Dean scrolls through the menu, then grabs their latest credit card and punches in the numbers for the porn channel, chuckling when he sees Sam blush. Sam thinks it's kind of weird to watch porn together, personally, and besides, if that's the kind of mood he's in he'd rather be doing than seeing, but Dean thinks it's funny to watch him squirm in front of 'Random Porn Title 4'.
When the hot girl-on-girl action turns out to involve one dusky beauty going down enthusiastically on the other girl's ass, though, it's Dean who's squirming.
'C'mon, man, where's the need for that? Why doesn't she just lick her pussy?'
'Because, Dean, it's really hot.'
Dean makes a face. 'Ew, no way is it hot. It's - it's unhygienic, Sam.'
'Dean, don't be such a prude. It's not unhygienic.'
'Ass licking,' Dean says pointedly.
'OK, I'll admit there's a certain ick factor. But Dean, you suck my cock. There's not a huge difference, really.'
'There's a difference,' Dean says, in his most annoying voice of big-brotherly wisdom. The girls onscreen have moved on to something else, but Dean's attention has strayed from the porn. He's eyeing Sam hungrily, smiling slowly at the evidence that the porn has had some effect after all. He leans over and breathes hotly through Sam's shorts, then closes his mouth around Sam's cock, sliding his tongue in through the slit in the fabric so that Sam catches his breath and thrusts forward.
Dean pulls back for a second. 'Besides, what's the point when I could be sucking your cock?'
Sam tries to pull away, intending to roll his brother over and prove the point once and for all, but then Dean pulls Sam's cock free of his shorts and puts his admittedly mind-blowing cocksucking skills to use. Sam clings onto Dean's head with desperate fingers, gasping and moaning, and everything but the suckslidegood of Dean's mouth on his cock is driven out of his mind.
They have a few difficult hunts in a row, near-misses and demons who try to trick and taunt them, and it takes all their energy just to stay alive. When they fuck at all, it's swift and desperate, both their minds half on what's going on around them, attuned to every strange noise and suspicious shadow. Sam forgets all about rimming, or the lack of it, for months.
When he remembers, they're lying outside on prairie grass, bellies warm with tequila. They're both tired and achy from a big fight the night before, but they're feeling safe for once, holed up on a reservation where there are some pretty powerful wards keeping shit away. They both know they'll have to move on soon enough, but for now it feels good just to bake in the sun, passing the bottle of liquor between them and letting themselves get slow and silly with each swallow. Dean's lying splayed out with one hand heavy on Sam's thigh, and Sam's mind is pleasantly vague, wandering from one topic to another while half his attention's still focused on the feel of his body, slack with tiredness and booze, hot underneath Dean's hand.
Sam thinks about the way Dean's hands can make him feel, and his cock swells slightly in his pants. He's too tired and comfortable to do anything about it at the moment, though, so he just gives himself up to fantasy instead, thinking about licking and sucking and fucking Dean once he gets him into an actual bed. He conjures up an image of Dean stretched out under him, ass spread wide, and that's when he remembers he still has an argument to win.
'Dean?'
Dean's hand twitches on Sam's thigh to show that he's heard, but he doesn't reply.
Sam props himself up on one elbow so he can see his brother. 'Dean, man. Have you really never let anyone lick your ass?'
Dean groans and doesn't even bother opening his eyes. 'No one's ever been crazy enough to want to, you freak.'
'And you've never done it to anyone else?'
Dean rolls over half onto his side and looks up at Sam.
'Dude, no way, how do you even have to ask?' He makes a face.
Sam feigns innocence. 'Just, y'know, surprised to think there's anything the great Dean Winchester hasn't done in bed.'
Dean socks him in the arm. 'I'm an expert, Sammy, I don't have to get into the kinky stuff to keep people interested.'
Sam punches him back and they scuffle a bit before settling back down, too contented and lazy to really get worked up. They wind up curled together, trading soft, leisurely kisses, and Sam lets Dean think he's forgotten all about ass-licking. He wriggles closer into his brother's embrace and makes plans.
When they do end up in a motel room again, they barely even make it through the door before they're stripping each other's clothes off. Dean's been torturing Sam all day, making lewd comments and grabbing his ass whenever he was sure the people they were interviewing couldn't see. The gig they were working on turned out to be a bust - not a haunting, just local kids trying to scare people - but they had to talk to about half the town before they were sure. In the last house, Dean had sat on the other side of the kitchen table and slid his foot up under cover of the tablecloth, pushing against Sam's already half-hard cock until it sprang into insistent life. When they got out of there, they'd both gotten in the car so fast the little old lady they'd just interviewed was left open-mouthed, halfway through her farewells.
Dean rips off Sam's jacket and pushes him up against the door, grinding their hips together. 'You fucking little tease,' he whispers. 'So fucking sexy.'
Sam gasps and grinds back, fumbling at the hem of Dean's shirt. 'You're the one who was - fuck - molesting me all day, you bastard.'
Dean laughs, low and rough, and pulls away long enough to get Sam's pants unbuttoned. 'How can I help it when you look at me like I'm a goddamn porn star? Hell, Sam, you've been staring at my mouth like it's the fucking centrefold of Penthouse.'
Sam moans at the thought, then yelps when Dean yanks his jeans right and wraps a fist around his cock. He's about to reciprocate, but then he has an awesome idea. He bucks up into Dean's fist and groans, 'Fuck, yeah, your mouth. Want it around my cock, please, Dean, suck me.'
It's not exactly hard to make his pleading convincing, and he's rewarded by Dean sinking down to kneel before him, breath hot against his cock. Dean licks one hot, perfect stripe from base to tip, and then he's swallowing Sam down, sliding his tongue under the head and wrapping his lips around the shaft, firm and tight. This is way fucking hotter than anything that's ever been in Penthouse, and Sam's been hard all day, and shit his control is all but gone. It only takes a few thrusts up into Dean's gorgeous mouth and then Sam's scrabbling at Dean's hair, pulling him away and coming hot and bright and hard all over his brother's face.
He slumps to the ground, panting.
For a minute all Sam can do is lie there, freezing his naked ass off in the breeze coming under the door. Then he hears Dean gasp, and opens his eyes to see his brother crouched on the floor, hand wrapped round his own cock, jacking off hard and fast. Sam drinks in the sight, desire spiralling low in his belly when he sees his own come still smeared across those pretty lips but then he remembers his awesome plan and forces his brain into some kind of coherence
'No, don't touch,' Sam says, and he's expecting his voice to come out rough and unsteady, but instead it's clear and authoritative. Dean looks up, startled, and releases his cock like it's burned him.
Sam lurches to his feet and grabs Dean by one shoulder. 'On the bed,' he orders, guiding Dean over and pressing him down onto the mattress. Dean goes obediently, hands by his sides, thighs spreading willingly when Sam pushes him back. Lust fires in Sam's belly as he realises that he could tell Dean to do anything, could keep giving orders, and for a moment he's tempted to do it, to see just how far he can go. This isn't about that, though: it's not what Sam wants to do to his brother, but what he wants to do for him.
It's about worship, about spreading his brother out and exploring every inch of him, finding every hidden pore.
Dean's still looking up at him, trusting and pleading at once, cock angry-hard across his belly. Sam stretches out over him, covering his brother's body with his own, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Dean's lips. He can taste himself there, come saltsweetsticky over coffee and spearmint and Dean's own indefinable flavour. It never stops being vaguely surprising how tiny Dean feels under him: even though Sam outgrew him by the time he was fifteen, Dean's never quite stopped being his big brother, and he takes up more space in Sam's head than he actually does in real life.
Sam's so caught up in the sensation that he pauses for a moment, too overwhelmed to move, and then Dean moans under him and thrusts up. His cock slides along Sam's - already half-hard again - and Sam lets out a surprised breath against his skin. He slides down to kiss Dean's neck, his chest, running hands and tongue over skin and scars. Dean thrusts again, and Sam pulls himself away, pushes his brother further back onto the bed so he can kneel between his legs. He presses his hands against Dean's hips, thumbs nestled in the dip of bone, fingers splayed round to cup the curve of back and ass, and brings his mouth down to Dean's cock. He holds Dean still, breathing hot against his cock, but not quite touching until Dean begs.
'Fuck, Sam, please. Suck me, please.'
Sam obliges, one quick licksuck up and down Dean's cock, smearing salt precome across his own lips. Then he pulls off again, laughs. 'Not yet, baby, you don't get to come yet.'
Dean's moan of frustration modulates into one of pleasure as Sam's mouth touches him again, tongue slip-sliding along his cock, down to cover his balls, teasing at crinkly hair and skin. He bucks up against the air when Sam releases his hips, writhing against the sheets, and then Sam catches his thighs and spreads them wider.
Sam laps at Dean's balls once more, brushing against the sensitive skin underneath, then drives his tongue into Dean's crack, and oh fuck, he'd forgotten how good it was to actually do this to someone. He hears Dean gasp, and licks forward again, tongue questing deeper, and this time it seems like Dean's brain has actually managed to process the sensation, because his muscles stiffen under the touch.
'What the f- oh god - the fuck you think you're doing, Sam?'
Sam swipes his tongue down Dean's crack again. 'You want me to stop?' he asks, trying to sound unconcerned instead of insanely horny. He blows against the wet trail left by his tongue until his brother shivers and gasps. 'I can stop,' he says again.
'Fuck... don't stop... don't you fucking stop,' Dean grinds out through clenched teeth, and thank god, because no way is Sam going to tease any longer. He drives back down, spreading Dean's ass wide, licking and fucking into his hole until Dean cries out and grinds forward onto his tongue. He's impossibly hot and tight, silken-smooth flesh fluttering under Sam's touch. Each time Sam drives his tongue in he opens a little wider, like a flower slowly bursting into bloom, cries and gasps growing more desperate with each thrust.
When Sam draws back a little, feathers his tongue up and down Dean's ass, Dean actually begs. 'Sam, touch me... for Christ's sake...' He bucks his hips wildly, fisting his hands in the sheets, seeking more stimulation.
Sam nearly breaks when he hears Dean beg, and so much for his awesome fucking plan, because he's hard as who-the-hell-knows-what despite just having shot his load all over his brother's goddamn throat. He aches to bury his cock in that unbelievable ass, to fuck Dean hard and fast, but that's not part of the plan.
He presses a kiss to the base of Dean's cock, sloppy and open-mouthed, and then he's licking Dean open again, twisting his tongue into the dark of him until Dean gives a strangled cry. Sam slicks his fingers and slides one next to his tongue, then another, pushing in and fluttering his tongue till it feels like it's all part of one thing, like his mouth and hands were made to do just this. He pushes again, curling his fingers until Dean's crying out, a long, continuous sound.
Sam fumbles up with his other hand until it closes on Dean's cock, pumps once, twice, and then he presses his face down, nudging Dean's thighs wider apart, and drives his tongue in as hard as he can. Dean clenches, whole body rigid, and then he's coming, body shaking with each pulse of his cock. Sam draws away to watch him, wraps a hand around his own cock, stroking in time with Dean's movements and chanting, 'C'mon, baby, come for me, so beautiful, c'mon.'
When Dean throws his head back, exposing the curve of his throat, Sam loses it totally, shooting streams of come across Dean's cock and thighs and belly, words swallowed into pure sound by the sheer pleasure of it all. He sinks onto the bed next to Dean, breathes in the scent of sex and sweat, and clings on to his brother.
They both lie motionless for long moments, still panting short breaths, too fucked out to move. Finally, Sam manages to stir himself enough to grab some tissues and clean them both up, drag the comforter over them. He curls back around Dean, pulling him in close to his chest. Dean lets out a contented little sound and shifts to fit more snugly under his arm.
'Fuck, man, that was amazing.'
Sam grins. 'Thought you said rimming was gross.'
'Screw you, bitch.'
Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, feels him smile against his skin, and they both fall into sleep.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC17
Genre: Not a whole lotta plot here.
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: All the property of people not me.
Beta: parenthetical has been amazing, as always! She manages to focus on commas and repeated words and such, even when the images they are attached to are somewhat... ahem... distracting. Thank you, my love!
Summary: Written for the spn_rimmathon challenge, using the prompt Dean's never been rimmed before and Sam cannot let this situation continue any longer!. As is usual with our boys, events got in the way a little, so it isn't quite as immediate as the prompt implies.
Author's notes: This is far and away the most explicit thing I've ever written, let alone posted, so... be gentle with me! This fandom: special hell, I tell you!
ETA This fic inspired the awesome parenthetical, beta extraordinaire, to write the panicky sex referred to in passing. Her fic is HOT BEYOND BELIEF: Rush Job.
Sammy is a sly dog
The first time the subject comes up, Sam's flat on his back waiting for Dean to stitch up a nasty gash on his leg, and cursing the crazy person who decided the cemetery needed a razor-wire fence. He's biting his lip against the pinch-pull of the stitches going in, looking forward to the moment he can get up and go wash off the mess of blood and dust and grave-mould, so he's not too impressed when Dean pauses, thread still pulled taut.
'Dude, gross,' Dean mutters, and Sam rolls his eyes.
'Yeah, gross,' he says. 'Now get the hell on with it and finish patching me up so I can go shower.'
'Not you, freak.' Dean bends back down and jabs the needle into Sam's leg again. 'That.' He jerks his head at the TV, and Sam lifts his head to see, gasping a bit at the effort. The screen swims into focus, and at first all he can see is a glossy, overly made-up presenter talking manically, although he can't hear the words over the clank of the air-conditioning. Then the shot cuts to a bedroom scene, where a scrawny-looking guy has his head between some chick's thighs. It's the kind of thing Sam's seen a million times before, except - oh.
'Rimming? That's not that gross.' He lets his head flop back down, 'cause he's way too beat up to feel like making an effort to watch some cheesy 'joy of sex' show.
'Licking someone's ass?' Dean says. 'Sam, man, that's gross.'
'You put your dick up my ass,' Sam argues.
Dean flushes slightly, suddenly very intent on getting the stitches even. 'Yeah, well, that's different.'
Sam doesn't really see the difference, but just then the Vicodin Dean gave him to dull the pain really kicks in and he's too woozy to argue any more. He closes his eyes instead and thinks about how good the hot water's going to feel when he finally gets under that shower.
Another month, another shitty motel room, and this time it's Dean who's laid out on the bed while Sam plays doctor. They've been checking out a series of demonic possessions, and the last of the victims managed to stab Dean in the back while he was trying to tie her up. It's not really a bad cut - the only reason it even needs stitches is because the blade sliced across a spot which gets pulled at every time Dean moves - so Sam's kind of relaxed. He's humming under his breath and admiring the curve of Dean's ass just below the wound when the situation reminds him of their unfinished argument.
'Rimming is not gross,' he says suddenly.
Dean twists round to look at him, wincing a bit as the movement pulls at the cut. 'The fuck, Sam?'
'You said before that rimming's gross. Man, you are so wrong.' Sam leers a bit, although he's never managed to perfect the expression the way Dean has.
'It totally is gross,' Dean argues, and Sam thinks he looks a tiny bit embarrassed, although it's hard to tell, since his colour's up anyway in the time-honoured 'little brothers can never be allowed to win an argument' battle flush.
'You would not be saying that, big brother, if you'd ever actually tried it.' Sam is gleeful, because it's not often he gets one up on Dean when it comes to sexual experience. Normally it's Dean boasting about how he once got some hot desk clerk to go down on him behind the counter, or how this waitress could do amazing things with her tongue.
'No, Sam, I've never tried it,' Dean says with exaggerated patience. 'Because it's gross.' Then realisation dawns on his face. 'You're telling me you have?'
'I truly have.' Sam smirks. 'And Dean, I'm telling you, you're missing out.' He licks his lips and looks lasciviously at Dean's ass.
Dean snorts, unimpressed. 'Whatever, sicko. I'm kind of bleeding here, so I'd appreciate it if you kept your mind on the job.'
Sam sticks his tongue out, but Dean really is bleeding again, and suturing requires slightly more concentration than Sam can manage when he's thinking about getting said tongue in Dean's ass. He sighs and gets on with closing up the cut, resolving to revisit this conversation some other time, however much Dean tries to avoid it.
The next time the subject comes up, they're in another shitty motel room, but this time neither of them's been wounded. They've had a good couple of days' work, hunted down a chupacabra and killed it cleanly, no problems, and they're kicking back with a few beers and some TV time. Dean scrolls through the menu, then grabs their latest credit card and punches in the numbers for the porn channel, chuckling when he sees Sam blush. Sam thinks it's kind of weird to watch porn together, personally, and besides, if that's the kind of mood he's in he'd rather be doing than seeing, but Dean thinks it's funny to watch him squirm in front of 'Random Porn Title 4'.
When the hot girl-on-girl action turns out to involve one dusky beauty going down enthusiastically on the other girl's ass, though, it's Dean who's squirming.
'C'mon, man, where's the need for that? Why doesn't she just lick her pussy?'
'Because, Dean, it's really hot.'
Dean makes a face. 'Ew, no way is it hot. It's - it's unhygienic, Sam.'
'Dean, don't be such a prude. It's not unhygienic.'
'Ass licking,' Dean says pointedly.
'OK, I'll admit there's a certain ick factor. But Dean, you suck my cock. There's not a huge difference, really.'
'There's a difference,' Dean says, in his most annoying voice of big-brotherly wisdom. The girls onscreen have moved on to something else, but Dean's attention has strayed from the porn. He's eyeing Sam hungrily, smiling slowly at the evidence that the porn has had some effect after all. He leans over and breathes hotly through Sam's shorts, then closes his mouth around Sam's cock, sliding his tongue in through the slit in the fabric so that Sam catches his breath and thrusts forward.
Dean pulls back for a second. 'Besides, what's the point when I could be sucking your cock?'
Sam tries to pull away, intending to roll his brother over and prove the point once and for all, but then Dean pulls Sam's cock free of his shorts and puts his admittedly mind-blowing cocksucking skills to use. Sam clings onto Dean's head with desperate fingers, gasping and moaning, and everything but the suckslidegood of Dean's mouth on his cock is driven out of his mind.
They have a few difficult hunts in a row, near-misses and demons who try to trick and taunt them, and it takes all their energy just to stay alive. When they fuck at all, it's swift and desperate, both their minds half on what's going on around them, attuned to every strange noise and suspicious shadow. Sam forgets all about rimming, or the lack of it, for months.
When he remembers, they're lying outside on prairie grass, bellies warm with tequila. They're both tired and achy from a big fight the night before, but they're feeling safe for once, holed up on a reservation where there are some pretty powerful wards keeping shit away. They both know they'll have to move on soon enough, but for now it feels good just to bake in the sun, passing the bottle of liquor between them and letting themselves get slow and silly with each swallow. Dean's lying splayed out with one hand heavy on Sam's thigh, and Sam's mind is pleasantly vague, wandering from one topic to another while half his attention's still focused on the feel of his body, slack with tiredness and booze, hot underneath Dean's hand.
Sam thinks about the way Dean's hands can make him feel, and his cock swells slightly in his pants. He's too tired and comfortable to do anything about it at the moment, though, so he just gives himself up to fantasy instead, thinking about licking and sucking and fucking Dean once he gets him into an actual bed. He conjures up an image of Dean stretched out under him, ass spread wide, and that's when he remembers he still has an argument to win.
'Dean?'
Dean's hand twitches on Sam's thigh to show that he's heard, but he doesn't reply.
Sam props himself up on one elbow so he can see his brother. 'Dean, man. Have you really never let anyone lick your ass?'
Dean groans and doesn't even bother opening his eyes. 'No one's ever been crazy enough to want to, you freak.'
'And you've never done it to anyone else?'
Dean rolls over half onto his side and looks up at Sam.
'Dude, no way, how do you even have to ask?' He makes a face.
Sam feigns innocence. 'Just, y'know, surprised to think there's anything the great Dean Winchester hasn't done in bed.'
Dean socks him in the arm. 'I'm an expert, Sammy, I don't have to get into the kinky stuff to keep people interested.'
Sam punches him back and they scuffle a bit before settling back down, too contented and lazy to really get worked up. They wind up curled together, trading soft, leisurely kisses, and Sam lets Dean think he's forgotten all about ass-licking. He wriggles closer into his brother's embrace and makes plans.
When they do end up in a motel room again, they barely even make it through the door before they're stripping each other's clothes off. Dean's been torturing Sam all day, making lewd comments and grabbing his ass whenever he was sure the people they were interviewing couldn't see. The gig they were working on turned out to be a bust - not a haunting, just local kids trying to scare people - but they had to talk to about half the town before they were sure. In the last house, Dean had sat on the other side of the kitchen table and slid his foot up under cover of the tablecloth, pushing against Sam's already half-hard cock until it sprang into insistent life. When they got out of there, they'd both gotten in the car so fast the little old lady they'd just interviewed was left open-mouthed, halfway through her farewells.
Dean rips off Sam's jacket and pushes him up against the door, grinding their hips together. 'You fucking little tease,' he whispers. 'So fucking sexy.'
Sam gasps and grinds back, fumbling at the hem of Dean's shirt. 'You're the one who was - fuck - molesting me all day, you bastard.'
Dean laughs, low and rough, and pulls away long enough to get Sam's pants unbuttoned. 'How can I help it when you look at me like I'm a goddamn porn star? Hell, Sam, you've been staring at my mouth like it's the fucking centrefold of Penthouse.'
Sam moans at the thought, then yelps when Dean yanks his jeans right and wraps a fist around his cock. He's about to reciprocate, but then he has an awesome idea. He bucks up into Dean's fist and groans, 'Fuck, yeah, your mouth. Want it around my cock, please, Dean, suck me.'
It's not exactly hard to make his pleading convincing, and he's rewarded by Dean sinking down to kneel before him, breath hot against his cock. Dean licks one hot, perfect stripe from base to tip, and then he's swallowing Sam down, sliding his tongue under the head and wrapping his lips around the shaft, firm and tight. This is way fucking hotter than anything that's ever been in Penthouse, and Sam's been hard all day, and shit his control is all but gone. It only takes a few thrusts up into Dean's gorgeous mouth and then Sam's scrabbling at Dean's hair, pulling him away and coming hot and bright and hard all over his brother's face.
He slumps to the ground, panting.
For a minute all Sam can do is lie there, freezing his naked ass off in the breeze coming under the door. Then he hears Dean gasp, and opens his eyes to see his brother crouched on the floor, hand wrapped round his own cock, jacking off hard and fast. Sam drinks in the sight, desire spiralling low in his belly when he sees his own come still smeared across those pretty lips but then he remembers his awesome plan and forces his brain into some kind of coherence
'No, don't touch,' Sam says, and he's expecting his voice to come out rough and unsteady, but instead it's clear and authoritative. Dean looks up, startled, and releases his cock like it's burned him.
Sam lurches to his feet and grabs Dean by one shoulder. 'On the bed,' he orders, guiding Dean over and pressing him down onto the mattress. Dean goes obediently, hands by his sides, thighs spreading willingly when Sam pushes him back. Lust fires in Sam's belly as he realises that he could tell Dean to do anything, could keep giving orders, and for a moment he's tempted to do it, to see just how far he can go. This isn't about that, though: it's not what Sam wants to do to his brother, but what he wants to do for him.
It's about worship, about spreading his brother out and exploring every inch of him, finding every hidden pore.
Dean's still looking up at him, trusting and pleading at once, cock angry-hard across his belly. Sam stretches out over him, covering his brother's body with his own, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Dean's lips. He can taste himself there, come saltsweetsticky over coffee and spearmint and Dean's own indefinable flavour. It never stops being vaguely surprising how tiny Dean feels under him: even though Sam outgrew him by the time he was fifteen, Dean's never quite stopped being his big brother, and he takes up more space in Sam's head than he actually does in real life.
Sam's so caught up in the sensation that he pauses for a moment, too overwhelmed to move, and then Dean moans under him and thrusts up. His cock slides along Sam's - already half-hard again - and Sam lets out a surprised breath against his skin. He slides down to kiss Dean's neck, his chest, running hands and tongue over skin and scars. Dean thrusts again, and Sam pulls himself away, pushes his brother further back onto the bed so he can kneel between his legs. He presses his hands against Dean's hips, thumbs nestled in the dip of bone, fingers splayed round to cup the curve of back and ass, and brings his mouth down to Dean's cock. He holds Dean still, breathing hot against his cock, but not quite touching until Dean begs.
'Fuck, Sam, please. Suck me, please.'
Sam obliges, one quick licksuck up and down Dean's cock, smearing salt precome across his own lips. Then he pulls off again, laughs. 'Not yet, baby, you don't get to come yet.'
Dean's moan of frustration modulates into one of pleasure as Sam's mouth touches him again, tongue slip-sliding along his cock, down to cover his balls, teasing at crinkly hair and skin. He bucks up against the air when Sam releases his hips, writhing against the sheets, and then Sam catches his thighs and spreads them wider.
Sam laps at Dean's balls once more, brushing against the sensitive skin underneath, then drives his tongue into Dean's crack, and oh fuck, he'd forgotten how good it was to actually do this to someone. He hears Dean gasp, and licks forward again, tongue questing deeper, and this time it seems like Dean's brain has actually managed to process the sensation, because his muscles stiffen under the touch.
'What the f- oh god - the fuck you think you're doing, Sam?'
Sam swipes his tongue down Dean's crack again. 'You want me to stop?' he asks, trying to sound unconcerned instead of insanely horny. He blows against the wet trail left by his tongue until his brother shivers and gasps. 'I can stop,' he says again.
'Fuck... don't stop... don't you fucking stop,' Dean grinds out through clenched teeth, and thank god, because no way is Sam going to tease any longer. He drives back down, spreading Dean's ass wide, licking and fucking into his hole until Dean cries out and grinds forward onto his tongue. He's impossibly hot and tight, silken-smooth flesh fluttering under Sam's touch. Each time Sam drives his tongue in he opens a little wider, like a flower slowly bursting into bloom, cries and gasps growing more desperate with each thrust.
When Sam draws back a little, feathers his tongue up and down Dean's ass, Dean actually begs. 'Sam, touch me... for Christ's sake...' He bucks his hips wildly, fisting his hands in the sheets, seeking more stimulation.
Sam nearly breaks when he hears Dean beg, and so much for his awesome fucking plan, because he's hard as who-the-hell-knows-what despite just having shot his load all over his brother's goddamn throat. He aches to bury his cock in that unbelievable ass, to fuck Dean hard and fast, but that's not part of the plan.
He presses a kiss to the base of Dean's cock, sloppy and open-mouthed, and then he's licking Dean open again, twisting his tongue into the dark of him until Dean gives a strangled cry. Sam slicks his fingers and slides one next to his tongue, then another, pushing in and fluttering his tongue till it feels like it's all part of one thing, like his mouth and hands were made to do just this. He pushes again, curling his fingers until Dean's crying out, a long, continuous sound.
Sam fumbles up with his other hand until it closes on Dean's cock, pumps once, twice, and then he presses his face down, nudging Dean's thighs wider apart, and drives his tongue in as hard as he can. Dean clenches, whole body rigid, and then he's coming, body shaking with each pulse of his cock. Sam draws away to watch him, wraps a hand around his own cock, stroking in time with Dean's movements and chanting, 'C'mon, baby, come for me, so beautiful, c'mon.'
When Dean throws his head back, exposing the curve of his throat, Sam loses it totally, shooting streams of come across Dean's cock and thighs and belly, words swallowed into pure sound by the sheer pleasure of it all. He sinks onto the bed next to Dean, breathes in the scent of sex and sweat, and clings on to his brother.
They both lie motionless for long moments, still panting short breaths, too fucked out to move. Finally, Sam manages to stir himself enough to grab some tissues and clean them both up, drag the comforter over them. He curls back around Dean, pulling him in close to his chest. Dean lets out a contented little sound and shifts to fit more snugly under his arm.
'Fuck, man, that was amazing.'
Sam grins. 'Thought you said rimming was gross.'
'Screw you, bitch.'
Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, feels him smile against his skin, and they both fall into sleep.