rivers_bend

Title: Nightly Visitor
Words: ~525
Rating: Adult (sexually explicit)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Spoilers: Absolutely none whatsoever (pre-series)
A/N: Thanks to lima_sierra for clearing things up.
Summary: Even at Stanford, Sam has his brother sometimes.



Dean doesn't climb in bed with Sam, but kneels on the floor, putting a hand over his mouth, and the other on Sam's chest. Sam inhales sharply through his nose, trying to catch some scent of Dean, the sweat that is tinged with steel and cordite and engine oil, a hint of leather. Quietly, quietly, so William, in his bed across the room won't hear a thing, the hand on Sam's chest moves down, over his t-shirt, under the sheet and blanket, teasing as it goes, rolling a nipple between firm fingers, the added scrape of cotton making Sam's hips twitch with want.

It moves lower, hot on his stomach, and the hand on his mouth presses tighter as Sam moans, soft and needy behind it. William's breathing doesn't change, and the hand moving south continues its journey.

Fingers tease at the waistband of Sam's boxers, dip inside for just a second but then retreat, skirting sideways instead, following the seam that frames his cock. Sam moves towards the pressure, but it evades and sinks down between his thighs, cupping, then rolling his balls, before one finger presses in to rub the soft-rough cotton against his perineum and hole.

Please, Sam whispers, but it's all in his head because the hand clamped tight over his mouth allows for nothing except soft huffs of breath through his nose. Please! Sam thinks again, but the rocking palm and rubbing fingers continue to tease. His dick is straining, trying to tent the cotton that's pulled tight between elastic and the heavy heat of that hand. His ass clenches and relaxes, clenches and relaxes, his stomach muscles quivering.

Finally, just when he thinks he's going to die if he doesn't get a hand on his dick, the exquisite teasing stops. Only to get much, much, worse. A single fingertip makes tiny circles through the cotton, just under the head of Sam's dick. Dean… Sam's practically sobbing with need behind the hand on his face.

"You think you deserve skin on skin, Sammy? After you left me?" Two fingers now, rubbing the cotton up and down the underside of his shaft, moving the damp spot maddeningly over the head. "I don't think so. Even this is better than you deserve."

The rubbing goes on, exquisite scrape of cotton over his flesh, thumb coming up to work the wet spot, giving him just enough friction to take him to the edge and push him almost over, before it's back to fingers, one, or maybe two, not gentle enough to give him a break, not hard enough to get him there.

Finally, the fingers curl tight and the thumb rubs just right, and Sam is coming, shaking, biting into the hand over his mouth not to cry out and wake his roommate.

He's still getting aftershocks when the phone buzzes on his nightstand. A familiar number, one that always makes his heart catch in his throat. Even though he knows there won't be a reply, Sam answers it like he always does.

"Dean? Is that you?"

Come cooling on his stomach and sticky between his fingers, Sam listens to his brother breathing through the phone.



Read Dean's POV