rivers_bend

Title: Five Times Dean didn't Suck Sam and one time he did (5/6)
Words: ~3350
Rating: Adult
Genre: Slash
Characters: Sam, Dean/OMC
Spoilers: Pilot, maybe? Set about three weeks after that episode. Probably instead of Wendigo.
Disclaimer: Any similarity to any Nevada Highway Patrol Officer living or dead is purely coincidental. And frankly would shock the heck out of me.
A/N: littledrop said Dean totally needed to get pulled over and get out of his ticket using his mad oral skills while Sam was waiting for him back in a library somewhere. And then I was talking to my dad about Nevada, cos he used to drive all over the state before he retired. And he told me about Jarbidge. And the roads. littledrop, this is for you. Dad? I pretty much hope you never read this. And many many thanks to lima_sierra for beta, squeeing and enthusiasm.
Summary: Dean had flirted his way out of a few tickets in his time, but he'd be willing to take an extra ticket off this guy if that was the only way he could get his lips around that bulge.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]



Five

The text came at 1:45 am. A month ago Dean would have been awake--out drinking somewhere if he wasn't hunting--but a month ago it would have been Dad in the next bed, not Sam, and he wouldn't have gotten the text at all. He fumbled for the phone, somehow pressed the right buttons.

41.65
-115.40

Dean was tired. He didn't want to get up and look at the maps, see where Dad was sending them. Chances were that he was somewhere on the other side of the country, reading the news and deciding his boys should check something out. But there was a chance that he was asking them to come to him. That this was the clue they needed to find their father.

Dean got up.

The bags were in a jumble on the table in the corner. Wearily pawing through them yielded nothing but frustration, and Dean sat down on the wobbly chair with a sigh. Dean had forgotten how essentially disorganized his brother was. He left shit in the car that they needed, and brought things into the room that would be great if the bed got a flat--seriously, why did Sam have the lug-wrench in his duffel--but were otherwise useless. It wasn't that he wished Sam were back in California. Without getting all touchy-feely about it, it was pretty good to have his brother around again. Just, it would be nice to know where the hell the fucking maps had gotten to. With Dad you never needed to worry about that stuff.

'Dean? 'S'at Dad?' Sam was rubbing a hand over his face. Dean stared. He swore those hands had grown three sizes while Sam was away. And they'd been big enough when he left.

Go back to sleep warred with What did you do with the damn maps? in Dean's head, but what came out was, 'Yeah. It was Dad. Sent us some coordinates.'

'Laptop,' Sam said, sitting up. 'Icon with the little globe on it. Type 'em in and it will tell you where.'

Of course. No wonder Sam didn't keep track of the maps. He had his precious laptop. Trying not to grumble aloud, Dean did as Sam said, and had to admit it was pretty easy. Except according to the site, Dad was sending them to the middle of Northern Nevada. Which translated, as far as Dean could see, to about a thousand miles from anywhere. At all. He found the button that allowed him to zoom in and by clicking it several times, got the map to tell him he was looking at some place called Jarbidge.

'Dude, you ever hear of Jarbidge, Nevada?'

'Is it near Vegas?' Sam's voice was still sleep-thick.

'Only in the sense that it's not near Maine.'

'Is that where Dad is?'

'I haven't got a clue. That's where these coordinates point is all I can tell you.'

'Why doesn't he just call us?'

'Maybe he's busy, Sam. I don't know what you want me to say.'

'Sorry. It's just – Dad always talked to you more. I thought maybe…'

'We're not starting this again.' Dean held the laptop out towards where Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed. 'Take this. Find out what your friend, the internet, has to say about Jarbidge. What the fuck kind of name is that anyway? And I'll look in Dad's journal.'

'Dean, we haven't had a whole night's sleep in three days. Can't we do this in the morning?'

'In the morning we're driving to Nevada. Quicker you get me some information, the quicker you can get to beddy-byes.'

Dean could hear Sam tapping away for a minute and then silence interspersed with the click of the mouse. He was leafing through the journal hoping something would catch his eyes. Not easy when he had no idea what he was looking for.

'Local legends are Nez Perce, or maybe Shoshone, depending on which website you look at,' Sam said, breaking the silence. 'Seems we're looking for a cannibalistic giant. So mauled or missing people? I don’t know. Other than that, it's a ghost town that never quite got abandoned. Population about twenty.'

'Sounds like a blast. Can't wait to get there. Can you check local papers and see if there're any reports?'

'I did. Two hikers and a fisherman went missing last week. Doesn't look all that suspicious to be honest.' There were a few more minutes of silence and then, 'This legend reads a little like a Wendigo. But not entirely. This guy supposedly crosses rivers in a single step and carries men away in a basket on his back.'

Dean turned back to the pages on Wendigos. Saw something scribbled in the margin. 'Was one of the words Jarbidge might have come from, saw-haw-bits? Or something like that anyway. Can't hardly read this writing.'

Sam clicked a few times. 'How d'you spell it?'

Dean deciphered as best he could. 'T-s-a-w-h-a-w-b-i-t-t-s? Pretty sure that's a T anyway.'

'Yeah, that's the Shoshone. As interpreted on this website anyway.'

'It's scribbled on the Wendigo page with two question marks after it. Guess this is where he meant us to go.'

'That mean I can go back to sleep?' Sam had his hand on the lid of his laptop and a look on his face that said, I'm gonna close this sucker now, unless you stop me. And please don't stop me.

Dean was frustrated for a minute, thinking that Sam hadn't even needed this much sleep when he was a teenager, but then realized that even on nights they weren't hunting or driving, Sam hadn't slept more than three hours at a stretch since Jess had died. He could use what sleep he could get.

'Go to sleep, man. We'll head out in the morning.'

Sam set the computer on the floor between the beds and pulled the covers over his head. When Dean was sure his brother wasn't watching, he put his face in the journal. Smelled like leather, cordite, and the road. Smelled like his own jacket. Nothing just Dad about it.

Pushing the journal violently away, Dean got up and took a piss before getting back in bed. He didn't know what Dad was playing at, but he was getting tired of this game where he didn't even know the objective, never mind the rules. It seemed he was listening to Sam's heavy breathing for hours before he fell asleep.

They didn't talk much on the way to Nevada, four years of silence between them a habit now. Sam pretended to sleep, but Dean knew no one could be sleeping with their jaw set that tight. He pretended to believe him though, singing softly along to his tapes like he thought no one was listening, but also didn't want to wake his sleeping passenger. He thought he might have seen Sam's lips twitch a couple times when he tried to hit the high notes and he couldn't help smiling back.

Twenty miles north of Winnemucca Sam opened his eyes. 'Where are we?'

'Route 95.' Dean turned down the music a little. 'We'll gas up in Winnemucca and then head East.'

'There's a hotel in Jarbidge, but maybe we'd better stay in Elko. Cos a hotel is just about all there is.'

'Dude, how many websites did you look at? You were online for all of what? Ten minutes?'

'Dean, it's a town. It's not like I was trying to find out the secret mating rituals of the great crested snorlax or something. The information is just there.'

'What's a great crested snorlax?'

'Elko has a library. And newspapers. And diners. I'm just saying.'

'You're not going to tell me what a snorlax is, are you?'

'It's a pokemon. It's also a metaphor. And not the point. I just think if you do want to stay in giant territory we should phone the hotel and check they have rooms before we drive all the way out there. It's hunting season.'

Dean couldn’t help it. 'Yeah it is, baby.'

'God. And I actually kind of missed you. Clearly it was the drugs.'

'That better be a joke, Sammy.'

'Sam. And of course it's a joke. The scholarship committee doesn't take kindly to students getting naked in the quad and singing San Francisco, let me beat my meat in the style of Judy Garland.'

'You did that?'

'Dean, are you even listening to me? I wasn't doing drugs, I wasn't getting naked in the quad. And I sure as fuck wasn’t singing Judy Garland. Now, do you want to stay in Elko, or do you want me to phone the hotel?'

'Is snorlax the fat one that sleeps all the time?' Dean noticed that Sam's fingers were flexing like he really wanted to wrap them around his brother's neck. Awesome. They pulled into the gas station with Sam still glaring out the window.

While Dean was filling up, Sam went in to pay for the gas and came back with a Dr Pepper. For each of them. 'Want me to drive for a bit?' he asked.

'That's carbonated prune juice, you know.' Dean glared at the can Sam was holding out.

'So? They were out of Coke.'

'Prune juice.' Dean was tired. Maybe Sam could drive for a while. He walked around towards the passenger side.

'It's got like one drop of juice in fifty cans, I'm sure.' Still holding both cans, Sam headed for the driver's door.

'Ok, you can drive. But since you got me grandpa soda, I still get to pick the music.'

'Dunno what I'd pick anyway. Even if all my cds didn't burn up, it's not like you've got a cd player to play them on. Grandpa.'

'Shut up, college boy. You just have no appreciation for classics.' Dean crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. 'Take us to Elko.'

One hundred and twenty five miles, an order of chilli cheese fries, a tuna melt and two chocolate shakes later, they started making calls. It didn’t sound like Dad was in Jarbidge. 'Color me surprised,' Dean said when they'd talked to the last person up there. Or at least the last person in the phone book.

'Never mind, we'll find him. Meantime, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow we can find out more about these missing people. I'll hit the library and the newspaper archives, maybe you can take a run up there, have a look around.'

Great plan. What Sam neglected to mention was that after the first hour Dean'd be driving on dirt roads. Tracks. Stony-ass shit that was pinging the fuck out of the bottom of his car. Dean hoped Dad didn't know about this. Cos if he'd sent the Impala out here when he could have come in his four-wheel drive truck…

And? There was nothing. The hikers were a couple celebrating their first anniversary, and the fisherman was her father. They hadn't been reported missing by family, cos they were all the family they had. They'd been reported missing by the manager of the hotel when they'd left without paying their bills. The manager was insistent there had been foul play. They'd left clothes behind. Dean wasn't convinced however, that leaving behind a pair of blood-stained white shorts and a set of waders with a slice all down the inside of one thigh was compelling evidence of cannibalistic giants roaming the area. When he got back to the car, he tried to call Sam to see if there was anything else to go on, but, of course, no cell reception. He couldn't face going back into the hotel to use their phone, so he got back on the road.

Two hours of dirt tracks followed by three hours of deeply frustrating investigations, followed by two more hours of dirt tracks again had Dean just about ready to fly apart by the time he hit Route 225. Potholed as it was, it was a damn sight better than CR whatever the fuck he'd been on. He revved his baby's engine and she purred for him. The wind through the windows blew away the stress that the speed didn't take care of.

The sirens came out of nowhere. Dean managed somehow not to give in to the urge to just floor the accelerator and try to outrun them. From his spot on the shoulder of the road, Dean watched in his rearview mirror as the officer unfolded himself from his car. He made even Sam look short and moved like every second not spent behind the wheel was spent playing some kind of sport that required strength and grace and speed and… it had been way too long since Dean hooked up, or even had a chance to jerk off.

It didn’t help that when the cop got to the window it made the perfect frame for his cock and his holster. A hand tanned the color of Dean's walnut shotgun stock and the size of a dinner plate closed over the window edge. Dean absolutely did not think about what it would look like wrapped around his dick.

'Officer,' he said, when the guy pulled off his sunglasses and leaned down to look at Dean. Ice blue eyes, black hair cropped in a military cut, pink tongue darting out a second after Dean licked his own dry lips; what the hell was this guy doing patrolling roads up here? He should be where lots of people could see him. Preferably naked. Like a public service thing.

'License and registration?' God, even his voice was pure sex. This was ridiculous.

Dean hoped like hell he'd remembered to take the gun out of the glove box and put it back in the trunk after the last stakeout. He had no idea what the gun laws were in Nevada, but he'd never been anywhere that the highway patrol was happy to see a handgun in any car they stopped. Fortunately his registration practically fell out the minute he opened the door, so he could grab it and no one had to know what else was in there. He leaned back to look at the view as the officer stood to make notes about Dean's ID.

Could he not clearly see it hanging on the guy's belt, Dean would have thought he had his nightstick stuffed down the front of his pants. Well, ok then. Dean had flirted his way out of a few tickets in his time, but he'd be willing to take an extra ticket off this guy if that was the only way he could get his lips around that bulge.

Leaning far enough out the window so he could see, but not far enough to appear threatening, Dean said, 'Is there anything else you need?' The tug at the corner of his lip with his teeth was pure reflex, but it caught the cop's eye.

'Would you like to step out of the car for me?' The cop held out Dean's paperwork and tucked his pad into his back pocket. Dean hoped this was a good thing.

'Yes, sir.' The words, and the look they evoked, made heat coil in Dean's belly. He'd never thought he'd be one to have a 'Sir' kink, but a pool hustler in Tampa had taught him otherwise.

Stepping back to give Dean room to open his door, the officer made a show out of adjusting his belt. Dean's eyes locked onto the movement and the trailing fingers over the ridge of cock that followed. Dean really hoped he was about to get frisked.

'If you'd step to the other side of the vehicle and put your hands on the hood for me.' The words had just enough of an edge to sound like an order, but the long and pointed look at Dean's crotch that accompanied them was definitely not out of the Highway Patrol handbook.

Dean's cock had gone from half-hard to uncomfortably stiff under the gaze. All the Winchester instincts telling him not to take orders from a cop were negated by the orders he was taking from his dick. Orders that had him chest down on the sun-hot metal, ignoring the burn through his t-shirt, as he felt the officer step up behind him.

Anticipation. Silence except for the scuff of boots through dirt as Dean shifted his legs a little further apart. Then hot hands wrapped round his ribs, slid up under his arms and, lifting him slightly from the hood, moved down his chest. The first pass was all cop. Maybe not as pissed off as the last few times he'd been frisked, but businesslike enough that Dean started to wonder if he'd read things wrong. Until long thighs spread his legs even further and the hands went back up to his nipples. Pinched. Which was pretty hard to misread.

If he'd had any remaining doubts, they were erased by the cock grinding into his ass and the words in his ear. 'As much as I'd like to fuck you right now against this car, I'd hate to mar your paint job. Besides, I want to see those lips of yours wrapped around my dick.' He groped between Dean's legs and then spun him around, fingers curled in his waistband.

Since his own thoughts were running in a similar vein, Dean wasn't going to argue. 'Yes, sir.' That look again. Cops were so predictable. Hungry for respect. Well, if the guy was going to mistake sex for respect, Dean wouldn't disillusion him.

Pulling Dean along by his jeans, the cop led him behind a tumble of boulders off the shoulder. Dean hadn't seen more than five other cars since he left Elko, but he didn’t have as much to lose if someone drove past so he had no need to be paranoid.

On its westward journey, the sun had turned the far side of the rocks into a sauna. Sweat wicked away through his shirt and his breath burned in his lungs. Dean hoped he wasn't going to get sunstroke before this was over. He needn't have worried; it turned out plate-sized hands make pretty effective sunshades.

Dean was on his knees in the dirt, a huge hand on the back of his neck, the other pulling his hair into sweaty spikes. Officer Really Really Friendly had his dick pulled out through his fly, belt still on, gun and nightstick filling Dean's peripheral vision. He shoved shallowly into Dean's mouth, letting Dean work the shaft with his hands. Whatever his fears were about being seen, he obviously wasn't worried about being heard; grunting and growling, 'Fuck. Yes. Suck it. Flick the tip with your tongue. Yeah. Just like that. Do it. Fuck.'

When Dean started sucking him deeper, cockhead bumping in the back of his throat, the cop started calling him a filthy cock-whore, asked him if he liked choking on cop-meat. Dean dragged air in through his nose and then swallowed, humming his assent. Because this was power. A guy with his cock down your throat would do just about anything to keep it there. Every word he said really meant, 'Don't stop. Don’t you fucking stop.'

Fingers twitching in his hair was the only warning Dean got before his throat was filled with come. He managed to keep his lips closed around his gag of cock as he choked, pulling back enough to swallow most of it so he didn't spit jizz all over the freshly starched uniform pants. He wiped what he missed off his chin with the back of his hand when he was shoved away. The hand under his arm helping him to his feet took him by surprise.

'That's a gorgeous car you've got, and this road's pretty torn up. You really should slow down. Wouldn't want you to flip her on a pothole.'

Dean blinked. 'That you letting me off with a warning then?'

Guy was tucking himself back into his pants. 'Sure. Seems fair.'

True enough.

Dean palmed his still hard dick through his jeans as he watched the cop walk back towards his car.

Part 6